On my travels again over the past couple of weeks, I have been struck once more by the astonishing variety of vegetation in our world. Last week in humid Hong Kong, dodging astonishing thunderstorms and black rain, I paused to admire the massive fig trees which cling to walls and slopes, their aerial roots cascading like curtains. This week, in oven-like Dubai, sturdy palms and succulents stand testament to survival in arid heat. Next week I will be back in Scotland, a country which cannot decide whether it is hot, cold or wet … There, the greens therefore are lighter and gentler, and mosses and grasses spread across damp stone walls and into pavement cracks. Different continents, different plants; yet all of them thrive in their own way, in their own place.
Looking at this richness, I found myself idly wondering yesterday whether, when buffeted by the elements — especially in an age of increasingly extreme weather — plants are able to ask for help. They cannot uproot themselves and relocate to a more welcoming environment; they must endure where they are planted. But what happens if they are suffering and cannot get what they need? A rabbit hole of research later, I discovered what plant biologists already know: it turns out that plants do have ways of signalling their need.
When under attack, for example, some plants can release invisible chemical messages into the air, warning their neighbours of danger, and prompting them to strengthen their own defences. Beneath the soil, plant roots can link with other plants through fungal networks, sending coded signals and sometimes even receiving nutrients from stronger companions. Electrical pulses can travel across the leaves of some plants to carry a message of distress to other parts of the plant, triggering systemic protection. Some plants even change colour or form when stressed, deterring predators or attracting allies. It may not be communication as we know it, but it is unmistakably a call for support — and more often than not, the call is answered. How amazing is that?
And this, in turn, made me wonder about leaders. Do leaders ask for help enough? Leadership is hard; it requires energy, resilience, and constant attention. Yet so many leaders still see it as weakness to admit need. They push through alone, sometimes to breaking point, with all the damaging consequences for mental health that this entails. Importantly, ‘complaining’ is not the same as ‘asking for help’. As plants demonstrate, asking for help is targeted, intentional, and directed towards the specific support that is appropriate in the circumstances.
If plants can signal for help – and if the world around them is ready to respond, and does – then surely we can learn from this. Asking for help is not weakness, nor is it a last-ditch distress flare that scorches those best placed to assist … asking for help is connection. It draws others into our circle of resilience and ensures that we can continue to thrive where we are planted.
I very much believe that leadership, like nature, is an ecosystem. Leadership flourishes not in isolation, but in interaction – in networks of trust, generosity, and mutual response. Just as no plant survives without the soil, the air, and the unseen web beneath the surface, no leader thrives without acknowledging – and participating in – the interdependence offered by colleagues, systems, and structures. And thus the lesson extends: if even the silent life of plants shows that their need can be expressed and met, then we – agile animals and consummate communicators that we are – can surely ask.
Perhaps the real challenge is simply to trust that the world will answer … and to discover how much stronger we become when it does …
