I’m not sure whether the Artemis II mission is something to feel hopeful about, or whether, in the current climate, it feels like something else entirely.

At a time of widespread hardship, driven in part by decisions made far above the people living with them, the optics are difficult to ignore. A return to the Moon might be framed as progress, but it can also read as distance between those making the decisions and those dealing with the consequences.

What exactly are we going back for? Is this about laying the groundwork for future missions, or is it a demonstration of capability, a way of proving that the ambition is still there?

NASA describes Artemis II as a “critical crewed flight test” that bridges the gap between uncrewed missions and future lunar landings. There is a case for that. Space exploration has historically driven innovation, from satellite technology to medical imaging, and has created industries that extend far beyond the launchpad.

But that logic is also circular. We go because we plan to go further.

The Artemis programme is expected to cost tens of billions of dollars over its lifetime. That scale of investment reflects the priorities of one of the world’s wealthiest nations. For many Americans, the reality looks very different. Healthcare remains tied to employment, stable income is far from guaranteed, and time off is often treated as a luxury rather than a right.

The resources required for a single launch are immense. The energy consumed and emissions produced in minutes are significant, at a time when climate targets are already slipping. These are not abstract trade-offs. They sit alongside missed appointments, delayed care, and increasing reliance on food banks.

That tension sits at the heart of this. Space exploration has long been sold as a symbol of collective progress. Right now, it risks feeling detached from the reality on Earth.

Returning to the Moon may represent ambition. It is far less clear that it represents progress for the people who need it most.