Understanding the uneasy balance between agriculture and migration in Italy underscores how environmental justice and social justice are deeply entwined. To demand organic farming or permaculture without first ensuring dignified labour is to imagine a limited reality that does not address the root causes of inequality. Striving for fair labour and migrant rights in Italy is also connected to the struggle for land rights and biodiversity protection across the world, from Palestine to Mexico.
Leila El Zabri
Italian seasons are painted in postcards: sunlit coastlines, crystalline seas, and the ease of bodies cooling in the Mediterranean. Yet that same breeze blows differently on the backs of migrant workers, who spend ten-hour days bent over fields, coaxing tomatoes from the soil and picking lemons from the trees. The sweetness of Italy’s produce, the richness of its olive oil, and the pride of its cuisine often rest on the unseen weight of exploited labour, both regular and irregular.
This paradox is at the heart of Italian agriculture. National rhetoric may speak of food sovereignty, food security, and dignified work, but reality tells another story: nearly one-fifth of agricultural production involves irregular labour. The same traditional meals that may symbolise abundance to Italians and tourists alike are often grown through monocultures that drain the soil and conditions that strip workers of rights.
Farming, at its essence, is an act of care – a reciprocal dialogue with the earth. As Vandana Shiva reminds us in “Stolen Harvest”, when food becomes mere currency, both ecology and culture fracture. Communities lose their seeds and sovereignty; the soil loses its diversity; people still struggle to purchase food while overproduction results in mass food waste. Agriculture, once a practice of exchange, is reduced to extraction.
And yet, the migrants who sustain this system are cast not as caretakers but as threats. Italian discourse often frames them as drivers of crime or burdens on welfare, particularly those without documents. However, national data disproves this criminalising narrative. In a nation where the population ages and shrinks, migrants embody the future, representing an eager workforce projected to lower Italy’s debt-to-GDP ratio by 30% by 2070.
Recent tragedies have brought these exploitative realities to the forefront of public discourse. The death of Abel Okubar, a 37-year-old Nigerian farmworker, was a stark reminder of the grave lack of institutional protection and structural racism towards migrants in Italy. Once legally employed, he continued working after his permit expired. When discovered, he was detained in Brindisi, and soon after, he was found dead in the detention centre, though he had no known health issues.
His story is not unique. In Italy’s immigration centres, reports abound of hunger strikes, self-harm, and abuse, and former staff have confessed to the deliberate use of psychiatric drugs to silence protest.
The Italian system criminalises and isolates migrants, limiting regularisation and thus resulting in precarious work conditions that carry a higher risk of exploitation. By pushing them to the margins, the state makes migrant dehumanization seem legitimate, and as a result, punitive policies become easier to justify.
The irony is sharp: a country so proud of its cuisine depends on a system that dishonours those who cultivate its ingredients. Thus, implementing policies that protect migrant workers is an act of transformative justice, as well as cultural preservation. Networks like Slow Food and NOCAP fight for this vision, supporting dignified labour and agricultural biodiversity.
Understanding the uneasy balance between agriculture and migration in Italy underscores how environmental justice and social justice are deeply entwined. To demand organic farming or permaculture without first ensuring dignified labour is to imagine a limited reality that does not address the root causes of inequality. Striving for fair labour and migrant rights in Italy is also connected to the struggle for land rights and biodiversity protection across the world, from Palestine to Mexico.
On an individual level, it remains crucial to organise within one’s local context. Exerting political pressure can be an important action point, as well as organising within one’s union, getting in touch with collectives and community initiatives, and raising awareness on agricultural exploitation within your circles. In Rome, for example, Baobab, a community collective that came together to defend migrant rights, contributes significantly to the support of transitory migrants.
Words by Leila El Zabri
Leila El Zabri is Culture Editor at Planted Journal, through which she explores the overlap between natural, social and political realities. She is an Italian-Palestinian researcher focused on intersectional cultural dynamics, and her main interests lie in investigating the often unacknowledged social dynamics that accompany environmental crises. She is seeking ways to integrate human existence with nature.
