Plant poaching: The implications go beyond biodiversity to poverty, dignity and rights

During the Covid-19 lockdowns a curious trend bloomed: housebound people across the globe sought solace in greenery which led to an explosion in the popularity of succulents and other rare and endangered plants.

These resilient, sculptural plants became symbols of comfort and a connection with nature in a world that had suddenly become claustrophobic. But while succulents bring healing to many homes, how they have come to be traded leaves lasting scars on the landscapes and communities of the Karoo.

The surge in demand has given rise to a flourishing underground trade. Criminal syndicates, often linked to international markets, now poach South Africa’s rare succulents – some species millennia old – stripping fragile ecosystems bare and leaving behind more than just ecological damage. These plants are vanishing from the wild, but so too is the social cohesion in the regions surrounding these biomes.

Plant poaching in South Africa is not simply a biodiversity issue; it’s a social crisis that’s finding fertile ground in the country’s deep-rooted inequality and culture of corruption. Although the list of local culprits implicates a range of demographics, it’s interesting to note how, when global criminal networks seek out vulnerable, impoverished locals to do the dirty work of digging up these rare plants to sell online, this leads to another destructive cycle.

Individuals without access to jobs, education or land, for whom economic exclusion has been a generational norm, become easy targets. Other residents in these regions are increasingly reporting that they can usually tell when people who have been recruited by poachers have been paid because the proceeds often fuel substance abuse. So, this is not just about plants, it’s a broad conversation about people and power – whether viewed through the lens of generational extractors who offer the land very little in return for their gains, or disenfranchised individuals trying to leverage footing in a losing game.

South Africa’s historical injustices have left many rural communities landless and marginalised. In this context, it is unsurprising that some residents aren’t intrinsically protective when approached by poaching networks. Being denied meaningful ways to plough into and profit from the biodiversity in their environment can make plundering sound like a more fruitful option. If we want to curtail the illegal trade in succulents and its effects, we must first confront the inequities that make it so appealing.

The focus needs to shift from criminalisation to collaboration. People from local communities, especially those with rich indigenous knowledge about the ecology and uses of these plants, must be at the centre of conservation strategies. These communities produce custodians of biodiversity with invaluable insights, who would thrive if they were empowered with resources, access to land and economic activity that presents a contrast to poaching.

Government-led land reform, including the expropriation of land for community conservation efforts, could help address both the ecological and social crises at once.

Mexico offers an instructive example. Faced with its own biodiversity challenges, the country has developed community-based conservation models that allow locals to sustainably manage and profit from native plant species. These models work because they make conservation a shared project, not an imposed burden.

It is possible to build sustainable livelihoods through biodiversity. Community nurseries, ethical plant harvesting, ecotourism and conservation education can all generate income without stripping the land bare. In Namaqualand and other parts of the Karoo, some initiatives have already begun, but they require far more support, investment and policy alignment to succeed.

At the same time, we must encourage ethical consumption in the Global North. Succulents are not ornaments to be plucked from mythical landscapes. The intrinsic value of a plant should be understood in terms of the role it plays in the broader ecosystem, not just its aesthetic or Instagram appeal. Many of these species are endemic and found nowhere else on Earth; their removal can disrupt the delicate web of life they support. While plant poaching may not directly impact climate change, it exacerbates the vulnerability of species already at risk of losing their habitat as bioclimatic zones shift due to global warming.

The poaching crisis also reveals a troubling hypocrisy in how we value nature: we romanticise the idea of “plant parenting” yet rarely consider the origin of the plants we adopt. Just as the food movement has pushed for farm-to-table transparency, we need a root-to-pot ethos in the plant world, one that promotes traceability, sustainability and respect for natural ecosystems.

This is a call not only for conservationists, but for citizens, plant lovers and policymakers. Conservation is not just about saving plants; it’s about saving relationships between people and land, especially the communities who live closest to biodiversity. When conservation is rooted in justice, it can heal both ecosystems and the societies that depend on them.

We cannot address biodiversity loss in a vacuum that’s divorced from the realities of poverty, land dispossession and social exclusion. South Africa’s conservation policies need to acknowledge the legacy of colonisation and the effects of the centuries-long struggle for access to land and natural resources. Any meaningful effort to protect our flora must also fight for the dignity and rights of those who live among them.

Plant poaching may seem like a niche crime when in truth it is a mirror reflecting our fractured relationship with nature and with each other. But just as human behaviour has driven this crisis, it can also drive the solution. Let us plant the seeds of a more just, sustainable and rooted future. DM