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photo Cornell University
From BalticSentinel by Marek Strandberg
Imagine cutting open a globe and pressing it flat: something inevitably gets distorted.
Some maps preserve areas more accurately, others shapes or directions, but no map can preserve all three at once.
That is why Africa can look surprisingly small and Greenland enormous, even though their actual sizes tell a different story.
A map’s center, projection, and even place names are choices that shape how we perceive the world.
Is a map, then, a tool for measurement—or also, in ways we may not notice, a worldview?
A world map is never simply a miniature copy of the world.
Every map determines what sits at the center, what gets stretched out, what is pushed to the margins, and what disappears altogether.
According to Raivo Aunap, 62, an associate professor of cartography at the University of Tartu (Estonia), cartography involves science and technology, but at least as much art — and with it, the ability to shape our understanding of power, space, and ultimately ourselves.
Cartographer Raivo Aunap.FOTO: MARGUS ANSU
As African countries once again ask why the world’s most common wall maps make their continent look so much smaller than it does on a globe, the dispute may at first sound like a technical quibble.
In reality, it is largely about whose world appears large, central, and important on the map.
The Mercator projection severely distorts the relative sizes of areas at different latitudes.
Areas near the North and South Poles appear greatly enlarged, while those around the equator look comparatively small.
According to Aunap, this is hardly a new dispute.
“This battle has been going on for a long time — a search for the most accurate projection.
What is clear is that African countries are unhappy with how their relative sizes are represented on many maps.
On a globe, they generally look considerably larger.”
The Mercator projection, used here for comparison, severely distorts the relative sizes of areas at different latitudes.
Areas near the North and South Poles appear greatly enlarged, while those around the equator look comparatively small.
Greenland, for example, looks strikingly imposing on a Mercator map — roughly the same size as Africa — even though Africa’s actual land area is more than ten times larger.
Round Two of an Old Debate
The same issue gained global attention in the 1970s through the work of German historian Arno Peters.
Peters linked the proportions on conventional maps to European power and worldviews and proposed an equal-area projection now known as the Peters projection.
It preserves the relative areas of countries and continents but significantly stretches their shapes.
“We are now in the second round of this match, with an effort to make the global public more aware of the issue: please show countries’ areas in more accurate proportion,” Aunap says, summing up the debate.
A world map in the Gall-Peters projection—an image of Africa that is more “palatable” to the continent’s countries and peoples.
FOTO: KUVATÕMMIS
FOTO: KUVATÕMMIS
From a cartographer’s perspective, however, he finds the choice of audience for these demands puzzling.
Google Maps’ standard map view still uses the Mercator projection; its globe view offers a very different picture of the Earth.
“Strangely enough, the African Union did not approach major corporations such as Apple or Google to ask them to make the globe the default view.
Instead, it approached the UN and the World Bank, neither of which is directly involved in cartography,” he says.
For cartographers, he argues, this is preaching to the choir: the problem has long been understood, and various solutions already exist.
That does not mean a single click can produce the one true map.
“From a cartographer’s perspective, there is no single correct map.
What makes a projection the right one? It’s like food: you have one thing today, then something different tomorrow, somewhere else or with different people.”
A map’s purpose determines what it needs to preserve.
Some maps must preserve local angles, others areas, distances, or directions.
A map’s purpose determines what it needs to preserve.
Some maps must preserve local angles, others areas, distances, or directions.
Still others simply need to tell the story of a particular phenomenon quickly and clearly.
Preserving the areas of continents often leaves oceans stretched into unfamiliar shapes; keeping coastlines familiar distorts the relative sizes of landmasses.
Even the basic concepts behind the Mercator projection are difficult to grasp without some geometry.
“It is described as conformal, meaning it preserves angles and does not distort shapes.
So a circle should remain a circle, right? But if we draw a large circle on a globe—say, one with a radius of 5,000 kilometers—and then put it on a Mercator projection, it no longer looks like a circle.
Where is the correct shape, then? Where is the correct angle?” Aunap asks.
“The mathematics of mapping can often be rather complicated, and explaining it to the public is just as challenging.”
Who Is at the Center of the World?
A projection is more than a technical compromise; it is also a perspective.
A map can deliberately highlight connections that are not immediately apparent on a globe.
Aunap describes how a particular projection can make the world’s great mountain ranges — the Andes, the North American Cordillera, and the mountain ranges of Asia — appear to line up along a single axis.
They do not actually align that way on a globe, but this image offers a way to approach the world with a new question.
“Searching for projections and solutions like these is common: looking for a fresh perspective on the world.”
That perspective is just as evident in the choice of a world map’s center.
Maps commonly used in the United States often split Eurasia at the edges, placing the Americas in the middle.
Aunap sees nothing unusual or shameful in this.
