The mind of an Osaka Expo visitor

If I say "Malaysia," what do you imagine? Lush rainforests? The Petronas Towers? Now, if I say "Cuba," what do you see? Maybe a classic car, a cigar... or just someone yelling "¡Dale!" in perfect Caribbean Spanish, and you’re not sure if they’re starting a party or a revolution.

“Since 1959, Cuba has made health care a national priority, creating a universal, publicly funded system. Its ‘family doctor’ model—backed by an extensive network of clinics and hospitals—has won international acclaim, while Cuban solidarity in medical cooperation and a burgeoning pharmaceutical sector underscore its global impact,” explained one of the organizers of the Cuba pavilion at Expo Osaka 2025 to ADF.

Cuba’s system emphasizes preventive care and is structured around a three-tier model: family doctor-and-nurse offices serving 20–40 families, community-based polyclinics for every 30,000–60,000 people, and research and teaching centers for medical professionals. This model allows the doctor to know patients' medical histories intimately and provide preventive care effectively rather than just treatment.

What do you picture now when you think of Cuba? Kind of makes you go 'hmm,' doesn't it? 

What goes through the mind of an Expo visitor when they encounter a country not defined by a TV show or a past visit, but by a single structure?

Before visiting a country, our perceptions are often surprisingly shallow—shaped by something as simple as a fruit, a dessert, or a fleeting headline. A place becomes “the one with dates” (aka Saudi Arabia), or “the land of waffles” (hello, Belgium), or reduced to a single moment, like “that country where the guy bit someone in the World Cup” (yes, Uruguay). These bite-sized impressions flatten entire nations into clichés.

These incidents, which happen to be common knowledge or displayed on the world stage, often spark curious—and sometimes absurd—questions. For example, after a notorious event like a soccer player biting an opponent, one might wonder, "Is biting a thing in Uruguay?" Or after seeing dates featured in every Saudi Arabian context, we might ask, "How many dates do Saudis actually eat?" These questions reflect how easily we reduce entire cultures to a few high-profile moments or stereotypes.

Then comes the Expo—a chance to polish, pivot, or completely rewrite those ideas. A chance to go beyond the snacks and soundbites, and finally dive a little deeper.

Visitors can now step into a pavilion, hand over their shallow perceptions, and walk away with a richer understanding—one that adds a few extra layers of depth to their view.

Suddenly, “Oh, Uruguay? That’s the country where that footballer bit someone,” becomes, “Oh, Uruguay—home to progressive social policies, a thriving literary tradition, and a nation that runs almost entirely on renewable energy.” The caricature fades, replaced by a slightly less ignorant picture—and maybe even a newfound sense of intrigue.

“Belgium? That’s waffles, right?” morphs into, “Belgium—the quiet capital of the EU, a country fluent in compromise, where surrealist art and complex identity politics coexist under rainy skies.”

And “Saudi Arabia? Just dates and deserts,” turns into, “Saudi Arabia—a kingdom navigating rapid transformation, balancing tradition with ambitious visions of the future, and quietly housing some of the world’s most striking contemporary architecture.

Manuel Salchli, Commissioner General of the Swiss Pavilion at Expo 2025 Osaka, emphasized Switzerland’s commitment to sustainability, stating:

“Switzerland is contributing a pavilion designed with minimal environmental impact, featuring a lightweight membrane structure that forms four interconnected spheres at ground level."

Suddenly, Switzerland isn't just mountains and chocolate anymore—is it? Makes you pause for a moment.

But of course, a pavilion can only do so much. It might offer a taste, a story, or an illusion of depth—but it’s still a curated version of a nation, polished for public consumption. It’s not the country itself, but a stage version with good lighting. Still, for many visitors, it’s more than they had yesterday. It’s a seed planted, a myth questioned, a stereotype quietly dismantled.

And that’s the quiet power of these global showrooms: not to tell you everything, but to tempt you toward curiosity. To make you wonder why Belgium speaks three languages, or what Saudi Arabia’s Vision 2030 actually looks like, or how Uruguay manages to be both low-key and forward-thinking. The expo doesn’t deliver the whole truth—but it opens a door. 

In the end, the value of an Expo isn’t just in what it shows, but in what it unsticks. It shakes loose the lazy labels and lets something slightly more thoughtful take root. You may not leave fluent in geopolitics, but if you leave saying, "I didn’t know that about [insert country here]," then maybe it’s working.

We are often told to value learning—as if the steady accumulation of facts were the noblest intellectual pursuit. But equally noble, and perhaps more urgent in a world so saturated with assumption, is the quieter discipline of unlearning. To unlearn is to admit that we may have been mistaken, to hold our ignorance with grace rather than guilt. At its best, an Expo is not just a gallery of nations—it is a gentle prompt to rethink what we thought we knew. It invites us, kindly but firmly, to replace lazy familiarity with thoughtful curiosity.