Maps are not descriptions of the world. They are arguments about it. Every map makes choices — about what to include and what to omit, what to place at the centre and what to push to the periphery, what scale to use and how to represent the third dimension of elevation on a flat surface. The cartographic tradition has given us conventions that feel so natural as to seem inevitable: north at the top, the Greenwich meridian as zero longitude, the Mercator projection that distorts the relative size of landmasses to preserve the angles useful for navigation. None of these is neutral. Each encodes a set of priorities that emerged from a specific historical context — European maritime expansion, the need to navigate by compass bearing, the politics of the prime meridian.
The Mercator projection, still the most widely used map in classrooms, represents Greenland as roughly the same size as Africa. In reality, Africa is approximately fourteen times larger. The projection's distortion is not a mistake. It was designed for a purpose it fulfils well: preserving compass bearings for navigation. But in contexts where the purpose is to communicate relative size and importance, it systematically misrepresents the world in ways that have cultural and political consequences.
The emergence of digital mapping has not resolved this problem — it has intensified it. The map has become the territory: the route recommended by a navigation application, optimised for speed, is experienced as the road itself, not as one possible route among many. The algorithmic map has inherited the assumptions of the paper map while adding new ones of its own.