Opinion: NASA was America’s crown jewel. After the Columbia disaster it was never quite the same

Editor’s Note: Douglas Brinkley is the Katherine Tsanoff Brown Chair in Humanities and Professor of History at Rice University. He is the author of “American Moonshot: John F. Kennedy and the Great Space Race.” The CNN Original Series “Space Shuttle Columbia: The Final Flight” uncovers the events that ultimately led to disaster. The four-part documentary premieres 9 p.m. ET/PT Sunday. The opinions expressed in this commentary are solely those of the author. View more opinion on CNN.

Around the start of this century, the world counted only two major players in manned space exploration: The National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) and Roscosmos, the Russian Space Agency. Ten years later, the heavens were crowded by comparison, with a number of private companies vying to restart the space race with Russia. Internationally, China had regular manned missions and the United Arab Emirates, Japan and the European nations were drawing close to success.

The turning point between the two eras was an unforeseeable tragedy: the disintegration of the Columbia space shuttle on February 1, 2003. It occurred almost exactly 17 years after a previous shuttle, the Challenger, burned just after lift-off.

That 1986 disaster had resulted in a towering wave of public anger at NASA, mainly because top officials had been advised very specifically to scrub the launch. Simply put, the weather was too cold for the equipment. The intrepid American space program survived the Challenger horror, but NASA’s self-doubt never subsided. Not even two decades later, after the Columbia exploded during re-entry, the two deadly failures broke the faith that many among the American people had in NASA.

Seven astronauts were onboard the Columbia for its 16-day mission, primarily to perform scientific experiments. The launch in mid-January had been uneventful – except for one thing. The team assigned to review video of the voyage noticed what seemed to be a loose piece of the protective foam layer insulating the shuttle’s external tank. Soon thereafter a chunk of foam about as big as a briefcase dislodged and struck the front of the left wing. The analysis of the malfunction was communicated to others at NASA, but the problem was considered minor.

Shuttles were invariably damaged during missions. It was only to be expected. “There’s this term in NASA called accepted risk,” explained Nancy Currie-Gregg, who flew four shuttle missions, the last in 2002, “There is no such thing as zero-risk space flight, but how do you decide how much risk is acceptable?”

Because other shuttle missions had returned safely with “shredded” surface tiles – and because the stalwart Columbia had brought astronauts home from 27 previous flights – many NASA officials were lulled into complacency. They went so far as to assure the pilot and commander via email that “there is no concern … We have seen the same phenomenon on several other flights and there is absolutely no concern for entry.”

NASA officials also decided against enlisting spy satellite photography to examine the shuttle damage more thoroughly. If they had, it’s possible that the astronauts could have repaired the spaceplane or at least abandoned it for refuge on the International Space Station. Instead, as the Columbia made its descent from space, superheated atmospheric gases entered through the gaping hole left by the dislodged chunk of foam. The structure was compromised and the shuttle broke apart in midair. Wreckage spread over Texas and Louisiana.

In the wake of the disaster, NASA Administrator Sean O’Keefe said in a statement, “This is indeed a tragic day for the NASA family, for the families of the astronauts who flew on STS-107, and likewise is tragic for the Nation.”

As the Columbia Accident Investigation Board (CAIB) noted in its final report, “the NASA organizational culture had as much to do with this accident as the foam.” All of NASA’s launches were suspended for two years. While the shuttles eventually flew again, post-Columbia, the program was stunted and curtailed.

But as NASA floundered, Elon Musk’s upstart SpaceX scheduled its own launches. Musk’s undertaking initially proved just how hard rocket science is, though his company finally found success in 2008  with its reusable Falcon Heavy rocket. The billionaire’s club was usurping NASA in space. At about the same time, Jeff Bezos’ Blue Origin was developing rockets aimed mainly at suborbital flight. United Launch Alliance brought two legacy aerospace companies together, Boeing and Lockheed Martin, in a concerted effort to develop and launch massive rockets. All four companies are thriving today in the space industry.

Virgin Galactic, an American company operated by Sir Richard Branson, is dedicated to space tourism rather than exploration. Likewise, Axiom Space was founded in 2016 to establish a space station for adventurers. And now, SpaceX has set its sight on returning humans to the moon.

Space entrepreneurs were themselves launched into action, driven by the chance to make money during NASA’s lull after the demise of the Columbia. NASA, far from feeling threatened, has encouraged many of the private companies with massive contracts. The agency already had a long history of dealing with sub-contractors, using its pocketbook to steer aerospace development; that tradition has adjusted seamlessly to the current space economy.

Whether the rapacious current era in space will be propelled by the idealism of President John F. Kennedy’s American Moonshot is an uncertain question. Certainly, the seven astronauts doing round-the-clock experiments in physics on the Columbia had, just as JFK hoped, “set sail on this new sea because there is new knowledge to be gained, and new rights to be won, and they must be won and used for the progress of all people.”