Green Light. On a Mission.
- Jul 28, 2025
- 2 min read
Updated: Feb 9
A few years ago, I worked on a Baltic Sea mission within a public organisation. It gave me insight into how environmental efforts unfold within the EU — the policies, regulatory frameworks, and institutional systems behind large-scale change. It was valuable experience and continues to inform how I approach my work — through a systemic lens.
During this work, I began to notice a pattern. The Baltic Sea was often discussed in technical terms and data — nutrient loads, pollution levels, sustainability indicators. What I rarely heard was the lived experience, and the broader context of what these changes mean for the millions of people living along its shores.
Perhaps that is one reason why, for many, it feels difficult to relate. As one person put it: “I don’t see it (the sea) present in my life. Perhaps that’s why it feels difficult to truly relate to.” That sentence stayed with me. It revealed something important — care exists, but connection is weak.
At the same time, I noticed something else. Knowledge about the Baltic Sea is often siloed. Researchers work within research communities. Policymakers operate within institutional frameworks. Communities hold experiential knowledge grounded in everyday life. These forms of knowledge exist alongside one another, but interaction between them is not always built into the structure. The challenge is fragmentation between knowledge systems, and between the sea and people’s lives.
This is where Green Light begins as an interdisciplinary project for knowledge exchange across the Baltic Sea.
Why Green Light?
While researching the challenges facing the Baltic Sea, I began speaking with people whose lives are, in one way or another, connected to it. One of these conversations was with a physicist who came from a long line of fisherman in Kurland, the coastal region of Latvia by the Baltic Sea. For generations, his family had worked as fishers. He chose a different path and became a scientist. But he carried something with him. At one point in our conversation, he mentioned zaļais stars — the green ray. I asked what it meant. He explained that fishers used to look for a rare natural phenomenon at the horizon, known in English as the green flash. When they saw it, they believed it will be a good catch. What he took from that tradition was this— he said he always looks for the green light in others.
That stayed with me.
The more I spoke with people across disciplines and regions, the more I noticed how deeply the sea was present in their lives — sometimes visibly, sometimes quietly. We simply need to learn to see it again. The green light became, for me, a symbol of meaning, interconnection, and hope.
Before any mission can begin, we must listen for its deeper purpose. For the Baltic Sea, that purpose reaches beyond protection, toward connection across countries and people.
I also started documenting my journey. Here I am meeting people form a local fishermen community culture center. What they shared? Well, that’s a material for at least 2 episodes. But the knowingness what this sea means for me and you, it's there.
