Trust Me, I’m a Cartographer: Post-truth and the Problem of Acritical Cartography

Seventy years ago, Arthur H. Robinson submitted his PhD thesis at Ohio State University; a document that laid the academic foundation for his seminal contribution to cartographic theory and practice in the latter half of the twentieth century (see Tyner, 2005). Robinson’s vision was a cartographic methodology based on empirical scientific investigation rather than ‘convention and custom accompanied in many instances by absurd rationalization’ (Robinson, 1947, p. 7–8), citing for example Eckert’s (1939, p. 41) justification for using brown for contours and terrain ‘because it is the color of “freshly tilled soil in the spring”.’ Yet, however effective Robinson's criticism was at highlighting its naivety, Eckert's justification does appeal to the imagination – a function of every map.

By the time I had submitted my own PhD thesis ten years ago, Robinson's Elements of Cartography had seen its sixth (and, presumably, final) edition, the flow of cartographic communication models that had sought to improve the efficiency of information transfer had long dried up and the European topographic maps I was investigating had demonstrated the persistence of nationally specific styles of cartography (Kent, 2007). While we depend on science to provide the mathematical basis for virtually every type of mapping, the application of scientific inquiry to isolate and reduce a map's purpose according to its function cannot fully grasp the individuality afforded by cartographic expression and impression. We make and read maps in our own, new ways, whether our maps are produced corporately or individually and whether they have been derived from scientific observation and measurement or from our imagination.

In societies where satellite imagery has satisfied the appetite for a perceived ‘totality’ of geographic knowledge, maps have become valuable for understanding how the mapmaker's eye reflects the human condition and how it enriches our experience. Seeing is believing, yet there is more to the world than what we see around us; maps have been made by capturing our emotional responses (e.g. Nold, 2009) and by using our other senses (e.g. McLean, 2016), broadening the cartographic performance of space and place. Although these recent methods of mapping use technologies founded on scientific techniques, science, as an end in itself, is too limited to cope with the depth and complexity of human life or to grapple with the notions of meaning that maps provide. We seek mappings that resonate with our experience.

As an applied discipline that combines art, science and technology, cartography inevitably involves a struggle between the opposing forces of personal, subjective artistic expression and of impersonal, objective spatial communication. Perhaps every map operates a conversation between these two routes to understanding that is voiced by the technologies available. The greatest tension, however, lies between certainty and uncertainty; between knowledge and faith. Maps need both to work. We turn to maps for certainty and knowledge, yet the world is in flux and maps show us what we cannot immediately experience or verify. Maps exercise our faith by encouraging us to believe what we cannot see. But they also exercise our faith in the cartographer's commitment to communicate truthfully (whether or not this is achieved), which lends maps their authority.

What, then, can our discipline offer in a world of so-called ‘post-truth,’ the Oxford Dictionaries’ word of the year for 2016? Defined as ‘relating to or denoting circumstances in which objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion and personal belief’ (Oxford University Press, 2017), the term has been most recently associated with the political campaigns of Brexit and Trump. Being misled by politicians is hardly a new trend, but, as Marmot (2017, p. 498) notes, ‘It is not the “facts” – i.e. lies and bullshit – that are swaying opinion but opinion that is swaying how one treats the “facts”.’ The use of social media, such as Twitter, for example, enables opinions, policies (and maps) to be disseminated more quickly and more widely than ever before, without scope or time for supporting details or evidence. Indeed, such media are not ideal for argumentation, disputation, reflection or fact-checking (Peters, 2017, p. 564) and once the message has been consumed, the moment has gone and the world has moved on.

Maps are ideal for dissemination – and consumption – via social media; their graphical format provides an immediate visual summary that can stimulate as well as inform or misinform. Complex spatial patterns are communicated in an instant. If we are living in an era of post-truth, where strong opinions appear to carry more appeal than facts, particularly regarding emotive subjects, cartographers need to be more diligent and overt in defending their commitment to communicating truth. This is especially important if the only thing that matters to some mapmakers who exploit social media is whether their maps look good at showing something novel, with their approval and subsequent proliferation (e.g. via liking, sharing and retweeting) seen as a gauge of their success. Although social media can offer insights into how principles of design are discovered and utilized (Chilton and Kent, 2016), there is room in cartography for a more robust critique.

