When self-described eco-communicator Leah Thomas (also known online as Green Girl Leah) coined the term ‘intersectional environmentalism,’ she gave language to a movement that had long been waiting to bloom; one that recognises that the climate crisis cannot be solved without addressing systems of racial, social, and economic injustice. From the frontlines of activism to the quiet spaces of reflection, community and grassroots craft, Thomas’ work is evolving towards a sensibility rooted in care and imagination. She’s currently writing a second book inspired by her beloved sci-fi, soilpunk zines, and recently founded Green Girl Productions, curating art-centred events informed by activism.

Similarly, writer and activist Rachel Cargle has spent years dismantling the barriers between personal growth and collective liberation. In 2018, she founded The Loveland Foundation as an accessible mental health care system for Black women, and her work in reimagining community, rest, and resistance intersects with Thomas’s own. In conversation, two women at the forefront of change come together not just to discuss reform, but to envision something softer and perhaps more radical: healing.

Rachel Cargle: Hi, Leah.
Leah Thomas: Hi, how are you?

Rachel: I’m doing good. I’m in New York City, where it’s nearing a hundred degrees. Are you in the city too?
Leah: I’m in Los Angeles. I just got back from Austin yesterday and it was about a hundred or something degrees, which was so wild.

Rachel: I have been feeling so much empathy for every living thing that’s under the sun and heat. This is one of many conversations we’ve been able to have, and I feel grateful to be able to both witness you and be in conversation at the intersection of our work. I don’t recall exactly when we first connected, person-to-person, but I do remember seeing your work, following it, and being really inspired and curious about seeing a Black girl in the environmental space. I’d love to hear more about your emotional timeline of getting involved with environmentalism, particularly how it looks to you as a Black girl.
Leah: I’ve been following your work for a while and I always was like, “Oh my gosh, she’s so cool.” One day I saw you doing ceramics, and then I started doing ceramics and I was like, I feel like we should chat. [both laugh]. There’s definitely a social justice educator-to-ceramics pipeline that I feel is happening. But to answer your question, I’m pretty… I would say ‘reserved’ over ‘introverted’. I’ve been using the word ‘reserved’ a lot lately. I don’t really speak unless I have something to say. But suddenly I felt like I had a lot to say. I was studying environmental science, I was a park ranger intern, I worked at Patagonia, and I was also studying comparative world religions. I’m from St. Louis, Missouri. I grew up right outside of Ferguson, Missouri, and my heart was just like, “I cannot shut up.” I cannot be a part of any sort of environmental movement that doesn’t prioritise people in my community in St. Louis, doesn’t prioritise Black and Brown communities having clean air and clean water. I feel like my environmentalism was always different to the mainstream environmentalism that I saw. I really feel like it’s deeply rooted in… My grandma has a garden and we love spending time outdoors, it does great things for my mental health and wellbeing. Then in 2020, which maybe we can unpack, there are a lot of Black educators who were suddenly platformed, and I feel like I was one of them, which is interesting reflecting on it now. But that allowed me to talk a lot more about environmental justice and how intersectional theory could be applied to environmentalism. I had one of those introvert moments where I was like, “I have something to say, and it’s about the Earth and the protection of Black folks.” And then I just never shut up. [laughs] But I’ve been transitioning lately to more crafty stuff, which has also been really nice.

“I don’t really speak unless I have something to say. But suddenly I felt like I had a lot to say.”

