Through Climate-Colored Goggles — Sammy Roth on Culture as Catalyst for Environmental Change

In conversation with VX News, established climate journalist Sammy Roth—formerly of the LA Times and now writing independently on Climate-Colored Goggles—explores how culture, communication, and accountability shape climate progress. With years of environmental reporting behind him, Roth reflects on why the media still struggles to link extreme weather to climate change, makes the case for pairing advocacy with nuance, and previews his new work—using cultural storytelling across Hollywood, sports, and industry to rebuild public trust and create momentum toward a decarbonized future.

“I wanted to write for audiences who might not engage with ‘climate’ as a political issue but could feel it through storytelling, entertainment, or community life.” — Sammy Roth

Sammy, your LA Times newsletter was considered essential reading for anyone following California’s energy and climate policy. You’ve now launched an independent platform, called Climate-Colored Goggles. For our readers, share what inspired that move.

First of all, thank you. That’s very kind, and I really appreciate it. A few things motivated my decision. The big one was that my focus and interests were shifting both in what I wanted to write about and where I thought my work could make the greatest impact.

I started at the LA Times as an energy reporter about seven years ago and later became the climate columnist. Five years ago, I launched the Boiling Point newsletter, which, as you said, focused heavily on policy and politics. That covers how we transition from fossil fuels to clean energy and which climate solutions could drive emission reductions. That was the vision for the job, and it felt meaningful. I genuinely believed and continue to believe that journalism can move the needle, but after a decade covering climate and energy, including my earlier work at The Desert Sun, I began to feel frustrated. 

Despite real progress, the pace wasn’t matching the urgency. For every two steps forward, there seemed to be one step back, sometimes more. You saw that nationally with the political pendulum swings, the reversals…but even in California, where we lead in many ways, the cycle of progress and setbacks felt endless. I started asking myself: Why isn’t climate a higher public priority? Why does it so easily slip behind other issues, even when most people say they care about it? 

That’s when I began gravitating toward stories about cultural change, about how climate can be integrated into the broader cultural consciousness. Instead of only writing about policy, I found myself exploring how Hollywood, sports, and other cultural institutions could help shift perceptions. I wanted to write for audiences who might not engage with “climate” as a political issue but could feel it through storytelling, entertainment, or community life. Eventually, it became clear that this was the work I wanted to pursue full-time, motivating cultural industries and institutions to see themselves as part of the climate solution. That wasn’t my role at the LA Times, where my beat was policy and politics. To do this work the way I envisioned it, I needed to go independent, and that’s what led to Climate-Colored Goggles.

We speak as Hurricane Melissa makes landfall at 185 miles per hour, likely the most significant hurricane in recorded history. Yet, it’s likely that the majority of news coverage won’t mention or connect this storm to climate change. Why?

It’s a really tough question, and a timely one. In fact, the Climate-Colored Goggles piece I published this morning was about this very issue. UCLA’s Emmett Institute just released an analysis of the LA Times’ wildfire coverage from January and February during the Eaton and Palisades fires. They looked at how often LA Times news stories mentioned climate change and found that only 13 percent made the connection.

That’s from the LA Times, which actually has one of the strongest climate desks in the country. Even there, outside of the climate team, most reporters didn’t link climate change with worsening weather extremes. You’re right that this isn’t unique to any one outlet. Across the media, that connection often goes missing.

Why? I think it’s partly structural. Reporters who aren’t environmental specialists often don’t see it as their job. I’ve had colleagues say, “That’s for the climate desk.” Newsrooms are still siloed that way. Editors aren’t always telling breaking-news or politics reporters to include that context. Some reporters worry about reader blowback because the topic has become politicized. Others just don’t feel confident explaining the science, though, at this point, the link between climate change and extreme weather is well established and not hard to summarize.

Organizations like Covering Climate Now and Climate Central exist to help with that, but the truth is, most reporters are under-resourced and overworked. It’s not that journalists are denying the science—it’s that many just don’t see climate context as part of their beat. There are fewer reporters than ever, everyone’s stretched thin, and anything not demanded by an editor tends to get skipped.

Elaborate on why the diagnosis of climate change and related science are most often, simply absent from media coverage.

