by the time Stuster’s initial study began in
2003, crews had been doing stints on the
ISS since 2000. The austere conditions now
chafed. The structure was sometimes too
rigid, as the diaries noted, and the food sub-
par. But holiday celebrations, regular calls
to family, movie nights, and the daily wake/
work/ run- on- a- floating- treadmill/ sleep
routine helped boost morale.
In his 2010 report, Stuster suggested
friction- reducing tweaks like evenly
distributing tedious tasks among crew-
members, making work meaningful, and
scheduling enough time for chores. Mis-
sion Control should correct errors and
deficiencies in procedures, and give astro-
nauts as much influence as possible over
their schedules; include them in discus-
sions about whatever might affect them,
such as changes in policy; and get training
on the unique challenges of their isolation
and confinement in space.
Apparently not a lot changed, because
Stuster wrote pretty much the same thing
again in 2016, at the conclusion of his sec-
ond diary study. At least by then, praise
inflation had deflated, he noted, citing a
healthier and more mature dynamic.
Alexandra Whitmire is deputy scientist
for NASA’s human factors and behavior per-
formance research group, which oversees
the strategies the agency employs for its as-
tronauts on future missions. “We look at the
gaps between where we are and where we
need to be, and we solicit research to help
address these gaps,” Whitmire says. Her
group specifically advocated for Stuster’s
work. “He’s made a tremendous contribu-
tion.” Having concrete analyses like his,
rather than conjecture, she says, “lends
credibility to areas that we think NASA
needs to focus on.” Stuster’s studies will in-
form future efforts and strategy direction,
even if they don’t make it into operational
policies immediately.
Space missions have one distinct disad-
vantage compared to the Belgica and other
earthly expeditions: Once those bygone pi-
oneers ventured out on their own, they truly
were on their own. No one in a sooty city
could tell them how they should run their
fat-cell light source. In space, though, a ter-
restrial agency is still the boss. On a Mars
mission, the crew would be more autono-
mous because of the lag in communications
to consulting,” as they naturally
would on distant missions. That’s
good, because as Stuster has noted,
only astronauts understand what
it’s like to be astronauts.¶
Partly because of
that fundamental
limit to empa-
thy, friction will
likely always ex-
ist between the landlubbers and
the low-Earth orbiters. And that’s
not entirely bad. Getting angry
at your crewmates would make
life in the spacecraft untenable.
Sometimes it’s better to toss your
feelings downward. It’s classic
displacement, says Nick Kanas,
a University of California at San
Francisco psychiatrist who didand the inability of those on Earth
to give direct help—a difference
that could cause new issues. Still,
when you’re in orbit, it’s easy to be-
lieve that those back on land just
don’t get it. It’s like how teenagers
feel about their parents. Neither
group is really wrong.
Relations tend to be exacer-
bated by what psychologist Vadim
Gushin of the Russian Academy of
Sciences calls “psychological clos-
ing.” Sequestered in the monotony
and isolation of space, astronauts
start to limit their conversation
with the ground. While this is hap-
pening, the crew is getting better
at space life. (What does some guy
in Korolyov know about extravehic-
ular activity? Has Houston ever had
to wear goggles to change a bulb?)
Ground, Gushin suggests, “should
turn from controlling the crew NASA