Wasting and wanting: An extractive supply chain approach to outer space geographies

Introduction

This article examines the material relations through which contemporary human engagements with outer space are being produced. It grounds activities directed toward ‘the final frontier’ in extractive supply chains and related circuits of accumulation and dispossession on Earth. Studying the “production of space” (Lefebvre, 1991) on Earth in the name of outer space pursuits can clarify the conditions through which human engagements with, and imaginaries of, outer space are being (re)configured and contested. Building on earlier work to better theorize outer space geographies (Beery, 2011; Dickens and Ormrod, 2007; Dunnett et al., 2017; Klinger, 2017; Macdonald, 2007; Messeri, 2016; Olson, 2018), the crux of the argument is that the utterly Earthly geographies of extractive supply chains—namely mines, discarded commodities, wasted landscapes, embodied pollutant burdens—are also outer space geographies.

The dynamism of these geographies is driven by waste-making: a spatial practice of enclosure, production, consumption, discard, and abandonment. The practice of discarding useful materials in the face of persistent deprivation, ongoing demand, and projected future scarcity perpetuates the need to figure out how to source new material inputs from somewhere else. Perhaps the most extreme manifestation of this is the drive to enclose and exploit mineral resources in outer space and in other extreme frontiers such as the ocean floor. This drive is fueled by climate crisis narratives (Deberdt and Le Billon, 2023), but industrial interests and material output tend to be captured by military-industrial interests in the immediate term (see, e.g. Barron, 2024). The costs of digging up new sources and finding places to dump discarded materials remain, as a trick of accounting within growth-oriented development doctrines fueled by engineered obsolescence, cheaper than repair and reuse. But waste-making is more than an engine that drives extractive consumerism with the enticement of glittery objects and the freedom from reparative obligations. Waste-making is constitutive of a set of contemporary space activities, and shapes the manner in which the immensity of the cosmos is understood and engaged by diverse publics.

This argument is informed by a pivotal moment ¹ in mid-2021, in which two billionaire pretend astronauts ² (BPAs) engaged in a peculiar kind of space race ³ within the broader context of various campaigns to enclose key areas of outer space—such as orbital space, the Moon, and near-Earth planets—thereby expropriating the global majority of their treaty-protected right to the peaceful use of outer space as the collectively governed “province of all [hu]mankind” (UN, 1967). The sub-orbital flights of Richard Branson and Jeff Bezos coincided with wildfires, chemical spills, floods, and millions of coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19) deaths in under-resourced hospitals. In the US, families grappled with desperate hunger while millions of tonnes of fresh food, including live animals, were destroyed or discarded (Yaffe-Bellany and Corkery, 2020). Around the world, governments mobilized various temporary relief measures to households and businesses, some of which were captured by the BPA firms. Amid considerable controversy, this enhanced the conditions for the BPAs, each arguably a scion of supply chain capitalism (Tsing, 2009), to further increase their fortunes (Agrawal, 2022; Evelyn, 2020; Lalljee, 2021; Powley and Smyth, 2020; Sirota and Grim, 2021; Toh, 2020). The longer-term practices through which the BPAs accumulated capital—wage suppression, union-busting, and the capture of government subsidies for the provision of dubious public goods while ordinary citizens faced hunger, eviction, and deepening debt (Beery, 2012; CWU, 2016; Fernández Campbell, 2019; Liptak and Thrush, 2021; Reich, 2021; Williams, 2017)—shows that the enabling conditions of the BPA space race were co-emergent with rather than exceptional from globalized conditions of “enforced precarity and state-induced dispossession” (Malhotra, 2022: 169). To be more precise: enforced precarity, state-induced dispossession, and environmental injustice are also the conditions through which contemporary human engagements with, and imaginaries of, outer space are being forged. These conditions are productive for supply chain capitalism (Sevilla-Buitrago, 2015; Tsing, 2009), to the point that such processes enabled (among many other things) the emergence of multiple BPAs to reenact dramas of conquering the final frontier. ⁴

