Introduction – What is land grabbing anyway?

The subject of land grabbing emerges as we are facing a polycrisis that seems to engulf everything around us, threatening our very existence on this planet. Land grabbing seems to be the perfect expression of the tension between nature vs economy. Land as an environment, as a place of belonging and as a source of meaning is juxtaposed with land as a resource or creator of profit. The term land grabbing is quite self-explanatory. The very violent gesture implied by “grabbing” suggests force, control or even injustice. Although a strict definition is not agreed upon, generally land grabbing refers to the control through purchase or leasing of vast areas of land in the detriment of local communities. The key term here is the idea of control – and it’s important to underline that land grabbing is not just a matter of ownership and property rights. This is why it is difficult to account for how much land is being grabbed, as ownership is not the only thing that counts. More so, as we will see, considering effective control and not ownership blurs the lines and makes land susceptible to being grabbed even when the land grabber is not de facto the owner.

Far from being a neutral term, land grabbing is politically charged, suggesting an imbalance of power, and it has been used by various social movements for peasant rights to draw attention to the multitude of impacts land grabbing has. And these impacts are not easy to dismiss. There are high concerns over the environmental impact, as a turn to intensive agricultural practices comes with a myriad of environmental effects: soil degradation, pollution of water sources, or loss of habitat and biodiversity due to the use of monocultures. There are also socio-economical concerns, as land grabbing deeply disrupts the local communities often resulting in displacement and the erosion of social ties and cultural heritage. It creates what Tania Li calls surplus populations, people who no longer have a means of subsistence of the land but cannot find employment elsewhere, thus being forced into migration. This adds to the constant stream of precarious workers, and it leaves rural communities to slowly die out or fall into poverty.

Although it resembles previous periods of land enclosures, land grabbing arises as a distinct phenomenon which has increased ever since the food crisis of 2008. It is more often discussed in the context of the Global South, and rightfully so, considering how countries such as Brazil, Indonesia, Ethiopia, and others are prime targets for extensive land grabs and consolidation projects. But what about Europe? Surely, countries from Europe are predominantly the perpetrators, but as it seems, they are also the target of land grabbing, especially countries of Eastern Europe. Yet, it is far less researched and understood in this specific context. And this is a crucial point, as land grabbing as it’s normally understood manifests differently in this region. 

The making of injustice – land grabbers big and small

One of the main images we have about land grabbing and how it operates is the idea of big corporations, international investment funds or foreign companies coming and buying out all the land in a region. Is a classic story of David and Goliath. And while it is a true story, and I don’t want to minimise this trend, as it is the case in many parts of the country, it is not the only story of how land grabbing happens in Romania or rather is just a part of the story. The emphasis on this idea that foreigners are coming to take up our land, is sometimes a misdirection, used in many instances to overt attention from the actual problem. Is land grabbing a problem only when foreigners are doing it? Or is it rather the violence attached and the injustice done in the process? This powerful discourse can stir directly into right-wing populist tropes, in which land is equated to the nation body, needing to be preserved and protected in the name of some chauvinistic ideals. We see this discourse used by populist politicians who mimic concern for the peasants, posing as defenders of little producers while at the same time fattening their own pockets with dubious contracts. Yet it is no surprise that rural populations are looking more and more at right-wing politicians for salvation. They are the only ones who pay attention to the stark tensions and realities of rurality, even though they are doing so just to capitalise on these grievances for their own political gain, rather than genuinely addressing the underlying issues.

I conducted my fieldwork primarily in a village located in the nearby hilly region of Huedin. Being a small and remote village, it captivates with its breathtaking natural beauty and bucolic atmosphere. Apart from cars, access to the village is primarily by train; however, the train station is situated an hour’s walk away on muddy roads and forest trails. The village used to have 900 inhabitants but today only around 80 remain, most of them elderly.  Interestingly enough, during the pandemic, the village experienced an unexpected influx of newcomers, breathing new life into its dwindling community. Despite its small size, I found the village surprisingly lively. It has a peasant association with a seed bank and hosts a modest Sunday market, although it has to be said that the market is more an excuse for socialisation and community chatting than it is for hardcore commerce. Very few people in the village are still practising agriculture, and only a handful are still raising animals. 