Rachel: First of all, I want to say that I literally dipped out of a knitting class to take this call. [both laugh] So you speaking to craft being part of your connection to my work, I love that. But what I’m also really moved by is understanding. You came in with your voice in 2020, you offered what you had to offer, and you are witnessing yourself shapeshift into something different. I think that, for many of us who found ourselves platformed in major ways in 2020, there was a wild whirlwind of what that time felt like and how we were listened to, celebrated, centred and given a voice. And then the almost whiplash lack of support, the rolling back of programmes, and the defunding of initiatives happening right now. While there are so many who are still rooted in the intensive activism online, there are some who are saying, “Actually, I think my next contribution to myself in this work is to rest.” Do you think that your evolution to something more than just being heard online is centred in that space as well? Are you seeking something different to what that time gave you?
Leah: Absolutely. I’m so grateful and I feel like at some point a roundtable with a lot of, specifically Black women and femmes, talking about their ex – perience in 2020 would be very healing. I’m incred – ibly thankful, but in some ways, I think I’m coming to terms with how traumatic it was as well. In a lot of the spaces I was in, I was meeting people like, “OK, I’m on stage with Malala!” I never in my mind thought this would happen. But every time I looked out in the crowds, there were primarily people who didn’t look like me. A lot of wealthy white folks, and they would clap after I would say my talking points that were really traumatic about Black folks not having access to organic food, clean air, clean water and all those things, and kind of begging people to understand the association between the movement for Black Lives Matter and the importance of environmentalism. I just felt kind of sick in my soul after a while, like, “OK, people are clapping when I’m saying these traumatic things and maybe looking at me in a way that doesn’t feel comfortable and I don’t know why.” It felt like, are they actually doing anything or am I becoming a part of a spectacle? I’m still trying to wrap my head around how it felt in that moment. And again, being so thankful because it elevated my career, allowed me to write a book when I was 25, which again, whoa, that’s wild. I’m so thankful, but it was traumatic when it did feel at times like, are they really listening to us? Do they really care about us? Lately, I’ve been experiencing that, just as quickly as environmental justice was embedded into many environmental programmes, now, the DEI [diversity, equity, and inclusion organisational frameworks in the US] are stripping away anything that has to do with intersectionality and Black feminist theory. It feels really heartbreaking. I think that’s why lately I have been leaning into starting a grassroots crafting club, and I think a lot of people were kind of like, “Leah, what are you doing?” And I was like, “This is how I can show up. I’m learning how to mend, I’m learning how to sew. We need to learn these skills.” It’s also a way to resist capitalism. But we also need to rest. My work is shifting. I’m also working on another book. I love my first book, but my next book is about eco-feminism and is more personal. Again, I’m so inspired by you. I learned about your work with The Loveland Foundation and was just like, “Oh my God, we need this so much.” Was there a transition after everything that you experienced in 2020 that led to that?

Rachel: The Loveland Foundation was something I actually started very early in 2018. I developed it out of a recognition that when Black women are healed, it offers a ripple effect far larger than anything else I’ve been able to consider. People often ask me, “Why is it Black women that you offer therapy to and you don’t widen your net?” And the best explanation is that this is the widest net, because when Black women are cared for, then our homes are cared for, our organisations are cared for, our neighbourhoods are cared for, because it’s often Black women leading the caretaking in all of these spaces. When I started it, it was a reflection of my own experience. I was attending Columbia at the time, and I finally had access to therapy through the student services. I had a really moving moment where I was like, “Wow, this new tool, this new knowledge, it’s going to change my life in a way I can move through the world for the better.” All Black women deserve this, and it’s heartbreaking that there’s no access to it. Actually, it wasn’t even heartbreaking, it was angering. I was angry at the fact that most people don’t have access to it. So, like you Leah, in my grassroots approach, I was accepting donations and then literally calling the therapy offices of people and saying, “Hi, I’d like to pay down the bill of so-and-so.” That’s how it started. Then I got really lucky and I met a Black woman who is a philanthropic advisor, and she came up to me and said, “Hey, I see what you’re doing, is there any way I can help?” And I said, “I’d love any help.” And she came on as my CEO for the last five years. Since 2018, we’ve been able to put over $10 million into caring for Black women and girls. For that to have been started right before 2020, when people were actually willing to pour into Black girls, and various industries were actually thinking about how Black women were being affected, how they were being treated, and how they were being cared for. So the foundation existing and coming into that moment, we got a ton of support, like many of us who were in anti-racism work. Luckily, what we were able to do as a non-profit was harness all of those donations. We have been continuing to do the work, which even now feels just as heightened as 2020, with all of the devastation, not just of current issues, but like you said, the trauma and recognising that so much of our intentions, our work, our blood, sweat and tears that we put into our efforts in 2020 really seem to have evaporated.
Leah: Absolutely. I’ve been reading a lot of Black feminist literature lately and relating to the ways Black women, even within the Black Panther Party, or civil rights organising, often felt or faced sexism and things like that. Then, even in the broader environmental movement or anti-war movement or even feminist movements of the time, they were excluded. I just feel like lately there’s been a kind of grief Black women have been experiencing. It feels isolating at times because I feel like my fellow Black women get it, but there are a lot of dismissive attitudes. I don’t know what I want to say about that yet, but I’m feeling it, and I want it to be acknowledged. It’s almost to the point where lately I don’t necessarily even feel safe in a lot of spaces I [previously] did if they’re not able to hold space for the experiences and the complexity of what it means to exist and manoeuvre through this world as Black women. That’s why I think it’s beautiful that, like you said, there’s this movement for rest, crafting and mental health. Some people might look at it and think, “Oh, so you don’t care about what’s going on?” But it’s like, “No, we’ve always cared and been at the forefront.” That can coexist with continuing to fight the systems that be. But I think it really is time for Black women to reclaim rest and crafting.

“There are so many organisations not posting hot takes online, but the work that they’re doing is a hot take.”

