by Gaute Bugge Drangsholt

“I have often reflected on how it is possible that the generation who lived through such a major transformation of their surroundings do not seem to hold a wide range of stories about it,” says Victoria Østerberg.

This winter, she defended her doctoral thesis at the University of Agder: Plastification of Life Along the Coast from 1950 to 1990: A Study of Ågerøya, Landøy–Udøy and Loshavn–Eikvåg Across Three Half Generations.

Today, plastic in the sea and the Norwegian archipelago is widely recognised as a major environmental challenge. New knowledge about microplastics has intensified this concern. Schoolchildren and volunteer groups fill large bags with washed up waste, almost all of it plastic. The long term consequences of plastic that enters nature without breaking down properly have become a matter of broad public anxiety.

“As an environmental historian, I start from the fact that we now view plastic as problematic, and that there are political ambitions to reduce the use of major sources of plastic consumption, such as packaging,” Østerberg explains.

How, then, did we end up here? What role has plastic played in reshaping Norwegian coastal culture? And when did plastic become something disposable? Østerberg explores these questions through three coastal communities in Southern Norway.

Into these communities, various plastic materials were introduced during the 1950s. Yet it would take some years before the most significant changes took hold.

“I have become particularly interested in the latter half of the 1960s and the early 1970s. That was when many everyday practices changed. What had previously been considered normal – what most people did – shifted rapidly,” she says.

Through interviews and conversations with 22 contemporary witnesses, alongside newspaper archives and photographic and video material, she traces how plastic became an increasingly integrated part of daily life.

Plastic boats, fishing gear and outdoor furniture are examples of how maintenance work became easier with the new technology. This made coastal life more accessible to a new group of leisure users with limited prior knowledge or time to care for objects that easily rotted.

However, plastic did not in itself introduce a throwaway mentality. Maintenance remained an important part of coastal culture, and broken plastic tools were repaired with considerable creativity. Plastic also required new knowledge about how different materials reacted to water and sunlight, and what they could be used for.

“The turning point came when plastic became so cheap that it was easier to throw it away and buy something new than to repair it and make it last,” Østerberg notes.

Cheap plastic first made its mark through the increasing use of plastic packaging for everyday goods from the late 1960s and onwards. The visible consequences of littering were already clear to many at the time. Østerberg points to numerous newspaper articles from the early 1970s about plastic waste in rivers and along the coast. Even near the communities she studied, reports highlighted how plastic made up a large share of the rubbish.

“That is why I am surprised by how few stories the informants have about this.”

Østerberg offers several explanations for why these stories are absent:

““I think it has a great deal to do with which stories are reinforced over time. In these coastal communities, the idea of the authentic sailing ship landscape is the story that is told – and that still shapes the surroundings. Plastic does not fit into that narrative.”

Østerberg’s thesis aims to contribute to contemporary discussions about plastic as an environmental challenge – as a supplement to natural science and technological approaches.

“It is useful to highlight the nuances and the breadth of what plastification has meant for society. This gives us room for a different kind of reflection.”

“I believe it is necessary to talk about plastic as part of lived life – an interaction that has developed over time. Today, technology is so closely woven into our routines that it can be difficult to imagine alternatives. But we should ask how these practices hold value for us, and if and how they might be developed further. These are questions about more than merely replacing or removing individual chemicals.”

Østerberg does not hide that her research has strengthened her desire to contribute to more sustainable ways of living. She has become active in the environmental organisation Framtiden i våre hender, though she has deliberately avoided working directly with plastic issues. In her trial lecture, she was challenged to reflect on the environmental historian’s societal role, and concluded that she may have been too focused on separating her role as a researcher from her role as a societal actor.

Environmental historians often aim to engage with ongoing environmental challenges. They can do so by communicating how humans and the rest of nature have both changed and depended on each other over time.

“As a historian, the role is not to point to specific solutions, but to facilitate a better conversation about possible solutions,” Østerberg says.

“By creating an understanding that today’s plastic based practices are the result of specific historical circumstances, the hope is that the space for changing those practices feels larger.”