The political map of the world has never been universally accepted: it not only visualizes global structures but also reflects the official viewpoint—one might even say the political philosophy—of the country in which it was created, writes Valdai Club Programme Director Anton Bespalov.
For fifteen years until its collapse, the Soviet Union regularly published a popular science series titled At the Political Map of the World. Issued monthly, these brochures examined current events in specific countries or regions and offered historical context. They served as an excellent companion to the world map itself, which, amid ongoing decolonization, was updated almost annually. Attention was also paid to long-established countries, both near and far. Soviet citizens had many opportunities to deepen their knowledge of political geography.
This legacy may explain why stories about cartographic blunders in US media remain so popular in post-Soviet Russia. The widespread availability of basic geographic knowledge fuels demand for such content. In this respect, Russia aligns more closely with other European countries, where geography instruction remains at a high level, and stands in contrast to the New World.
Yet even in countries with a strong geographical culture, something remains hidden from view. The political map of the world has never been universally accepted: it not only visualizes global structures but also reflects the official viewpoint—one might even say the political philosophy—of the country in which it was created. This manifests on several levels. The most basic is map centring. Western and Russian maps typically place the “global axis” through Europe, often along the prime meridian, though in post-war Soviet and contemporary Russian cartography, the Moscow meridian has been used. Maps published in the United States sometimes centre the axis on America, splitting Eurasia in two, while Chinese maps are generally centred on the Pacific Ocean.
But the depiction of national borders carries even greater political resonance. While map centring offers different perspectives on geographic reality, the drawing of borders often bears no relation to it. The first post-war generation of West German schoolchildren grew up with maps showing Germany within its 1937 borders. In West German publications, the GDR was labelled a “Soviet occupation zone,” and East Prussia as “currently under Soviet/Polish administration.” During the Cold War, American maps noted that the United States did not recognize the incorporation of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania into the USSR, yet still depicted the Baltic republics as part of the Soviet Union. For eighty years, Indian maps have shown the entire former princely state of Jammu and Kashmir as part of India, while Pakistani maps claim it as their own. On the Kashmir issue, Soviet cartographers came closer to ground reality, showing the 1949 demarcation line, but at the same time, Korea remained formally unified on Soviet maps until diplomatic relations between Moscow and Seoul were established in 1990. Countries that do not recognize Israel instead show Palestine. The list goes on.
In October 2010, a group of Nicaraguan military personnel landed on Costa Rica’s Calero Island and began dredging the San Juan River. According to the Nicaraguan commander, he acted based on Google Maps data. The media even dubbed the ensuing diplomatic conflict “The First Google Maps War,” but it fortunately did not escalate into war, and the dispute was resolved in court (in Costa Rica’s favour). After this and several other incidents, the US-based company changed its approach to depicting borders. Recognizing their explosive nature and facing the demands of national laws, it abandoned the idea of a “single map for everyone” and adopted a localization strategy. In disputed cases, Google Maps can now show multiple border options or use dotted lines. The same applies to place names: in 2025, Google quickly reacted to President Trump’s executive order, renaming the Gulf of Mexico to the Gulf of America—for US users.
This localization policy has proven an elegant solution, allowing the company to largely avoid conflicts with the authorities of countries where it operates, though it does not always prevent scandals. Russia’s Yandex has taken a similar approach, displaying international borders for users from different countries in accordance with national legislation—until the summer of 2022. Regulatory and sanctions risks then forced Yandex to stop displaying borders, both state borders and first-order administrative divisions. Officially, this decision was presented as a “shift in focus to natural features.” Other Russian online map services—2GIS and VK Maps—have followed Yandex’s example, though the latter still shows regional borders.
While American companies have adopted a localized approach to borders, and Russian ones—playing it safe—display no borders at all, Asian companies strictly adhere to their governments’ policies. South Korea’s Naver Maps, for instance, not only depicts the Liancourt Rocks (claimed by Japan) as territory of the Republic of Korea but also, driven by patriotic considerations, posts unique content such as underwater photographs. However, Naver, like its competitor Kakao Maps, lacks global coverage, limiting it to Northeast Asia. That coverage is provided by the Chinese map service Baidu, which displays a “ten‑dash line” in the South China Sea for users worldwide and draws the border with India in line with Beijing’s official position. Moreover, Baidu’s map not only fails to reflect the results of the 2005 demarcation of the Russian‑Chinese border but also draws the Russian‑Japanese maritime border north of Iturup Island, labelling the Southern Kuril Islands as “Russian‑occupied” (俄占). This state of affairs is explained by citing a document adopted in 1989 that governs depiction of state borders and has remained unchanged since. Apparently, this argument suits the Russian side: China has repeatedly stated that all border disputes with Russia have been resolved and that discrepancies between maps and ground reality are a technical issue, not a political one.
In any case, users of the Chinese service can see their country’s borders (even if outdated), while their Russian users cannot. Such demand clearly exists, and given the importance of online maps as a source of cartographic information, Russian companies’ attempt to remain “apolitical” raises questions. Users are already solving this themselves by creating custom map layers on top of Yandex—for military analytics or genealogy. Adding a built‑in feature to Russian online maps that allows for a “borders” layer—perhaps with an option to select a historical period—would be a step in the right direction.
