After a recent article in the People’s Post concerning the spiralling pollution issues in Hout Bay, the City has, as usual, been quick to respond with stringent denials. However, this time their responses, in an attempt to sidestep recent criticisms from scientists, have belied their awareness of the severity of the problem.

The original article details complaints from locals, and spotlights a lifetime resident with a background in environmental science, who has complained about the rapid and heartbereaking deterioration of his hometown, staring at the stinking ooze radiating decay as it passes through the Disa river into a golgothic plume in the bay.

As a 12th generation resident of Wellington, I share the man’s pain - the town I grew up in in the 90s and early 2000s was an idyllic landscape which carried the wholesome, rustic character of an Edin Blighton novel.

But it has become closed off by high fences, and few remember how it was or care to challenge the council, as old residents are replaced by carpetbaggers from Johannesburg who strip the heritage architecture down for “stylish” modern renovations. The river is choked with litter and sucking the houses into sinkholes as the repairs to riverbanks, bridges and culverts known to the council for over a decade have been straightorwardly ignored until they were finally washed away in last year’s annual floods. Knowledge of this was even hidden from the national water department until I personally handed the study over, interrupting a public council meeting. Shambling corpses of mentally ill homeless intimidating passers-by, as the local government homeless shelter continues to be rented out to small businesses with council connections.

We are plagued by burst pipes and crumbling roads and pavements. We don’t even feature on the Drakenstein spatial development plans, since no effort has been made to rectify the loss of ordnance survey data for years. Local activists even get blocked from reporting faults.

But we are the redheaded stepchild of the Western Cape, an irritating irrationality in the development of the Drakenstein “city of excellence”. Cape Town, the crown jewel of our otherwise miserable country, ought to be different.

But the City council’s responses to the problems with pollution have been as two-faced and pharisaic as anything else the DA touches. Zahid Badroodien, Mayoral Committee member for water and sanitation, defended the dumping, as did Deputy Mayor Eddie Andrews.

Both insist the practice meets “global standards”. This is nonsense, as the dumping of raw sewage is a practice that meets no standard whatsoever. Then of course, Badroodien contradicts himself by claiming the City is working on new solutions.

Andrews boasted of the City’s water quality monitoring, and claims great results, which they proudly display on their website. But then he points out as a way of explaining the contradictory testimmony of the public that rainfall does cause problems, because the Disa river catchment is so severely polluted that he had to advise against swimming in or anywhere near it.

Francine Higham, committee member for community services and health, told the public to report all waterbourne illnesses, and implying that the data would somehow affect City policy.

But despite the previous incarnations of the presently governing DA having run the city from the very dawn of the problem in 1888, except for a tiny window under the unequivocally dismal ANC, it never bloody has.

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A century of corner-cutting

People have been complaining about this problem since records began, and anyone who surfs these waters will tell you that the water quality is abysmal. Recent spates of severe bacterial infections from swimmers, which have made headlines, attest to this.

Take the Green Point marine sewage outfall. Neil Overy of the University of Cape Town provides a niche history of the development of sewage treatment in the South African Journal of Science in 2020.

In 1888, a Dr. H. Saunders testified before a Parliamentary Select Committee that Cape Town’s sanitary conditions were dire, “as bad as any town in Christendom.” High death rates, exceeding English towns, alarmed medical professionals. Merchants worried poor sanitation deterred trade.

Fighting uphill against ratepayers, the City managed to get reforms passed, and planned for a sewage outfall pump. Crude though this may be, this was the 19th century in a tiny colonial backwater at the arse-end of the world.

Nevertheless, it was still apparent to scientists at the time that land treatment was a far better solution. Councillor J. Combrinck opposed dumping sewage in Table Bay, warning of health dangers. The Cape Argus (unfortunately no longer an independent paper) campaigned against sea disposal, favoring land treatment through irrigation.

Engineer E. Pritchard’s 1889 report recommended a cheaper Salt River outfall (£120,000) over irrigation (£200,000). In 1891, C. Dunscombe’s plan for a Green Point outfall (£119,000) won over a costlier irrigation scheme (£143,000), despite public support for land disposal. By 1895, W. Olive finalized the Green Point outfall plan (£235,000), dismissing irrigation as too expensive.

This corner-cutting has become a stable pattern into the present. But almost immediately, issues became apparent. By 1911, residents near Green Point reported a “vile nuisance” from stench, threatening legal action. The Sanitary Superintendent confirmed sewage on rocks and beaches.

