Astropolitics After Ukraine: How Sanctions Rewired Russia’s Space Economy

US sanctions on Russia’s space industry triggered a rapid restructuring, focused on domestic production, Chinese cooperation, and new partners across the Global South.

Few observers expected Western sanctions to hit Russia’s space sector as hard—or as quickly—as they did in 2022. When access to critical electronics, components, and foreign contracts was cut off, the shock reached orbit instantly: launches halted, partnerships collapsed, and an industry once defined by routine cooperation faced its most severe disruption since the 1990s. From the outside, it looked like the beginning of a prolonged decline. Yet Russia adapted far faster than many analysts in Washington anticipated. The more consequential question is not whether sanctions inflicted damage—they did—but whether they ultimately pushed the sector onto a new strategic trajectory. This article examines how tools designed to punish a declining industry instead forced its restructuring, enabling Moscow to sustain orbital activity in a far more politicized global environment.

One of the earliest—and most symbolic—ruptures came with the abrupt halt of OneWeb’s launch campaign. In March 2022, Roscosmos suspended the planned liftoff of 36 OneWeb internet satellites. They demanded political guarantees from the British government, including assurances that London would divest from the company and that the satellites would not be used for military purposes. These conditions were unacceptable to the United Kingdom (UK), and cooperation collapsed immediately. OneWeb left Baikonur with more than $200 million in losses from grounded hardware and prepaid launch services. It was a sudden break in what had been a relatively stable area of post-Cold War cooperation.

The unraveling did not stop there. The European Space Agency (ESA) froze the joint ExoMars mission and halted all Soyuz operations from the Kourou spaceport. Commercial customers rushed to alternative providers, and by 2024, Roscosmos estimated roughly $2.1 billion in losses from cancelled contracts with what Moscow designates “unfriendly countries”—nearly 80 percent of its launch export revenue. Even the International Space Station, long treated as a sanctuary from geopolitical conflict, became a casualty of the new environment. Russia announced plans to withdrawafter 2024 in favor of building a national station. In effect, sanctions did not just squeeze the Russian space program—they closed off entire markets and supply chains, forcing Moscow to search for new partners and new models of technological survival. 

As Western suppliers and customers withdrew, Russia turned inward and began building a more autonomous model for its space sector. In mid-2022, President Vladimir Putin reshuffled senior leadership in both space and defense to prepare the system for long-term sanctions pressure. The head of the Federal Space Agency, Dmitry Rogozin—known for his political flair—was replaced by Yuri Borisov, a former deputy prime minister with deep ties to the military-industrial complex. His mandate was straightforward: stabilize the sector, cut reliance on foreign components, and align space programs more tightly with national defense priorities. Around the same time, Trade and Industry Minister Denis Manturov was given expanded authority over both civilian space and the arms industry, signaling that space technology had effectively become part of Russia’s strategic infrastructure. 

Losing access to Western components forced Russian engineers to reimagine entire satellite architectures using domestic technologies or parts sourced from friendly states. The substitution task was enormous: radiation-resistant microchips, precision sensors, and onboard processors had long come from the United States or Europe. But some progress appeared. By mid-2024, Russia’s largest satellite operator reported replacing roughly 60 percent of the foreign-made components affected by sanctions. The Russian Satellite Communications Company became a central coordinator, linking manufacturers and helping them source domestic or non-Western alternatives. Industrial plants have also begun reconfiguring production lines to manufacture spacecraft electronics that Russia previously imported in bulk.

Still, full technological autonomy remains elusive. Western export controls have targeted dual-use space technologies for years, since even high-end “civilian” Russian satellites can indirectly support military operations. Many Russian programs—communications, Earth observation, navigation—were built on Western component baselines, and replacing the remaining share of that supply chain is proving difficult. The earlier 2014 sanctions had already slowed the Global Navigation Satellite System (GLONASS) modernization by restricting access to key microchips and sensors. After 2022, the restrictions intensified dramatically. Roscosmos now faces a practical tradeoff: keep older satellites operating past their intended lifespan, or produce new ones that are less sophisticated. Neither option is ideal. The former risks higher failure rates in orbit; the latter means accepting a temporary performance downgrade. Russian specialists also note that some non-Western components, including certain Chinese electronics, “do not fully match Russian requirements and standards” for sensitive space systems. For now, the most realistic outcome is a short-term step backward in technical sophistication in exchange for greater strategic independence.

