Agricultural sustainability doesn’t depend on agritechnology. To believe it does is to put the emphasis on the wrong bit of ‘agriculture.’ What sustainability depends on isn’t agri- so much as culture.
Raj Patel
More than half the world now lives in cities. The trend is clear: we are moving away from rural life and into increasingly dense urban ecosystems. With this shift comes the growing need for food systems that can support millions of people, geographically removed from the land where their food is grown.
But what are the hidden costs of this industrialised food supply?
The rise of intensive agriculture—currently responsible for around 78% of global food production—has brought enormous pressure to our land, water, and biodiversity. The expansion of farmland, particularly in tropical regions, contributes to an estimated 15–18% of global greenhouse gas emissions. Add to this the heavy use of fossil-fuel-powered machinery, chemical fertilisers, and pesticides, and we’re left with a system that strips the earth more than it nourishes it.
Food systems today are global, complex, and heavily mechanised. And while they may appear efficient, their true costs are obscured: carbon emissions from transport and refrigeration, landfill waste from packaging, and the cultural loss of food grown without connection to place.
Carlo Petrini, founder of the Slow Food Movement, argues that if food were consumed closer to where it was produced, we could dramatically reduce energy usage and emissions. He challenges us to think about what it really takes to bring that out-of-season produce or imported ready meal to our table: the miles it travels, the energy needed to store and ship it, the waste it creates, and the beauty lost along the way.
Even with a basic understanding, it’s easy to imagine the scale. Consider how many supermarkets exist across the country, and how many deliveries they receive daily. Now imagine how much of that food is grown far away, packed, refrigerated, and shipped across vast distances. Most of us never think about where it comes from, who grew it, or how it was treated. We’re not meant to. We’re meant to buy it. Quickly. Thoughtlessly.
This disconnection may be efficient, but it comes at a cost. The further we are from the source of our food, the harder it becomes to value it. Consumers—by definition—consume. But what happens when we consume with no relationship to what we’re eating?
Louis-Albert de Broglie, founder of Fermes d’Avenir, suggests that planting a garden is a political act. It’s a way of taking back power. He, along with many others, believes that urban microfarms, community gardens, and permaculture are essential responses to the crisis of industrialised food. When we grow, harvest, and prepare our own food—even on a small scale—we shift from passive consumers to active co-producers.
We put the culture back in agriculture.
If urban life is the future—and it likely is—then the least we can do is produce some of our own food. A veggie garden in a courtyard or balcony won’t solve the whole problem, but it can be a radical act of reconnection.
Because food isn’t just about nutrients or calories or convenience.
It’s about meaning. Ritual. Place. Responsibility.
And if we care about the future of our cities, our climate, and our culture—then we must start caring more deeply about what we eat, where it comes from, and how we bring it into our lives.
SACRED THINGS 