The Council spent £150 on ventilation shafts, worsening odors, which were demolished in 1916 after proving useless. By 1924, the Cape Publicity Association demanded action against visible fecal matter on beaches. A 1924 Medical Officer of Health (MOH) report linked sewage to enteric fever, noting a five-year incidence rate in Mouille Point of 8.5–21.4 per 1,000 just among the white population, over three times the municipal average. Sewage from an Infectious Diseases Hospital was a suspected cause.

Chlorination of hospital sewage began in 1925, but a 1927 MOH report found persistent enteric fever (9.2 per 1,000 east of the outfall). Engineer L. Davies rejected treatment plants as too costly, opting for a 152m outfall extension in 1928.

Resident J. Yolland sued for an interdict to close the outfall, supported by 203 petitioners, while the MOH reported ongoing high enteric fever rates. The court denied closure due to “no alternative”, but warned the Council:

“It seems to me upon these affidavits the applicant has made a stronger case – I think a very much stronger case – than the respondent, and in going to action the respondent Council will very seriously have to consider what the result of that action may be, and they also have to consider their public responsibility in this matter.”

A secret £800 settlement with Yolland averted further action, and the outfall was extended to 640m by 1931.

But by the 1950s, Mouille Point residents reported sewage on beaches again. The pipes had begun to decay. The Principal Chemist confirmed leaks 15–30m from shore. A 1962 recommendation to renew the outfall was ignored. In 1966, Engineer S. Morris warned of corrosion, predicting failure within five years. Aerial photos showed a “sewage bloom” enveloping Granger Bay, but no action followed until 1970’s survey proposed a 1,800m extension.

After a 1986 extension to 2,700m, a 1989 storm severed the pipeline 280m from shore, polluting Green Point to Granger Bay, closing beaches. Residents and the Cape Times again demanded an end to sea dumping.

Despite R13.3 million spent, fecal coliform levels matched pre-1986 counts. The Council rejected land treatment (R68 million) for a cheaper 1,700m outfall (R30 million) in 1993, ignoring CSIR and Ninham Shand’s alternatives due to cost and bias toward marine disposal.

The outfall, pumping 40 million liters daily, continues polluting with microbes and persistent organic pollutants, threatening health and marine life.

History reveals a consistent cycle of community outcry, disease outbreaks, and failed reforms, driven by pathetic and spineless short-termism over ecological and public health needs.

But the Council continues to deny evidence of harm, despite its own studies showing pollution, maintaining a century-long pattern of rejecting sustainable alternatives. The first council response, from 1888, dismissed health issues in exactly the same way they do now, by finding friendly and talented scientists capable of using artful means to sweep evidence under the rug.

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Pier review

The City of Cape Town in recent years has been faced with not just complaints by residents, but by detailed and thorough rebuttals of their testing methodology by lifetime specialists in both the place and area of study.

Their handling has at times been hysterical and aggressive, regarding criticism as an irritating nuisance from stinging midges who were better abolished along with the natural wetlands.

The City has consistently defended its management of marine outfalls and water quality, emphasizing compliance with national regulations and its own monitoring data. But then the Pharisees likewise found ways to adhere to the letter of the law while sinning in their hearts, and the DA are masters at it.

They have rejected recent scientific findings as unrepresentative and boasted that their own labs process "hundreds of samples" monthly, showing "consistently high" water quality across coastal sites. They accused critics of sabotage by cherry-picking data to undermine Blue Flag beach statuses, insisting that that “occasional” exceedances are weather-related, as if the Cape is not susceptible to seasonal rainfall.

When Kevin Winter used different bioindicators, forcing the City to acknowledge his 2023 findings, they again simply maintain that their methods meet “legal standards” under the Sea Outfall Guidelines, while dismissing the national department’s broader ecological focus as exaggerating risks - effectively claiming standards set by the ANC were too high.

The City has another rhetorical trick used by Badroodien this week - they’re looking into alternatives already, so complaints are all premature.

Across these responses, the City positions itself as transparent and accuses critics of lies and sabotage, while simultaneously acknowledging the problem is bad enough to warrant looking at reforms (yet refusing to act). And they have gone further, including trying to pressure scientific journals to retract papers critical of the City.

