Queer on a Quest: On visibility, travel, and human compassion

I didn’t go looking for danger; I went looking for people. I went knowing the warnings, carrying them lightly, aware of the risks without letting them write the entire story for me. What I found wasn’t recklessness on my part or a denial of reality, but something far more common: people who were willing to meet me where I stood, openly and with respect.

In the markets and mosques, on ferries, and in winding back streets, I met people whose lives had nothing to do with my fears. And in those ordinary crossings, I learned how rarely decency announces itself loudly, and how it often simply shows up unexpectedly.

North Korea

In the DPRK, the structure of life is what one would notice first. Everything feels arranged, and held in place with rules and culture. These rules are rarely talked about but very much understood by the North Korean people. The land, however, refuses to cooperate. Mountains rise as they will, and beautiful rivers (much like the Daedong River I was to be running alongside in the upcoming days) bend and move as they please. Structure bows to the will of nature.

I’ve been twice to the beautiful Hermit Kingdom, and the first time was for the Pyongyang Half Marathon. I ran the second year the marathon was offered to foreigners and probably the first time in its history that North Korea allowed access to as many tourists as were running in this event. I was very happy to count myself as one of them. It was here that I met Mr. Park. I’ve written about Mr. Park before as this was one of those stories that truly changed who I was and how I see the world.

The conversation with Mr. Park started after I finished my first half marathon ever, so needless to say I had very little energy to entertain small talk. However, when Mr. Park started to engage me with questions about my life, I couldn’t resist talking about myself. I mean, it’s my favorite topic. It was there when he asked if I had a wife or a girlfriend. I did do a little research before coming to this country, as most queer travellers are used to doing when going to a country where our sexuality could be, shall we say, a hindrance. I was told by the tour company I chose to go with, Koryo Tours (look them up, by the way), and their response shocked me. They said it was perfectly fine to be openly gay in North Korea, but all North Koreans believed that that was a Western ideal and did not exist within the country. Okay, so I wasn’t in any danger for outing myself. To my dismay, however, when I showed Mr. Park a photo of my then-boyfriend, his response was less than friendly. ‘I don’t like that,’ he said and proceeded to ignore me for the rest of the day. Rude, but not the first time. It wasn’t until the next morning at breakfast that Mr. Park pulled me aside, like aside aside though, he fully pulled me out of the breakfast room and down the hall to a very private part of the hotel. Confused and very concerned, I went with him, not at all sure what was happening. Mr. Park then turned to me and asked, ‘Do you love your boyfriend, Mark?’ to which I could only squeak a nervous response of ‘Yes.’ Assuming I was about to be deported or something, his face melted to a smile and he clapped my shoulder and said, ‘Then that’s okay, that’s okay then.’ After I finally exhaled from what seemed like forever, my heart melted. I can only assume he went home and had a think about it. Instead of continuing to judge or believing what he was told, he really thought about it and decided that as long as it was a loving relationship, he could totally be on board. For the entire rest of the trip, we were buddies. I think about the experience so often, as that was the first time I learned that government, politics, and travel warnings are not always a reflection of what you will find in the streets. Much like Mount Ryongak and all the peaks that choose to defiantly stand up around the city center of Pyongyang, Mr. Park chose to use his own self-determination and decide that he and I could be friends. Obviously, I haven’t heard from him again, although I did make inquiries the second time I was there. He’s doing well and back at his desk job. It still does my heart good to know I had a friend who chose love over rules and kindness over program.

Afghanistan

After North Korea, I assumed these same rules would apply to Afghanistan: the same reserve, the same careful distance. Instead, I found myself standing in Kabul, dressed in my club naughties, a glass of vodka sweating in my hand, quietly asking myself how another trip built around warnings had led me here. North Korea offered acceptance via a contained, singular experience given out by one Mr. Park. In Kabul, it was everywhere, layered, overlapping, impossible to trace to one person but definitely one moment.

The DJ was killing it. All of the haphazardly put-up twinkle lights gave the room a cool retro seventies vibe, while the party patrons buzzed around, dancing and socializing as a group of people do who have found themselves in a very tight-knit community. This birthday party was raging. I found myself, mildly under the influence, in the center of the dance floor, in a deep grind with my bestie. In true Vegas hens party fashion, we dirty-danced with each other while being cheered on by the Afghan party-goers. Now this would have been a typical night out any day of the week normally had we not been standing, or umm grinding, downtown Kabul. What was happening?

