Her barium
George Harris
A feminist re-thinking of plants through a weedy herbarium
From ivy covered ruins symbolising decay and darkness within Gothic literature, thistles a symbol of the devil’s presence and ragwort in medieval Europe being a favourite plant of the witches, a hoard of historical symbolism weaves through western culture in relation to the weeds. The meanings of both words, ‘witch’ and ‘weed’ have shifted significantly over time, with the etymology of the word weed tracing back to the Old English word wēod, which generally meant ‘plant’ or ‘herb’. Similarly, the word ‘witch’ comes from the Old English term wicce, which could refer to someone who was believed to have beneficial magical knowledge or healing abilities. In both cases, the usage of these words reflects how language has evolved in response to cultural anxieties centred around power, the witch shifting from a figure of wisdom to danger, and the weed from a neutral term to one with connotations of disorder and nuisance. Weeds are the unruly, the ones who cannot be tamed by capitalism and have come to be associated with witchcraft, reflecting societal attitudes towards nature, women’s knowledge and perceived threats to patriarchal power. Weeds such as mandrake, ragwort, yew, mugwort and nightshade, all plants with properties of bitterness, toxicity and capacities to induce madness and hallucinations, were often used in herbalism, magic and rituals, leading to them being seen as the ‘witches’ weeds. Woman who cultivated and used these plants were accused of conjuring evil spirits, reflecting the patriarchal fears of the female power and autonomy. Feminist writers such as Marion Gibson, Silvia Federici and Diane Purkiss have investigated the historical role of women as healers and herbalists and how such practices were demonised through the witch hunts in Europe that spanned from the 15th to the 18th centuries. In Caliban and the Witch Federici discusses how women’s independence and autonomy was suppressed as a new regime of capitalism and the modern nation state sought to take control of women’s bodies and their reproductive powers: ‘The body has been for women in capitalist society what the factory has been for male waged workers: the primary site of their exploitation and resistance.’ (Federici, 2004, p. 15) Through these writings we begin to understand how the witch hunts were essential to ushering in a new era of patriarchal capitalism that led to the erosion of an essential aspect of women’s use of herbal medicine, which the consequences of still reverberate today.
Weeds became a symbol of the ‘unruly’ nature at a time when the images of the Earth were changing from a benevolent, fertile mother into a wild woman that patriarchy needed to tame. Carolyn Merchant argues that the shift in perception from a nurturing Earth to a ‘wild, disorderly, and dangerous’ nature reflected a broader societal desire to ‘control and dominate’ the environment, viewing it no longer as a source of life but as something to be conquered. ‘With the rise of the mechanistic worldview, nature was increasingly seen as a machine, its elements to be manipulated and controlled by humans. The scientific revolution, which sought to control and manipulate nature, also provided the conceptual justification for the domination of women and the Earth.’ (Merchant, 1980, p. 177) The societal norms and legal framework of the modern nation state sought to regulate women’s reproductive rights, participation in the workforce and physical autonomy, with women’s bodies framed as sources of danger, disorder or temptation, in need of regulation. Silvia Federici highlights the narratives of women’s resistance, labour and struggles against capitalist and colonial forces, arguing that the labour of women, both in the household and in public spheres, was often undervalued or co-opted for economic and social stability, yet simultaneously constrained by gendered expectations:
‘The most significant consequence of the witch-hunt, however, was the destruction of the communal forms of life and the social relations that women had built, and the imposition of a new patriarchal order that defined women’s labor and women’s bodies as instruments of male power.’ (Federici, 2004, p. 143)
Weeds thrive in adverse conditions, growing through the cracks and flourishing within neglected environments. Femininity has often been represented through floral motifs, emphasizing bodily fragility, beauty and/or fertility. The Herbarium reconfigures this association between women’s bodies and plants, shifting from symbols of beauty and fertility to signs of strength, power, and resilience through the alignment with the weed.