Rachel: I love that you mentioned the Black Panthers because I think about them often. I have this vision in my head of the women who were making breakfast for the babies before school, and then these men standing guard with rifles, and how actually those two roles were equally important. Social media has been really successful at complicating our understanding of how to show up, because it feels like it’s about a platform or a following or a collaborative validation of not just what we’re doing but how we’re doing it. You kind of spoke to it with your language of being a spectacle in some spaces, but the celebrity culture of activism and advocacy is also a thing to contend with. There are so many aspects of being able to show up that have been complicated by social media, and one thing that I keep going back to is the way the Black Panthers offered everyone a lane to do the work. Not everyone had to be standing in the heat holding the rifle. Not everyone had to be marching in the streets all the time. Maybe that was something you did for a while, but then for the next season you were supporting the kids and making sure they got to school and had a nutritious breakfast. Maybe you were the one lettering the envelopes in order to get information to the community. Maybe you were caretaking for other people’s parents while they went out. I really would love a more complex conversation within our community about the ways we can show up that don’t inherently suggest that we must be downtrodden and exhausted and starving in order to feel like we have done something. It doesn’t have to be a sustained, overbearing effort. We can tap in and tap out. Your mention of the Black Panthers really resonates with my own approach to considering what is a sustainable way for me to keep showing up. I like thinking that I can shapeshift into new tools for the revolution, new tools towards our liberation. I’m really inspired to hear that you’re moving towards crafting because that is one of those things, another room to sit in, to be in conversation, to raise consciousness, to encourage and affirm each other. I’m interested to hear if there are any other ways that you or some of our peers have changed the narrative on what it means to show up right now?
Leah: I’ll start with something that’s kind of sad, and then I’ll move to the positives. It has been really hard seeing a lot of friends in the space who were platformed and are now suddenly being stripped of a lot of opportunities that they had for continuing to be vocal about injustice. Certain platforms that used to uplift activists are now censoring them. Right now, so many of my friends who are activists and organisers are struggling to live. That’s been really heartbreaking, and I’ve been finding ways to stay in community with folks. I’m grappling with the idea that activism was never something that was meant to be profitable. If anything, people were on watch lists. Manoeuvring through this complicated new reality has been difficult. Being in community with friends who are trying to figure out, like, “Do I need to go back to work? Do I need to do this? Is it possible to have a platform? Where should I be?” We want to be heard, because it was a beautiful thing to be heard in 2020 for the first time for so many people. Now there’s that feeling of frantically trying to search for a platform again. I like what you said earlier about that not needing to be the goal. As a person who has a platform, I want to make sure that I’m really aware of my privilege when speaking about this. Something I’ve seen people do that’s inspired me is to remember that we need to encourage grassroots, and it doesn’t need to be on Instagram. In fact, there are so many organisations not posting hot takes online, but the work that they’re doing is a hot take. There are so many amazing gardens and projects that I’ve found in Los Angeles. There’s one I’ve been volunteering with called Good Karma Gardens, they’ll come to someone’s yard and build a garden. It’s been really nice seeing a lot of my friends getting their hands dirty with grassroots organisations and reminding ourselves that the work needs to start in that way. Other folks are leaning into Substack, that’s been really inspiring. I don’t have one, but I think I might build one. Also, the return of indie print media, I’m seeing a lot of independent zines, and I love that.

