Tangelic Talks – Season 03 | Episode 04
Pollution, Power and Storytelling: Leonie Joubert on Climate Journalism and Community Resilience
14 minutes to read
Tangelic Talks welcomes Leonie Joubert, South African science writer, journalist, and storyteller who has spent over two decades following the toxic trails of pollution. From carbon emissions driving climate collapse, to processed food fueling disease, to plastics polluting our ecosystems, Leonie’s work asks a critical question: Who profits from pollution, and who pays the price?
In this episode of Tangelic Talks, we dive into Leonie’s journey, her philosophy of storytelling, and the urgent lessons she shares from life on the road as a climate reporter.
From Antarctica Dreams to Climate Journalism
Leonie’s career began almost by accident. Inspired by her father’s stories from his time with the British Antarctic Survey, she grew up fascinated with the mythic landscapes of Antarctica. As a master’s student in science journalism, she had the chance to board a South African research vessel traveling halfway to Antarctica, stopping at the Prince Edward Islands. This voyage became the spark for her first book, Scorched: South Africa’s Changing Climate, which explored how rising CO₂ levels and shifting temperatures impact ecosystems from elephants to maize fields.
That experience cemented her path. Over the years, Leonie has come to see climate change not as a series of separate problems, but as one overarching system of pollution—from carbon in the air, to plastics in our rivers, to processed foods in our bodies. At the center of it all lies corporate power: large companies that manipulate systems for profit while leaving communities and ecosystems to bear the cost.
The Power of Storytelling in Climate Communication
Leonie believes that storytelling is central to shifting public understanding. Humans respond more deeply to narratives than to raw data. Long-form journalism, she says, allows her to combine the rigor of science with the emotional power of narrative, creating stories that land in both the head and the heart.
“Storytelling is how societies have agreed or disagreed, rallied around ideas, and cooperated. It’s how we make sense of the world.”
By weaving together descriptive imagery, scientific facts, and lived experiences, Leonie brings climate realities to life in ways that statistics alone cannot. This philosophy underpins her current project, Story Arc, which blends reporting, activism, and community voices to highlight both the destruction and resilience found across South Africa.
A Van, a Cat, and a Mission
In 2019, as global scientific consensus warned that humanity had only a decade to prevent catastrophic warming, Leonie faced both professional and personal upheaval. Journalism as an industry was collapsing, major outlets were cutting staff, and she found herself struggling to make a living as a freelancer.
Instead of giving up, she made a radical decision: sell her home, store her belongings, and set off across South Africa in a small van with her cat, Mouse. With some support from funders, she began traveling to communities on the frontlines of climate change, documenting stories of collapse, resilience, and hope.
This journey has taken her into fragile desert ecosystems hammered by drought, into grasslands that serve as vital carbon sinks and water factories, and into small towns where plastic waste undermines livestock and livelihoods. What emerges is a mosaic of stories that show how global climate disruption manifests in local, everyday ways.
Stories from the Frontlines
1. Desertification and the Dust Bowl Effect
In South Africa’s west coast desert regions, Leonie joined scientists surveying quiver trees—towering succulents that are now dying as temperatures climb and drought intensifies. Mining activity and land degradation are amplifying the crisis, creating dust bowl conditions reminiscent of John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath. The parallels are striking: economic forces, environmental stress, and human displacement converging to unravel fragile ecosystems.
2. Grasslands: Custodians of Climate and Water
On the other side of the country, Leonie explored South Africa’s high-altitude grasslands, which not only support local livestock economies but also act as critical carbon sinks and water sources. Farmers—both Indigenous and settler-descendant—play a crucial role in managing these landscapes. Yet they remain vulnerable to market forces, climate shocks, and corporate dominance. Supporting sustainable grazing practices here is not just about local food security—it’s about regional water security and global climate stability.
3. The Nappy Problem: Pollution Meets Poverty
One of the most powerful stories Leonie uncovered involves disposable nappies (diapers) in rural communities. With no waste collection systems, families discard nappies in open fields, where livestock consume them, leading to fatal blockages and perpetuating disease cycles. Local NGOs, in partnership with communities, introduced affordable, washable nappies as a solution—reducing plastic waste, protecting livestock health, and saving families significant money over time. It’s a small but transformative example of grassroots innovation addressing systemic challenges.
Naming, Shaming, and Accountability
Leonie does not shy away from calling out corporate negligence. When she contacted major retailers and nappy manufacturers about their responsibility under South Africa’s constitutional right to a healthy environment, almost none replied. For her, this silence underscores the urgent need for naming and shaming polluters, and for demanding policies that force corporations to account for the hidden costs of pollution.
She uses a simple metaphor: “If a tap is flooding the kitchen, do you keep mopping the floor—or do you turn off the tap?” True climate justice requires turning off the tap of pollution at its source.