“Putting your own country, your own territory, at the center is perfectly normal — a matter of self-respect.
Why should I use a projection centered on Europe’s prime meridian when I’m in America? That leaves me somewhere out on the edge, all twisted out of shape.
No, of course I’ll put America in the center.”
A projection is more than a technical compromise; it is also a perspective.
A map can deliberately highlight connections that are not immediately apparent on a globe.
Africa already occupies a geographically central position: both the equator and the prime meridian run through the continent.
Chinese maps, meanwhile, center on the Pacific Ocean, with China on one side and the Americas on the other.
“The Chinese look toward the Pacific.
Their world is not centered on Europe,” Aunap notes.
Geographers at the University of Tartu even have their own “Estonia-centric” projection, with Estonia at its center; the design has also become the geography department’s logo.
When mapping countries and regions, cartographers often place the central meridian through their own country to make its shape and proportions look as natural as possible.
Estonia’s national coordinate system, L-EST 97, uses 24 degrees east as its central meridian and, according to Aunap, is suitable for mapping the entire Baltic region.
“It’s a matter of choice,” he says, but adds that those choices can serve broader purposes.
“Cartography offers considerable scope for constructing imaginary systems and exerting political influence: portraying others in an unfavorable light or presenting yourself more favorably.” A map can be a peacock feather in a nation’s self-image, but also a tool for shaping perceptions of an adversary or a disputed territory.
When Maps Became State Secrets
The political significance of maps extends beyond projections.
This was particularly evident in the Soviet Union, where a map could be both a precise working tool and a source of tightly restricted knowledge.
Aunap recalls how his own interest in geography began with maps from Estonia’s prewar independence era that he received from his great-uncle.
“He gave me those old Estonian maps, which I copied onto tracing paper.
That sparked my curiosity: oh, so this is our territory, our country, our roads and villages.” During the Soviet era, however, ordinary people were often denied access to that knowledge.
“Highly accurate maps of the Soviet Union were produced.
They were topographic maps.
The trouble was that ordinary people couldn’t access them.” The public mostly saw tourist maps and other simplified maps, which had to be distorted to conceal secret facilities and, especially, precise coordinate systems.
Aunap recalls that as late as 1955, a map was published in Estonian that he considers broadly accurate.
Relatively accurate maps remained publicly available in the Soviet Union into the 1950s.
Then, with the advent of ballistic missiles, the accuracy of global coordinates became a strategic concern.
“To avoid revealing precise coordinates for any given area, they began distorting maps intended for public use.” Villages could be shifted, and ports in the Far East or along the Arctic Ocean could be shown in the wrong locations.
Even the otherwise accurate Soviet topographic maps omitted Tartu’s airfield: that information appeared on separate maps.
Relatively accurate maps remained publicly available in the Soviet Union into the 1950s.
Then, with the advent of ballistic missiles, precise global coordinates became a strategic concern.
Aunap recalls that one center of map distortion was in Riga, home to an important institution: Map Factory No.
5.
Geography students from Tartu State University also completed internships there, and the factory produced tourist maps.
Aunap cannot say whether the instructions to distort maps came from Riga or Moscow.
But he describes the technique: cartographers started with an already heavily generalized base map, often a wall map, and added details.
The aim was to make the overall picture as difficult as possible to piece together.
One solution was to publish route maps showing, for example, the road from Tallinn toward Narva and its immediate surroundings, but not the country as a whole.
Other countries also kept military facilities secret.
British mapmakers, too, had a list of sites that could not be shown, including submarine bases.
“But distorting tourist maps in this way was largely an Eastern Bloc practice,” Aunap says.
Secrecy itself, however, long predates the Cold War.
Aunap cites Egyptian burial chambers, which were concealed from ordinary people, and map censorship in the Russian Empire.
Even the atlas compiled by Count Ludwig August Mellin (1754–1835) was banned under one czar and permitted again under the next.
In times of political tension, the authorities were reluctant to give potential adversaries—Prussia, Austria-Hungary, or anyone else—too much information about the empire’s western territories.
“But generally, the aim was still to make maps as accurate as possible.”
Map sheet of Paldiski County from Ludwig August Mellin’s Atlas of Livonia (1791–1810). FOTO: WIKIMEDIA COMMONS
The inaccuracies of old maps generally reflected the limits of knowledge rather than political deception.
Early maps by Olaus Magnus (1490–1557), Gerardus Mercator (1512–1594), and Abraham Ortelius (1527–1598) show our region heavily distorted because geodetic surveying and triangulation networks were not yet sufficiently developed.
“These maps were, after all, compiled using approximate information,” Aunap says.
A Usefully Distorted Map
Distortion on a map, then, is not necessarily an error.
