One giant step for…? The moon landing and its legacy for geography?

For people of my generation, the 1960s were a decade of dramatic change. Our teenage years seemed to coincide with some of the most dramatic and significant shifts in recent world history: the Kennedy assassination; the Civil Rights movement in the USA; the Irish ‘Troubles’ in the United Kingdom; Woodstock. After the tumult that had enveloped the world over ten short years, it was, in some ways, comforting to see the decade end in a global event that inspired hope, and not fear: the First Landing on the Moon on July 20th, 1969.

For Geography and geography educators, that one event can be seen as the starting point of a new age in which digital technology was to transform geographical ideas and scope. As Gillian Kidman pointed out in her IRGEE editorial in the previous issue (Kidman & Chang, 2019), technology has influenced all aspects of geographical research, from the creation of maps to their analysis. She also highlighted that geography educators need to keep in mind that technology does not replace the need for basic spatial skills, such as map literacy. However, the Moon Landing, along with all the technology that has emerged from that dramatic shift in space exploration, also marked a tipping point for Geography that can be seen as lessening the place of geographical education in schools.

As a discipline, Geography has always been associated strongly with the idea and actuality of exploration. As an unavoidable child of the former British Empire in the 1950s and 1960s, my own Sri Lankan heritage was subsumed in books and films that celebrated the Boys’ Own exploits of (invariably male) heroes of 19th and 20th Century exploration, from David Livingstone and Richard Burton and their obsession with the perceived mystery of Africa, to the stoic heroism of Scott and (often grudgingly, since he was not British and had beaten Scott to the South Pole), other explorers such as Roald Amundsen.

What was also part of the legend created around these giants of British-led exploration and ‘discovery' (pleasingly enough, perhaps, I did not ever accept the imperial mantra that Europeans were the first to ‘know’ an area) was their association with the Royal Geographical Society (RGS) in London, which not only helped to sponsor their various expeditions, but also acted as the focal point for the dissemination of their exploits and learnings. One often dreamed of being in their shoes, coming back from years away to deliver an oversubscribed lecture at the RGS headquarters in Kensington. But it was the stories about other places that seized my imagination, along with seeing the maps that the explorers had created and how they matched (or did not match) the cartography of today.

A similar childhood (and adult) passion for the American West was guided by a parallel immersion in the exploration of the North American continent. The word ‘geography’, and the role of the American Geographical Society seemed to spring out everywhere, and once again, maps of places were the key. I took great joy (and still do) in comparing views of the same area from the perspectives of different groups: the First Nations peoples, the European colonisers, and even the European painters, whose visual interpretations and translations of the geographic landscapes were so far removed from the reality. Geography, as a discipline of interest, was driven by this search for visual and spatial knowledge.

For all these reasons, the iconic First Landing on the Moon on July 20th, 1969, held a similar and singular fascination for people of my generation. Space was the ‘final frontier’; it was no accident that the Star Trek science-fiction phenomenon originated in the mid-1960s. Except for, perhaps, Antarctica and parts of the Amazon, human exploration of the Earth’s surface had been largely completed. It was the first time that we were able to experience, albeit vicariously, the wonder and awe that geographical knowledge of the first order can engender. As vague as that grainy black and white footage was, it was more powerful than any other media image of the 1960s could be…

And yet, looking back, I now believe that the moon landing marked the beginning of the decline of Geography as a relevant, powerful global discipline, especially for the younger generations. It has become a symbol of disciplinary decline that fills me full of contradictory emotions.

Such a statement will, no doubt, be startling to many and even heretical. They will point to the perceived regeneration of Geography that emerged from the science of the space program. The computing power of the Apollo 11 mission was less than that of a modern smart mobile (cell) phone, but it is from that technology and exploration endeavour that we now have an extensive system of orbiting satellites that enable the global positioning system (GPS), which means that any location on the planet can be identified in an instant. It is that system that has revolutionised the lives of people in more ways than the mere locational; the fact that we can now navigate by our mobile phones and have electronic maps in our cars and aeroplanes is but the tip of the proverbial iceberg. GPS technology is now used in everything from the more geographically obvious (the mapping of archaeological data) to the less visible. How many people would be aware, for instance, that the precision robotic systems used to build anything from cars to furniture essentially use a sophisticated GPS technology to function?