It is important to note that the majority of space-related activities taking place globally are to advance scientific research and socioeconomic development objectives (Oniosun and Klinger, 2022; SIA, 2021). We differentiate the BPA flights from the majority of global space activities and critique them as a particularly stark example of the politics of sacrifice that need to be centered in debates concerning the present and future of human engagements with outer space. ⁵ This is significant because the emergence and antics of BPAs are far from inevitable, and the debate over the terms of human engagement with outer space is far from settled. In complement to Bennett’s call (2022: 185) for “attend[ing] to issues both digital and material, and both on- and off-world,” and Tutton’s (2022: 24) reflection on “the unbearable lightness of billionaires in space,” the co-emergence of multiple socioenvironmental crises with BPA sub-orbital flights prompted us to interrogate the sociospatial practices through which such a coincidence is possible, which drew our attention to the convergence of supply chain geographies and outer space geographies. This argument is therefore not against space exploration per se, nor is it (yet another) profile of BPAs. Rather, it is an argument against the transformation of preventable socioenvironmental catastrophes on Earth into the mere means ⁶ through which a few individuals are empowered to shape the terms of human engagement with outer space.

Taking these concurrent events and crises as a starting point, this article theorizes and spatializes waste-making as the transformation of preventable socioenvironmental catastrophe into mere means. It develops this concept through a discussion of mines and electronic waste (e-waste) to explore how space hardware materially emerges from (and returns to) extractive supply chains. Although there are many types of sites that comprise both supply chain geographies and outer space geographies, focusing on sites that represent the beginnings and ends of extractive supply chains allows us to consider how supply chain geographies and outer space geographies are drawn together through different waste-making practices. This argument reconceptualizes supply chain geographies as outer space geographies and is based on our broader research on mining and extractive supply chains for technology-critical metals and materials (Burrington, 2024; Klinger, 2017; Klinger and Richaud, 2025), anti-colonial approaches to museum mineralogical collections (Armstrong and Oromeng, 2024), launch site development politics (Klinger et al., 2023), imaginaries of buying and selling objects related to outer space (Armstrong and Bimm, 2023, Armstrong, 2022), and environmental geopolitics of outer space (Klinger, 2021). Supply chains are fundamentally place-based, which means they are local, measurable, and contestable. Although the geographic scope of the argument is immense, these sites are linked through the discreet material flows and power relations in which the hardware of space infrastructure is enmeshed, and of which it is comprised.

The article proceeds as follows. A literature review outlines the conceptual architecture linking waste-making to the final frontier via a brief literature review that situates frontiers, supply chains, and discard studies in relation to outer space. The following section conceptualizes and spatializes frontier and waste-making processes on Earth and in space by examining them in relation to mines and e-waste to position extractive supply chain geographies as outer space geographies. The final section aims to think beyond crisis as mere means. It reflexively examines the potential epistemic violence of using BPA flights and waste-making as spatial analytics; so-called wastelands and frontiers have complex lives that predate and follow their rendering as such.

Literature Review: Extraction and waste-making as outer space geographies

Engaging with the final frontier—and tackling the various crises noted in the introduction—requires technological hardware, and the need for more hardware is used to justify the expansion of extractive frontiers (Fortier et al., 2018; Srivastava and Kumar, 2022). Viewed in this light, supply chain geographies serve as the connective tissue between Earth-bound commodity frontiers (Moore, 2016) and extraglobal spaces (Klinger, 2017). Studies of mineral and metal supply chains emphasize the subterranean; space-related supply chains are oriented toward the orbital and beyond. Because both rely on complex vertical and horizontal networks of physical infrastructure, signal traffic, capital flows, and (re)productive labor regimes, they should not be conceived of as contrasting—a hole in the ground vs. a thing in the sky—for the simple fact that an anthropogenic object in space often begins as matter wrested from a hole in the ground. Lepawsky (2016: §3) has usefully theorized how discard beyond Earth is characterized as “patchy, distributed, and noncoherent partial and situated groupings” of materials out of place in Earth’s orbit to the outer planets. However, redirecting the discard gaze back to the terrestrial origins of such objects, not simply the end products’ discard, gives us a different purchase on waste-making in outer space: indeed, to understand waste-making as a core process of the production of outer space geographies. This reframing rejects the distracting exceptionalism of outer space, exemplified by BPA spectacles, that calls our attention ever skyward, up and away from the geographies of terrestrial social and environmental violence.

