At dawn in a small village in Zambia, 32-year-old farmer Tembo Chalala lifts a weather-worn sack of maize seeds that she has tended, saved, and exchanged for decades. She runs her fingers through the earthy kernels — not commercial seed packs, but the heritage of her land, handed down by her mother, and her mother before her. “If I lose these seeds,” she says softly, “I lose more than a crop — I lose our story.”
This scene is mirrored in countless farms around the world. This milestone marked the first global acknowledgment that small-scale farmers and rural workers are more than agricultural producers — they are rightful custodians of the land, the seeds, and the traditions that sustain global food systems.
The declaration affirms that peasants and rural workers have the right to seeds, to land, to biodiversity, to food sovereignty — the core of the world’s agricultural backbone.
One of the most significant elements of the declaration, Article 19, affirms that farmers have the right to preserve, use, share, and trade the seeds they cultivate themselves.
This principle embodies the essence of seed sovereignty — a long-overlooked concept that forms the foundation of food security for millions worldwide.
By endorsing this right, the international community acknowledges that the age-old traditions of small-scale farmers are vital to sustaining biodiversity and deserve protection through formal recognition at the global level.
From Struggle To Recognition
The road to this declaration was long and hard-won. For years, rural communities, peasant-led movements such as La Vía Campesina, and grassroots seed-keepers from Asia, Africa, and Latin America raised their voices. They challenged multinational seed corporations, intellectual-property regimes, and agribusiness consolidation that threatened local seed systems and biodiversity.
A report by Reuters noted how the declaration “makes an explicit reference to a ‘right to land’, making it the first major UN declaration to do so” — and highlighted its potential to give “traditionally marginalised smallholders” a new way to speak to governments. Another observer described it as “a new UN declaration that protects peasant rights to land, seeds, and adequate incomes,” and could benefit one-third of the world’s population.
Still, as many advocates have noted, the declaration represents a new source of optimism — a tangible framework that can help strengthen the protection of farmers’ rights worldwide. For individuals like Tembo, however, that hope has often been tested by restrictive agricultural policies.
In Zambia, local officials have at times dismissed traditional seed varieties as mere “grain” because they do not meet formal certification standards, a stance that undermines the value of indigenous farming knowledge and the cultural heritage embedded within those seeds.
Seeds, Sovereignty, And Small-Scale Farmers
Seed sovereignty holds profound importance because seeds represent far more than agricultural materials — they embody heritage, livelihood, identity, and resilience. Across Zambia, local farmers have long relied on traditional seed varieties passed down through generations.
However, official certification systems have often classified these native seeds merely as “grain,” diminishing their perceived value and limiting farmers’ rights over them.
In countries like Bangladesh, the dominance of corporate seed programs and complex certification rules has placed additional pressure on traditional seed-saving practices. These long-standing methods are essential for preserving agrobiodiversity, enabling crops to adapt naturally to local soil and climate conditions.
Small-scale farmers have historically maintained a self-sustaining seed cycle — saving, selecting, exchanging, and replanting diverse varieties suited to their environment.
Yet, industrial agricultural systems frequently prioritize commercial seeds that must be repurchased each season. This shift erodes farmers’ independence, reduces genetic diversity, and weakens community resilience.
Through Article 19 of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Peasants, governments are encouraged to safeguard these traditional seed systems, ensuring that locally preserved seeds and the biodiversity they sustain continue to thrive for future generations.
Not Just A Declaration — A Turning Point?
The text of UNDROP carries significant weight: adopted by a vote of 121 countries, with eight voting against and 52 abstaining. It creates a normative framework, a reference point for national laws, civil society, and farmers themselves. One legal scholar wrote: “The result of a long struggle … the declaration is remarkable, at many levels.”
In practice, though, adoption into laws has been slow. The Reuters piece noted that no country had fully implemented the declaration’s provisions yet — but the mere existence of the instrument “opens doors” for communities to engage governments.
And in countries like Honduras, Article 19 has already been referenced in legal mobilisations concerning seed laws. The global seed sovereignty movement now has a common standard to hold governments and corporations to account.
Stories Behind The Seeds
Back in Zambia, Tembo visits a patch of her field where she has sown a mix of local maize varieties — each with a name, a flavour memory, a reason for being. The seed she saved last year performed well again: resilient in dry spells, resistant to local pests, and familiar to her community. “When I grow my mother’s seed,” she says, “I grow our story.”
On the other side of the world, in the Philippines, farming cooperatives revived their seed banks, planting indigenous rice varieties passed down for generations. They speak of a future where the seed isn’t just a commodity: it’s a guardian of memory, culture, and self-determination.
These seeds are also tools for climate resilience. Diverse seed systems can adapt more readily to shifting weather patterns, soils, and local ecologies. By contrast, monocultural commercial seeds often hinge on intensive inputs and external control. Documentaries of agro-ecological transitions emphasise this truth.
Hope And Responsibility
The adoption of the declaration does not mean the battle is over. It means a new chapter is beginning. The key question now: how will national governments, policies, seed companies, and rural communities bring these rights to life?
That means laws that protect farmers’ rights to seeds, land, and biodiversity. It means regulatory frameworks that support small-scale seed systems, not just commercial trade. It means investment in agro-ecological research, participatory breeding, and local knowledge. As the seed rights brief notes: “The more a seed system recognises and supports farmers as stewards … the more this system fulfils people’s human rights.”
For every farmer like Tembo, every seed-keeper in a remote village, every community conserving local varieties — the declaration sends a message: your work matters. Your seeds matter. Your rights matter.
In a world buffeted by climate change, corporate consolidation, and institutional neglect, that recognition is not simply symbolic — it is transformative. The true legacy of the declaration may be measured in the fields where farmers once again hold the seed bag, not as customers, but as custodians.
And in those sunrise-lit fields, the soft rustle of maize kernels, the subtle shape of a seedling, the exchange of a handful of local seed from one farmer to another — these become the threads of a new story: one of empowerment, diversity, resilience, and hope.
Because when seeds are in farmers’ hands and rights are in law, the future of food is rooted not in dependence, but in belonging. May that future grow.
