A Stitch in Haste

You know government interference with people's private property is out of control when even the Amish start getting uppity:

The Amish, whose religion dictates that they keep their distance from outsiders and modern conveniences, didn't want to get political. But they say [Huntsburg Township, Ohio's] restrictions on the size of home-based businesses prevent them from opening woodworking shops at a time when small farming is no longer profitable enough.

Such shops allow them to continue to work alongside their children -- one of the tenets of the Amish lifestyle. And now they're campaigning to eliminate the zoning laws on Nov. 8.

"There's never been a campaign like this before amongst our people," said Nathaniel Byler, one of three Amish men who circulated a petition to put the zoning issue on the ballot.

And for those of you think it's the Amish who are the "simple folk" in the township, consider this gem:

The township's trustees told him to file a "friendly lawsuit" against them so it could be resolved in court.

A "friendly lawsuit"? Wouldn't you prefer a good game of chess?

Seriously, though, consider the analogy to the Kelo backlash: If government keeps pushing people around, eventually people start pushing back. Even the most apolitical people. And especially where their homes are concerned.

More thoughts at Out of Control.

POST SCRIPT: The "among the English" quote is from this movie. The "game of chess" quote is of course from this movie.

Syndicated columnist Kathleen Parker thinks America should go Amish:

Most people probably couldn't handle much of Amish life. No electricity, no telephone, no cars, no computers, no CDs or cell phones, no iPods, no Internet, no makeup, no tasteful highlights, no jewelry, no Manolos. Plain doesn't come any plainer than this.

Nor life more arduous. We who work by sitting at computers and talking on phones don't know from work — the kind that involves milking cows, baling hay, building barns, shoeing horses, canning, sewing, cooking, and giving birth at home and often.
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To those accustomed to instant everything, such a life seems impossibly hard and, well, dull. And yet, you cannot spend time among the Amish and not think these people know something we don't.

Yes of course, the old lament of "modernity is bad, technology is bad, speed is bad, interconnectivity is bad." Which is merely a fancy way of saying: "capitalism is bad, capitalism is bad, capitalism is bad, capitalism is bad." Or, if you prefer: "choice is bad, choice is bad, choice is bad, choice is bad."

I've been to Amish country more than once and have nothing against the Amish. They're a refreshingly "Christian" group of Christians.

But I have a lot against those who try to invoke the Amish as some kind of conservative (or anti-modern) utopia to be heralded as a justification of advocating a conservative (or anti-capitalist) political or social agenda.

First of all, the Amish are not Luddites and are not as unconditionally anti-technology as they are often portrayed. They are more than willing to embrace those aspects of modernity that they believe are consistent with their faith. Health care (including "English" obstetricians, contrary to Parker's inaccurate claim) is one example, bus and train travel is another, as is modern banking. Many of them use modern agricultural technology (including, contrary to Parker's inaccurate claim, contemporary milking machines).

Second, the Amish are not missionary. Unlike most other Christian sects, they do not go around trying to convert (or condemn) non-believers. If anything, that is the best lesson other Christians could learn from them, not that baling hay is "harder work" than trading stocks.

Third, and similarly, Amish society is voluntary. They do not try to pass laws forcing others to adopt their social, moral or religious codes. They are notoriously apolitical. Can most non-Amish conservative Christians say the same?

Fourth, along the same lines, Amish parents do not try to indoctrinate their children (let alone other people's children) into Amish culture or religion. Quite the opposite — Amish teenagers go through a rite of passage known as Rumspringen, or "Frolicking," in which they are permitted and even encouraged to spend time in the outside world and partake of its pleasures — such as riding in cars, playing video games, seeing movies, listening to pop music and even trying alcohol, tobacco and other "non-Amish" pleasures. Afterwards, they are allowed to choose whether to return to their communities or remain in modern society. In other words, the Amish believe in making informed decisions about competing ways of life. Again, do other Christian parents behave the same way toward their children?

Finally, one unfortunate counterargument from Parker herself:

They have some problems, including alcoholism as well as other health concerns, such as polio, possibly associated with their suspicion of vaccinations.

With all due respect, "alcoholism" and "polio" do not belong in the same sentence. There is a very obvious reason why alcoholism is rampant in static, stagnant communities such as Indian reservations, native Alaskan enclaves, the former Soviet Union, and apparently the Amish: it's because humans are not naturally static, stagnant beings and tend not to thrive in static, stagnant environments. It's a fine line between "peace and quiet" and "boredom and monotony."

Amish culture is perfectly fine -- for people who choose it. But that hardly means that "What's good for the Amish must be good for America." Instead, it's what makes communities such as the Amish possible in America -- acceptance of differences, open-mindedness to true "alternative lifestyles," non-interference in individual choice and rejection of "one size fits all" social norms -- that is truly the strength of this country.

Learn more about the Amish here.

POST SCRIPT: Here's another anti-modernity dim bulb. Do your own comparison and contrast to Parker's version.

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!