We see new pictures of Mars and Jupiter all the time, but it’s easy to forget what goes into each image. Most of the photos you see online are actually mosaics built from many smaller images. Behind each lies a vast record — thousands of data points, mission metadata, camera settings, and decades of notes. These aren’t just pretty pictures; they’re the evidence base for science, showing how far we’ve come in exploring our solar system.
But where does all this data live? How do researchers access it?
The answer isn’t as simple as visiting NASA.com. Much of our space exploration history exists on magnetic tape, 70mm film, or in binders with handwritten labels. The digital files available today exist because dedicated professionals spent years transferring, scanning, and organizing them. Even with new digital data constantly arriving, someone must validate, store, and maintain accessibility. This work never ends.
In the late 1970s and ’80s, NASA recognized this challenge and created the Regional Planetary Image Facility (RPIF) network — a coordinated program across multiple universities serving as nodes to provide access to mission images and relevant expertise in using them. Among others, Cornell’s Spacecraft Planetary Imaging Facility (SPIF) and the University of Arizona’s Space Imagery Center Houston’s Lunar and Planetary Institute helped form this essential infrastructure.
The system was elegantly simple: When a researcher needed images of Jupiter from a specific date range, RPIF staff would locate, stage, and deliver the complete dataset. If data existed only on legacy media, they would retrieve and convert it. The goal, successfully accomplished, was less time hunting, and more time researching.
Consider a recent case at Cornell’s SPIF. An undergraduate student wanted to work with Moon Knowledge Acquired by Middle school students (MoonKAM) data from NASA’s GRAIL mission — a small educational camera project run by UC San Diego — in Spring 2025. But years after the mission ended, the website links were broken. Unlike many assume, the data wasn’t stored on NASA servers. UC San Diego held it all, and with the passage of time it had become effectively “lost” — existing somewhere but unfindable and unreadable.
Instead of spending weeks in digital rabbit holes, the student contacted Cornell’s still-active RPIF. Staff tracked down the material, recovered what was missing, and converted it into modern, readable formats. The student could then focus on research rather than data archaeology. This happens regularly, and RPIF does more than just space missions — the program is meant to be a space and planetary data archive not just for NASA but research, like the Library of Alexandra, then offer educational tools to use said data
Unfortunately, NASA ended dedicated RPIF support, forcing this national program to fragment into separate local operations. While many RPIF nodes continue their missions, they now operate on individual budgets and uncertain timelines, vulnerable to the same type of funding concerns they once avoided.
This shift has serious consequences. Without central coordination, we lose shared planning, steady staffing, and coordinated digitization efforts. Coverage becomes uneven; staffing grows fragile. When key staff leave, we lose not just employees but a piece of the institutional memory that makes old data usable. Outreach programs shrink, K–12 workshops halt, and the public loses direct access to mission experts.
Mission readiness also suffers — every new mission builds on earlier work. Landing sites are selected by comparing new images to historical maps. Instrument designs improve by studying past performance. Without accessible archives and knowledgeable staff, we’re flying blind.
This shouldn’t be partisan; it is fundamental scientific infrastructure. When politics determines whether we preserve or discard our exploration record, we harm students, hinder research, and waste billions of dollars in past investments.
The fix is simple and cost-effective: resecure stable funding for core RPIF nodes to ensure that staff, equipment, and outreach don’t operate on a grant-by-grant basis. NASA should reestablish a small, dedicated RPIF program with an explicit budget line in Planetary Science data management. Congress should support this with a named appropriation. The cost — miniscule in proportion to a mission’s budget — would yield enormous returns in preservation, research, training, and public engagement.
Space exploration is a relay race, not a solo sprint. The baton is the scientific record. If we let RPIF sites fail because national support is cut, we drop that baton between generations. Every lost dataset represents experiments that can’t be verified, discoveries that can’t be validated, and knowledge that can’t be transmitted.
Students deserve access to the full history of planetary exploration. Researchers need complete datasets to make new discoveries. The public has a right to see what their tax dollars achieved. Teachers need real mission materials to inspire the next generation of explorers.
Call your representatives. Ask them to restore stable funding for the RPIF network and direct NASA to keep archival work and outreach in scope. Visit and use these facilities. Cite them in publications. Create demand that demonstrates need.
This is about keeping a promise — that the story of how humanity explored the solar system remains accessible to everyone. Keep the facilities open. Keep the staff. Keep the data available. That’s how we honor the science we’ve already paid for, and make the next discoveries possible.
