You Don’t Hate “Invasive Plants”—You Hate Human Disregard

Don't Blame the Messengers

Canada Thistle (Cirsium arvense), photo by Matt Lavin from Bozeman, Montana, USA, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

The title of this essay is a play on the slogan, “You don’t hate Mondays—you hate capitalism,” which a contributor on Quora explains: “This saying suggests that your disdain for Mondays is misplaced and the actual object of your contempt is the contemporary institution and organizational form of work in the form of wage labor (a defining characteristic of a capitalist system).”

Likewise, I’m suggesting that the disdain that some people hold for what they call “invasive plants” is misplaced, and the the actual object of their contempt is the thoughtless or malicious disruption of native habitat too often caused by humans.

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Despite the connotations of the word “invasive”—that a species barges into an area and actively displaces the previous vegetation on its own—an introduced plant is rarely able to establish itself in an intact ecosystem unless there’s a disturbance first. It’s not like one of those tragic stories where rats escape from a ship onto an island and decimate all the ground-nesting birds. Plants don’t behave like that. Rather, human alterations to ecosystems, often drastic, have given certain plants an opportunity to thrive that they wouldn’t have had otherwise. In short, they don’t “invade”; they accept an invitation that includes transportation.

Key to understanding what’s going on at a site is knowing its history. Example: If you clear-cut a section of forest in the Pacific Northwest, first the shade-loving plants will wither in the sun, as would happen if a windstorm knocked down some trees. But unlike a windstorm, the logging operation will also punch roads into the landscape, compact the ground, tear up the deep duff layer, disrupt the local hydrology, often apply herbicides, and of course remove the biomass of the trees themselves which, after a windstorm, would have provided numerous ecological roles. Together, all of this disturbance alters the site’s conditions to a state that’s novel for the local flora and fauna. They didn’t evolve for all that shit. But a few species from the eastern hemisphere—some of whom are appropriately adapted after spending centuries around our forest-razing, road-building, erosion-making activities—hitched a ride in on the equipment, or in the gravel spread on the roads, or in some other way, and when they hit the ground they could deal with it. No, these new species not from there but given how the conditions were changed by the clear-cut, they are at home there. That’s real.

To show up at the clear-cut later and decry the “invasives” that are “outcompeting” the native species is pretty darn cheeky.

It’s similar with a prairie converted to agriculture, a riparian area altered by dams or diversion, or a grassland or shrubland overgrazed by livestock. Other activities that disrupt or entirely replace native habitats include mines, oil fields, fracking zones, railroad tracks, transmission lines, pipelines, urbanization, sprawl, and most recently “green” energy installations. Do we think we can pound something with a hammer and not hurt it? That as soon as we stop swinging, it can get back up and go on like nothing happened? If so, we’re deluded.

We must ask: What disadvantages have we imposed on native species at a particular site? What advantages have we given to introduced species there? Besides decimating native plants through our “development,” we also exterminate native animals who were key to their success: the beavers who maintained wetlands, the prairie dogs who fostered biological diversity, the wolves who checked herbivore populations, the birds who spread seeds, the insects who pollinated flowers, and the microfauna who enriched the soil. On top of all that, we forced out the indigenous people, ending their traditional tending practices, which were in part about harmonizing new plants into landscapes. We could say that of course the garden is getting “weedy”–after all, we took out the gardeners!

So if you find yourself hating a certain species of introduced plant, try to learn why it might be present. What is the history of the location? What conditions does the species prefer? Is there a connection? If you investigate, you might just find that no, you don’t hate the plant, you hate how the original habitat was fucked up by thoughtless human activity.

For example:

You don’t hate Cheatgrass. You hate excessive livestock grazing.

You don’t hate Giant Reed. You hate reservoirs, canals and dams.

You don’t hate Saltcedar/Tamarisk or Russian Olive. You hate dams.

You don’t hate Scotch Broom. You hate road-building, clear-cuts and untended pasture.