My earlier answer still holds. Newsroom culture still treats climate as a specialty topic rather than a universal one. Then add to that the fear of appearing “too liberal” because climate change has been so politicized. For some reporters, it feels safer to leave it out rather than risk criticism.

None of that is a good excuse…Journalists should tell the whole truth and give readers the full context. But between understaffing, a general lack of confidence in the science, and the politicization of the issue, many reporters end up avoiding it. It’s not malice; it’s inertia, which is something we desperately need to change.

As traditional journalism and the consumption thereof are changing rapidly, speak to the freedoms and opportunities that an independent platform offers you. 

It’s a great question. Part of my answer is simply personal. At the LA Times, my schedule was pretty rigid. The newsletter had to go out at the same time each week, the podcast too, and the print format dictated the rhythm of my writing. My articles were expected to hit a certain length, a certain cadence…Now, I can experiment. If I want to publish three newsletters in a week, or just one, I can. I can play with formats and lengths. I can respond more directly to what readers care about instead of what fits on a printed page. Audiences don’t care about column inches anymore; they care about connection. It’s freeing to be creative and responsive in real time.

A good example is in my first Climate-Colored Goggles newsletter, where I wrote about the Environmental Media Association, a Hollywood nonprofit that’s been around for decades and is now planning to end its 25-year sponsorship agreement with Toyota. At the end of the piece, I put out a call to readers: “Toyota’s gone—who should replace them as a more climate-conscious sponsor?” Readers sent in suggestions. It turned into a conversation. 

That kind of direct engagement just wouldn’t have been possible at the LA Times, for good reason. Traditional newsrooms require more distance, but I wanted to be able to take a slightly more active role in the story, to not just chronicle problems but help find solutions. Substack gives me the ability to do that; to be transparent about where I’m coming from and invite readers into the story with me.

You’ve defended advocacy in climate journalism—but where does nuance fit in your Substack? Shouldn’t reporting like “Toyota’s Gone…” also acknowledge the gray areas?

One hundred percent. I’ve always tried to write with nuance, and I’ll keep doing that. Some of the stories I’m proudest of at the LA Times were the hardest ones, the ones where both sides were a little mad at me. For example, large-scale solar development in the desert. It’s one of the most essential and cost-effective climate solutions we have, but it also raises serious conservation and biodiversity issues. I probably spent more time reporting that than any other topic, and I spelled out the trade-offs in painful detail. Some environmentalists were furious that I acknowledged the need for big solar; others were angry that I highlighted the ecological costs.

Or rooftop solar incentives in California: another great climate solution that also raises equity questions about electric rates. I wrote about that too, and managed to upset just about everyone. But that’s journalism done right. Climate change isn’t simple, and neither are its solutions.

I don’t see what I’m doing now as “advocacy,” except in the sense that I’m advocating for solving climate change. I still approach every issue with rigor and fairness. The Toyota story, for instance, it’s complicated. I included their perspective on hybrids. They didn’t respond to my request for comment, but I represented their argument. Still, only 1.4 percent of the vehicles they sold globally last year were electric. You can argue for hybrids, but they’re not even really trying on EVs. So in that case, it felt fairly clear-cut.

But many of the stories I’m planning are deeply nuanced, and they have to be. We won’t solve the climate crisis through absolutism or purity tests. The real work is in grappling with complexity. Take California’s recent oil refinery closures: I’m sympathetic to lawmakers who are strong environmentalists but also worried about gas prices and public backlash. Is allowing more drilling in Kern County the right way to solve that? I don’t know…it’s complicated. The bills passed by the Legislature might not work. But that’s the kind of hard, honest conversation I want Climate-Colored Goggles to have.

Part of nuance, of course, lies in recognizing that the question itself defines the boundaries of the answer—and by extension, the story. For example, should Toyota’s investments in hydrogen, and even its continued focus on hybrids, be recognized as legitimate contributions to the energy transition?

That’s a good—and big—question. I’ll take it one piece at a time.

Hydrogen: Yes, I think there’s a role, but the question is what role? Hydrogen cars, especially light-duty vehicles, have largely flopped. We’ve poured money into them for decades, and only a few thousand are on the road in California. But hydrogen for heavy-duty trucking, for heavy industry, for power plants? Maybe yes.