Rachel: I think we’ve been disillusioned by social media and the impact we think it can have. We’re just like, “You know what, I’m gonna go get my hands dirty.” One of the big pivots that I made was developing rest retreats for Black women. I’ve been really frustrated by every single thing being related to producing something, or just feeling like we need to be worthy of something good in the world. One of the key things at the Foundation is that our application process doesn’t require you to give any proof of why you deserve therapy. I don’t need to know your trauma. I don’t need to know how bad things are. I don’t need you to explain how things are kind of good, but you still think you might be able to use it. There’s absolutely no qualifier for any Black woman who comes to us saying that she needs therapy. What the Black women I’ve been able to serve through these retreats have shown me most is that rest is such a foreign concept. They would come and be like, “OK, I’ll do the dishes,” and I’m like, “Wait, you’re actually here to rest.” I’m interested in hearing from you what actual rest looks like. We spoke about alternate ways of work, but what is your approach to getting some distance and some rest? Although before you answer, I will say I’m really excited about your new book. I’m really thrilled to hear that you’re writing not from a space of surviving whiteness, but from a more personal place. I want to count that as a bit of your rest, even though it is work producing the book, because a friend of mine, Ebony Janice Moore, we always talk about what we might want to do if we weren’t using our skills, talents and interests to survive whiteness. I’m really excited to see your work take different shapes because it wasn’t just the fact of fighting racism that I valued about it, it’s how you approach it. It’s the way that you write.
Leah: I just recently found out that adrienne maree brown has a sci-fi trilogy. And I was like, how did I not know this? I’m a really big sci-fi nerd. Recently, I was the guest editor of a sci-fi, soilpunk publication, and it just felt so much more like me. It was so fun to read all of these sci-fi stories about the Earth and radical imagination. It’s really inspired me for my next book, because again, my first was exactly what I wanted at that time, I wanted to write a 101, this is what environmental justice is. This is how Black feminist theory can be applied to environmental movements and why we should listen to Black women. And if anyone is starting an environmental science programme at an introductory level, you’re hopefully going to walk away understanding that you can’t separate social justice from environmentalism. That’s what I wanted to do. I wanted to write that anti-racism guide that was kind of the moment in 2020, and I’m so happy I did it. But I feel incredibly privileged and thankful that I can now write in different ways. In my first book, I didn’t really speak in first-person except for the introduction. Then it was mostly just data, facts and quotes from people. I’ve been having so much fun on my second project. I think I’m goofy. I think I’m silly. So I have little jokes sprinkled throughout. I’m like, you know what, if I’m going to talk about why we refer to the Earth as Mother Earth, I’m going to get into fantasy and folklore and creation myths. It’s been such a fun process and I think that is a part of my rest and how I’m reclaiming how I want to show up. Other ways that I practice rest right now, honestly, I spend a lot of time crafting, which I know we’ve already talked about, it just makes me really happy. I’m some sort of neuro-spicy, [both laugh] I don’t know exactly what, but I like to focus on different things. So I’m learning how to make incense, make plant-based milk, make bread, all these different things. It’s been so healing for me, and it’s also been amazing that this craft club started organically. I was posting on Threads, which I low-key really enjoy.

Rachel: Best platform out right now.
Leah: I was just like, ‘Does anyone want to do some crafts in the garden?’ And hundreds of people responded, which was so cool. So it feels really good. Currently, I’m trying to do more research on the concept of craftivism and how crafting can be connected to activism. Crafting is a form of how I rest, and then I also just like doing nothing, just sitting in the grass, touching grass and doing nothing. That is what makes me feel really good. Spending hours staring at the clouds, staring at the trees, journaling about it. I’m curious about this knitting class and other crafts you’ve been doing lately.

“I just love when people walk away from a space understanding, “Oh my god, this is what the future could look like.”

Rachel: Well, I’ve never knitted before. My mom taught me how to crochet but I have actually never crocheted a thing. I don’t even know what they’re called, but I crochet just like a long string. Maybe that’s kind of neuro-spicy as well, [laughs] it’s a fun way to keep busy. I’ll finish a few rolls and then I just unroll them every time.
Leah: [laughs] Really? Rachel: I’ve used the same string for years. It’s about the repetition. I love lulling myself with crocheting. But also, I miss seeing what I’m capable of in the way that we did as children. I think adulthood has completely washed me of that feeling that there’s always a new level to grow to – not in my career, not in the possibility of a love life, not in the perception that the world might have of me, but as a person. Witnessing myself learn something new, witnessing myself be a beginner, and relishing in those stages, has really offered some freshness in my lived experience. I love doing puzzles. I love studying music theory right now. I’m really into jazz and understanding it. I have been loving getting myself to live music. I absolutely love being the auntie in the back of the concert doing my little two-step with absolutely no one paying any attention. [both laugh]
Leah: Shout out to the two-step.

Rachel: You will find me at the concert at the park, so happy. I’d love to hear more about Green Girl Productions and what your dreams are there.
Leah: I was a theatre kid, well, I wasn’t a theatre kid, I just liked Sweeney Todd, so I was… weird. [both laugh] I love production, event production and running around. I made this programme, Earth Sessions, producing intimate concerts with some people I know in Los Angeles and alternative R&B artists, bringing in environmental justice – basically getting their fans to learn about environmentalism. Like, “Oh my god, I’m going to this Raveena [Au – rora] show.” And then all of a sudden we’re like, “We’re going to give you a lecture on queer ecology.” [both laugh] I’ve had so much fun with that project, and I’m going to continue to produce events at the intersection of, whether it’s arts and crafts, or I guess just calling it ‘artivisim’. That’s what I really want to keep doing, producing events that help people radically imagine new worlds. I just love when people walk away from a space understanding, “Oh my god, this is what the future could look like.”

hair KYMBERLI WILLIAMS; make-up ALANA PALAU; photography assistant MAX WILBUR; digital tech RYAN GEARY; fashion assistant LAUREN GRAY; producer NICK LACY at LONG PLAY PROJECTS