Leslie Petrik and her research collaborator Jo Barnes have produced research showing dangerous bacterial and chemical contamination near outfalls. In her view, the City’s bullying tactics, like pressuring retraction, reflect insecurity about its outdated outfall system.

Petrik argues that the City relies on limited, strategically chosen sampling to obscure the nature of the pollution. She has pointed out that their water quality reports use a 12-month rolling average of indicator bacteria from biweekly tests at 90 sites, which sounds impressive at first.

But by averaging out the results, spikes in contamination are hidden, masking regular acute pollution events such as sewage spills or outfall discharges invisible. For example, a single bad result might get buried in a “sufficient” or “good” rating over time, even if it signals an immediate health risk. She has said the City posts results long after pollution events, delaying public awareness when beaches might be unsafe.

The City also deliberately avoids comprehensive testing for persistent pollutants like pharmaceuticals, pesticides, and other endocrine disruptors. Legally, national water guidelines don’t require testing for these, so the City can claim compliance without worrying about the actual water quality.

But it’s not only the data-smoothing and the elision of toxic chemicals that confound the City’s methodology. In a 2023 Daily Maverick piece, she highlighted how the City might label a beach like Camps Bay as “good” based on samples from one clean spot, ignoring filthier areas closer to the outfall at Maiden’s Cove.

Her colleague Jo Barnes feels the City’s data portal is misleadingly opaque, masking true contamination levels, and believes its focus on blackout spills dodges broader accountability.

Other critics include Anthony Turton, who literally wrote the book on water assessment (two key chapters of the World Water Assessment Program 2012), and Kevin Winter of Cape Town’s Future Water Institute. They both allege a that the City’s water sampling strategy is designed to avoid high pollution areas and times, maximising the cleanliness of the achieved samples by design.

Winter has been somewhat diplomatic regarding the City’s responses, but believes the City is avoiding the opportunity to phase out outfalls.

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Primordial soup

Aside from the risk to humans, and the persistent stink which washes over the city from time to time, the sewage outalls lead to eutrophication and the risk of marine life dead zones, by disrupting food chains which feed unique local species, including the endangered African penguin.

The Cape’s coastal waters host unique kelp forests and endemic species, but sewage plumes, which have been visible in aerial photographs from as early as the 1960s, smother these habitats. Algae blooms block sunlight, stunting kelp growth, while raw sewage physically clogs delicate systems like sponge reefs. Anthony Turton’s Project Blue work hints at broader contamination risks to Blue Flag beach ecosystems, suggesting even “pristine” areas suffer.

The chemical pollutants (which the City does not test for) don’t break down easily. Instead, they accumulate in marine life. Petrik’s research found traces in mussels and fish near outfalls, threatening predators like seals, penguins, and sharks higher up the chain.

The Stockholm Convention, which South Africa signed, targets these pollutants for their ecosystem damage, yet the City’s “global standards” somehow cannot meet this rather well-known framework’s demands. Heavy metals—copper, zinc, iron—also pour out, exceeding safe limits per a 1981 Department of Water Affairs warning. These settle in sediments, poisoning benthic organisms and altering seabed ecology.

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Not a drop to drink

But the real kicker is how this affects options for municipal drinking water. Following the Day Zero drought panic several years ago, the City began looking into desalination plants to turn seawater into drinking water - an imminently valid plan.

But in practice, the City’s crooking of their evaluations have come back to bite them right on the jugular.

Quality Filtration Systems (QFS), operator of the V&A Waterfront desalination plant, was forced to end its water supply contract with the City, and even took legal action, back in 2019.

The R60 million plant was forced to go idle due to unexpectedly contaminated seawater, which according to QFS, didn’t match the City’s tender specifications, significantly increasing the treatment costs. Mediation failed, and QFS ended up suing for breach of contract. The City of course protested that they offered multiple solutions during mediation, all while adhering to the Municipal Finance Management Act.

The City’s other desalination plants in Strandfontein and Monwabisi, run by Proxa, operate without disputes. Proxa’s contract accounts for shutdowns like the periodic algal blooms which affect the area, allowing them to shield the plants from excess contamination.

But any future desal plants will likely have to take the endochrine disruptors into account, or risk deteriorating health for the city’s broader population, and will likely have to rely on new sample methodology, methodologies which will likely contradict findings currently being used for promoting beach tourism.

But considering the City has avoided fixing the problem for 130 years, it would be foolish to believe that a couple of water treatment contracts would stand in the way of tradition.

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