Botanic gardens have a layout, a catalogued format that is uniform enough that there is an air of familiarity no matter their geography. They invite you to walk among cultivated avenues, view rare specimens, immerse yourself in desert landscapes and breathe the humid air of a rainforest. These gardens reveal stories of power, possession and survival that weave the threads of colonialism, botany, and personal history. They are spaces where we learn not only about biological life but also the colonial and capitalist systems that still underlie society, as the study of plants is rooted in colonialism and appropriation. The classification of plants was an agent of colonial exploration based on the extraction of local knowledge, plants, information and erasure of indigenous knowledge and ecological practices. 

Pillars of botanical knowledge, such as Kew Gardens, have begun the process of untangling their role in perpetuating perspectives that the institution was founded on. Whoever is able to narrate, explore and tell their stories changes the perspective and disassembles the colonial undertone, a process that National Geographic is also undergoing. 

The need to exert control and dominance over the land, is inherited from a colonial approach of dividing the roles of who works the land, who protects the land and who gets to enjoy the land.

The idea that we are separate from nature and superior to it is a perspective based on human dominance. The need to exert control and dominance over the land, is inherited from a colonial approach of dividing the roles of who works the land, who protects the land and who gets to enjoy the land. As I dig up tangled roots from the soil, I wonder if I am exerting my dominance over the land, grooming specific species that were bought here under the guise of botany centuries ago. What would I be planting without the seeds of the solanaceae family—a garden devoid of the colour and flavour that includes potatoes, tomatoes, eggplant, capsicum and chillies?

Gardens have a powerful role in the ritual of memorialisation through flowers and plants that evoke links to periods of time, culture and identity. Our preference in plant species is shaped by a broader cultural understanding of beauty, a concept deeply influenced by literature, media, and education. Our ideas of nature are frequently drawn from distant lands and idealised representations of flora and fauna, creating an often romanticised or exotic view of the natural world. This idealisation shapes our gardens, turning them into sites not only of remembrance but also of cultural expression and collective identity. Growing indigenous plants has been used as a way of encouraging regional and national identity by creating associations with local flora.

Recognising abundance rather than scarcity challenges an economy built on creating unmet desires; gratitude fosters an ethic of fullness, whereas the capitalist economy thrives on emptiness. Producing food in cities through urban agriculture resists capitalist accumulation at different spatial temporal scales as community gardens reclaim common space in urban landscapes that are shaped by gentrification and the privatisation of space. They disrupt the traditional economy by fostering cooperation and self-sufficiency and by prioritising community and equitable access to resources. When communities grow their own vegetables and herbs, they reduce their dependence on corporate agribusinesses and reclaim control over their food supply. This environmental stewardship challenges the exploitative relationship capitalism has with the natural world.

How you tend a garden is political, through the choice of organic or chemical, lawn or veggie patch, private or allotment, community garden or guerrilla garden.

Robin Wall Kimmerer, an indigenous ecologist and researcher, views the simple act of planting a garden as a beginning to restore the relationship between people and land. A thriving garden becomes an act of defiance against environmental degradation, though every action has repercussions on other ecosystems.  How you tend a garden is political, through the choice of organic or chemical, lawn or veggie patch, private or allotment, community garden or guerrilla garden. 

Plants naturally colonise areas by growing in new spaces that are good for them; botanic gardens created ideal conditions for imported species to flourish. I remember this as I unsuccessfully tried to grow melons in the community garden. Their leaves create the perfect growing conditions for red spider mite and green aphids before they shrivel and wither under the scorching sun. Instead, ideal conditions are replicated in pots on the terrace of my apartment, where their vines, leaves and promise of juicy fleshed fruit overtake the hot concrete and tiles like a green canopy.

The relationship between culture and crops has always been a dynamic, reciprocal exchange, reflecting a profound entanglement between human ingenuity and the natural world. The boundaries between the cultivated and the wild are not fixed, but instead, fluid and ever-evolving. This fluidity reveals a story of how humans have shaped wild plants into the crops that sustain societies and how the wild has influenced human culture, beliefs and even survival strategies. Our identities, traditions, and interactions with the environment are constantly molded by these deep, ongoing connections with the natural world.

Plants, whether in gardens or wild spaces, move beyond their origins; they naturally colonise, disrupting ideas of home and belonging. Land cultivated for beauty or function embodies these tensions, where plants from diverse origins are welcomed or contained. This blurring of boundaries invites us to reconsider the natural world. Do we conserve environments as they are, or as we envision them? 

Words by Anna Borrie