Right now, there’s a new gas-and-hydrogen plant coming online in Utah to replace the coal plant at Intermountain; that’s a real example of the transition in action. The challenge is minimizing collateral impacts like air pollution, siting near disadvantaged communities, and those kinds of trade-offs.

As for hybrids versus all-electric, the science is pretty clear. If we want to stay even close to the 1.5°C target, we have to accelerate toward all-electric as quickly as possible. California’s 2035 zero-emission sales goal is roughly aligned with 1.5°C. Ten years isn’t tomorrow, so sure, maybe you can sell some hybrids in the meantime. 

But the product pipeline has to shift fast, and that’s why I said Toyota’s position feels pretty open-and-shut to me. 40% of their sales are hybrids, and only 1.4% are electric. That’s just not aligned with the science of a safe climate.

In a recent piece, you urged the solar industry to stop waiting for politics to go back to normal and instead, start winning hearts and minds. Does your reporting include a strategy for this challenge?

If I had the full strategy, I’d probably be doing something other than writing a newsletter…But I do see promising examples abroad. In Europe, renewable companies have started messaging more directly: “We are the alternative to fossil fuels.” In the U.S., especially during the Trump years, the industry has tried to position itself as just another form of “American energy”—not wanting to alienate anyone politically. The idea was, we’re all part of the same team producing power. But that hasn’t worked; policy-wise, the Trump administration has fought renewables at every step.

For me personally, my job is to help shift narratives. To show that cleaner, fairer systems are possible and worth fighting for. If I can do that through stories that reach across cultural and political lines, then that’s how I’d say I’m starting to move the needle. 

You’ve written critically about The Bay Foundation’s compromise under political pressure, and VX News spoke with Tom Ford on related matters in 2019 and 2022. Should journalism aim to influence how agencies act on climate—or is its role better confined to scrutiny and accountability?

I think journalism can influence government action, though it’s harder than it used to be. The world’s gotten noisier, scarier, and more fragmented. It used to be that there were just a few big media outlets, a couple of major newspapers, a few TV stations—and if you landed a story there, everyone saw it and, for the most part, believed it. That’s not the case anymore. 

Now, there are thousands of voices shouting into the void, and audiences are divided across different platforms. Half the people might dismiss something outright or just not care, so even if you produce strong accountability journalism, it can be hard to cut through. That said, I still think journalism can make an impact. 

A quick example that’s not political, but cultural: last year I wrote about Disneyland’s Autopia ride. Seventy years after opening, it was still running gas-powered cars—belching fumes—in Tomorrowland, the park’s supposed vision of the future. I argued that it didn’t make sense anymore, that by now it should be electric. And sure enough, not long after, Disney announced it would shut down Autopia in 2026 and convert it to electric vehicles. Millions of kids ride that attraction, so the symbolism matters. For a lot of them, their first “drive” on a highway will soon be in an electric car. That’s a small but meaningful example of how journalism and cultural storytelling can still spark change.

Writing movingly about Mono Lake and LA’s complicated relationship with it, you explore guilt and honesty in LA’s water story. Speak to Mono Lake’s travails and its shaping of your views on environmental accountability.

Mono Lake’s an important story, and honestly, it’s a story that a lot of Angelenos don’t know much about. Many people have a vague sense that a lot of our water comes from “somewhere up north,” and maybe they’ve heard of a scandal tied to the Owens Valley. But few realize that the Los Angeles Aqueduct actually stretches even farther—to Mono Lake, high up near the Eastern Sierra.

I’d written about it several times but hadn’t actually visited until this past summer. Finally seeing it in person was powerful. Knowing that I’ve lived my whole life in LA, drinking water that drained this beautiful lake and disrupted its ecosystem, it hit differently when I could stand there and see it. The impacts are real: declining bird populations and local communities affected by decisions made hundreds of miles away.

Thirty years ago, LA was ordered to take less water and restore the lake to a higher level, but that target still hasn’t been met. The State Water Board hasn’t enforced the agreement, and progress has been halting. Being able to visit, photograph it, and write from firsthand experience—telling Angelenos, “Hey, after three decades as an Angeleno, I finally went to see where our water comes from”—that’s one of the real privileges of this job. People responded strongly to that story, even if I’m not sure one more story will move policy. Still, people need to know.