The Human Side of Climate Justice
Throughout the episode, Leonie emphasizes the importance of active listening and respecting the dignity of people in marginalized communities. As a white South African journalist, she acknowledges the deep historical inequalities that shape land use and power dynamics. Ethical storytelling, she insists, requires humility: not overpromising, not framing people solely as victims, but amplifying their voices with honesty and respect.
Local to Global: Scaling Climate Action
Leonie also reflects on the tension between local activism and global policy. Grassroots organizations often succeed in mobilizing communities and influencing municipal governments, but face enormous challenges when confronting global corporate power or negotiating at international forums like the UN climate summits. Still, she argues that local solutions matter—and that not every initiative needs to scale globally to be meaningful. Sometimes, helping a community manage its grasslands or reduce plastic waste is as impactful as global campaigns.
Consumerism as a Drug
One of Leonie’s most sobering observations comes from a trip to a shopping mall after months in rural communities. Confronted with the blinding consumerism of mall culture, she described it as a kind of drug: addictive, numbing, and difficult to quit. In her view, consumerism is one of the greatest obstacles to climate action, offering people a false sense of purpose while distracting them from ecological collapse.
Lessons and Takeaways
- ➤ Pollution is systemic. Carbon, plastic, and processed food are all connected through corporate power structures.
- ➤ Stories inspire action. Data matters, but narratives move people.
- ➤ Grassroots solutions work. Communities innovate in powerful, practical ways.
- ➤ Corporations must be held accountable. Without regulation, polluters will not change.
- ➤ Consumerism is a barrier. Escapism through shopping blinds us to climate realities.
Active listening is essential. Ethical storytelling respects dignity and avoids overpromising.
Thought Provoking Q&A Session with Leonie Joubert
Writing, for me, is almost like breathing. If I stop and think about it, I can describe how my lungs expand and contract, how I can hold my breath and eventually let it out—but really, it just happens naturally. Writing is a bit like that, though I do approach it with some principles.
In South Africa, where I was born into a white family during apartheid, I grew up in a system where an illegitimate white minority government committed daily crimes against humanity, making the best resources available to people like me while treating the Black majority as second-class citizens. That kind of power dynamic leaves deep marks on people’s psyches—it’s not only about money or education, but about how worthy or worthless you feel as an individual.
Because of this, as a journalist, I have to be acutely aware of power. When I walk into a room, I can’t assume I control the narrative. I need to be clear about who I am, why I’m there, and avoid overpromising. Journalism is inherently extractive, but it can be practiced in ways that are ethical, that acknowledge asymmetries, and that preserve people’s dignity.
Often, people want nothing more than to be heard and recognized as individuals, not as subjects or statistics. When conversations are free-flowing, you can find the threads in someone’s life that resonate with others and tell their story in a way that is honest, colorful, and respectful. Even when someone is a victim, they still have dignity, and the role of the journalist is to reflect that humanity.
Oh, that’s such a good question. I’m not sure I have a complete answer. In South Africa, and perhaps it’s similar elsewhere, we have a lot of really effective grassroots organizations that mobilize within their own communities. At the local level, they’re engaging with municipalities and local councillors, and some of them do extend their work to the provincial or even national level.
Globally, there are a few organizations that operate effectively across borders—Greenpeace has been global for a long time, WWF as well, and Extinction Rebellion has really shaken things up.
What’s difficult, though, is when you think about many African countries participating in international climate summits like the COPs. Often, they’re sending small delegations, sometimes without deep expertise in climate policy or negotiations. Meanwhile, they’re up against powerful lobbyists representing massive interests. The inequity in that space is stark.
So maybe the best answer is to look at the organizations—local or global—that are already doing this well, and think about how we can support and scale their efforts
I think how you answer that depends on which issue you’re focusing on. What I find so distressing at the moment, reading outlets like The New York Times and The Guardian, is seeing decisions made by Donald Trump and his administration that have very real consequences for people in Africa—things like funding cuts. And yet, there’s nothing that any South African NGO can do to change Trump’s mind or the minds of his supporters.
What NGOs can do is rally around their own communities. For example, whether we’re talking about HIV treatment or plastic pollution, there are opportunities to push for change. Take the case of diapers—or nappies, as some places call them. There’s a huge opportunity there to lobby at a national level, to call out and hold accountable the corporations that profit from that pollution.
I often say it’s like having a tap left running in the kitchen, flooding the floor. Do you just keep mopping up the water—or do you turn off the tap? Asking individuals to mop endlessly won’t solve it. We need to force corporations to turn off the tap, and they won’t do it without serious pressure.
That’s why lobbying regionally and nationally is so important. Governments can put policies and fiscal measures in place to curb pollution, but that takes political will. We’ve seen this with things like South Africa’s sugar tax and plastic bag levy—there was huge pushback from corporations, claiming jobs would be lost and the economy would suffer, while ignoring that the economy is already suffering from the consequences of pollution.
