AP® English Language and Composition Free-Response Questions Past Paper 2025 Solution

For decades, humanity has looked to the stars with ambition, launching thousands of satellites that now form the backbone of our global communication, navigation, and scientific understanding. Yet this progress has come at a price, cluttering Earth's orbit with a vast and growing field of "space junk." This debris, ranging from defunct satellites to minuscule paint flecks, travels at hypersonic speeds, posing a significant threat to future space exploration and our critical orbital infrastructure. While the challenge of cleaning up this celestial junkyard is daunting, any effective strategy must look beyond mere removal. When dealing with the problem of space debris, the most important factors for space agencies and nations to consider are establishing a clear international legal framework to ensure accountability and prioritizing preventative design for all future launches, as these address the root causes of the crisis rather than merely treating its symptoms.

First and foremost, the international community must address the glaring lack of legal accountability that allows the problem of space debris to worsen. The existing legal structure, largely rooted in Cold War-era treaties like the 1967 Outer Space Treaty, is woefully inadequate for the modern space age (Source C). These treaties, signed when space was the domain of only two superpowers, fail to address liability for debris or establish clear rules for its removal. As space industry expert Luca Rossettini notes, this legal ambiguity creates political "criticalities," such as the inability of a European mission to remove an Indian satellite without permission, even if it poses a threat (Source D). This legal paralysis ensures that defunct objects remain in orbit indefinitely. The historical case of the Soviet Kosmos 954 satellite, which scattered radioactive debris across Canada in 1977, resulted in a negotiated settlement for only a fraction of the cleanup cost, highlighting the weakness of current accountability mechanisms (Source C). Without a modernized international law that clearly assigns liability for debris and creates a legal process for its removal, nations and private companies will continue to operate without sufficient incentive to act responsibly, rendering any technological solution politically unworkable.

Complementing a new legal framework, the most practical and sustainable factor to consider is an unwavering focus on prevention. Rather than pouring endless resources into the Sisyphean task of cleaning an ever-expanding field of junk, nations must mandate that all new launches incorporate "end-of-life" planning. Rossettini forcefully argues that "prevention is the first action to be put in place," advocating for systems that ensure satellites can be disposed of safely (Source D). This approach is already being implemented on a small scale, as described by NOAA, with operators maneuvering retired satellites to either burn up in the atmosphere or crash safely into the most remote part of the Pacific Ocean, known as Point Nemo (Source E). This preventative mindset directly tackles the source of the problem. Given the exponential growth in satellite launches, particularly from the commercial sector (Source B), a strategy focused solely on cleanup is economically and logistically doomed. As experts note, even removing ten large satellites a year is insufficient when hundreds more are launched (Source D). Therefore, a global commitment to preventative design is not just a pragmatic consideration but the only viable long-term strategy.

Of course, the threat posed by existing debris cannot be ignored. With thousands of defunct objects already in orbit, particularly from decades of launches by the United States and the former Soviet Union (Source F), the risk of catastrophic collisions is real and growing. The near-miss involving the Suomi NPP satellite, which had to conduct a risky maneuver to avoid a piece of debris traveling at a combined speed of 35,000 mph, underscores the immediate danger to our vital satellite infrastructure (Source E). This reality necessitates research into Active Debris Removal (ADR) technologies. However, these cleanup missions must be viewed as a secondary, remedial measure, not the primary solution. The sheer cost and complexity of ADR mean it can only target a fraction of the existing junk. The "worst-case scenario," known as the Kessler Effect, in which cascading collisions create so much debris that space becomes inaccessible, can only be truly averted by stopping the flow of new junk at its source (Source C). Thus, while cleanup is a necessary factor to consider, it must be pursued in tandem with, and as a supplement to, the far more critical factors of legal accountability and prevention.