Most of the land is owned or rented by the the local shepherd, who controls around 80% of the land in the village, or about 200 ha. A part of the land he bought, a part he rents from locals and the “composesorat” (the old commons). He was born in the village but, as many of the villagers pointed out during our talks, his father was not from around, but from Sibiu. His herd consists of 2000 sheep, and as he told me, it is only at such a size that you can be financially viable. His household is at the end of the village, close to the old village stables. Its location outside the village seems to mirror his status within the community — that of an outsider.

Although I use this village as my primary case study, I took interviews with peasants from all around the region, and their stories match in many instances. Talking with peasants about their lands, it became apparent that most villages had one or two people who slowly took hold of most of the land in the area. The sentiment towards these local land grabbers was many times contradictory. On one hand, they are not some faceless corporations, they are local entrepreneurs who live as part of the community. On the other hand, it was clear that this closeness in relations was many times exploited in the quest of grabbing as much land as possible. Some accounts talked about how they would use land they did not own, without having any papers, with, or in some cases, without asking permission. This was justified as oftentimes the owners were not found. In other instances, the villagers were compensated with gifts in nature, like a lamb on Easter, bypassing a renting agreement. Others talked about methods of forcing people to rent their lands. One interviewee disclosed that among the methods used to force her to rent was the invasion of her crops by a herd of animals. This left renting the land as the only viable option, as she was unable to use it otherwise. Another told of the difficulty of reaching her lands as the herd dogs made the roads unsafe. Threats, pressure and humiliation made many give up and agree to renting their land. They also agreed to rent at the value they were offered, not after a real negotiation. 

I started investigating land grabbing as an issue of environmental justice, trying to see beyond common tropes and already-established narratives. Environmental justice is a framework that emphasises the need for equitable distribution of environmental benefits and burdens. It also challenges power dynamics and advocates for inclusive decision-making processes. I use this framework to inquire precisely about the intersectionality of social, economic, and environmental factors, recognizing that marginalised communities often bear the brunt of environmental degradation and injustice.

As we can see, the process of land grabbing is many times actually violent and for many peasants, it aroused feelings of anger towards the injustice they are experiencing but also resignation, as many felt powerless in the face of what had happened to them. And the feeling of injustice was not solely perceived as directed at them as individuals, but also at their community. For example, many villagers were complaining that the shepherd in the village was using the village stables, built by the community before the collectivisation without paying rent. Or some argued that while he was becoming richer and richer, this surge of wealth was not returning in the community, who was left to die out.

Land – the same old problem 

This state of affairs did not develop in the last few years. Rather it is part of a process that started even before decollectivization. To understand the present situation, we need to look back to the history of these rural communities. It is well-known that the process of collectivisation was characterised by coercion and disruption. However, the transformation of peasants into workers was only partially accomplished during the communist regime and the process carried on and even intensified after  1989. The village I studied was one of the firsts to get collectivised, and many of the villages argue that this is why it was also one of the first to become depopulated after or even before the 1989 Revolution. During communism, peasants were slowly transformed into peasant-workers, especially the men, who were working as tractor drivers, or at nearby factories. After the Revolution, land was given back to their previous owners. It was an attempt to restore a social reality that existed before 1950, but simply turning back the clock could not undo the effects of years of collectivisation. Land restitution was necessary, but it did not have the expected result. The lands were very fragmented, which paradoxically set the scene for the future land grabbing, as peasants were unable to earn their living off the little plots of land they received, not to mention they lacked the necessary means of modern farming. As many were already integrated into wage labour, it was really the path of least resistance to abandon the fields and move slowly to the cities. So, we have a population of peasant-workers who already lost a great deal of traditional knowledge during the socialist period, an extremely fragmented land, and a process of restitution that dragged on for years, creating many ambiguities regarding who owns what land. After 30 years, most villages are still in a process of land cadastration, and in many instances there is still confusion over property boundaries. It is this context that set the scene for the emergence of business-oriented farmers, some part of the nomenklatura, who saw the opportunity arising, slowly grabbing as much land as possible.