The frontier signifier does important ideological work in drawing attention up (or out) and away, both spatially and temporally. It functions through enlisting and simultaneously obscuring an array of material and ideological processes to do the dirty work of (often violently) imposing an (often impoverished) imagined geography on a real place (Klinger, 2017). Reducing the awesomeness of the cosmos to ‘the final frontier’ is perhaps the most obvious example. Instead, our focus on the ‘dirty work,’ which is to say, the ‘waste-making,’ is an effort to sidestep and situate the dazzling fetishizations of: the frontier metaphor, the Anglophone billionaire antics, and space-related activities that provide cover for a host of dispersed spatial processes that are fundamentally violent, far from inevitable, and enacted in banal form through the logistical networks of supply chains. Drawing in the vibrant debate in critical supply chain geographies and their kindred concepts of global value chains (Baglioni and Campling, 2017), global production networks (Coe and Hess, 2013), commodity chains (Bair and Werner, 2011; Selwyn, 2012), and labor chains (Barrientos, 2013) embeds space-related activities in their constitutive Earthly entanglements and also expands and sharpens the framework in which labor, environmental, and political dimensions of supply chains are conceived. Supply chains are characterized by multivalent forms of waste-making from which space activities are not exempt.

Waste-making is a precursor, outcome, and driver of frontier expansionism, and it is enacted upon places, objects, peoples, and modes of being through the physical acts of discard, theft, and destruction as well as through digital acts of surveillance, data harvesting and manipulation ⁷ (Bennett, 2022; Zuboff, 2019). Theorizing the capitalist transformation of nature, and especially lands held in common, into terra economica, Goldstein (2013: 358) writes of such spaces recast as “a landscape of wasted potential, in which all of the world is potentially, or not yet capital; the production of this enclosed nature entails a violence of erasure, forever supplementing capital’s expanded accumulation.” Or, to adapt the words of Brenner and Katsikis’s (2021) theorization of hinterlands in relation to the urban, waste-making comprises the “preconditions and consequences” of frontier expansionism. No matter where a specific frontier is imagined to reside—the west of this or that continent, the ocean floor, the Amazon rainforest, outer space—building integrative physical, digital, and institutional infrastructures from ‘here’ to ‘there’ depends on laying waste to specific landscapes and lives, and to recasting new places as wastelands stripped of other values, meanings, and possibilities to set them up for extractivist enclosure, destruction, and abandonment.

This can take many forms. There is the spatial, which is to say, the territorial dimension of waste-making in the act of enclosure and the designation of land as wasteland (Baka, 2017; Harms and Baird, 2014; Williams, 1970) which can occur on the terrestrial surface, as well as within and across subterranean, atmospheric, and off-Earth spaces. And there is the mobile object form, comprised of elements mined from the Earth’s crust and transformed via human labor that get caught up in these processes in which a thing that circulates sheds other designators and signifiers and ceases to move through the world as anything other than ‘waste.’ With this we are referring not only to the discarded commodity, which is, as Marx (1990) noted, a fetishized object that obscures all labor relations, but also to other mobile objects such as asteroids that are stripped of other meanings and possibilities except for what their pulverized form might fetch on the market (Jones, 2021; Kargel, 1994). Both terms—waste and frontiers—reveal more about the social systems that homogenize landscapes, lives, and matter into fungible and waste-able objects than about the places, people, or objects themselves. To interpellate a frontier or to shed objects as waste can be acts of power as well as a consequence of behaviors coerced from those whose livelihoods have been conscripted by waste-making social systems.

Hence the importance of avoiding the fetishization of waste (Gille, 2007), frontiers (Steiner, 1995), or indeed, the ‘final frontier’ (Billings, 1997). The field of discard studies has transformed the way scholars think about waste: instead of centering the material flows, it instead examines “how some materials, practices, regions, and people are valued or devalued, becoming dominant or disposable” (Liboiron and Lepawsky, 2022: 3). Liboiron and Lepawsky use ‘discard’ instead of ‘waste’ to open up questions about “what makes waste seem established or categorized,” (p. 118), asking “what must be discarded for this or that system to be created and to carry on?” (p. 3). This foregrounds the structural forces that drive destruction associated with waste, wasting, and wastefulness, making visible their roles in ongoing regimes of domination and accumulation. We wish to emphasize the ideological practices involved in the transformation of place into waste (or its receptacle), alongside the territorial work done by the invocation of the frontier metaphor because we find them mutually illuminating. The territorial practice of discard invokes an ‘away’ (Lindner and Meissner, 2016; Reno, 2016), a place into which waste can be thrown and forgotten about until its felt effects intrude on everyday life and provoke a set of embodied and emotional reactions that translate into political action (Bennett and Emery, 2023; Bondi et al., 2006; Sultana, 2015). Analogously, the frontier signifier orients us toward another kind of ‘away’, toward distant places in time and space, most generally toward a vision of one possible future presented as the future. The frontier invocation and the practice of discard are both acts of spatiotemporal evasion away from the here and now: discard enacts the desire to evade reparative obligations. Discard is also used to curate scarcity and sustain demand for material throughput. This sustains massive systems of extraction and waste-making because meeting demand for material throughput requires the ongoing transformation of places into extractive frontiers.