Ultimately, the challenge of space debris is a classic "tragedy of the commons" played out in the final frontier. To secure the future of space exploration and preserve the orbital environment for generations to come, nations and space agencies must shift their focus from reactive cleanup to proactive responsibility. By first establishing robust international laws and then mandating preventative measures for all new spacecraft, the global community can begin to rein in this growing threat. Only on this foundation of accountability and prevention can any effort to clean the skies have a meaningful and lasting impact.

In the American imagination, the figure of the "Indian" is often relegated to a dusty, romanticized past—a feature of Thanksgiving pageants and Western films, but rarely a tangible presence in the nation's contemporary life. In the introduction to his nonfiction book Rez Life, David Treuer, a member of the Leech Lake Band of Ojibwe, confronts this national blind spot directly. His central argument is a profound paradox: that while Native Americans and their communities are foundational to the very fabric of the United States, they remain almost completely invisible to the mainstream. To develop this complex argument, Treuer employs a carefully crafted structure that moves the reader from the overlooked to the undeniable, utilizes striking juxtapositions to reframe the meaning of "American," and leverages his personal ethos to challenge his audience's comfortable ignorance.

Treuer begins by masterfully manipulating structure and pacing to mirror the very act of forgetting he seeks to critique. He opens not with a grand statement, but with the mundane image of a road sign: "WELCOME TO THE LEECH LAKE INDIAN RESERVATION." He immediately notes that for the average driver, "the sign is soon behind you and soon forgotten," a subtle but powerful metaphor for the marginalization of Native life. He then uses contrast to unsettle the reader's perception, observing that while the "landscape is unchanged," the people and even the cars are "different," creating a sense of a world that is both part of and separate from the America just across the sign's border. This initial section, with its slow, observational tone, skillfully establishes the invisibility of reservation life. By forcing the reader to pause and consider the easily dismissed sign, Treuer makes them complicit in the act of overlooking, thereby setting the stage for his more forceful claims about Native significance.

Having established Native invisibility, Treuer then pivots to dismantle it through a powerful series of allusions and juxtapositions that redefine what it means to be "American." He boldly claims that Native Americans "are as American as apple pie, baseball, and muscle cars," but then immediately elevates their status: "Unlike apple pie, however, Indians contributed to the birth of America itself." This rhetorical move reframes Native identity not as a quirky piece of Americana but as a cornerstone of the nation's existence. He substantiates this claim with a barrage of surprising and specific examples that shatter stereotypes. He points to the Oneida feeding troops at Valley Forge, the Iroquois Confederacy as a model for the Constitution, the Seminole tribe owning the Hard Rock Café franchise, and Native soldiers serving disproportionately in America's modern wars. By weaving Native contributions into the nation's founding myths, its capitalist ventures, and its contemporary military conflicts, Treuer forcefully argues that Native Americans are not historical artifacts but active, essential participants in every facet of American life, making their invisibility all the more egregious.

Throughout the passage, Treuer leverages his unique ethos as both an academic researcher and an insider to the community he describes, allowing him to speak with a blend of authority and intimacy. As a member of the Leech Lake Band, his use of the first-person plural—"those of us who live on them," "it is pretty easy to avoid us"—transforms the passage from a detached analysis into a personal testimony. This establishes a powerful connection with the reader, making his critique feel less like an accusation and more like a candid conversation. This ethos gives him the standing to make his final, poignant point: "Despite how involved in America's business Indians have been, most people will go a lifetime without ever knowing an Indian." Coming after he has so thoroughly demonstrated that involvement, this statement lands with quiet force, turning the reader's potential ignorance from a simple lack of knowledge into a conscious act of avoidance. It is a powerful rhetorical conclusion that leaves the reader to grapple with the dissonance between the America they think they know and the one Treuer has revealed.

In essence, David Treuer's rhetorical strategy is a journey of revelation. He begins with a sign that is seen but not comprehended, and through meticulous layering of contrast, evidence, and personal voice, he imbues that sign with profound meaning. He challenges the reader to look past the "ramshackle" houses and see a people whose contributions are monumental, whose presence is ubiquitous, and whose history is inextricably linked with the "story that America tells itself." Through his deliberate rhetorical choices, Treuer argues not only for the recognition of Native contributions but for a fundamental re-evaluation of America's very identity.