Commons, old and new

So, are there any forms of resistance to these transformations? Despite many feeling powerless against land grabbing, some peasants rally behind the old institution of the “composesorat”, viewing it as a potential means to keep the village community alive. The composesorat, the traditional commons, is a legal entity for communal land management in Transylvania, reinstated after 50 years of abolition during communism. Land ownership within the composesorat is collective and indivisible, with each member inheriting a percentage of land based on their or their forefathers’ contributions, exclusively passed down to male descendants. Much of the composesorat’s land consists of forests, providing each member with an annual allocation of wood for fire based on their percentage. Furthermore, the composesorat holds general assemblies where all members can vote on various matters. A few years ago, the village composesorat was almost dying, with little interest in organising meetings or tending to its administration. Yet, a new leadership emerged that re-organised the old commons and brought it back to life. They argued that the old commons were created precisely to prevent land fragmentation that makes land so susceptible to land grabbing. Because the land cannot be sold or taken out of the commons, it remains in the control of the community. This does not mean there are no inherent tensions. Still, the vision for what the old commons could be, shared by the people who reinstated it in the village, is that of an institution that can be the means for direct organisation of the community, on the principle of self-governance.

Another interesting case of community organisation comes from a different village that is experimenting with new forms of land commons. The project is called ALPA – Access to land, and it works with the concept of land banks, inspired by Terre de Liens in France. It is a project of peasant solidarity, and its goal is to facilitate access to land for agroecological farmers, who practice less intense and more sustainable agriculture. It is focused on the transfer of not just land, but also traditional knowledge promoting sustainable practices and agroecological principles. 

When it comes to land grabbing, one of the most concerning issues is the change in agricultural practices and use of land. Land grabbing usually deeply disrupts the local food production patterns and delocalises the local food system. It is linked with the process of de-peasantisation, which refers to the transformation of peasants into workers and the dissolution of rural communities. This has a significant consequence not just at the level of societal changes, but on the ecology of the place as well. How so? 

By concentrating control of the land into a single hand, the landscape ceases to reflect the historical interdependence between humans and nature that shaped it over generations. Instead, it becomes a manifestation of a productivist logic that views nature merely as a resource to be exploited for profit. Nature is of course not outside the human world, or rather humans cannot imagine themselves outside nature. That is why peasants have historically acted as stewards of land, taking care of the soil with future generations in mind. Farming done on small plots with less intensive machinery, plot rotation, the use of organic fertilizers such as manure, farming multiple species of plants together (polyculture), reproduction of traditional seeds, these are just some of the practices I found still used by peasants in the region I studied. These traditional practices contribute to climate adaptation strategies by promoting farming techniques that are better suited to local conditions and less reliant on external inputs. By upholding these time-honored methods, peasants play a crucial role in keeping our planet’s ecological balance and ensuring the long-term sustainability of agriculture. That is why projects such as ALPA are crucial responses to the tendency of de-peasantisation, especially considering the real generational gap existing now in the countryside. With the younger population already migrating to urban areas and a remaining elder population in the villages, peasant agriculture is in danger of being lost. 

Returning to the ALPA initiative, this innovative project not only problematizes the issue of land succession and land access, which in the context of land grabbing becomes critical for the continuation of a peasant model of agriculture, but also brings an interesting case for future policy interventions on land security or sovereignty. The project was born out of a real necessity for policies that address the problem of small farmers, and although it is still at the beginning, its’  real potential lies exactly in creating a blueprint for future initiatives that can be organised locally. 

While developmental discourses may advocate for industrial agriculture and land consolidation as the sole viable path for agricultural progress, this perspective fails to account for alternative, sustainable approaches that may offer equally or even more promising outcomes. Moreover, the ongoing commodification of peasant existence obscures persistent livelihoods rooted in subsistence and self-sufficiency. These non-standard and non-uniform ways of life challenge mainstream modernist tropes, emphasising the complex and resilient nature of peasant communities amidst evolving socio-economic landscapes.