This temporal trick of recasting the present as a not-yet-realized potentiality launders crises that demand redress and change in the here and now—such as displacement, pollution, preventable death, unchecked greenhouse gas emissions—into embryonic elements of an unborn future, thereby transforming the crises and the people harmed by them into mere means that will ultimately serve to justify the eventual glorious ends projected by propagators of the frontier imaginary. In this way, the frontier imaginary asserts an often unstated but presumed “claim to exclusive possession of the right to dictate temporality,” which, as Wander (2021: 64) notes in relation to late 19th-century US literature, “turn[s] the representation of white settler death into a source of (white) settler futurity” (p. 43). Although Wander was analyzing late 19th-century literature, the observation holds under the historical moment that provoked the analysis presented in this article, wherein BPA ventures could take place even amidst the profound disruptions caused by pandemics and climate disasters.

We wish to build on the clarifying work of Liboiron and Lepawsky’s disaggregation of waste and material flows by putting them back together through attention to the relations among sites drawn together in mining, space, and waste frontiers. Linking this work to supply chain studies, which focus on the distribution of increasingly fragmented labor across global logistical networks, our aim is to examine a key but often mystified motive force in frontier-making and conquering. This is, at its most basic, an imperative to sustain material throughput, which assumes different forms in different places. Waste-making renders a person, place, or object into fodder for this material throughput in order to serve an array of territorial and accumulationist agendas. Waste is made through practice in place, even if that practice is contamination and abandonment of places, and especially if that practice is the destruction of collectively-held meanings of place. That destruction inheres in frontier processes is well-established: the frontier is an apocalypse (Horne, 2020), a site of racialized ‘regeneration’ through social and environmental violence (Slotkin, 2000), where the fictions of non-local powers are violently imposed (Tsing, 2005), often in the name of improvement, development, or progress (Escobar, 2011; Li, 2007). Places are renamed as frontiers in order to draw their natural resources and labor into expanding regimes of capital accumulation in order to (attempt to) elude ecological crises elsewhere (Moore, 2016; Watts, 2019). Despite relentless critique and contestation, both the frontier imaginary and the apparent ease of discard possess an enduring appeal, which is the spatial imaginary that most of these processes might occur ‘away’ from ‘here’. As Gidwani and Reddy (2011: 1625) write in relation to urban waste in India:

‘waste’ begins as civil society's literal and figurative frontier only to become its internal and mobile limit in the contemporary era—a renewing source of jeopardy to urban life and economy, but also, in the banal violence and ironies of fin de millennium urbanism, a fiercely contested frontier of surplus value production.

It is not yet possible to know, from the perspective of the mine, which metals are destined for space and which are destined for terrestrial infrastructures and consumer markets, but considering space hardware within these broader flows should serve to temper the exceptionalism with which space-related activities are often portrayed and refocus our analysis toward material practices on Earth in order to more rigorously apprehend how earth and space are co-produced socionatures (Beery, 2011). When spectacular phenomena are reconceptualized as material and rooted to specific places, they can then be examined, measured, deliberated, contested, and transformed. We contribute to this through a discussion of how outer space and extractive supply chain geographies entangle in mines and electronic waste. Outer space geographies are also geographies of dispossession in the name of mining and pollution. Outer space geographies include the strata of contaminants that accumulate in top soils and underwater sediments from industrial operations, electronic waste decay, and launch emissions (Bolan et al., 2021; Marion et al., 1989; Verta et al., 1989).