Medieval sailors used portolan charts, which exaggerated prominent capes, islands, and other landmarks so navigators could recognize them.
“A map has always been a practical tool,” Aunap says.
A portolan chart is a hand-drawn nautical chart originating in Southern Europe and dating from the 13th century or later.
These charts are remarkable for their detailed coastlines, which approach the level of detail found on modern maps.
The word “portolan” comes from the Italian portolano, meaning a guide or instructions for reaching ports, and the Latin portus, meaning harbor.
Originally, portolans were not maps but written accounts containing sailors’ accumulated knowledge of ports, distances, bearings, and sailing directions.
Lo compasso da navigare, dating from the mid-13th century, is the oldest known compilation of sailing directions.
Subway maps distort geography to make routes, stations, and connections easier to follow.PHOTO: SCREENSHOT
The same logic applies to modern subway maps.
Their lines generally do not reflect a city’s actual angles, distances, or even compass directions, but connections, stations, and travel options are easy to follow.
“If you plotted it on a globe at its actual scale and in the correct directions, many people might be very surprised to find that it looks nothing like that — it is, in fact, heavily distorted.” Yet it is a highly effective tool for travelers.
Roman road maps, such as the Peutinger Map, followed a similar principle.
Europe could not fit onto a papyrus scroll in its true proportions, so roads and distances between cities were compressed into a network of lines on a narrow strip.
This, Aunap suggests, offers another way to think about the saying that all roads lead to Rome: making routes easy to follow mattered more than preserving geographical shapes.
Reading a map is a skill in its own right.
Aunap has taken part in orienteering and prefers a paper map to the narrow view of a navigation app.
“With in-car navigation, you drive like a horse wearing blinders: I see only the route ahead and where I need to turn.
But a map gives me the big picture.
I can judge how far I have left to go, what’s nearby, and how far away it is.” That broader view makes it possible to choose another route, detour around dense brush, or assess what else lies ahead.
Even teaching map-reading was difficult in Soviet Estonia because good maps were unavailable.
Orienteers initially used hand-drawn maps, often based on unreliable information; later, more accurate competition maps were secretly produced from Soviet maps.
Aunap estimates that map-based orienteering probably began in Estonia in the 1950s.
To the authorities, someone moving through the forest with a map could look suspicious, especially near a border zone or missile base.
Orienteering was also presented as preparation for defending the Soviet state, under the auspices of the VTK program — an acronym meaning “Ready for Labor and Defense of the Homeland.”
Borders, Names, and Disputed Land
On a map, shapes are not the only things open to dispute; lines and names are, too.
Aunap cites the depiction of Petseri County within the borders established by the Treaty of Tartu, the territorial disputes involving China, Pakistan, and India in Kashmir, and the dispute between Japan and Russia over the Kuril Islands.
“All kinds of geopolitical spheres of influence have been drawn on maps.
It is quite common to want to demonstrate who considers a particular territory their own.”
Names raise another question: whose language and community does a map recognize? In Scandinavia, Sámi place names have gained official status.
For Estonians, Finno-Ugric place names in territories now within Russia also matter, and changes to those names through Russian usage can be painful.
For a cartographer, this is more than a spelling decision: it is a choice between making something visible and erasing it.
The same applies to the naming dispute over the Gulf of Mexico.
Aunap prefers to follow broader, long-established usage.
“If we don’t want to flatter anyone, we should show it the way the sensible international public does.
It is the Gulf of Mexico.
We have no reason to jump from one sandbox to another because of decisions made overnight.”
He is cautious when describing Google’s labeling: as he last understood it, users elsewhere in the world still saw the Gulf of Mexico under its existing name, while users in the United States saw a different one.
On the Estonian-language version of Google Maps, however, the gulf appears under both names.
Google Maps currently splits the difference: Gulf of Mexico, with Gulf of America in parentheses.FOTO: GOOGLE MAPS
Science, Art, and Attention to Detail
Mapping skills developed alongside culture and the ability to travel.
Aunap is certain that Estonia’s coastal communities knew how to navigate: Vikings from Saaremaa reached Gotland and probably Sigtuna as well.
Old words for compass directions may reflect the reference points people used to find their way.
Near the coast, it was enough to know where the land, reefs, shoals, or fishing grounds were.
Inland, ordinary people traveled less; the knowledge needed for longer journeys was held mainly by merchants and other more mobile groups.
In ancient times, military expeditions may have relied on knowledge of routes into Latvia and perhaps farther afield.
This spatial knowledge was largely topological: a road led from here to the next stronghold, and from there to another.
It was not necessarily a drawn map, but it provided a workable guide.
Today’s satellites, lidar, and digital geospatial data have made mapping almost unimaginably precise.
