I have never been arrested before, though I’ve been to many demonstrations and protests since the late 70s. My decision to defy police orders on August 29 by refusing to move from my spot on the sidewalk in front of the White House came after nearly three decades of working for climate solutions. My husband and I agreed to face arrest together on behalf of our children and all children around the world.
We were arrested on my husband’s 65th birthday, as part of the largest act of collective nonviolent civil disobedience in years; 1,252 people were arrested at the White House in late August and early September to block the Keystone XL pipeline.
There have been many protests against the proposed pipeline, a colossal project that would carry vast amounts of fossil fuel from Alberta, Canada, through the American heartland to Texas. The recent civil disobedience was sparked by Dr. James Hansen, one of the world’s leading climate scientists. “Essentially game over” is what he said when referring to the pipeline. Game over for our future, our climate, and our children. The Alberta tar sands -- the 3rd largest oil field in the world -- is poised to release a huge amount of carbon into the atmosphere. The extraction, transportation, and burning of the tar sands oil ultimately produces up to three times the global warming emissions of traditional oil. This pipeline is the link from the Canadian tar sands to commercial markets around the world.
James Hansen was the primary spark for the civil disobedience. This strange summer was another. It has been a tough summer for keeping calm. An earthquake shook my Maryland home. A hurricane ripped down trees in my neighborhood, smashing cars, and roofs. Washington, D.C., broke daily heat records three times. When the country’s leading climate scientist decides to get arrested to protest the lack of inaction on global warming, it’s time to join the fray. When earthquakes and hurricanes hit the East Coast in the same week, it’s time to do something different.
The handcuffs cut into my wrists, but my arrest did not entail a big risk. Things had been pre-arranged with the police, and I was pretty sure that I would be released without spending a night behind bars. It was a baby step, and the marks on my hands were a welcome sign that I really had upped my commitment.
The paddy wagon was hot and crowded, yet the 15 women who squeezed into the van with me were calm and determined. We were not professional law-breakers. I don’t think a single woman had ever done anything like this before. We sang. We chanted and shared stories. One came from Nebraska where the pipeline threatens farmland and water sources. One came from New Mexico because of deep concerns for her grandchildren. An 84-year-old walked with a cane. We rubbed our noses on each other’s shoulders to wipe away the sweat on our faces. We rapidly bonded in the crush of our softness and our power. Our voices shouted together “Tar Sands, No!” and “This is what democracy looks like.” We were taking a new, if modest, step together.
What unified us was a deep conviction that citizens must act in more courageous and visible ways. We must do it even if our actions don’t compute in conventional terms. Most believe the president will approve the pipeline. His recent decision to roll back EPA’s new regulations to limit ozone emissions from coal-fired power plants is not a good omen. But sometimes, we must act despite the odds against success.
The monarch butterflies migrating from Mexico to Canada defy all odds as they arrive and chew on the milkweed I’ve planted in my suburban yard. The horseshoe crabs, native to the Delaware Bay and flourishing for some 315 million years, beat the odds against industrial fishing and a warming sea. The owl that dwells with tree frogs in the tulip poplar canopy above my house, just 15 minutes from Capitol Hill, ignores the odds.
These are not times for calculating probabilities. These are times for staying very close to the Earth and to our loved ones. This is a time to hold fast to all of those connections that sustain us in our depths. From this place, we can access new hope, instead of despair, courage instead of cynicism. From this embrace, we are no longer limited by what is considered politically possible or by the odds of success. And this is where transformational change begins.
Photo: Josh Lopez
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