There is progress, though. LA’s been investing heavily in local water through stormwater capture, groundwater cleanup, and large-scale recycling projects. Part of the goal is to reduce imports from the Owens River and Mono Basin over time. 

Editor’s note (11/6/2025): Since this conversation, the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power has announced a major step toward reducing its reliance on imported supplies, including from the Mono Basin. The City plans to nearly double its recycled water capacity (enough to serve roughly 500,000 residents) as part of its goal to source 70% of its water locally by 2045, easing pressure on ecologically sensitive watersheds such as Mono Lake (LADWP Fact Sheet, 2025).

You have also reported on the costs of critical mineral extraction. What does the public still miss about the trade-offs?

You asked earlier about covering stories with nuance, and this is one of those that really needs it. The mineral I’ve focused on most is lithium, because it’s central to the clean energy transition. We need lithium for batteries—for electric vehicles and for grid-scale energy storage—to bank solar and wind and get coal and gas off the power grid. 

I did a story earlier this year that really struck at the heart of this tension, about a lithium mine nearing construction in Esmeralda County, Nevada, the Rhyolite Ridge project. If they can secure their final tranche of financing, it would become the second-largest lithium mine in the country, after Thacker Pass, located farther north in Nevada.

It really crystallizes the conflict between critical minerals and environmental conservation. On paper, it looks ideal: remote location, no big communities nearby, very little disturbance to people. But it’s home to an endangered wildflower: Tiehm’s buckwheat, which doesn’t exist anywhere else. Conservation groups have sued, saying the mine would drive this tiny flower to extinction. The company insists it won’t and that it can protect the plant while mining, but critics don’t buy it. You end up with this existential question: what’s more important, a major domestic source of lithium essential to decarbonization, or a species that could disappear forever if the project proceeds? 

Conflicts like this are playing out everywhere. Whether it’s an endangered species, a sacred tribal site, a migratory corridor, or a rural viewscape. Each one pits different values against each other: environmental or cultural preservation on one side, and the minerals needed to wean ourselves from fossil fuels on the other. They can be really hard choices, and often, there’s no easy answer. I even delayed writing that lithium column because I wasn’t sure which side to take—if any. In the end, my conclusion was simply that these are hard decisions, and everyone has to wrestle with them in their own way.

Your reporting brings readers to an existential dilemma, lithium versus the wildflower. But after learning about the dilemma, ought the reporting not also inform the reader on the next steps beyond paralysis?

That’s a fabulous question. It’s not as simple as saying anything that helps fight climate change is automatically good, or anything that could harm an endangered species is automatically bad. Some people do see it that way, and I understand why…But to me it’s not so simple. Then there’s the global dimension: if we don’t mine lithium in Nevada, we’ll mine it somewhere else…maybe in Australia or China. Is it really better to outsource those impacts? 

These are hard questions. Some people argue we should instead work to reduce the need for new minerals altogether: drive less, redesign cities to be less car-dependent. I’ve been reading a great book called Life After Cars, on rethinking how we reduce those mining pressures entirely, even if we’ll never come close to eliminating them.

Before concluding, what are the biggest climate stories you hope to share next on your Substack platform?

A few big cultural themes. One is storytelling—how Hollywood and the entertainment industry can tell climate stories that move people. What kinds of films, shows, or narratives could make climate change feel real and human, not abstract? What are the dramas or even comedies that could weave these ideas into our collective consciousness?

Another is sports. How is climate change already affecting sports—and how should the industry respond? Whether it’s extreme heat, melting snow and ice, or wildfire smoke, these impacts are starting to disrupt everything from the Olympics to local youth leagues. There’s also a growing conversation about fossil fuel advertising in sports, which is something that’s bubbling up in Europe and will likely come here, especially with the Olympics coming to Los Angeles.

Then there’s media and advertising more broadly, regarding how we communicate and deliver stories on clean energy, fossil fuels, and climate change. There’s activism happening in that space, and creatives are starting to wrestle with how to tell stories responsibly and compellingly.

Lastly, many climate change readers have been encouraging writers, like yourself, to create climate-related scripts. Could you be inspired to write one?

I’ve got a couple of ideas—but I’ll keep them to myself for now….