The Amish people of Lancaster, Pennsylvania, are a throwback to another era, with their quiet farm life, horse-drawn carriages and rejection of modern technology.
But the Donald Trump signs outside some of their farms serve as stark reminders that they live in today’s turbulent world — and that November 5 is Election Day for them, too, even if most won’t vote.
Christian faith, not politics, is what drives the Amish, who trace their roots to Switzerland, Germany and elsewhere in Europe and started arriving in Pennsylvania in the 18th century.
They live on the margins of contemporary life, eschewing cars, the internet and, quite often, conveniences such as the telephone.
Most Amish do not vote and their church often discourages them from doing so.
They believe God is above everything, and, being pacifists, can be hesitant to vote on who should be US president — and thus commander in chief of the armed forces.
“God takes care of that, and he has already,” Leroy Stoltzfus, 84, said of the current election pitting Trump against Kamala Harris, speaking to AFP in his living room.
This retired farmer with a shy smile and white beard acknowledged much is at stake in the vote, but declined to say if he supports Trump or Harris.
“He knows who he has chosen for the next president, so I don’t worry about it. I leave that to him.”
President Joe Biden won Pennsylvania by a slim margin of 80,000 votes in 2020, beating Trump. That is about the number of Amish people who live in the state, and Trump’s Republican Party is wooing them avidly.
“Traditionally, the Amish have embraced conservative policy positions,” said Kyle Kopko, a political science professor and expert on the Amish community at Elizabethtown College.
These stances include opposition to abortion and gay marriage. Many Amish also feel Republicans are less likely to intervene in their way of life and their businesses, Kopko said.
To get out the vote among the Amish, Republican organizers go door-to-door encouraging them to register to vote.
Trump himself last Sunday held a rally in Lancaster — home to America’s largest Amish community, though adherents are spread across multiple Midwestern states.
On a recent fall afternoon, the last rays of the sun bathed fields of corn, wheat and tobacco in a lovely burnt-orange hue in Lancaster County.
The air smelled heavily of earth and livestock, and clothes hung on lines running between big grain silos flapped in the wind.
Paul Bilier, a 34-year-old man with big brown eyes, ends the day the way he starts it — working with cattle, his hands caked in mud.
“Trump is strong! I like it,” Bilier said. “For him, business means business.”
Bilier says he talks politics with his neighbors now and then.
“I heard that Biden is too old but you know, I don’t know much,” said the father of two, who grew up just a few miles away.
A suntanned woman named Linda — she declined to give her full name — who wears square sunglasses runs a dairy store in the area, selling cheese, milk and ice cream.
Of voting among the Amish, she said: “It’s quite a big deal here, some do, some don’t. My husband and I vote. It’s a question of truth and fairness.”
She said she will vote for Trump, though declined to elaborate.
At local farmer’s markets the Amish run produce stands and are thus in regular contact with people from outside their community.
Some of them have cell phones, like Sam Stoltzfus — it’s a common last name among the Amish — who makes and sells horseradish and says he listens to Fox News every morning for 10 minutes.
“I think Trump’s going to be all right. I think he can handle things, but I just think he’s not a very Christian-like president. That’s my opinion,” said the small, wiry man of 81, in his gravelly voice.
“Anybody that has how many million dollar assets, and how many times did he go bankrupt? Bankruptcy? I question that a little bit,” said the father of nine and grandfather of 54
“But that little shady thing that happened after the election, you don’t know,” he said of Trump’s refusal to accept his defeat at the hands of Biden in 2020.
Stoltzfus called Harris “the less of the evils.”
Standing in a huge barn featuring a collection of vintage clocks, he said everybody should vote — but “it’s just not a real Amish thing.”
AFP
AFP