I remember mostly the streets of Kabul as being beige and nondescript. They were full of life and character but generally just walled compounds, one after the other, and streets lined with cedar trees. Beautiful in their own right, however, each street had a way of blending into one another. I met my friend/dance partner on one of those said streets after driving in from the airport. He had been working in Kabul for a while and offered to bring me along for a road trip through central Afghanistan. I immediately accepted this offer and flew to meet him. We hugged on the street and he took me into the house where I was to be staying whilst in Kabul. Here is where it hit me. We passed through the compound wall, through a sturdy gate, into an inner garden, or paradise, would have been more appropriate. It was a literal oasis of grapevines clinging to rock walls, of pomegranate trees growing strong in impossibly fertile soil. There were bushes and trees in every corner and the smell of pine with touches of kebab only heightened the sense. It was beautiful, and it was a reminder of Kabul from long ago: rich in heritage and refined in opulence. It wasn’t until a while after that the metaphor hit me.

Kabul unveiled a truth: beauty and acceptance often dwell in shared, hidden sanctuaries. Beyond the watchful, busy streets and behind high, rigid compound walls, there was a defiant life of music blaring, vodka flowing, and Afghans, contrary to every modern media narrative I’d heard, laughing, dancing, and drawing this gay man into a night of rebellious vibrancy. Seemingly reserved on the outside yet fiercely welcoming within. That evening transformed me, proving that the need for human connection is a force more powerful than any imposed ideology.

Ethiopia

In the Omo Valley of Ethiopia, nature and people overlap so completely that neither tries to dominate the other. The land stands as it is, and the people do as well. Water and dust, language and ritual exist side by side, negotiating their space not demanding it. It felt like a place that has always understood what modern borders forget: that coexistence isn’t disorder; it’s balance.

I remember coming to the Omo Valley a little trepidatious, as it was a little infamous and tourists were criticized for traveling to experience a ‘human zoo.’ I would have never wanted to contribute to that, but after many talks with tour companies and personal reflection, I made my way there. The vibrancy of the people was astounding, from the seriousness of the Mursi People, to the beautiful ochre hues of the Hammer Tribe; cultures rich in their own traditions shared so much beautiful space for each other. I marveled again and again at the diversity. And not only in the people; the land was vast and just as diverse, from green lush valleys of the Omo, to the Danakil Depression, all the way up to the deserts of the north. The land left you wanting nothing.

I found myself one night in a very small town somewhere around Jinka. My boyfriend at the time was grumpy from travel and wanted to stay in, but our guide invited us out to a small hole-in-the-wall for some drinks. I never say no. Honestly, never. I was thrilled I chose not to say no to this evening because this bar was way too much fun. The dance floor was going off and everyone was very welcoming and friendly. I found myself drinking at a table with my tour guide and several of his friends, who all were clad from head to toe in the Rastafarian colors. We sat there talking, and please understand I had a few Habeshas (local beers) in me, or I would never have been so bold, but the guys were engaged in explaining to me what the Rastafarian movement meant to Ethiopia. They explained how the Rastafarian movement was less about rebellion than it was about a return: a return to anti-colonial thought and ways of being, and Ethiopia had the distinction of representing pre-colonial African values.

It was then that one of the gentlemen clocked me. He looked up at me, as I was sipping my beer and just quietly enjoying the conversation, and exclaimed far too loudly, ‘I see you!’ ‘I’m sorry?’ I said back.

‘I see you, I know who you are,’ he said, waving a finger at me. Genuinely confused again, I said, ‘Sorry?’ smiling, trying to understand what was going on.

‘You’re a gay!’ he exclaimed as if he had cracked some sort of code. My stomach lurched. I honestly didn’t know how to respond. I was completely unaware of how to get back to my hotel, I was literally the only foreigner in this place, and my tour guide was a little wisp of a thing and very much incapable of helping me out of any situation.

