The Seed-Saving Movement Is Bigger Than Banks

“Seeds have walked with people across every continent,” says Amy June Breesman, an Eastern Shawnee, German, and Irish seed keeper and researcher. “They have been braided into hair and sewn into clothing, traveled across oceans with stolen bodies, to make the medley of food cultures we have today. They hold those stories within them.”

For Indigenous communities, the ability to save and exchange seeds is an assertion of sovereignty. Seed sovereignty is more than farming or food—it is a powerful act of reclamation and resilience, a resurgence of Indigenous wisdom that industrial and colonial agricultural systems have suppressed. Generations work together to restore ancestral seeds taken, lost, or locked away in institutional seed banks—returning them to the lands and hands that always valued their worth. 

Jessica Brown, a California Open Lands ethnobotanist and an enrolled member of the Elem Indian Colony of Southeastern Pomo, emphasizes that seed keeping does not require commercial materials or set-ups often promoted by industrial agriculture. 

“People think they need nurseries, pre-packaged seeds, or fertilizers to grow,” she says. “But our people have always grown food without those things. We grow in relationship with the land, not in plastic pots or bags.” 

As a volunteer with Xa Kako Dile, an Indigenous women–led nonprofit on a working farm in Casper, California, Brown focuses on seed banking within Native communities—not through the sterile vaults of commercialized seed storage but as a living practice of growing, harvesting, and sharing seeds that sustain the land and the people. 

“What we’re trying to do with seeds is shift from extractive to regenerative practices,” Brown explains. “We prioritize native and culturally significant plants, and we grow natives from our regions to support our local ecosystem, reduce water use, and restore biodiversity.”

Seed banks housed in universities, governments, and even global institutions such as Norway’s Svalbard Global Seed Vault serve as biodiversity archives. Still, their structure reflects a colonial approach to preservation and perhaps inadequate solutions to a problem that requires active cultivation, rather than passive storage. 

Breesman, who runs Good Way Farm in Lawrence, Kansas, argues that while seed banks may serve as a last resort in the case of disaster, “I would rather have a three-year-old packet of seeds in a hundred homes in my region than that amount of seed sitting in a vault somewhere, waiting for it to be selected again for grow outs,” she says. “Seeds belong with people.”

Dan Cornelius is a member of the Oneida Nation and a farmer with a law degree from the University of Wisconsin–Madison, who coleads several food sovereignty initiatives across the state. He has worked for years to connect Indigenous growers to one another and sees seed keeping as a crucial entry point into the movement: “If you’re going to save seeds, you really need to understand the whole life cycle of that plant,” he explains. “And you’ve got to be really good at it. You won't have good seeds if you’re not good at growing.”

Understanding seeds as dynamic, evolving entities is why Indigenous farmers often reject the idea of centralized, institutional seed banks. Rather than freezing seeds for an uncertain future, they advocate for widespread cultivation, sharing, and adaptation to shifting environmental conditions. “The best seed bank,” Dan says, “is a lot of individual growers who are connected. That’s the best way to protect our seeds.”

Indigenous seed sovereignty also responds to threats posed by corporate-controlled agriculture, including genetically modified organisms (GMOs), patented seeds, and chemical treatments that prioritize profit over sustainability. The commodification of seeds led to the loss of traditional crop varieties, making it even more urgent to reclaim ancestral seeds. 

However, corporate seed laws increasingly threaten this right. U.S. legal decisions such as Bowman v. Monsanto Co. (2013) and the 1995 WTO TRIPS Agreement make it illegal for farmers to save patented seeds. Many Indigenous seed keepers reject these restrictions, advocating for open-source, freely exchanged seeds. By prioritizing traditional varieties, Indigenous growers resist corporate control over the food system and restore the autonomy of their communities.

“Decolonizing food and medicine isn’t just about sustainability,” Jessica asserts. “It’s about restoring relationships with the land we have lost over time, honoring our Indigenous knowledge, and ensuring that our future generations have access to truly nourishing ways of life.”

Unlike commercial hybrid seeds, which lose vigor in future generations, open-pollinated and heirloom varieties naturally adapt to their environment, strengthening biodiversity. Indigenous seed sovereignty maintains these landrace, or locally adapted, varieties, which have been passed down for centuries. By saving seeds from plants that thrive in their specific climates, Indigenous farmers ensure the resilience of their food systems against climate change and environmental degradation.

The disruption of traditional foodways is closely tied to the systematic displacement of Indigenous communities, leading to widespread food insecurity. Historically, Native American diets were rich in diverse, locally sourced foods, including the “three sisters” of corn, beans, and squash, which provided balanced nutrition and supported sustainable agriculture. 

However, colonial forces intentionally disrupted these food systems, targeting Indigenous food stores and forcibly relocating Native peoples away from their ancestral lands. Over time, many Indigenous people were left with limited access to traditional food sources, forcing reliance on processed commodity foods. The result has been disproportionate rates of diabetes, heart disease, and other diet-related health crises in Native communities.

Indigenous food sovereignty practitioners assert that reclaiming seed sovereignty is vital to food security and self-determination. Organizations dedicated to reconnecting Indigenous communities work with traditional foods, promoting seed saving as a resilient tool. 

Jessica and sister Raylene Brown’s work with Xa Kako Dile integrates traditional ecological knowledge (TEK) with regenerative farming techniques. “We offer healing retreats, education on food sovereignty, and spaces for ceremony,” says Raylene, who is in the Hopland Band of Pomo Indians. “It’s all about empowering our Indigenous community and supporting local tribes.”

Cornelius has seen the impact firsthand of reintroducing younger generations to seed keeping. “The more growers we have, the more opportunity there is for young people—and for everyone—to be part of something,” he says. “It’s about intergenerational connections. Having elders share their stories and knowledge with youth is crucial to keeping this alive.”

Ultimately, institutional seed banks treat seeds as static genetic material to be stored and controlled, while the seed movement nurtures them as living entities that thrive through tending, respect, and sharing. As Indigenous communities reclaim seeds, they reclaim their future.

“We’re planting the seeds today,” Jessica Brown says with hope. “What we teach now, our children will carry forward. And that’s how we keep going.”