A Stitch in Haste

I like the Amish as much as anyone, but something doesn't add up in this fact pattern:

Arlie Stutzman was busted in a rare sting when an undercover agent bought raw milk from the Amish dairy farmer in an unlabeled container.

Now, Stutzman is fighting the law that forbids the sale of raw milk, saying he believes it violates his religious beliefs because it prohibits him from sharing the milk he produces with others.

"While I can and I have food, I'll share it," said Stutzman, who is due in Holmes County Common Pleas Court on Friday to tell a judge his views. "Do unto others what you would have others do unto you."

Religious milk for thee but not for me? Sorry, but that's not an option.

There are only two rational positions here. Either "freedom of milk" exists or it doesn't. Freedom of religion is not part of the equation. If the externalities (i.e., the public health risks) of raw milk are real and sufficiently great, then the government may have the authority to ban it. If not, then all milk regulation is improper and everyone should have the right to buy, sell and drink raw milk as they see fit.

I know most of my readers would insist on the latter option ("laissez moo"?), and I don't disagree. My point is that the former approach is at least defensible too. But a split-the-baby exemption for the Amish, or for anyone else, based solely on religious grounds is preposterous. If raw milk is a health risk, then it's a health risk for the Amish too.

Here's my favorite analogy to demonstrate the fallacy of demands for religious exemptions to secular laws. It is well-settled that practitioners of Voodoo and Santaria, both of which endorse ritual animal sacrifices, are not exempt from general animal cruelty laws. If the law applies uniformly to everyone, then by definition there is no religious discrimination. There may be religious impediment, but that is not the same as religious discrimination.

Bottom line, Mr. Stutzman has some crying to do over his spilled milk.

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On a tangent, let's not lose sight of this part of the story:

Last September, a man came to Stutzman's weathered, two-story farmhouse, located in a pastoral region in northeast Ohio that has the world's largest Amish settlement. The man asked for milk.

Stutzman was leery, but agreed to fill up the man's plastic container from a 250-gallon stainless steel tank in the milkhouse.

After the creamy white, unpasteurized milk flowed into the container, the man, an undercover agent from the Ohio Department of Agriculture, gave Stutzman two dollars and left.

The department revoked Stutzman's license in February.

All this over two dollars worth of milk? Sounds like a pretty flagrant case of entrapment too.

One would think that the Ohio Department of Agriculture could find something better to do. I think they deserve a thorough Amish shunning!