I stammered, and honestly I can’t remember what came out of my mouth, something along the lines of, ‘Oh really? Why do you say that?’ I’m horrible with confrontation and this was not a moment I relished getting into one. Somewhat thankfully, his next line was, ‘It’s okay, I don’t have a problem, but that’s not something we believe in here.’ Now honestly, I don’t know what came over me, I don’t know what emboldened me to continue this conversation, as usually I would simply do my best to exit as quickly as possible. But on this night, I took a long haul on my Habesha and asked, ‘What don’t you believe in?’ He predictably launched into the same old argument of a Christian household, one man and one woman, procreating children, the same argument I’ve had to listen to since Catholic high school. It was then, and I can only tell you this came as a huge surprise to me, I launched into a rather spirited monologue of how Africa always had space for queer people; men living as women and adopting female roles around the village, non-binary people woven into society, of gay and lesbian lovers. I don’t know much about Africa’s history, but I do know a little bit about queer history and seemed maybe too eager to share. To my surprise, he listened intently, and instead of challenging my rather passionate, mildly inebriated, history lesson, he threw his head back and laughed, a gracious, happy sound that somehow ended the debate without invalidating a word I’d said. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘okay, you know some things.’ I smiled, he smiled, and we continued our night of drinking and dancing. We didn’t speak anymore about the subject, and the conversation ended with my guide saying, ‘I like gay guys, they don’t take any of the girls.’ I was more than happy to move on, but it was in that moment, when I braced for persecution, that I instead found myself fully seen and profoundly heard, creating a vital bridge of understanding in a space where I had expected something much different. Here we were, two cultures, distinct in countless ways yet deeply similar in many others, sharing this space and enjoying each other’s company, just as people have done on these very lands for countless centuries.

Written by: Mark Scodellaro

The Gulf of Gabès was once called a maritime oasis. This stretch of Tunisia’s southeastern coast, where shallow turquoise waters meet North Africa’s largest remaining date palm groves, supported fishing communities for millennia. Posidonia seagrass meadows carpeted the seafloor, sheltering juvenile fish and sequestering carbon. The ecosystem’s productivity made it legendary among Mediterranean fishers.

For the past fifty years, that ecosystem has absorbed the byproducts of Tunisia’s phosphate industry. The cumulative toll has been immense. But 2025 marked a turning point: the year when citizens drew a line, when protests paralyzed the city, and when the highest levels of government finally responded with language that validated what activists had long claimed.

The Gulf of Gabès is becoming a test case for environmental accountability in the Mediterranean.

The Weight of Decades

Tunisia sits atop some of the world’s largest phosphate deposits. Mining operations in the interior, centered around Gafsa, extract raw phosphate rock that is then transported to coastal facilities for processing into phosphoric acid and fertilizers. The Tunisian Chemical Group, a state-owned enterprise, operates the primary processing complex in Gabès.

The industrial process generates phosphogypsum as a byproduct: a slite slurry containing trace radioactive elements, heavy metals, and high acidity. For decades, this material has been discharged directly into the sea. The discharge created what marine scientists describe as a dead zone extending several kilometers offshore. Posidonia meadows that once defined the Gulf’s ecology have been decimated across vast areas. Toxins have accumulated in the food web, working their way through fish populations and into the communities that depend on them.

For residents of Gabès, the pollution has never been abstract. Air quality in neighborhoods near the industrial complex is chronically poor. The smell of chemical processing permeates daily life. Health concerns have mounted over years, though comprehensive epidemiological data has historically been difficult to obtain.

The 2025 Crisis

Tensions that had simmered for years boiled over in the fall of 2025.

A summer of intense heatwaves exacerbated the dispersion of industrial fumes across residential areas. Then, in October, a series of severe gas leaks occurred at the facility. Ammonia and nitrous oxide releases sent dozens of residents to hospitals, including schoolchildren who suffered respiratory distress and symptoms of asphyxiation. Images of children receiving oxygen treatment circulated widely on social media.

The public response was immediate and unprecedented in scale. A coalition of civil society groups, supported by the Tunisian General Labor Union, declared a general strike on October 21, 2025. The city shut down. Thousands marched under banners reading “Gabès Wants to Live” (Gabès veut vivre), demanding not apologies but action: cessation of the pollution and relocation of the most dangerous industrial units away from residential areas and the coast.

The protests marked a shift in how environmental grievances were articulated. Previous demonstrations had often focused on economic concerns, framing pollution as a price communities paid for jobs. The 2025 movement reframed the issue in existential terms. Signs spoke of health and survival, not trade-offs. The social license that had allowed industrial operations to continue despite known harms had, in the view of many residents, finally expired.

Presidential Response

On January 14, 2026, President Kais Saied convened a meeting with a specially appointed task force comprising petrochemical engineers, medical experts, and former directors of the chemical group. The session produced language that surprised observers accustomed to governmental caution on industrial policy.

