Then. Now. Next.

Twenty years ago this month, the Agricultural Biodiversity Weblog was born. Typically, the first thing we wrote about was a genebank in crisis.

In October 2006, Typhoon Xangsane — known locally as Milenyo — tore through the Philippines. It damaged the National Plant Genetic Resources Laboratory, with mud everywhere. The genebank at the International Rice Research Institute (IRRI), just down the road, luckily came through largely unscathed, and IRRI offered its facilities to help the Philippine national system recover.

Reading that little post twenty years later is pretty sobering. The underlying problem hasn’t gone away. Genebanks may be grandily described as custodians of crop diversity, but they are also buildings — dependent on staff, electricity, equipment, roads and functioning institutions. A typhoon or prolonged power outage can turn a well-run collection into one that’s in trouble almost overnight.

But it’s not all bad news. Something has changed. I think the crop diversity conservation community now thinks much more explicitly about risk and recovery. Safety duplication, backup equipment and disaster preparedness are a much bigger part of the way we plan long-term conservation. The growth of the Svalbard Global Seed Vault and the fact that safety-duplication arrangements are embedded in standard operating procedures and performance metrics reflect a recognition that no genebank, however well managed, can be assumed to be permanently secure.

The Philippines story also points to something else that has become increasingly clear over the past two decades: genebank resilience is a property of a network, not just an individual institution. IRRI was able to help because it was nearby, unaffected and connected to the national system. But mutual support on that scale only works when institutions have relationships, systems for sharing material and experience and, crucially, reserves of goodwill and trust.

Since that first year, we’ve written about a daunting range of threats to agricultural biodiversity — droughts, floods, wars, political upheavals, budget cuts, pests, diseases, climate change and, inevitably, the occasional freezer failure. We’ve also written about the success stories though — the people and institutions rescuing and nurturing crop diversity, often with limited resources, putting it to work, and making the case for its importance.

A lot has changed since 2006. The technologies are fancier. The vocabulary is different. We have vastly more data, better tools and a deeper understanding of crop diversity and the systems needed to conserve it.

But some of the fundamental challenges remain stubbornly familiar.

Perhaps that’s one of the unexpected pleasures of an archive such as this blog provides. It is of course a record of what we thought was important at the time. But it is also a way of discovering that some of the problems we think are new today have been sitting there, quietly and not so quietly, for a while.

The blog has changed too, of course. In the early days, we were largely pointing to interesting things we had found. Over time, that has gradually turned into something maybe a tad more analytical. We now spend more time connecting the dots between different kinds of diversity, questioning claims that don’t quite stand up, and asking what new research actually means, especially for farmers.

So, as we celebrate twenty years of the evolution of the Agricultural Biodiversity Weblog, let’s remember that there is still much to discover — and quite a lot to rediscover. Do delve into our archive. You never know: the answer to a question you are asking today may already be there, in a discussion we had last week, or 20 years ago.

And if it’s not, we hope you at least have as much fun looking for it as we had writing about it.

Eat this ravioli

Jeremy’s latest Eat This Newsletter tackles cassava, the chestnut, rice and pears. But his coolest find is a website called Flavour Lines, that allows you to find out, among other things, how far you are from a restaurant whose sign outside advertises biryani as opposed to pulao, or ravioli as opposed to pierogi.

Brainfood: Nutrition edition

The bit in between

We all know that agrobiodiversity conservation is done, in its different ways, both on farms and in genebanks. But it may be that the most interesting – and intractable – bit of the process is what happens between those places.

A new IIED report, Nature Nurture: How to keep agrobiodiverse forest and farm systems alive in the modern world, looks at local collective community organisations in Indonesia, the Philippines and Tanzania and how they support on-farm conservation and use of crop diversity. In Tanzania, community seed banks lend seed to farmers, who return it after harvest; seed exchanges have brought previously little known local varieties into the banks. In the Philippines, a demonstration farm maintains traditional sweetpotato varieties for distribution. In Indonesia, producer groups run nurseries while much seed management remains in farmers’ hands.

Farmer-run seed banks, demonstration farms and nurseries give communities ways to organise for themselves the conservation and use of crop diversity. That’s great. But what if something goes wrong? A crop disappears from a village. A variety falls out of use in a district. A community seed bank loses its stock. And what if a variety being maintained in one place could be useful somewhere else, perhaps very far away?

This is where the bit in between comes into play.

Nature Nurture has very little to say about how seeds and knowledge move to and fro between farmers and community organisations on one side and formal genebanks on the other. It recognizes their complementarity, but deals with it in a single sentence: “While ex-situ conservation remains an important safeguard against genetic erosion, the farmer-led and Indigenous systems that actively sustain agrobiodiversity within living production landscapes must have greater recognition and investment.” That’s all true, but somehow insufficient.

The report does promise practical guidance for collective organisations in its next phase. How they can connect with national genebanks would be a good place to start. Meanwhile, though, national genebanks should be doing the same. Maybe by re-thinking their information systems, as I suggested a few days ago.

Two legends of agricultural transformation

Land sparing is a seductive story.

Farmers become more productive. We need less land to produce the same amount of food. The land we no longer need can be spared for nature. No need for that tricky land sharing business. Everybody wins.

A new paper in Agriculture and Human Values calls this a “policy legend”: a complicated and contested body of research gets turned into a simple, reassuring story about technology and intensification. The politics of who owns land, who benefits from intensification, what gets produced and where, and what happens to rural livelihoods very conveniently disappear from the equation.

But the other side of the debate has its own temptations. Agroecology as a movement is often explicit about context, politics and food sovereignty. Yet it too can occasionally shrink to something that’s cosily tidy: conventional agriculture is the problem, agroecology is the solution, here are some desirable practices, get farmers to switch.

Another new paper, this one in Ecological Economics, also makes that story look way too simple. And you know how we love that here. The authors look at 2,721 farms in six African countries and find very different starting points for the transition to agroecology, and different trajectories. The smallest farms tend to combine autonomy and income diversification; larger farms more often go for some crop-livestock integration; small and medium farms may put more land into legumes for soil health.

I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. The way farmers make decisions is complicated. And I coincidentally came across a study in Food and Nutrition Bulletin that illustrates that rather well, albeit on a small scale. Surveys of 26 farmers in the Ecuadorian highlands found that they grew diversity for economic reasons, sure, but also for social, emotional or health and safety reasons. And, rather wonderfully, sometimes simply because they liked it.

Farm size, labour availability, markets, tenure, risk, access to inputs, knowledge, household objectives and yes, sheer aesthetics, all shape what farmers can do, are willing to do, and indeed eventually end up doing. Change one part of the system, and you can change the economics of the rest.

So why do we keep reaching for legends?

Simple stories are useful, I guess. They fit snugly into funding proposals, policy briefs and campaign slogans, and every camp needs something to organise around. Unfortunately, agriculture is way messier than the legends we tell about it.