So for NGOs, activists, and storytellers, the role is to expose those disingenuous narratives and remind policymakers that the real costs—whether it’s amputated limbs from health impacts, or livestock dying from ingesting plastic waste—have to be included in the price of the product.
I think journalists often promise something different from what civil society can offer. With local NGOs, the ones that stay in a community for a long time—like ERS, who’ve been doing nappy work in one neighborhood for over 20 years—you see a very different dynamic. It’s not really “ERS working with the community,” it’s the community and ERS working together. Because of that, there’s deep trust and consistent delivery.
That’s very different from the “parachute NGOs” that swoop in, promise things, and then leave. So, accountability and ethics are really important. For journalists and storytellers, there’s often this expectation that once a big national newspaper covers your plight, then government, corporates, or wealthy individuals will suddenly respond. But we have to be careful with that framing.
I remember speaking with a woman who heads a rangeland association. She and her community are working voluntarily to manage wildfires and remove invasive tree species that threaten biodiversity and water access. It’s grueling work—cutting down trees, applying herbicide—and yet she told me: “We don’t need money. We just need tools. Give us boots, chainsaws, safety gear—we’ll do the work ourselves.”
That stuck with me. Communities are passionate and willing, they just need the resources to act. That’s why, through my StoryArc project, I want to create a space where I can say to readers: “If you want to help this group clearing nappies from the veld, here’s how. If you want to support that community battling invasive species, here’s how.”
I know journalists aren’t supposed to cross into activism, but in this planetary crisis, I feel we have to break those rules. We don’t always need more money; sometimes people just need the tools to get the work done. For me, with StoryArc, I don’t care about making a profit from my stories—I just want enough to cover the bills so I can meet people, do the research, and write. I really hope we can move to a space where we’re not all just chasing survival, but actually enabling communities to thrive.
What distresses me the most is this kind of willful ignorance—or maybe it’s willful avoidance. After spending a lot of time in really remote places, I had to come back into a city hub to do some shopping, which meant walking into a mall.
Because I’d been so far removed from that environment, the contrast hit me hard. The shopping mall felt overwhelming—like this loud, relentless wave of consumerism, almost like a drug. I remember walking in and thinking, “Oh my God, we are so screwed.” Here I was, having just spent six months reporting on issues that are literally bringing us to the brink of civilizational collapse, and suddenly I was surrounded by this bright, numbing spectacle.
Shopping malls, television, constant consumption—it all feels like ways we avoid facing reality. Being human is painful, and I understand why people look for distraction. But if you look at contemplative traditions—Buddhism, various philosophies and faiths—they’ve long grappled with why we feel so uncomfortable in our own skin and how to live with that discomfort. Consumerism, by contrast, offers us an easy escape, but it’s addictive. It’s a drug that’s incredibly hard to quit.
And I think that’s what worries me most—that consumerism has become such a powerful coping mechanism that people don’t want to look up, don’t want to face the truth.
Invisible Ink is the ‘most brilliant climate crisis memoir the world has never heard of, and no one wants to read’, according to the entirely unbiased author.
It is a rollicking, white-knuckled ride through 20 years of misadventures on the frontline of climate reporting in Africa. Check it out here
Leonie's articles and pieces on the Daily Maverick.
A behind the scenes reflection on the plastic poisoning and pollution issue. Read here
The four-part Piles of sh*t series… starts with a hyper-local case study but broadens to look at the bigger question of the global system that allows this kind of pollution to continue and then looks at the issue of plastic poisoning from micro plastics. See the four part series here
Leonie Joubert
Scientist, Writer
Leonie Joubert is a South African science writer and author, and has a pretty gnarly beat. She writes about pollution: carbon pollution of the atmosphere that’s driving climate collapse; how highly-processed food-like products pollute the nutritional landscape, leading to the ‘oil spill’ of hunger, obesity, diabetes, heart disease and the so-called ‘lifestyle’ diseases; and plastics pollution in our bodies and the environment.
Mostly, she’s interested in who profits from being able to pollute, and who pays the price. Through this unusual journalistic beat, Leonie critiques the limitless-growth economic model through the lens of climate change and food security, and how this is driving systems collapse. She has spent the better part of 20 years exploring these topics through books, journalism, communication support to academics and civil society organisations, non-fiction creative writing, podcasting, and public speaking.
Using long-form journalism, her storytelling weaves ‘person’ and ‘place’ into the complex science of the issue at hand. After 20 years of working at the coalface of climate collapse, she realised recently that the situation is only getting worse: carbon pollution is climbing; global temperatures are following hot on its heels. She decided it was time to retire from business-as-usual. She sold her home in Cape Town, packed just what she needed into a little plumber’s van, and together with her cat called Mouse (chief navigator and plucky comic relief), she’s travelling around the country looking for the untold and invisible stories that show how the climate crisis is unfolding on our doorstep, in our lifetime.
Story Ark: tales from Southern Africa’s climate tipping points is investigative journalism meets immersive storytelling.