At the same time, Moscow has tightened the institutional link between its civilian and military space programs to protect core capabilities and streamline decision-making. Space in Russia has always been strategic, but the integration is now more formalized. Borisov’s defense background and Manturov’s expanded authority indicate that Roscosmos is becoming a more embedded part of the broader defense-industrial system. Many communications and monitoring satellites are co-funded with the military, and launch vehicles such as the Angara family are designed to service both defense and civilian missions. The expectation in Moscow is that this unified structure will concentrate limited resources on priority projects and reduce vulnerability to future disruptions. Russian officials repeatedly describe space, defense, and heavy industry as foundational for national security—one reason why these sectors continue to receive federal investment even under wider economic pressure. 

Global South Launches: Russia’s New Orbital Partners

With Western markets closed, Russia began pursuing a survival strategy focused on the Global South in the space sector. The logic is simple: sanctions removed the old commercial ecosystem, so Moscow began building a new one in which providers from the West or China previously dominated. Senior Roscosmos officials state this directly—long-term revenue recovery is expected from Asia, Africa, Latin America, and the Middle East. In effect, sanctions did not stop the industry; they redirected it into a different economic geography, reinforcing the split between competing technological spheres.

Iran illustrates this reorientation clearly. In August 2022, shortly after the conflict began, Russia launched Iran’s Earth-observation satellite Khayyam on a Soyuz rocket. The launch followed President Putin’s visit to Tehran, where Iran’s Supreme Leader called for deeper cooperation against “Western deception.” Washington worried that the high-resolution system could enhance surveillance capabilities for both Tehran and Moscow. But for Russia, the mission demonstrated that sanctions can generate new partners rather than isolate it, making Khayyam an early symbol of the emerging alternative network.

A similar dynamic is visible in Africa and the Middle East. In October 2022, Russia placed Angosat-2 into orbit for Angola using a Proton-M rocket. The project faced difficulties after Western suppliers reportedly withheld components—the Russian ambassador in Luanda attributed this to “envy” from companies like Airbus. Still, Russia completed the satellite without additional cost to Angola thanks to insurance arrangements from the earlier Angosat-1 contract. Delivering the system under sanctions became part of a broader message: even under pressure, Russia can still design, launch, and support satellites, offering partners an alternative to Western programs.

Cooperation with Egypt fits the same strategic pattern. EgyptSat-2—a high-resolution imaging satellite built by RSC Energia and launched in 2019—is still cited by Egyptian officials as a successful model, and public statements signal interest in further collaboration. For Moscow, these engagements are not merely export deals; they help position Russia as an alternative supplier for states seeking fewer political conditions than those attached to many Western programs. In practical terms, this is another example of sanctions steering Russia toward a different circle of long-term partners.

A similar logic drives Russia’s activities in Latin America, where it continues to expand ground infrastructure for the GLONASS navigation system. New stations and cooperation agreements from Brazil to Venezuela improve global accuracy for GLONASS, while reinforcing its independence from Western Global Navigation Satellite System (GNSS) networks. Moscow also promotes multilateral projects such as the BRICS remote-sensing constellation—an initiative backed by a Russian proposal that fuses satellites from all five members into a shared data network. The significance here is less technological ambition and more institutional positioning: Russia is helping shape an alternative data ecosystem in which it remains one of the principal anchors.

Taken together, these partnerships show how sanctions have unintentionally accelerated Russia’s orientation toward the Global South. By offering satellites, launches, and training with fewer political conditions, Moscow presents itself as a pragmatic supplier at a moment when many developing states want diversified options. The outcome is a restructured commercial landscape: Russia’s access to Western markets is constrained, but its function as a technology provider for the Global South has grown, giving it a different, if narrower, kind of relevance in the global space economy.