Within agricultural imperialism, weeds have been seen as obstacles to agricultural progress. The ‘war on weeds’ in the United Kingdom has evolved over centuries and is intertwined with agricultural practices, industrialisation and changing perceptions on nature. The phrase ‘war on weeds’ is believed to have emerged in the mid 20th century, which coincided with the post-World War II rise of industrial agriculture and widespread use of chemical herbicides on weeds. Following a logic of eradication, with the metaphor mirroring the militarised mindset of the time, especially in the context of the Cold War era. In early agricultural societies, weeds were managed through manual labour such as hand weeding. As agriculture became more industrialised in the 18th and 19th centuries more mechanized methods of weed control took rise. However, in the 20th century, with the advent of synthetic herbicides such as glyphosate, the control on weeds began to intensify, with the ‘war on weeds’ becoming part of a broader narrative of mechanisation and militarization. The chemical solution promised greater productivity but ignored long-term ecological consequences and the benefits of weeds within plant communities such as soil replenishment and biodiversity. The legal framework around weeds such as Japanese Knotweed[1] and Ragwort[2] is a reflection on the ‘war on weeds’ mentality, where certain plants are viewed as dangerous invaders that should be eradicated. The fight against plants such as Japanese Knotweed highlights tensions between human control over nature and the challenges of managing invasive species, which in most cases were introduced through human activity. The logic of eradication for plants such as Japanese Knotweed in the United Kingdom ignores the plant’s many benefits. While Japanese Knotweed is often targeted due to its aggressive growth patterns and its potential to damage infrastructures, its important role as an edible medicinal plant has been ignored. The tall growing plant can provide shelter and food for a wide range of insects and birds, which offers habitats in areas where native vegetation has been lost or degraded. Knotweed also has an extensive root system which can help to prevent soil erosion along riverbanks and other vulnerable landscapes where it often grows, which can stabilize the ground and reduce flooding risks. Japanese Knotweed also has a long history within medicine, especially within East Asia due to its anti-inflammatory, anticancer and antioxidant properties. The current eradication system within the United Kingdom fails to engage with the plants full ecological and health potential. Ragwort is another plant which has a history of eradication in the United Kingdom due to its toxicity to livestock and its potential to cause poisoning in grazing animals such as horses and cattle when consumed within large quantities. Ragwort plays a crucial role within biodiversity as it is an incredibly valuable food source for pollinators such as bees and butterflies, and its dense clusters of stems and leaves provide shelters for a variety of insects, and attracts birds, such as finches which feed on its seeds. Ragwort, like Knotweed ,can grow within disturbed nutrient-poor soils, gradually improving soil conditions and allowing other species to benefit. While both plants may need to be carefully managed, their ecological benefits highlight the importance of considering the role that plants play within their environment to sustain biodiversity.
This herbarium celebrates the resilience and sovereignty of women and weeds alike. It seeks to emancipate weeds from the traditional hierarchy of plants and to understand the properties of particular weeds through their benefits to women´s bodies and hormonal health. It seeks to open a space for women and weeds to flourish alongside one another in a shared space of care. Women and weeds share an interwoven story and this herbarium plants a feminist weed garden to shift perceptions of weeds and the female body.
[1]Japanese knotweed (Fallopia japonica) itself is not "illegal" in the UK, but it is regulated under the Wildlife and Countryside Act 1981 as an invasive species. This legislation makes it an offense to plant or otherwise cause the plant to spread in the wild. The primary reason for its "legal" status is that Japanese knotweed is invasive and can cause significant damage to infrastructure, biodiversity, and land value.
[2] Ragwort (Senecio jacobaea) is not illegal in the UK, but it is subject to regulation due to its potential toxicity to livestock. Under the Weeds Act 1959, ragwort is considered a "controlled weed" on agricultural land, meaning that landowners are required to take measures to prevent it from spreading onto land used for grazing. The Act allows authorities to order the destruction of ragwort on land where it poses a risk to livestock health, particularly horses and cattle, which can suffer from poisoning if they ingest the plant.