Three weeks ago I had never heard of tar sands or the Keystone XL pipeline. And, then, there I was last Monday in Washington, D.C., planning to get arrested for the first time in my life. What convinced me to step into public scrutiny and take this stand?

At a regional Quaker conference on Aug. 7, I heard a presentation by Steve Chase, an environmental educator from Antioch University New England and fellow Quaker. He spoke about peak oil and how our dependence on fossil fuels could cause our planet to self-implode. He also mentioned an upcoming protest in D.C. called the Tar Sands Action.

I realized the urgent and imminent danger of climate change and learned ways we can prevent environmental and economic disaster. From that experience I took the following lesson: Build community, make it fun, take action and do it now.

Soon after that meeting I looked up information about the so-called tar sands project, and learned about the sit-ins from Aug. 20 through Sept. 3 to oppose a proposed oil pipeline stretching from Canada to Texas.

Over the next few days, I read everything I could on tar sand oil extraction and the proposed Keystone XL pipeline.

I learned that extracting tar sands wastes energy and water and leaves behind toxic ponds which are killing wildlife and leaking into groundwater. It creates more than twice as much carbon pollution as conventional oil production, while simultaneously destroying the Canadian Boreal Forests, which is one of the biggest carbon absorbers on the planet. Oil spills are inevitable, and crossing the largest aquifer in the world has Nebraska farmers and residents scared.  

Fifty congressmen and many leading scientists oppose the pipeline. The pipeline permit needs only President Barack Obama’s signature. As I read, I realized I had to act; I felt called. If I didn’t help to stop Obama from signing the permit, the people of Maine and, indeed, the whole world could suffer environmental travesty.

Once the drastic impact of the Keystone XL pipeline reaches the backyards of Maine residents, it will simply be too late. So, I boarded a bus and headed to Washington, D.C., not knowing anyone else who might be there.

We assembled in Lafayette Park under a blue sky and across the street from the White House at 10 a.m. on Aug. 21. It was a perfect summer day; low humidity with a slight breeze. In my pocket was my Maine driver’s license and $125 for bail.

I carried a water bottle and sipped only small amounts knowing it could be hours before a bathroom was available. On my arm was written the phone number of the legal support office, just in case.

The people gathering had practiced the action the night before in a 4-hour training session, about 70 of us, role-playing walking in two lines across the street and sitting cross-legged, then taking turns arresting each other.  

We learned about non-violent direct action and the importance of civil disobedience to unjust regulations like this one. A lawyer briefed us on possible scenarios and legal charges.  

I left to sleep on the floor of a local church with several others, a little shaky, but determined. I woke during the night, still quite nervous and calmed myself by remembering the support of my children, relatives and friends in Maine.

By 10:30 on that Sunday, the park swelled with supporters, tourists, reporters and police. Paddy wagons lined both sides of the street and snipers were standing on the White House roof. Ironically, all the jitters I was feeling from the previous hours and days vanished as I felt the significance of carrying out what I came to do: support President Obama to make good on his campaign promises to reduce oil consumption, create 5 million green jobs and become a leader in addressing carbon emissions and climate change.

At the appointed time, we walked across the street and sat down on the sidewalk by the White House fence. I felt calm and determined. Cameras clicked. Using a bullhorn, police told us to leave and, still, we sat.

After about 20 minutes, two officers approached and placed me under arrest. They were courteous and professional as they clipped on handcuffs, patted me down and led me to the paddy wagon. Fifteen other women got in, we were driven to the booking center, we paid our $100 fine and were set free.

What difference did my action make? From a personal standpoint, I realized that as one person I can make a difference. I am not afraid to stand up and be counted.

I don’t know what the president will decide. But, as a result of my action, many people will learn about the tar sands pipeline and I hope the movement against it will grow.

Wendy Schlotterbeck lives in Auburn.