You don’t hate Japanese Barberry. You hate forest-to-pasture conversion.

You don’t hate Smooth Brome. You hate overgrazing and fire-exclusion.

You don’t hate Musk Thistle. You hate roads, waste areas caused by development and fire-exclusion.

You don’t hate Oriental Bittersweet. You hate logging and untended fields.

You don’t hate Yellow Starthistle. You hate overgrazing, conventional agriculture, roads and fire exclusion.

You don’t hate Tree of Heaven. You hate industrial pollution.

You don’t hate Spotted Knapweed. You hate agricultural disruption and transportation corridors.

You don’t hate Phragmites aka Common Reed. You hate polluted waterways.

You don’t hate Rush Skeletonweed. You hate overfarming, overgrazing and fire suppression.

You don’t hate Canada Thistle. You hate ditches, overgrazed pastures, logging, and roads.

You don’t hate Winter Creeper. You hate urbanization.

You don’t hate Glossy Buckthorn. You hate overfarming and urbanization.

You don’t hate Giant Hogweed. You hate roads and riparian disruption.

You don’t hate Whitetop. You hate overfarming, overgrazing, ditches, roads and railroad tracks.

You don’t hate Toadflax. You hate overfarming, roads, and logging.

You don’t hate Japanese Honeysuckle. You hate forest disruption.

You don’t hate Knotweed. You hate roads, railroads, gravel pits, and untended fields.

You don’t hate Common Buckthorn. You hate agricultural disruption, roads, railroads, vacant lots, forest disturbance and artificial clearings.

You don’t hate Black Locust. You hate roads, railroads, wetland disturbance, untended fields, and logging.

You don’t hate Mullein. You hate overgrazing, roads, logging, agricultural disruption, and urbanization. (Oh and if you actually do hate Mullein, we can never be friends. I love that plant.)

You get the idea. Don’t blame the messenger. Look into site history and learn what preceded the introduced species. Then you might see what needs to change if you want to make the place more hospitable to the original species again. Warning: it might not always be possible. The change might be too serious. We’ve been fucking around, and now we’re finding out.

Of course, not every specimen of every plant in this list is going to be found in only these locations. But these are the most common vectors for their introduction and establishment, from which they may spread to other areas (which are likely also disturbed).

I sourced most of the information in this list from the USDA’s Fire Effects Information System (FEIS) database, which has profiles on hundreds of species of plants. Despite the name, the database covers far more than fire effects, and each profile features, quote: “information about species' biology, habitats, regeneration or reproductive processes, relationships with fire, and management considerations.” Each profile is rigorously cited. If you’re interested in the science, this is a great place to start.

Taking a sober look

We must open our eyes to the tremendous impacts of human civilization on ecosystems. Entire landscapes have been severely altered by agriculture, resource extraction, transportation, toxic pollution and urbanization. This is what I mean by “disregard.” Particular human cultures acted without thinking through the long-term consequences. This is not human nature, as some tedious misanthropes would insist; see the Seventh Generation principle for example. Other worlds are not only possible; they have existed and do exist.

At the moment, though, possibly all living creatures of the planet—plants, animals, fungi, microorganisms and more—have been affected to some degree or another by heedlessness and recklessness. Those who have not gone extinct have been responding to our actions according to their traits and abilities. Some have evolved: Insect body parts have rapidly changed, “weeds” have become herbicide resistant, and ancient bird species have expanded their diet (just to mention three North American examples).

Nature will continue to respond at the level of species, site, and region to what we have done and what we’re doing, and even at the global scope, as demonstrated by changes in weather and climate which are becoming problematic for our current civilization. That’s just how this planet functions; throw a stone into a pond and you get ripples. The ripples are themselves not good or bad; they are merely a consequence. Mother Nature is agnostic.

Now if we hate the consequences we have wrought, then we need to interrogate our own actions. What do we need to stop doing? How can we make up for what we have already done? What should we do differently going forward? Acting on these questions is where we must put our effort, rather than on scapegoating and personifying natural responses.