Entangled sites: Extractive supply chain geographies as outer space geographies

The constitutive material processes of evolving human relationships to outer space have Earthly geographies rooted in mines and sustained by supply chains which are driven by waste-making. In one sense, this is straightforward: shiny rockets, intricate satellites, and potent fuels are made of materials that must first be extracted from the Earth. It follows, then, that the labor, logistical, and infrastructural processes involved in transforming extracted materials into rockets, satellites, and fuels are part of human engagements with outer space. This is what employing the logic of a supply chain approach aims to make clear. But the point is not to traffick in illusions of optimization by drawing a straight line from a mine to a rocket, which might suggest a specialized supply chain that isolates space-related activities from the rest of the global political economy. Instead, our aim is to do the opposite: to conceptualize how the material practices of exploring the final frontier rely on the metastasis of extractive frontiers. This reveals the opposite of what is commonly claimed by space-mining boosters, namely that exploiting other celestial bodies will reduce demand on Earth’s resources, at least for the foreseeable future. More fundamentally, this embeds space activities in complex webs of socioecological life, which binds space activities to broader fates as well as site-specific politics on Earth.

Following Siddiqi (2019: 175–176), we use ‘site’ as a heuristic tool to break open the notion that space activities are exceptional from broader circuits of accumulation and dispossession. Siddiqi explains: “Site can be a spatial concept, a laboratory, a facility, a network, a nation-state, or an international society …” clarifying: “the actual choice of how one defines a site for study is itself a political act, since that process, by definition, leaves out some things and includes others.” (Siddiqi, A. Personal Correspondence. 26 February 2023). In short, a site can be anything, but definition matters: our point is that the material and metabolic geographies of, say, a launch site do not stop at the perimeter fence. We share Siddiqi’s concern that confining the site of space activities to the launch complex itself can obscure more than it clarifies—particularly geographies of extraction, labor, pollution, and waste—but differ insofar as we do not see this more expansive use of ‘site’ as transcending or collapsing geographic contours of space sites. Rather, this approach re-spatializes our conceptions of the constitutive sites of outer space geographies to include the discontinuities of Earthly supply chains, akin to Hecht’s (2011) archipelagos or Grewal and Kaplan’s (1994) scattered hegemonies. To these already rich conceptualizations of sites, we would further add that site can also refer to a mobile object, such as a piece of e-waste, or a spent rocket component crashing down to Earth. While broadening the definition, we are not decoupling sites and places. Rather, we understand these mobile objects as accretions of sites, processes, and (re)productive labor relations. Like other sites, they are subject to contestation: in themselves, and at each step of the transmogrification of their component parts, extracted and assembled across multiple supply chains.

Waste-making occurs throughout the entire system of relations linking subterranean and extraterrestrial geographies, encompassing places we can touch and places we can only see via the interpretation of signal traffic. The ability to see is itself fraught. Both scientific wonder and acquisitive appetite are entangled in the acts of rendering into visual format places that elude direct human sight, such as the Earth’s crust or the (sub)surface of other celestial bodies (Braun, 2000; Messeri, 2017; Vertesi, 2012). As the physical characteristics and composition of celestial bodies are progressively identified through scientific practice, extractive accumulationist ambitions leverage this information to devalue celestial bodies into potential assets to be pulverized into commodities. This is an unoriginal extension of a territorial practice that is prevalent in mining and critiqued in political geology (Bobbette and Donovan, 2018; Moore, 2000); similar territorial processes are at work in lands slated for waste dumps (Dunajeva and Kostka, 2022; Heiman, 1996) as well as launch sites and other forms of space infrastructure (Chinigó and Walker, 2020; Gorman, 2007; Kahanamoku et al., 2020; Sammler and Lynch, 2021). Thus, the space engagements critiqued here are not unique in mobilizing waste-making practices. Rather, they are emergent from and coextensive with extractive supply chains mobilized in the interest of accumulation first and foremost. To demonstrate these relationships, this section examines the beginnings and ends of extractive supply chains—mines and electronic waste—each of which displays a different facet of the waste-making processes that comprise contemporary space geographies.