China is, of course, the pivotal actor in Russia’s post-2022 realignment. Even before the sanctions era, Moscow and Beijing were converging on a shared lunar agenda, including plans for a joint International Lunar Research Station (ILRS) as an alternative to the National Aeronautics and Space Administration’s (NASA) Artemis program. After 2022, that trajectory only accelerated. Chinese analysts openly argue that Western pressure creates a shared incentive for deeper cooperation, making Russian and Chinese capabilities increasingly complementary. Russia contributes institutional experience in life-support systems and nuclear space power, while China provides modern hardware, substantial financing, and an expanding suite of robotic and future crewed lunar missions.

In April 2025, Chinese officials again underscored that Russia remains a core ILRS partner, highlighting Moscow’s expertise in compact nuclear reactors for lunar surface power. One Chinese strategist remarked that sanctions have “prevented Roscosmos from many imports,” yet Chinese institutions can “alleviate the pressure” and sustain progress in satellites, exploration missions, and even future station planning. What emerges is a clearer division of labor: sanctions make Russia more dependent on Chinese industrial depth, while China benefits from Russia’s technical legacy and the geopolitical weight of a stronger bilateral bloc in space.

Beijing also presents the ILRS as an open, multinational project. Its “50-500-5000” concept envisions dozens of partner countries, hundreds of institutions, and thousands of researchers contributing to a shared lunar architecture. If realized, the ILRS would form a cooperation sphere distinct from the US-led Artemis coalition. In other words, Sino-Russian lunar collaboration is not just a technical alignment—it is one of the clearest expressions of how sanctions have accelerated the emergence of parallel space ecosystems with different rules, priorities, and centers of gravity.

India’s position in this lineup is more nuanced. Russia has been a long-term partner for New Delhi—ranging from Soyuz launches of Indian satellites to cosmonaut training for the Gaganyaan program—and parts of this cooperation persisted after 2022. Indian astronauts completed training in Russia as recently as the past few years. Yet India also maintains deep ties with the United States and Europe, has joined the Artemis Accords, and is expanding commercial work with Western space firms. The result is a deliberate balancing act: New Delhi avoids distancing itself from Moscow but also avoids binding itself too tightly to any single camp.

Moscow, fully aware of this hedging, keeps India engaged through BRICS mechanisms and bilateral discussions. Russia has offered support for India’s regional navigation system and even proposed joint modules on its planned national space station. India’s next steps—whether it participates in initiatives like ILRS or keeps cooperation compartmentalized—remain uncertain. But its calibrated openness shows that Russia still has room to maneuver diplomatically, even with partners who work closely with the West.

Across these cases, a consistent pattern becomes clear. Once Western access narrowed, Russia deliberately anchored itself in a broader network of non-Western states—from Angola and Algeria to Iran, Indonesia, and the Middle East. This is not just a rhetorical nod to multipolarity; it is a functional survival strategy. By building relationships that are less exposed to Western export controls, Russia maintains a foothold in global space activity, even as its traditional avenues of cooperation remain closed.

A Bifurcated Cosmos and Strategic Implications

About eighteen months after the Ukraine conflict began, the global space domain showed clearer signs of moving toward a more divided structure. Western sanctions did not stop Russia’s space sector; instead, they redirected it into an operational environment built around domestic production and partnerships with states that are under sanctions or prefer alternative cooperation models. The result is a parallel space system with its own suppliers, launch vehicles, and exploration plans. While the United States and its allies advance programs like Artemis and rely on commercial actors such as SpaceX, Russia—now more closely aligned with China—develops a separate track where Western leverage is limited.

For the United States and Europe, this shift comes with strategic consequences. The most immediate is the erosion of influence that once came through cooperation. Platforms like the ISS or joint science missions created interdependence and offered visibility into Russian planning. Today, those channels are far narrower. If Roscosmos no longer relies on American electronics or European components, the threat of withholding them loses weight. As Russian and American crews operate more separately, routine trust has faded, complicating efforts to discourage potential Russian testing of destructive anti-satellite capabilities.

Meanwhile, Russia and China continue developing parallel lunar agendas and exploring deeper station cooperation. The earlier model of broad international collaboration is giving way to more defined blocs shaped by geopolitical alignments rather than purely scientific goals.

