[Next Sunday I will resume Upon the Earth]
In 2012 I wrote the first draft of Organa, in which I postulated “Amish reproductive rights riots” against a corporate system which has monopolized human reproduction. I was told that this was absurd and that the suspension of disbelief had been compromised by this scene. However, I based the scene on sure knowledge, had from an apex jock friend with 28 boxing bouts and over 700 wrestling matches, with a 500-pound bench press. Dan and his big jock friends used to go to the “Ohio Country Music Jamboree” and brawl against Amish 16-year-olds, who always lost decisively to these proto-MMA studs. Dan even turned over a hay wagon full of Amish twerps. He felt bad about that and developed a vast respect for his hopelessly over-matched Amish adversaries.
In April 2020, as plague swept the land and bodies were stacked in heaps on sidewalks, I was one of three non-Amish on the Northern Pacific line. As such I was approached by a certain Mister Schwartz, an Amish patriarch for information on the “English” world. He informed me that his community was under attack by feminized government agencies trying to end their separatism and traditional lifeway.
Now, a year later, minus a month, I noticed that the dozen Amish generally present on every train linking the Northeast with the West, had expanded to two-dozen even as the 200-300 passengers have been reduced to a total of 40-60. Interestingly, they are thriving in the social distancing discontinuum, in which African Americans and Latinos are practicing strict segregation and ghost people are all individually atomized in their private, non-reproductive solitude. So, looking ahead, to the future of Organa, I see only one type of European American among the train passengers—Amish. The rest of us shall be extinct.
I prowled about on foot, stretched, went to the restroom numerous times to shave and wash and such at Chicago Union Station. Fully half of the patrons in the Hiawatha Lounge were Amish. While normal Caucasian patrons at this station have been reduced ten fold and Amish have increased as cowardly ghost people shiver mewing in their gaslit cattle stalls, Bantu patrons have held steady, and now make up a significant presence and strictly segregate from other races.
Then I saw him, a 16-year-old Amish youth standing guard outside the bathroom, waiting for Amish males and females to emerge.
I looked at him and he glared up at me with defiance.
I returned to the main room and looked around, taking Amish inventory.
I stout, bearded man in black hat, blue shirt and black vest, eyed me with suspicion, the man that never sat, that walked women too and fro, who directed his elder men where to stack their luggage in a common lager at room center—he did not like me.
I sat and took inventory, got my razor, and headed to the bathroom to touch up my shave.
As this stout man, who I would have picked as the favorite in any MMA tourney peopled by the men in that place and time, made the rounds among the elder men, two of whom were watching the evil English pirate with the trench coat and eye patch, I paid keen attention. I overheard one of their discussions as the tall elder man who had the sentry seat and kept watch on the room and entrance as the prime stout man—who I named Samwise Gamby in my mind—patrolled. The tall elder pointed at me as the prime stout looked at me over one broad shoulder and said, “That one travels between Utah and Philadelphia these two years.”
Wow, the Amish have middle-aged intelligence officers, directing their prime-age protectors who direct youthful braves—they are going tribal out of a pacifistic communal base. They are proof that a dependent, pacifistic, Christian cult can evolve out of slave-mind emasculation back into autonomous vigilance.
I returned to the bathroom.
The youth was still there, accompanied by the stout man, his father. They both looked hard at me and suspiciously at the various lone Bantu warriors. They have the advantage of 20-year generations. This 15-year old boy and 35-year-old man make a team, whereas, in “English” society the breeding hipster, if he produced a single son, will be 55 to 60 before his son is able-bodied, marking no masculine continuity, no familial combat unit.
The Amish at Chicongo Union Station, on March 11, 2021 are already behaving as a four-generation tribe, with a war chief, a “master-at-arms” like a street gang.
When news reporters begin to announce that a mysterious virus is mimicking head wounds and defensive arm wounds as it breaks out of the body and causes what looks to be a cleaved gash, the Amish, at least some of them, will stand and fight against the Machete Virus and reproduce while the “English” undergo gender reassignment to female and shiver and mew in their media stalls.
While post-boomer Murica becomes a vast veal shed for pale, tender souls and the Machete Virus sweeps the land—maybe it will be the Amish who develop the pitchfork vaϲϲine?
I'm married to a full blooded North Dakota German and have German ancestry myself. I have Quaker ancestors, but the first generation born in America in my line didn't remain Quaker, they helped settle the Appalachians, instead. The Amish are very practical people motivated by a common religious belief. I have every faith they'll survive better than most. They have been preparing against something like this for ages, so religious persecution will only make them more resolute and dependent on God (I was raised Jehovah's Witness, so I know something about that myself) and there is nothing more resolute than a German, once they dig their heels in. The Leftists and Feminazis are not able to work together in a cohesive manner and their movement will dissolve into an infighting mess. I saw that first hand during the Standing Rock riots.