“The advances we are seeing now are truly phenomenal,” says Aunap, who could not have imagined anything like Google’s mapping tools when he began his university studies.
The great age of exploration — which also included the mapping of Antarctica by expeditions such as Bellingshausen’s — established the world’s basic outlines, but the journey of discovery is not over.
In Estonia, lidar maps have revealed at least one hillfort in Rapla County, Sõtke Kantsimägi; several have recently been discovered in Latvia.
The same data reveal World War II defensive trenches, bomb craters on the Pakri Islands, and Great Northern War fortifications near the Sinimäed Hills.
The abundance of maps of Earth, the Moon, Mars, and other celestial bodies does not mean there is only one way to represent reality, Aunap says.
Lidar and new layers of map data also offer evidence for those asking how to demonstrate Earth’s shape to someone who cannot see the entire planet from an airplane.
Aunap suggests that the flat-Earth idea probably began as a joke but was taken up by others, and there are still people who reject established knowledge.
In his view, cartography, exploration, and increasingly precise measurements form a vast, interconnected body of evidence.
Yet abundant data do not automatically make a good map.
Discussing a new wall map from the Estonian Land and Spatial Development Board, the interviewer noted that some newer settlements were missing and that the meanings of the county colors were unexplained.
Aunap had seen the map on social media but had not examined a physical copy in detail, so he was reluctant to offer a definitive assessment.
Still, he says, while geospatial data are now readily available and assembling a map is technically straightforward, a good result requires more.
Lidar and new layers of map data also provide evidence for those asking how to demonstrate Earth’s shape to someone who cannot see the entire planet from an airplane.
Estonia has publicly available administrative, settlement, and topographic data that can support excellent work.
“The question is simply who was given the assignment: take these administrative boundary data and make a map.
Perhaps they were in a hurry or lacked something else — time, for instance.”
Seemingly trivial mistakes can creep into mapmaking.
A cartographer may temporarily move the name of a place or body of water off to the side while working on the layout, then forget to delete it.
“We’re labeling the Gulf of Riga and then the Gulf of Finland, so we drag ‘Gulf of Riga’ off to one side in the mapping software.
But then it gets left hanging there.
Later, someone discovers that you’ve put the Gulf of Riga in the middle of Viljandi County,” Aunap says by way of illustration.
This brings him back to the essence of cartography.
“Making a proper map requires professionalism and dedication.” He puts it even more directly: “Cartography is, in part, an art.
There’s a pinch of science and technology, but certainly a great deal of art.”
Civil engineer Charles Joseph Minard’s map of Napoleon’s disastrous 1812 Russian campaign.The graphic is remarkable for displaying six types of data in two dimensions: troop strength, distance, temperature, latitude and longitude, direction of movement, and location on specific dates.
American professor of statistics and computer science Edward Tufte describes it as possibly the best statistical graphic ever drawn.
FOTO: KUVATÕMMIS
That artistry is evident in both large world maps and simplified thematic maps.
France can be represented as a hexagon, with Paris, major transportation links, and waterways added; its precise coastline is unnecessary.
What matters is clearly conveying how a territory or phenomenon works.
Aunap traces the development of thematic cartography and infographics to the 18th century, when printing and the visual presentation of numerical data began advancing rapidly.
That tradition also includes Charles Joseph Minard’s (1781–1870) famous maps of Napoleon’s Russian campaign, in which troop strength, direction of movement, and losses tell a story of both war and geography.
A map can be a precise measuring instrument, a political statement, a navigator’s tool, a military secret, or a work of art.
None of these roles is inherently wrong.
The question is whether mapmakers acknowledge their choices — and whether viewers know how to recognize them.
The world cannot be flattened without distortion.
That is precisely why we must ask whose scale and whose perspective we are using to view it.
France can be represented as a hexagon, with Paris, major transportation links, and waterways added; its precise coastline is unnecessary.
What matters is clearly conveying how a territory or phenomenon works.
Aunap traces the development of thematic cartography and infographics to the 18th century, when printing and the visual presentation of numerical data began advancing rapidly.
That tradition also includes Charles Joseph Minard’s (1781–1870) famous maps of Napoleon’s Russian campaign, in which troop strength, direction of movement, and losses tell a story of both war and geography.
A map can be a precise measuring instrument, a political statement, a navigator’s tool, a military secret, or a work of art.
None of these roles is inherently wrong.
The question is whether mapmakers acknowledge their choices — and whether viewers know how to recognize them.
The world cannot be flattened without distortion.
That is precisely why we must ask whose scale and whose perspective we are using to view it.
Eutelsat





Figure 1: Shom chart 6540 (published in 1970) and the equivalent ENC FR565400 displayed on SEAiq Pilot. (Image courtesy: Shom)