It is important to question whether a ‘post-truth society’ is any more sceptical of maps than seventy years ago, particularly as propaganda mapping remains alive and well (Kent, 2016). When Robinson was establishing his theoretical foundations for judging maps based on their efficiency of communication, he was acutely aware of the capacity for maps to inform or misinform. For example, the Zeitschrift für Geopolitik, a monthly ‘popular geopolitics’ magazine regularly used maps for propaganda purposes before and during World War Two (see Speier, 1941, cited in Robinson, 1947). Many of its simple and effective designs portrayed Germany's position as a vulnerable state under threat from its neighbours (e.g. Figure 1) and were aimed to be understood by as many people as possible. Robinson's fight against misleading maps wielded the paradigm of scientific enquiry and encouraged cartographers to develop a ‘healthy questioning attitude’ to the methods they employ (Robinson, 1947, p. 182). Nevertheless, if cartographic research is reduced to concerns over perfecting practical techniques and does not engage with the ethical considerations that underlie its core mission of communicating truth, we may as well hold up the Geopolitik maps as ideals of cartographic communication and ignore their real message.

Figure 1. Rupert von Schumacher’s Ein Kleinstaat Bedroht Deutschland (A Minor State Threatens Germany) from November, 1934

The point made by Harley (1991, p. 9), that cartography seems to be acritical of its own practices, and both their intentional and unintentional consequences, was brought into sharp focus when I chaired an opening session at the 24th International Cartographic Conference at Santiago de Chile in November 2009. One of the first questions asked, by a professional cartographer, was ‘What has critical cartography actually done for us?’ Her poignant question, it seemed, was more revealing than the answer. To practising cartographers, the importance of Harley's message – challenging a map's content and demonstrating an awareness of the choices behind cartographic selection and appearance – had simply got lost. History means interpretation (Carr, 1987, p. 23), but life goes on and maps still need to be made.

The distinction between the professional cartographer and the amateur mapmaker must involve an understanding of the ethics of cartography as well as competence in cartographic language. Attempts to establish strategies or clear codes of conduct and best practice for an era of multiplicity of mapping have been attempted (e.g. Dent et al., 2009), although, as a topic of research, professional ethics in cartography rarely seems to surface in academic debate. Gerlach (2010, p. 167) suggests a cartographic ethics whose vernacular mapping ‘performs ethically insofar as the orthodox cartographic quest for meaning and certitude is replaced by the multiplication of difference and the production-through-mapping of other worlds, of other spaces.’ Yet the search for meaning and certitude is central to the human condition and mapping surely embodies this. (What are maps if not attempts to make sense of the world and communicate this meaning to others?) Perhaps issues surrounding ethics are more difficult for cartographers to take on board because many approach their work as artists (Kent, 2013), particularly where this requires finding creative, personal design solutions. If, according to Crouch (2010, p. 85), ‘artists engage in productive tensions and work on the edge until there is a feeling of completeness,’ the optimal solution is derived from each cartographer's own perspective and through this inherent subjectivity encourages multiple solutions rather than the opposite. Cartographic language allows for different ways of expressing the same place.

The problem of acritical cartography can best be overcome by striving for more openness about how maps are constructed. This could include stating more supplementary information about source material (and/or providing links to raw data), revealing methods of data classification (e.g. on choropleth maps), and including notes to justify why particular design decisions were made. One approach for social (and digital) media might be for cartographers to record the process of their mapmaking and make this available as a video to accompany their maps. British artist David Hockney, for example, has recorded the creation of his art on iPads using the app Brushes, where the process is part of the exhibited artwork and revealing its construction – complete with corrections – allows viewers to better appreciate the finished result (Hockney, 2017).

Cartography is rooted in a pragmatism that involves the application of art, science and technology to communicate spatial relationships. Yet, cartographic theory and practice have become so disentangled that they do not inform each other as much as they should. In essence, all cartography should involve a critical assessment of its methods, and research should involve closer engagement and integration with the producers of mapping. With more power shifting to the author-as-cartographer, cartographic research agendas (e.g. Griffin et al., 2017) should incorporate a long-term view on establishing ethical principles if cartography is to evolve as a discipline. Any ethical guidelines in cartography, therefore, need to be ruthlessly pragmatic to succeed and incorporate values of accuracy, openness and creativity. The post-truth zeitgeist may not demand these ethics, but cartographers should, for once, be ahead of the curve to help preserve the future of their discipline and faith in their profession.

NOTES ON THE COVER

The cover image is derived from an eye-tracking experiment by Kristien Ooms, Lien Dupont and Lieselot Lapon to explore how people visually search for solutions on maps, as reported elsewhere in this Issue. Their experiment involved asking participants to locate Belgium using the panning operation in Google Maps (zoom level 7). The circles represent the georeferenced points of focus (fixation locations) and the duration of each fixation, as indicated by their relative sizes.

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Alexander Kent

Alex is Reader in Cartography and Geographic Information Science at Canterbury Christ Church University in the UK, where he lectures on map design, GIS, remote sensing and on European and political geography. His research explores the relationship between maps and society, and in particular, the intercultural aspects of topographic map design and the aesthetics of cartography. Alex is also the current President of the BCS and the Chair of the ICA Commission on Topographic Mapping.