Educationally, as Gillian highlighted in her editorial, that same technology is now being used to ‘revolutionise’ geographical learning. Students are being taught how to use the technology to create or produce maps more easily, with some educators arguing that it enables teachers to focus on the ‘more important’ aspects of Geography; that is, the analysis of the data represented on maps and in other ways. This, it is argued, is the more important side of the discipline and the one that is more relevant to the contemporary world.

But that, I suggest, is not the point. As powerful and awe-inspiring as the moon landing was, its ultimate impact geographically has been to take away the mystery of exploration of our planet. There is something visceral about the connection between what I would call ‘real geography’ in the world of existence; the essential connection that we, as geographical educators, acknowledge in the argument for fieldwork as a central part of geographical inquiry. Technology, however, enables us to view and interpret a landscape, whether natural or human, without ever being there, without ever experiencing it skin to skin, eye to eye, senses to senses, the reality of being in a place. It has taken away the joy of unknown expectation, especially when exploring somewhere new.

As Gillian describes in her editorial, we see people walking around a city staring at the Google Maps screen, rather than trusting their instincts and truly exploring. That sense of wonder, of discovering something fresh in a place, is the fundamental attraction of geography; without an interest in what is there, you cannot ask someone to try and understand why it is there. Nothing can replace an investigation that is physical and tactile. At one stage, the use of satellite imagery and aerial photography was a supplement or precursor to field study, providing information that could not be seen from the ground in terms of location, distribution and association. Unfortunately, technology is now being used as a substitute for the physicality of what geographical study should be, not as an adjunct.

Educationally, many might argue that technology allows students to study areas and learn about places that they do not have physical access to, and there is some truth to that particular context. But it should never replace, and cannot be a substitute for, the connection between humans and the landscape in situ. I have always considered the argument that spatial technology enables geographers in schools to focus on data analysis to be an aberration, one that seems to completely overlook the veracity that spatial technology, and all the apps that go along with it, require geographical understanding to create and understand it in the first place. App designers cannot create digital geographical activities if they do not know and understand the purpose of maps and the variety of ways in which they function. We do not ask a non-pilot to create a simulation that tests a person's ability to fly a jet airliner; instead, the process requires an experienced aviator, admittedly almost certainly working with a programmer, to produce something that is worthwhile, realistic and workable.

The creation of maps, in all their various forms and purposes, is the fundament of an understanding of a place; it is not an optional extra. Technology that helps students draw and create their own maps – and I’m thinking here of the advances in tablet and stylus technology that have now emerged – have far more potential in geographical education than the facility of being able to zoom in on a place using Google Earth. It is up to the teacher to create an interesting and relevant environment in which to use the former; the latter is more bells and whistles that can be used as a carrot for further learning, but it does not replace geographical scholarship. It is pertinent that a search of ‘classroom technology’ in past issues of IRGEE produces articles that tend to be limited to considerations of the use of technology in the specifics of field learning and environmental issues (e.g. Collins & Mitchell, 2018). To me, this is a sign that there needs to be more specific research into what the use of technology in school geography education actually does achieve geographically as a general approach: is it an opening into a new world of unknown dimensions, or a thief of the very lens and skills that give geographers their unique edge?

All of which diminishes my long-term joy about the anniversary of that ‘giant leap’ 50 years ago: it was the beginning of human adventure beyond our current existence to the possibility of other planets, but it was also the beginning of a decline in the possible ecstasy of any geographical discovery on our own planet.

Niranjan Casinader
http://orcid.org/0000-0002-4889-8927
[email protected]