Valerie Tobias
Julia Richards.
Our guide for the Valentines-themed presentation at Memorial High School’s planetarium had some polished one-liners, but there was one thing he said that pierced, and broke, my heart. It came when he was showing us all the satellites that litter the night sky, a trend accelerated dramatically by Starlink. He explained that satellites, especially as they run into each other and break into smaller and more pieces, reflect some sunlight back towards Earth, contributing to the lightening of the night sky. The presenter then told this audience of families with young children that if the number of satellites continues to increase at its current rate, and the trends in nighttime lighting continue, by the year 2060 the night sky could be so bleached out that no stars at all will remain visible to the naked eye. It was one of the most devastating things I have ever heard.
No scenes in movies of a couple lying back on the hood of a car, gazing up, making wishes on a “falling star.” No seeing the wonder of the Milky Way or even the familiar friend of Orion. No visual sense that our lives that seem so important to us actually only constitute a tiny fraction of a speck in the known universe.
And this could happen within my lifetime. Definitely within my son’s lifetime. First, of course, in cities, but eventually even in remote areas.
The presenter pivoted from this bombshell to a call to action. We could all be more aware of the lights we use at night, and advocate for policies that prevent light pollution, like pointing night lighting downward and tinting it red to interfere less with night vision. Sure, I can become a dark sky warrior, I thought, write letters to the editor, tell everyone I know…but what about the satellites? Turning off floodlights at night won’t do anything about all the satellites being sent into space and then running into each other in a cascading chain of space junk.
A quote from Julia Richard's essay.
In case you don’t already know, Elon Musk owns Starlink. How enraging that a billionaire can take actions affecting the entire planet. As I tried to scheme how the other 8 billion of us could stop the destruction caused by one man’s ambition, I realized I might have a difficult case to make among the younger generations increasingly glued to the phones that rely on those satellites.
The internet is so central to our lives now, and Starlink satellites have brought vital connections to rural areas. They kept Ukraine connected when Russia knocked out its infrastructure. If given the choice between connectivity and a less washed-out nighttime sky, how many would give up the global communication and instant knowledge we have grown accustomed to, and choose the stars?
I wondered if my 11-year-old son’s generation would even understand the tragedy of a starless sky. Our phone’s camera is already more acute than the naked eye. When the aurora borealis graced us with a rare appearance over Madison last summer, people pointed their phones at the display because their camera lenses were able to pick up more of the colors. Phone apps can already identify planets and constellations when pointed at the sky. What if young people find greater value in this enhanced view than they do in the real thing? Especially if the real thing is increasingly muted?
In a few decades maybe most people will be content to just point their phones up at a celestial sphere the color of muddy water and look at an image of what would be visible if we could turn off the lights and clear away the satellites serving that phone.
I wonder how those people will view me, by then an old woman, talking about how “back when I was young” I could pick out the Seven Sisters of the Pleiades with my own eyes. Will they be envious? Or will they chuckle at my quaintness, while showing me all the facts and enhanced views of the Pleiades they can pull up on their phones?
More and more of our lives are being conducted through screens. Banking, work, even relationships. With AI becoming capable of taking over more functions, that trend seems likely to continue.
This is the world my son is growing up in. After our planetarium visit I felt an urgency to take him outside to look at the night sky as often as possible, especially when we can get away from the city lights. I want him to understand how precious that view is. To understand what he stands to lose.
I already spend more time than I want staring at a screen. I don’t know if I am swimming pointlessly upstream in wanting more experiences and interactions to be unmitigated by screens. But it is what my body and soul yearn for. So I am vowing this month to put down my phone, drag my son away from his video game console, and go outside to watch the Perseids rain down. While we still can.
Julia Richards writes about environmental issues. She lives in Madison. Photo by Valerie Tobias.
