Witch hunting didn’t end in the Middle Ages. Along Kenya’s Kilifi coast, elderly people are being accused of witchcraft, attacked and killed. At least one person a week is targeted and left unable to return to their own land. One man who did survive recently, 74-year-old Tambala Jefwa, lost an eye and is now covered in scars. Something terrifying seems to have escaped the pages of the history books and is stalking the present.
Belief in witchcraft remains common in parts of Africa and, indeed, around the world. Recent events in Kenya are by no means isolated: in the early 2020s, the Democratic Republic of Congo saw an alarming surge in murders of alleged witches, and a 2023 report found that more than 1,500 people had been killed in witch hunts in Indian over an 11 year period. Just last May, a woman in the north-eastern city of Gumla was brutally executed with an axe by vigilante witch-finders.
Just as witches were a diverse group, so were their accusers
At times, genuine terror can lead to extreme violence. But as in the Middle Ages, accusations of witchcraft don’t always come about because of fears about the supernatural. Accusing someone of being a witch can, as is the case in Kenya today, be a convenient way of getting rid of a person – and seizing their land.
Whatever the motivation in these horrific incidents, what is clear is that, for those accused of being witches, the consequences can be terrifying – and even deadly. Victims include men, women and children and they commonly suffer social isolation and physical attack. Witchcraft persecution remains endemic in many communities within Africa, Asia and Latin America, and therefore also surfaces in diasporas of these communities based in Europe and the USA. Sadly, accusations of witchcraft are not something that can be confined to the history books.
We can, however, learn from the past to try and work out why this horrifying trend continues today. Contrary to widespread belief, European witches did not tend to be midwives and healers. Neither were they followers of an ancient pagan religion, worshipping in secret and suppressed by the Church. That particular myth was generated by academics with more creativity than evidence. By the time that mainstream scholarship had caught up with reality, the idea was loose in the world. There was no recapturing it. That image has proved tenacious because of its intrinsic appeal – the notion of resilience, and subtle but successful resistance against oppression, is admittedly alluring.
Unfortunately, the truth about 16th and 17th century witches – and indeed their modern day equivalent – is less romantic, and much more tragic. They were ordinary people, usually but not exclusively female, drawn from a range of backgrounds and circumstances. There was no universal model for accusations of witchcraft, and considerable variations in time and space.
However, some features did recur again and again in different contexts. Many witch trials started with conflict. Suspected witches were generally not mysterious crones living in a shack in the forest, but neighbours and family members. Then, as now, victims and accusers were often competing for status and resources, and embroiled in everyday squabbles and rivalries. The victim in Gumla was blamed for having caused the sudden death of a toddler in her community, while in Kenya many witchcraft accusations are a means to justify stealing land from the elderly.
At the same time, it is important to acknowledge that not all accusations of witchcraft were taken seriously by the authorities. Many reports were dismissed by sceptical magistrates and investigators, and negative conclusions tended to depend upon the wider circumstances of the case. Disempowered or marginalised people, especially women, stepping outside of their expected social place were definitely at heightened risk of being found guilty.
Moments of wider societal crisis or anxiety also made it seem more likely that the devil and his servants were active in the world. It was no coincidence that witch panic in Salem followed a poor harvest, catastrophic losses in war and a conflict with the British crown that shattered the community’s political and legal structures; their world was coming apart at the seams. It was also not uncommon for collective crisis and individual persecution to come together. In many instances, a particular person had been reputed to be a witch for years, but was not actually prosecuted until there was either an explosive conflict, or a shared trauma of some sort.
Just as witches were a diverse group, so were their accusers. One obvious distinction was between those who sincerely believed in the victim’s guilt, and those who saw an opportunity for personal gain or revenge (although the distinction was often blurred: it was always easier to convince yourself of the guilt of a person if you stood to gain in some way, or there was bad blood between you). As for the true-believers, it would be wrong to regard them as credulous or irrational. Their conclusions about malevolent sorcery made sense in terms of the worldview that they had grown up with, and the beliefs that were axiomatic to them. The devil was embattled against God, and the activities of his agents, human and demonic, explained why terrible things happened despite the benign will of the Creator. The same is true today: people believe in witches because this narrative fits with their understanding of the universe.
Conflict between relatives or neighbours can still be a catalyst for rumour and accusation, cynical or otherwise, especially in times of hardship or anxiety for the wider community. Witches are at heightened risk if they are vulnerable in some way, but there is no single victim profile. Equally, the individuals making the accusations vary in respect of their motivation and perception, but should not be casually dismissed as foolish or wicked.
Ultimately, the persecution of witches arises from a combination of conflict, fear and struggle in times of hardship. It is likely to be especially devastating where the rights and interests of individuals, particularly the marginalised are not adequately protected. Addressing both social justice, and the operation of the rule of law, is likely to be the most effective strategy to combat this problem. In parts of rural Kenya, for instance, land holding is often not documented, and owners have only their memory and word to justify their possession. Something as simple as effective land registration could make it much harder for opportunists to oust vulnerable people, and claim their property. Denouncing the dispossessed as a witch might quieten neighbours’ qualms, but it would not prove ownership. Removing the root of the behaviour cause could save lives, and avoid immense suffering.
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