Kitchen­gardening opens up a sense of belonging in disturbed times

What makes us fond of a place? What bonds make us hold onto a place? When do such fragile belongings to a place arise? Last but not least, what skills are at work and are required for holding together all the facets and dimensions of the place? A Brussels’ century-old kitchen garden set between railway tracks and on polluted land, hosts not only gardeners but also illegal immigrants, drug users, a horticulture school and illicit rubbish dumps. It’s a fragile cohabitation, a breakable assembly, that is subjected to the invective of the police, the township and the railway managers for whom this place attracts nothing but disorder. For these authorities, there is nothing to be gained from these polluted lands.

Nevertheless, some gardeners and neighbors are trying to reclaim the place. Onlookers call them “Communists”, with a touch of irony. Perhaps the irony is not far off the mark. For these gardeners care for commons. They seek to reclaim the knowledge about soil pollution, drug use and other practices, past and present, that shape the place and at the same time disqualify it (in the eyes of the onlookers). The reclaimers forge new associations, compose with heterogeneity and build a new sense of belonging. They invent ways of cohabitating, depolluting, composting, that create fondness of a place. How to make sense of this experiment? How should we account for it in a celebrating manner, without crushing the stakes it bears?