President Saied described the situation in Gabès as an “environmental assassination.” The term, stark and unequivocal, aligned the state’s official position with claims that activists had made for years. It acknowledged that what had occurred was not merely unfortunate but constituted a fundamental violation of citizens’ rights to health and a livable environment.

The task force presented recommendations spanning immediate repairs and longer-term structural changes. Emergency funds were mobilized to repair leaking valves and failing filtration systems that had caused the October gas releases. The government committed to the long-delayed project of relocating pollutant-heavy units away from residential neighborhoods and the coastline. A review of management practices that allowed the facility to deteriorate was initiated.

Whether these commitments translate into sustained action remains to be seen. Phosphate is a major export, and the economic interests supporting continued production are substantial. But the January 2026 intervention represents a rhetorical and political shift: the state has named the problem in terms that make continued inaction harder to justify.

Restoration Beneath the Surface

While political battles unfold onshore, conservation efforts continue underwater.

The degradation caused by industrial discharge has been compounded by “ghost gear”: fishing nets lost or abandoned over decades of intensive fishing activity. These nets, manufactured from synthetic nylon, persist in the marine environment for generations. They continue catching fish, turtles, and dolphins long after fishers have forgotten them, a phenomenon scientists call ghost fishing. Draped across damaged seabeds and snagged on remnant Posidonia formations, they represent both ecological harm and physical obstacles to recovery.

International and local partnerships intensified removal operations throughout 2025. The Strong Sea LIFE project and the GhostNets initiative coordinated diving teams to manually locate, cut, and retrieve abandoned gear from the seafloor. In one operation spanning waters off Monastir and the deeper Gulf, teams removed nearly three tons of ghost nets, clearing over 52,000 square meters of seabed.

The work is painstaking. Divers must assess each net’s entanglement with bottom structures before cutting, avoiding further damage to whatever marine life or habitat remains. Priority goes to areas where nets have snagged on surviving Posidonia, since the seagrass represents the ecosystem’s best hope for natural regeneration if given the chance to recover.

Retrieved nets have found unexpected second lives. The Association for the Protection of the Environment of Kelibia launched “Nets of Hope,” a project that processes salvaged gear into recycled materials for consumer products. The circular economy dimension adds value to cleanup operations, transforming liability into resource.

New Pressures, New Questions

The Gulf’s future involves more than resolving its industrial past. New development projects introduce additional variables into an already stressed system.

North of Gabès, the Hicha II project represents a different kind of coastal industrialization. Developed by a Dutch agricultural company, the project involves construction of fifty hectares of high-tech glass greenhouses for tomato production aimed at export markets. The facility will operate its own desalination plant, drawing seawater through a 3.5-kilometer intake pipe and discharging concentrated brine through a 2.5-kilometer outfall.

Desalination brine is not toxic in the conventional sense, but its elevated salinity can create localized conditions that stress marine organisms adapted to normal seawater. In a gulf already characterized by high temperatures and compromised ecosystems, the cumulative effect of additional stressors requires careful monitoring. The project illustrates tensions that coastal communities increasingly face: economic development promising jobs and foreign investment arrives alongside environmental loads that compound existing damage.

How Tunisia navigates these competing pressures will shape not just the Gulf of Gabès but serve as precedent for coastal development decisions across the region.

The Long Horizon

Environmental restoration operates on timescales that can seem impossibly distant from political cycles. One Tunisian expert cited in regional media suggested that full ecosystem recovery in the Gulf might require 150 years, assuming pollution sources are controlled and active restoration efforts continue. Such projections humble anyone hoping for quick redemption.

Yet the alternative to long-term commitment is abandonment, and Gabès is not a place that can be abandoned. Hundreds of thousands of people live along these shores. Fishing communities trace their presence back centuries. The phosphate industry, for all its environmental costs, employs thousands and generates revenue the national economy depends upon. The challenge is not choosing between industry and environment but transforming both.

The ghost net divers surfacing with loads of tangled nylon, the protesters who shut down their city to demand breathable air, the president who named what had occurred as assassination rather than accident: each represents a different kind of intervention in a story that will unfold across generations. The Gulf of Gabès is damaged profoundly. It is also, perhaps for the first time, receiving the attention and resources that recovery requires.

Whether that proves sufficient remains the open question. The Mediterranean has witnessed civilizations rise and fall along its shores, ecosystems transformed by human activity across millennia. The Gulf of Gabès adds another chapter to that long history: a place where the costs of industrialization became impossible to ignore, and where a nation began the slow, uncertain work of making amends.

