Key conclusions and recommendations
Cultural plant knowledge is deeply tied to identity and forms part of a broader web of cultural understanding. It helps people feel connected — to ancestors, community, the landscapes they live within, and the natural world as a whole. These connections bring meaning to people’s lives, strengthen community bonds, and contribute to wellbeing. While this is true for everyone, it is particularly profound for Indigenous peoples who have experienced colonisation and the loss of land, rights, and aspects of identity — impacts that continue to shape lives today.
Working with and using plants that grow locally, and that are part of an ongoing story of place, can also support more sustainable, less industrialised practices. This approach encourages close observation of plants, awareness of the stories they hold, and recognition of the ecosystems they are part of. In turn, it can motivate care for the natural world and greater reflection on human behaviour. In many of the places I visited, this relationship with plants was taken as a given; in others, it was raised in interviews as being directly linked to wellbeing.
Knowledge of plants and place — and their use in dyeing, fibre work, and other cultural practices — has strong connections to community wellbeing, identity, and the ability to understand and care for the land. The continuity and strength of this knowledge in the locations I visited reflects histories deeply woven into each landscape.
In each place I visited, the frameworks for retaining and passing on plant knowledge varied according to local context. In Indonesia, Thailand, and Mexico, this was closely linked to interest in and markets for traditionally woven products, along with the cultural stories embedded in them. The deep traditions and knowledge incorporated in these items added significant value, both economically and culturally. While commercial interest was not the only motivation for maintaining tradition, knowledge was generally passed down within families and communities organically, and was often shared with visitors with generosity.
In Hawai‘i, the framework was more similar to Australia, where colonisation more recently disrupted the transfer of cultural knowledge. There, a strong resurgence of energy is now directed toward reclaiming and passing this knowledge to community members through structured initiatives such as apprenticeships, community workshops, art exhibitions, and specially designed school programs. The focus is primarily on sustaining the knowledge within Hawaiian communities, with product sales playing a secondary role.
For Australia, these observations are highly relevant. As a colonised and industrialised country — and particularly in the north, where much of our food and materials come from far away — programs that reconnect people to local plants, stories, and landscapes are essential. This journey highlighted the extent of disconnection from place in Australia and strengthened my commitment to fostering initiatives that rebuild these vital connections in everyday life.
Educators are not only classroom teachers — they exist throughout the community. The most effective education programs are often those that emerge from the community itself, taking a grassroots approach. These may intersect with the schooling system but are not driven by it, recognising that learning extends far beyond the classroom. Formal education systems, particularly those shaped by government priorities, often undervalue traditional knowledge, focusing instead on the skills that serve capitalist economies and produce “workers.”
Integrating cultural plant knowledge — alongside other cultural practices such as dance, storytelling, and food sovereignty programs — into schools can be a powerful addition. In Hawai‘i, such integration is increasingly common, and similar efforts are slowly growing in Australia. However, many schools still fail to meet the needs of remote communities, Indigenous peoples, and young people from diverse cultural or learning backgrounds. In Indonesia, Thailand, and Mexico, Indigenous language, culture, and food programs are less likely to be part of formal schooling, with this knowledge still more often passed down organically within community settings.
It is essential that connection to culture and the natural world is given greater weight in mainstream education. At the same time, it is important to recognise that meaningful learning happens everywhere and at all ages. Education outside formal schooling — through family members, elders, artists, and community leaders — holds equal value, even when delivered by people without formal teaching qualifications. Such learning deserves the same respect and support as school-based education, without being wholly captured within a government-led system that risks exerting top-down control.
For this reason, there is a danger in expecting programs like Learning on Country to carry the full scope of cultural and nature-based education. Some aspects of this work may be better suited to other platforms and settings, where artists, knowledge holders, and specialists can collaborate, maintain sovereignty, and form partnerships — including those that operate entirely outside the schooling system. How to implement this is complex, but a holistic approach to what knowledge is valuable, that other places beyond schools are important learning places, including the natural landscapes themselves, women’s groups, art centres, family homes, community hubs, gardens, and how knowledge is passed on is as diverse as the people on the planet is essential to keep in mind and to ever question our schooling system and its flaws, so we can improve it, and certainly not punishing families for not engaging with it, but asking bigger questions about why they do not wish to or cannot.
