A young pastor with a peace pin, a retired landscaperwith a bumper sticker, and a poorly dressed filmmakerwith a populist streak. In America, they are dangerousdissenters. At least, many now believe so.

Freeport, Maine is a wonderland of American consumercapitalism. Its pristine 19th century buildingson a narrow main street give the familiar comfort ofsmall town America — with the comfortable familiarityof big mall brand names: L.L. Bean, Abercrombie andFitch, The Gap, Polo. And times are good among thewealthy in America. The street is jammed withwell-dressed people carrying bags in both hands.

First Parish Church is also on the main street. It toowas built in the nineteenth century. Out front, on thegrass, sits a white, wooden peace sign three feetacross. Inside, curved pews and arches pull theviewer’s attention to the front stained glass window. Below that, two men talk by the pulpit. They see meand come to talk.

Ted is in his early sixties and wears a tee shirt andball cap with the local fire department insignia. Hespeaks with a thick, Maine accent. Next to Ted standsthe Reverend, John. He is younger, not yet 40.Passionate about their church, they describe it indetail — its history and its congregation of 100 orso.

After a while, I ask them about the peace sign on thegrass. Reverend John tells me it was made by localhigh school students celebrating the life of MartinLuther King. I ask how the tourists, given the war,have reacted to the sign. The two men talk of somehostility, some vandalism. I ask about thecongregation and where they stand on the war. “Splitdown the middle,” says Ted.

“We work,” offers Reverend John, “to find, commonground.” He is uncertain, though. Common ground inAmerica isn’t so common. Ted says he supports thepresident, the war. But he is restrained. He noticesthe peace pin on my notebook. We talk for a whilemore, and then Ted leaves. Reverend John and Icontinue talking as we walk toward the exit.

At the door I ask, “Where do you stand on the war?”

He sighs and then glances past me to the street. Noone is near. “If I weren’t the pastor,” he sayspointing at my notebook, “I’d be wearing that pin.” He has to be careful, he says. He wants to keep hisjob. We nod at each other as though we’re sharing aconspiracy.

John is scared. Dissent is now unchristian.

The next morning, at the hotel, I have a coffee in thecommon room. I’m alone until an older man enters.Bald, with a barrel chest and a red face, he greets meheartily, “Good mornin’.” He gets his coffee, sits onthe opposite couch, and starts talking. “I’m Lou,” hesays, “from St. Louis.” Lou is a retired landscaper whotalks rapidly of his family, his life and his recenttravels around America. While sipping his coffee, henotices my peace pin. He leans forward and lowers hisvoice. “Takes guts to wear that,” he says.

Again, I share conspiratorial whispers. Lou “admits”he is a moderate Democrat. “Back home, after a lot ofthought,” he says, “I put a ‘Kerry for President’bumper sticker on my truck. It was weird. On thehighway, people were honkin’ at me and givin’ me thefinger. Occasionally, someone would drive by and giveme thumbs up. But truthfully, I got nervous. I thoughtsomeone might pull a gun.”

Lou is scared. Dissent is now undemocratic.

Late that night, I watch news on MSNBC. Thecommentator is yelling. A quote from filmmaker MichaelMoore flashes on the screen. It reads: more Americansoldiers may have to die before America realizes thiswar is wrong.

The commentator is spitting bile. “Michael Moore,” heshouts into the camera, “is calling for the death ofAmericans. He is anti-American. A traitor. Why isn’tthe Democratic Party disavowing this dangerousdissenter? Why isn’t Senator Kerry distancing himselffrom Michael Moore? Does he agree with him?”

The commentator is flushed with rage. Dissent is nowun-American.

In the local newspaper, buried on page 12, I readthat the Bush administration is test flying theconditions necessary for postponing the Novemberelection. A terrorist attack? A hurricane? Anearthquake, perhaps?

I find myself wondering: is the “dissent” of pastors,landscapers, and filmmakers enough?

It is then that I realize: I am scared. After all, inAmerica, dissent is now dangerous.