Resources & Questions for contemplation about this story

I have learned to accept the fact that we risk disappointment, disillusionment, even despair, every time we act. Every time we decide to believe the world can be better. Every time we decide to trust others to be as noble as we think they are. And that there might be years during which our grief is equal to, or even greater than our hope. The alternative, however, not to act, and therefore to miss experiencing other people at their best, reaching toward their fullness, has never appealed to me.

—Alice Walker

Sunshine paints a banner at Camp Two-Pines.

At the time this story was written, Sunshine was twenty-years-old and a student at the University of Wisconsin in Menomonie, Wisconsin. When she heard that Highway 55 was going to be rerouted, she temporarily suspended her college education and became part of the longest protest encampment in Minnesota history. Various people from all over the country had come to prevent the destruction of this Native American sacred site, the residents’ homes, and the park. I met with her on a cold November day, wondering how these dedicated people were going to keep warm with winter around the corner, and no resolution in sight.

I don’t scare easily, but I had to admit I was glad to be escorted into the area by a friend of her family. I could feel the polarization in the air the minute my feet stepped on the premises. Everyone’s eyes reflected a determined stance as well as caution. I could feel the unspoken question, “Who are you?” But when I was introduced as a person who wanted to write Sunshine’s story, the faces softened.

Sunshine and I were given two chairs in front of the burning fire so we could talk privately. Even though they didn’t have much to offer, their fire was an unspoken message of hospitality. As she adjusted her shivering body nearer the flames, several others went off to finish winterizing their tents. I was acutely aware that a confrontation with the police could happen at any moment and found myself sitting on the edge of my chair. I wondered what strategies these people had developed for coping with such tension on an ongoing basis. What drives people to live like this?

“Sunshine, what brought you to this place? You’re not sure where your next meal will come from. It’s cold. You have no idea how long this protest will last. You are away from family and friends. Help me understand what this is all about,” I asked.

“My mom taught me how to be a nonviolent protester,” she said. “She and her husband have worked on various peace issues much of their lives. For the past four years, we’ve gone to the U.S. Army School of the Americas, better known as the ‘School of Assassins,’ to protest its activities. During the Gulf War, my mom took me to my first antiwar demonstration. I was eight years old. I loved being there, holding my candle and singing in the street, and