Written by: Junior Thanong Aiamkhophueng

Attribution: This article draws on reporting from People’s Dispatch and Middle East Report on the 2025 Gabès environmental crisis; Inkyfada investigative coverage of the Groupe Chimique Tunisien; allAfrica reporting on the January 2026 presidential task force; technical documentation from SPA/RAC and the Strong Sea LIFE project on ghost gear removal and marine restoration; and regional analysis from Noria Research. UGTT protest photo via People’s Dispatch; Gulf of Gabès satellite image by NASA Johnson via Wikimedia Commons. For further reading, visit Inkyfada, MERIP, and France 24.

Editor’s Note:

At SEVENSEAS, we believe curiosity and early engagement with science and exploration are essential to the future of ocean research and discovery. Encouraging young minds to think critically about real world challenges, whether ecological, cultural, or technological, is something we value deeply, especially within an international context.

The work shared below comes from a team of Grade Nine students from the International School of Bergen in Norway. Developed as part of their participation in the First Lego League and the Scandinavian Innovation Awards, their project explores one of the challenges associated with underwater archaeology, how artifacts can be protected from oxidation during recovery from the marine environment.

We have been working with them over a few months and are happy to share their ideas and enthusiasm with our global audience. This short article presents the student-led concept and learning exercise and is published to highlight youth engagement, international collaboration, and creative problem solving. It is not intended as an evaluation or validation of the technical feasibility of the approach.

We invite readers to take a look at what this team has created, and we wish them, along with students everywhere who are engaging with science, engineering, and the ocean, continued curiosity, inspiration, and success.

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Our team, Eivinds Discipler, consists of 13 enthusiastic and hardworking grade 9 students from the International School of Bergen (Norway). 5 of us will attend to present our innovative solution in the finals of the Scandinavian innovation award in February 2026.

What makes us special is we represent 6 different nationalities from across the globe, we all have different hobbies outside of school, we speak multiple and different languages at home, we practice different traditions, yet we all share one thing in common: our big passion for STEAM, First Lego League, and our desire to make a real impact in the world with our innovation project.

We began with a First Lego League unit in September, as part of the yearly grade 9 curriculum in science and design. Now, 6 months later, although we no longer have First Lego League as part of our curriculum, we will be going to Oslo to participate in the Scandinavian Innovation Awards. We are a class team of both girls and boys, and we have worked both in and out of school to make our ideas come to life. Some classmates have been in our class for many years, and others have joined recently— but despite that, we all work together and use our unique experiences and knowledge to bring forward new ideas with different perspectives.

The First Lego League competition is hosted globally every year. Its goal is to encourage young generations to invent innovative solutions for global problems. In the year of 2025, the field First Lego League believed was the most relevant was Archaeology (Unearthed).

Archeology is an upcoming topic in 2025/2026 as we depend on it to understand how the world works today. Archaeology is practiced depending on context and by finding problems within our contexts, we work to come up with solutions that can improve lives for the future generations.

We dug deeper on a problem more specific to our area, and could be applied globally. In Norway, a significant amount of artifacts are found in the ocean due to it being a big resource for Norwegian society and culture. By studying how oxidation occurs and reviewing how artifacts are usually handled, we have identified a clear need for a solution providing protection from oxidation of artifacts after being brought up from the ocean. A successful solution will help preserve the condition of artifacts, support accurate scientific analysis, and preserve our culture and history for the generations to come.

When artifacts or pieces of historical structures are removed from the ocean, they are immediately exposed to oxygen. This exposure can cause a chemical reaction that weakens, corrodes, or damages the artifacts within a very short period of time, especially since the salt in seawater speeds up the reaction. If they become damaged during collection, then important historical and cultural information can be lost forever.

Our solution to the chosen problem is the OxyBox+OxiGel. The OxyBox’s frame structure (customizable size) of stainless steel makes the OxyBox heavy enough to withstand currents and pressure and resist rust. The rectangular box has three compartments: two boxes on the side and one in the middle. The middle compartment is twice the size of a singular side compartment. When an underwater site is discovered, divers take the box down to lift artifacts.

To prepare the box beforehand, labs fill the two side compartments with the second part of our innovation: the OxiGel. The gel consists of: beeswax-based oleogel (beeswax + natural oil + clay) ( C₃₀H₆₂O₂ + Al₂Si₂O₅(OH)₄), montmorillonite- thickened plant oil gel, (C₁₈H₃₄O₂ + Al₂Mg₃Si₄O₁₀(OH)₂) and natural rubber latex (once cured) (C₅H₈) . The OxiGel’s purpose is to surround the artifact and provide it with a protective environment, free of oxygen. Inside the side compartments, there are rotary agitators powered by rechargeable batteries to prevent the gel from stiffening.