Another implication comes from the technological pressure created by sanctions. Losing access to Western high-end components may push Russia toward asymmetric or dual-use capabilities—electronic warfare, jamming, cyber operations, or renewed anti-satellite testing. These systems compensate for a smaller or less advanced satellite fleet and operate outside commercial supply chains targeted by sanctions. At the same time, Russia may try to access restricted technologies through third countries—a “shadow supply chain.” Reports of Western chips appearing in Russian military equipment via such routes suggest enforcement gaps that could similarly affect space-related components. 

Russia’s deeper engagement with the Global South also carries lessons for both sides. As Moscow expands cooperation across Africa, Latin America, and Asia, it is strengthening ties with the Arab world—regions that previously relied mainly on the United States and Europe. The rising space ambitions of the UAE, Saudi Arabia, and Egypt make the Middle East an increasingly active center of orbital politics. For many of these states, Russia’s more flexible, less politicized model of cooperation is seen as complementary rather than confrontational.

For the United States and Europe, Russia’s expanding network is a reminder that isolating Moscow in space does not remove it from the global landscape. Even under sanctions, Russia continues to develop capabilities and partnerships attractive to states seeking diversified options. Western space diplomacy must therefore compete by offering credible, long-term opportunities—especially in regions where new programs are growing quickly.

There are also lessons for Russia. Building a parallel ecosystem with China and Global South partners helps maintain relevance despite restricted access to Western markets. But sustaining this trajectory requires investment at home and dependable delivery abroad. Cooperation with Middle Eastern states shows that Russia can extend influence beyond traditional circles—yet these relationships depend on predictable timelines, technical quality, and clear expectations.

The broader reality is that the space domain is shifting toward two partially overlapping ecosystems: one centered on the US–European–Japanese network and Artemis, and another shaped by Russia, China, and countries pursuing multi-vector foreign policies. This divide does not automatically imply confrontation. Instead, it highlights the need for transparent communication, reliable crisis-management channels, and cooperation in areas where interests intersect—such as debris mitigation, planetary protection, and basic space safety.

For Washington, a priority is reinforcing resilience within its own coalition—ensuring disruptions can be absorbed quickly, as when commercial providers replaced Soyuz access in 2022. Another is engaging emerging spacefaring states with attractive, long-term partnerships so they do not feel pushed to choose one bloc.

For Moscow, diversification—including deeper ties with the Arab world—is more than a sanctions response; it is an opportunity to shape a more multipolar space environment. As more countries develop their programs, Russia can draw on its engineering tradition and remain a relevant partner, provided it strengthens domestic production and maintains reliable cooperation.

In this sense, the current landscape reflects not just competition but a softer form of strategic dialogue unfolding in orbit. Both Russia and the United States have strong incentives to manage this dual structure carefully, since each benefits from a predictable and stable space environment.

The restructuring of Russia’s space sector after 2022 is therefore less a sudden rupture than an intensification of trends visible long before the war. The international system was never fully unified: debates over the Treaty on the Prevention of the Placement of Weapons in Outer Space (PPWT), recurring Preventing an Arms Race in Outer Space (PAROS) resolutions, and earlier disagreements over arms-control language show that the normative divide has persisted for decades. What sanctions changed was the depth of this separation. They accelerated the formation of two more self-sufficient ecosystems—each with its own partners, technological preferences, and long-term strategic aims.

For Russia, this period highlighted the value of broad partnerships across the Global South and the Arab world, and the importance of reinforcing domestic industrial resilience. For the United States and its allies, the lesson is that credible space diplomacy cannot rely solely on pressure. It must combine deterrence with sustained engagement and practical cooperation, especially in regions where new space programs are developing quickly.

Looking ahead, the question for policymakers is not whether a divided space order can be reversed, but how to manage it in ways that reduce risks and keep communication open where interests intersect. And as sanctions continue shaping high-technology sectors far beyond space, one broader issue remains unresolved: do these measures truly produce the strategic results their architects expect—or do they reshape the system in ways that are more complex and less predictable than intended?

About the Author: Dayana Alagirova