Seeds of revolution - 9th February 2011

Is it wrong for men to buy themselves flowers? I'd be quick to shout out no, but I can name at least one man who feels uncomfortable with the concept – and carries on regardless. Strange then, that gardening, and the growing of flowers and food play such a momentous role in both the tradition of protest and the struggle to maintain humanity in the bleakest of conditions.

 

As the buds start to pop and tiny birds frantically bustle about on incomprehensibly important business, I'm laid up horizontally, cursing a bad back that's keeping me from digging this year's new flowerbeds, and wistfully yearning for a break from the season's root vegetables.

 

Perhaps the way forward is the seed bomb – weapon extraordinaire of the guerrilla gardeners who creep out at night, trowel in hand, to infiltrate public spaces, trespass on disused flowerbeds and around street furniture; irresponsibly littering the bypassing commuter's world with... flowers.

 

Armed with a stack of bulbs or dab of compost and a few seeds packed into a neat clay package, the guerrilla gardener turns the drabbest of wastelands into a glorious flare of sunshine, with no cost to the public but a smile. No space is too small, and where access is limited, well, there's always the versatile seed bomb to let nature take its own course.

 

The ethos behind the movement varies: some simply want to create a spot of colour in their community, while others see guerrilla gardening as a legitimate means to bring public spaces back into public use, a form of protest with an impressive pedigree that can be traced at least as far back as the Diggers of the seventeenth century.

 

Gerard Winstanley's Diggers, or True Levellers, advocated that: “true freedom lies in where a man receives his nourishment and preservation, and that lies in the use of the earth.” They encouraged communities to set about cultivating the waste and common land of England but fell foul of landowners, were accused of trespass, and eventually disbanded. More recently, Reclaim the Streets faced equal opposition throughout the 90s as urban spaces and major roads were transformed into carnival scenes. Connection to the earth was a central message, with a notable May Day protest resulting in a statue of Winston Churchill sporting a turf mohican and Westminster Square receiving a Ground Force style transformation into a giant allotment.

 

From World War One to Iraq, soldiers and prisoners have lavished care on makeshift gardens to lift spirits and add a touch of colour in the starkest of landscapes where encouraging seeds to germinate and keeping plants alive requires extreme diligence and ingenuity. Kenneth Helphand's book Defiant Gardens describes the efforts of a US soldier Bradley Kohn on tour in Afghanistan. Kohn planted melons and squash, only to see them devastated by giant hedgehogs. The plants were then settled into raised beds constructed from ammo boxes piled on top of bunkers, while Kohn collected shredded paper, veg scraps and animal droppings for composting.

 

Even more ingenious is the tale of Saddiq Ahmad Turkistani who, along with fellow prisoners at Camp Iguana, Guantanamo Bay, cultivated a clandestine garden which included watermelon, garlic and peppers. The prisoners watered the dry earth until it became soft enough to scrape at with plastic spoons, then planted seeds saved from prison meals.

 

As I finished the last sentence, the doorbell rang and there stood a uniformed courier, box in hand to deliver my annual quota of seeds for the summer and a weighty stash of potatoes ready for chitting. I don't look like a revolutionary in my wellies and rubber gloves, but I'm tempted to strike out with a Vive le Pomme de Terre just for good measure.