Last week, Fulbright Finland grantees were given the opportunity to go north--to Oulu, Finland--through the Fulbright Arctic Initiative. We heard about the work of grantees from eight countries who are working across disciplines--from epidemiology to biology to psychology to economics. It was inspiring to see their collaborative spirit and their efforts to find cross-border solutions to big challenges. For me, the most striking insight from the experience is also the most basic: the world looks different from an Arctic vantage point. Early in the presentations, the presenters matter-of-factly showed a map (above), in which all the familiar components (from my accustomed U.S.-centric perspective) appear jumbled. But they aren't jumbled, of course. We are just standing in a different place, centering a different perspective. Maps, like any interpretive tool, are shaped by the question you are trying to answer, and this one is asking one I hadn't really focused on before: How can we see the Arctic as an interconnected region and envision an integrated solution to its challenges? Here's a more streamlined version:
These maps imply a shared responsibility. The singing Greenpeace protesters that we ran into on the street (conducted by a polar bear) were making the same point:
After Oulu, my wife and I traveled three hours farther north, to Rovaniemi, which sits right on the Arctic Circle, the southernmost edge of Lapland.
In Rovaniemi, we went to the Arktikum, the regional museum of history and science, a visit that led to more thoughts on borders and perspectives. For me, the most striking parts of the Arktikum were about the Sámi, the indigenous people of Northern Finland. Many Sámi still engage in reindeer herding, a traditional economy that is complicated by tourism and questions of land access. The exhibit showed that these issues themselves have a history, one shaped by efforts to make the shifting lines on the map tangible. "Border blocks" were set up between Finland and Norway in 1852 and between Finland and Sweden in 1889. These caused the Sámi to alter their traditional way of following the herds. The next big historical shift is one that resonates with contemporary U.S. debates. In the 1950s a fence was built between Finland and Norway. This fence, the exhibit says, "finished all-year herding as unnecessary" (unnecessary or impossible, the exhibit doesn't clarify). As a result, Sámi "families moved from huts to houses."
For me, these geopolitical and economic issues came to life most powerfully through a personal profile. The Arktikum exhibit spotlights the story of Hetta, who was interviewed at age 19 in 1991 and then again at age 30 and age 40. The nature-loving boy becomes a professional guide who introduces his reindeer-herding culture to tourists. But not all of it. Hetta is ambivalent about sharing his culture. "I have it in my blood that I should not take tourists anywhere near the reindeer," he says. He mostly leads them to overlooks where they can see the herds from a distance. At age 40 he reflects, "I kind of want to press being Sami inside of me and not blaze it too much."
Maps can show you a new way of looking at the world. Human stories show you why it matters.