In our hyper-connected, future-obsessed world, the human mind is often a time traveler, perpetually caught between ruminating on past regrets and anxiously anticipating future challenges. We scroll through memories on social media while planning our next career move, often allowing the present moment—the only one we truly possess—to slip by unnoticed. It is in this context that professional tennis player and mental health advocate Naomi Osaka offers a powerful directive: "to try to be present in each moment...prioritizing trying to live in the moment and enjoy the journey." This philosophy, rooted in the ancient wisdom of mindfulness, is a vital antidote to the anxieties of modern life. While Osaka's claim about embracing the present is profoundly valid and essential for achieving both mental well-being and peak performance, its value is not absolute; a fulfilling and successful life requires a delicate balance between savoring the journey and strategically planning for the destination.

To a great extent, the validity of Osaka's claim is powerfully affirmed by its alignment with core principles of psychological health. A constant fixation on future outcomes—a promotion, a graduation, a relationship—is a well-known recipe for chronic anxiety, while an obsession with past failures can lead to depression. The practice of mindfulness, a cornerstone of many modern therapeutic approaches, is essentially the practice of being present. It encourages individuals to observe their thoughts and sensations without judgment, grounding them in the reality of the here and now. For someone in a high-pressure profession like Osaka, where every point is scrutinized and the weight of expectation is immense, the ability to let go of the last point and not worry about the final score is a crucial survival skill. By focusing on the rhythm of her breathing or the feel of the racquet in her hand, she can quiet the external and internal noise, a practice that benefits not just elite athletes but anyone navigating the stresses of daily life.

Furthermore, embracing the present moment is not just a defensive strategy for mental health; it is the key to unlocking peak performance. In any field that requires immense skill and concentration, from surgery to musical performance to coding, excellence is achieved in a state of deep presence often described as "flow." When a musician is lost in a complex symphony, they are not consciously thinking about the next thousand notes; they are entirely absorbed in the sound and feel of the music as it unfolds. To "lose sight of how far you've come," as Osaka puts it, can be a strategic advantage, freeing the performer from the weight of past successes or failures and allowing them to execute their craft with instinct and grace. Dwelling on the possibility of a mistake is the surest way to make one. Thus, living in the moment becomes the very mechanism through which one's long journey of practice and preparation is translated into a masterful performance.

However, a philosophy of pure present-moment focus, if interpreted as a rejection of all future planning and past reflection, is ultimately untenable. While enjoying the journey is crucial, human progress, both individual and collective, is built on the ability to learn from the past and strive for a better future. Consider the challenge of achieving financial security. A person who only "lives in the moment" may spend their entire paycheck on immediate pleasures, but they will never save for a down payment on a house or build a retirement fund. These goals require delayed gratification—a conscious decision in the present to serve a future self. Similarly, societal progress is fueled by a dissatisfaction with the present. The Civil Rights Movement was not about "enjoying the journey" through a segregated America; it was a decades-long struggle animated by the memory of past injustices and a powerful vision for a more equitable future. To ignore the past is to erase the lessons it teaches, and to ignore the future is to abdicate our responsibility to shape it.

Ultimately, the wisdom in Naomi Osaka's claim lies not in a radical call to abandon all planning, but in its potent reminder to find value in the process itself. Her advice is most valid as a corrective to our cultural tendency to see the present merely as a stepping stone to a future that may never arrive as we imagine it. A truly well-lived life is not a choice between the journey and the destination but an integration of the two. It requires the ability to plan for the future without letting anxiety about it corrupt the present, and the ability to enjoy the present without becoming so complacent that we cease to grow. Embracing the moment is the art of being fully engaged in the work, the relationship, or the simple act of being, all while holding a gentle awareness of where we have been and where we hope to go.