Critical reflexivity on spectacles and waste-making: Beyond crisis as mere means

The BPA spectacles were a useful point of departure for reconceptualizing extractive, industrial, and waste geographies as space geographies in two ways. First, to highlight their contingency despite disproportionate media coverage: the BPA space race is not the space race, but rather a space race of a particularly narrow sort confined to an even narrower subset of the Anglophone billionaire capitalist class. The specific events in 2021 overshadowed a much more varied and dynamic global context of space activities and collaborations, one indication of which is the fact that at least 106 national governments were at the time investing in space-related activities in line with national socioeconomic development and security concerns (SIA, 2021). Second, the historical moment in which the BPA spaceflights occurred highlighted the staggering waste generated by extractive and industrial supply chains, especially in times of crisis. This shed light on the conditions under which contemporary forms of human engagement, and public imaginaries of outer space, are being produced. The emergence of BPAs, who built their fortunes on supply chain capitalism, highlights how socioecological crisis can be transformed into mere means for a particularly narrow set of space ambitions. In this sense, dismissing the BPA race as a minor, if over-represented, aspect of the vibrant diversity of space-related activities taking place globally risks further mystifying how it co-emerged with inequalities amplified by COVID-19, climate crises, and new varieties of fascism. In other words, dismissing the spectacle as either exceptional or trivial risks overlooking how processes of disimagination with respect to human engagements with outer space rely on the collective disempowerment resulting from multiple forms of waste-making.

Waste-making, like frontierism, utterly transforms places but also does not endure forever. For example, a former mining site would seem to be a quintessential wasteland. These exhausted frontiers are the places abandoned by extractive interests called away by the movement of capital, the vicissitudes of the market, the power of local resistance, and the shifting ambitions of territorial control. Abandonment is what enables the thrill of conquest. Without the option of abandonment, one remains tethered in place, ever accountable, ever invested, forced to reckon with unglamorous details and complicated consequences. An abandonment ethos forgets that frontiers—even mining and waste frontiers—are reparable and recursive, doubling back and morphing as technology and cultures change. The waste-making processes of large-scale mining and e-waste processing do not create a wasteland in actual fact. What is left behind as waste are millions of tonnes of disturbed and perhaps chemical-soaked earth, rich in many other minerals besides the limited set extracted by previous business interests. From these residues, new plants and new forms of social relations may one day grow again (Hood, 2023), fraught but alive. Toxic industrial sites become meadows, fields, public parks, and real estate developments (Altman, 2014; Dillon, 2015). Local laborers build lives and multigenerational ties to specific places (Perales, 2010). Tailings from old mines can become new sources of other minerals (Chen and Graedel, 2015). Fences and warning signs do not deter wandering humans, plants, animals, and insects (Hoag et al., 2018).

In the BPA-centric extractivist move to the cosmos, Earth has been reimagined as a place that can and must be left behind, like an old mine, a toxic waste dump, or a park enclosed for elite enjoyment. But also, like the abandoned mine, the Earth will not be depleted or poisoned beyond all possibility of life. Humans and other creatures are practiced at living among abandoned, disturbed, and cordoned off spaces, making livelihoods among the waste (Deryabina et al., 2015; Irazábal et al., 2020). Environmental justice scholarship shows, in manifold ways, how one person’s wasteland is another’s home (Kojola and Pellow, 2020). People defend their homes with the means they have available, even if it entails compromises that ultimately undermine community health and well-being. The many diverse local and global movements against waste-making in all its forms demand, among other things, figuring out not only how to live amidst the ruins (Tsing, 2015) created by a waste-making political economy but also how to engage in repair. This is a decisively anti-frontier move that involves reckoning with the consequences and causes of waste-making instead of attempting to flee, outsource, or externalize its effects. From this daunting task, the frontier offers the promise of escape for both victim and perpetrator alike because the frontier imaginary believes there will always be new places to explore, new ‘untouched’ lands to claim for oneself, new opportunities for pleasure and accumulation, ‘out there,’ anywhere other than ‘here.’ It beckons to those who celebrate waste-making, those who are barely surviving it and wish to escape, and those who are resigned to its slow violence. This illustrates the ideological power of the frontier as a vector for competing desires, as well as its inseparability from waste-making processes.

If it is possible to perform the feat of rendering the immensity of the cosmos and magnificent Earthly landscapes into frontiers and wastelands, it is also possible to engage in the perhaps simpler task of rethinking dominant relationships to waste and space to interdict the waste-making of the present. Perhaps that begins by broadening the frame of space geographies to overlap with more familiar domains of labor and environmental justice work to build transformative solidarities along the supply chain, while also reconceptualizing localized waste-making practices—and counter-movements—as co-constituted with outer space geographies.