STICKING TO THEIR BUGGIES

The Amish are out of kilter with the times,

reports Mary Wakefield. And now they are

in trouble with the law

New York 'SO, are you optimistic about the outcome of your court case?' The reporter from the London newspaper looked anxiously at two Amish men dressed in dark-blue suits and straw hats standing in front of him in their farmyard. The wind wrapped his trousers around his legs and twisted the Amish's long beards into ringlets. No one answered. On either side, green Pennsylvania hills curved down to meet two heavily patched-up corrugated-iron barns and a wooden house. At their feet, three small children mixed up mud and gravel with a trowel. The eldest, a boy of about six, was dressed the same as his father and grandfather. His sisters wore long, plain dresses and black headscarves.

The silence became first embarrassing and then a little desperate. The children's father, a man of about 25 with red hair hacked off in a bob at jaw-height (Amish ears must be covered at all times), sighed and looked down at his bare feet. didn't get that, did you?' he said. `Nope; said his elderly father-in-law, Levi Zook. after some thought. 'I didn't get none of it. What did you say again?'

'I was asking about the court case.' 'Well,' said Mr Zook, letting each word settle before embarking on the next, 'I presume you wouldn't be here if you hadn't read about the case, so you most likely already know everything you need to.'

In recent months, hacks from all over America have been gurning with frustration, trying to get opinions and information from this group of conservative Arnish — the Andy Weaver Svv-artzentruber sect — who dislike the press and refuse to have their photographs taken. Five years after they moved from Ohio to Cambria County, PA, in a long line of metal-wheeled, horsedrawn buggies, the Swartzentrubers' refusal to waver from their strict religious rules has set them against the Pennsylvania state in an absurd case that is both very simple and impossible to resolve.

The crux of the matter is that the Amish do not like orange triangles. According to the state law, all vehicles that do not exceed 25mph must stick a foot-high reflective triangle on the back for their own protection. According to the Amish, God loves plain things: black, blues and greys; He considers bright colours gaudy and will anyway protect them better than a piece of plastic will. As a compromise, they are prepared to cover their buggies in strips of grey reflective tape, but they would rather leave their homes and trek back to Ohio to start looking for land all over again than have anything to do with the triangles.

In December last year, Jonas Swartzentruber spent three days in jail for not having a reflective sign on his buggy. He had no spare cash for the $100 fine and would not do community service for fear of coming into contact with electrical tools or being made to ride in a truck. Since then, all 22 members of the group, including Levi Zook and his sonin-law, have been cited for 24 traffic violations, and the American Civil Liberties Union has taken on their case. The case is ongoing and, if it goes against the Amish, they will take it to the Appellate Court. All of them say that they are prepared to go to jail. If they do, another nightmare for the state ensues, as they will not wear the regulation orange overalls or use electric lights.

'We just want it to stay the old way, the way we were raised,' said Zook, relenting a little. 'If they rule against us, we'll go. But I don't think buggies are dangerous. I think the problem is that every now and then you meet a driver with a racy car who can't even wait for a few seconds to get past.' Levi and his son-in-law exchanged an amused glance, as if the impatience of the 'English' (non-Amish) was the subject of many a good Amish joke.

The state is in a bind. It would like to ignore the Swartzentrubers, but residents have been complaining about near-accidents and have worked themselves up into a self-righteous lather over the letter of the law. Nor can the Amish be persuaded to compromise. Their rule of life, the Ordflung, is unnervingly specific. Every detail of dress, when and how they eat, work, have sex and bring up children is covered. As far as the buggies go, they are not allowed lights or drum brakes, the axle must not be bowed up but should be either straight or bowed down, and the back buggy wheels

have to be larger than the front. The glassfibre buggy whip has to be of dark colour, as do the buggy blankets. The prospect of getting church elders to agree to an amendment that says, Oh, all of that, but it's also OK to have a huge, red flashy sign on the back' looks dismal.

In the town of Ebensburg, where the hearings are taking place, everybody has an opinion. 'It's like a conflict between 1900 America and the present,' said one man. In fact, Ebensburg seems stuck happily in a different past. 'It's a kind of magic' floats around the leather booths in the ice-cream parlour. Next door is home to the Order of the Moose; a frosted-glass office door across the street announces 'Dean C. Gittings: Private Investigator'.

'Many of our young people want the Amish to leave altogether. They say, "Ew, they're dirty and smell bad!"' said Susan, a local reporter, flopping her hand down in a gesture of camp disgust. 'Others enjoy having the diversity of having them here.' Two blondes in the town bar exemplify the different views. If they're going to move here, they should accept our laws,' snapped one, looking up from her newspaper briefly. 'You just can't see their black buggies on the black roads at night. The horses take fright. Also they shit on the roads.' Her friend was more forgiving: 'Yeah. but how often do you actually see them driving the carts at night? Religious freedom is an important part of our constitution. I respect anyone who lives their life according to what they believe.'

As the court case rolls on, no one can decide which is more important; the freedom of religious expression, or the rules safeguarding one person's free actions from impinging on another's. Many Cambria County citizens seem to think that a driver's right not to be in danger of mowing down entire families every time he goes out for a spin is just as important as the Swartzentrubers' right to decide what risks they take. 'I know it's a matter of faith for Amish,' said Mark, a tapestry designer from Ebensburg, 'but why are their religious beliefs more important than my belief in the law?'

Others are concerned about the safety of the Amish children, too young to make up their minds about their religion. Surely they should be protected? Perhaps the Ebensburg residents underestimate the depth of the divide between their neighbours' take on life and their own. For instance, intermarriage has brought to the fore certain genetic weaknesses in the Old Order Amish, including forms of dwarfism and mental retardation. As it is forbidden even to attempt to have any form of nonprocreational sexual activity, it is common for Amish women to bear children who will develop these sorts of problems. Their attitude towards them is: 'Special children teach a family to love. They teach a family how to help others and how to accept the help of others. We should not assume that we would be better off without them.'

It is difficult to imagine a way of thinking more out of kilter with the 21st century. Can such different world views co-exist for any length of time? Zook hopes so, but it is the state that will have to compromise. 'The land is better here and we've only just started to know the area properly, so it would be a shame to have to go back to Ohio, but we will if we have to,' he said. 'Mostly we get on with people here now; we'd like not to have to move.' muttered his son-in-law. After that, the pauses in conversation joined up and stretched out into a silence that said clearly, 'In the nicest possible way, why don't you get on with your own lives and families and leave us to get on with ours?'