During action, the box is closed by sliding doors on the top of the side compartments and the top + bottom of the middle compartment. On each side of the box there are wires linked to a boat to keep it stable, which will lower/lift the box into and out of the sea.

The box is submerged to the ideal height without touching the seabed, careful not to ruin corals and disturb other marine life. Once the OxyBox is lowered, divers follow the box and place the artifact inside the open middle compartment now filled with seawater.

Divers manually close the sliding doors. A thin layer of soft plastic surrounds the sides of the middle compartment to ensure that the artifact cannot be damaged during retrieval.

Using water pressure and valves, the gel from the side compartments is pushed into the middle compartment from the bottom. The side compartments previously filled with gel are now filled with water through water pressure. When the gel is pushed to the middle compartment from the bottom, it pushes with such force that the water gets forced out through the valves on the top of the box. The gel will not mix with water due to its components.

The gel should be surrounding the artifact in the middle compartment, and since the gel is not in constant movement, it will start to harden into a silicone-like texture. The gel is incredibly important as it blocks oxygen and actively removes salt from the seawater. When the gel has been pumped and the box is closed, it’s lifted up by the wire. At the bottom of the middle compartment, there are, as mentioned, sliding doors, which are specifically for easy removal of the artifact.

Due to the artifact being previously placed on the bottom of the box, it’s easy to access when you open the underside trapdoor, plus the gel is non-sticky so it’s a simple removal. The designing and research process ensures that the OxyBox + OxiGel is sustainable, reliable, and affordable.

During the process, we had to think deeply about possible issues that could occur before, during, and after transportation; not only when it came to designing the solution, but also researching small factors like materials, sustainability, and market research.

Because the OxyBox can be refilled, it will be significantly cheaper and more sustainable. It is also considerably cheaper and simpler compared to current solutions such as electrolytic reduction, and freeze drying. Other factors decrease the cost: motors, cameras, remote-controlled parts and lights, which our original design of the OxyBox had but currently does not.

Another factor we focused on was divers. Divers can go down 30-40m deep without it being harmful. We learnt that artifacts in Norwegian waters range from shallow to the deepest oceans. Therefore, there are realistically many artefacts which can be preserved within 0-40 metres deep, making the OxyBox realistic.

With the help of artificial intelligence, looking at shipping locations and different sources, we found the price for our solution if we were to start producing it. In addition, we searched every item individually to ensure our estimate is correct. The estimated price is 20 000 NOK(= 1 970 USD) for structure, including pumps, agitators, batteries, valves, and gel. Gel refills cost approximately 500 – 1 000 NOK (= 50 – 100 USD). Overall, these factors make our solution safe and economically feasible, accessible, and adaptable to work around the world.

One of the current methods of preventing underwater oxidation is placing an artifact in a box of seawater. Once brought to the surface, it’s transported to labs where conservators begin treatments such as desalination, chemical stabilisation, and controlled drying. While these methods are valid, artifacts are not safe from oxidation or physical damage before they reach the lab.

Exposure to oxygen during transfer speeds deterioration, and temporary storage methods provide only limited protection. Our solution changes this process by ensuring immediate preservation at the point of recovery. Instead of waiting until the artifact reaches the laboratory, the box allows divers to protect it starting underwater. When the artifact is placed inside, the OxiGel is pumped in to replace the water surrounding the artifact. This prevents contact with oxygen and creates a soft, stable environment for transport. By this process, our solutions effectively preserve artifacts through the entire journey.

We shared our findings with professionals who were clearly aware of the issue and looked at our solution, confirming it could have a real life impact and were open to future solutions to solve the problem. Our solution will improve archaeologists’ work, which impacts us as a society.

Our approach improves existing solutions by combining protection with secure transport and making it reusable. Together, these features will provide archeologists with a reliable solution, far more effective than traditional methods, and will shape the future of underwater archeology. Artifacts and historical findings help us understand who we are today and prevent problems in the future. They give us an insight on the lives of previous generations, helping us visualise how communities in the past worked, which teaches us how we can develop as a society today.

Written by: Julia Søraas Meidell and Eva Marianna Mohn.