Thursday, August 12, 2021

Multiple Lebanese officials ‘criminally negligent’ for Beirut blast: Human Rights Watch
By Staff Reuters
Posted August 3, 2021 7:33 am



WATCH: Beirut explosion: Drone footage shows port and its surroundings 1 year after deadly blast.


A report released by Human Rights Watch on Tuesday concluded there was strong evidence to suggest some Lebanese officials knew about and tacitly accepted the lethal risks posed by ammonium nitrate stored at Beirut port before the fatal blast there on Aug. 4 last year.


HRW called for a U.N. investigation into the explosion, which was caused by the chemicals stored unsafely at the port for years and killed more than 200 people, injured thousands and destroyed swathes of Lebanon’s capital.

The report by the international rights watchdog contained over 700 pages of findings and documents. Its investigation also concluded there was evidence that multiple Lebanese authorities were criminally negligent under Lebanese law.

Some Lebanese officials knew about 2020 Beirut blast risks, took no action: Human Rights WatchSome Lebanese officials knew about 2020 Beirut blast risks, took no action: Human Rights Watch – Aug 3, 2021


HRW said President Michel Aoun, caretaker Prime Minister Hassan Diab, director general of state security Tony Saliba and other former ministers wanted for questioning by judge Bitar, had failed to take action to protect the general public despite having been informed of the risks.

Reuters sought comment on the report’s findings from Aoun, Diab and Saliba.

The presidential palace offered no comment. Saliba said his agency did all it could within its legal remit, filing legal reports to warn officials, and had an office open at the port only months before the blast. There was no immediate response from Diab.

READ MORE: Lebanon’s prime minister among those charged with negligence in Beirut explosion

Aoun said on Friday he was ready to testify and that no one was above the law. HRW based its report on official documents it reviewed and on multiple interviews with top officials including the president, the caretaker prime minister and the head of the country’s state security.

The investigation trailed events from 2014 onwards after the shipment was brought to Beirut port and tracked repeated warnings of danger to various official bodies.

“Evidence strongly suggests that some government officials foresaw the death that the ammonium nitrate’s presence in the port could result in and tacitly accepted the risk of the deaths occurring,” the report said.

0:45 Beirut explosion: Signs of life detected at building destroyed by blast – Sep 3, 2020

It called on the United Nations Human Rights Council to mandate an investigation into the blast and on foreign governments to impose human rights and corruption sanctions on officials.

A Lebanese investigation into the blast, led by Judge Tarek Bitar, has stalled. Politicians and senior security officials are yet to be questioned and requests to lift their immunity have been hindered.

A document seen by Reuters that was sent just over two weeks before the blast showed the president and prime minister were warned about the security risk posed by the chemicals stored at the port and that they could destroy the capital.

(Writing By Maha El Dahan, Editing by Timothy Heritage)
Art Criticism

Huguette Caland Is One of Lebanon’s Most Famous Artists. But a Big Part of Her Story Has Remained Hidden

“Huguette Caland: Tête-à-Tête” looks at an artist who is also the daughter of one of Lebanon's most famous politicians.

Ben Davis, July 21, 2021
Installation view of “Huguette Caland: Tête-à-Tête” at the Drawing Center. Photo by Ben Davis.


There’s plenty to say about Huguette Caland, on the occasion of “Huguette Caland: Tête-à-Tête” at the Drawing Center, a lovely (if too small) survey of her career, curated by Claire Gilman and Isabella Kapur.

Caland is an increasingly important figure in recent art history, her rise coinciding both with a surge of interest in overlooked women artists and the mounting political instability in her country of birth, Lebanon, which has put a spotlight on its history and culture. After a lifetime of mainly minor successes (she died in 2019), her reputation sharply spiked in her final years, during which she was celebrated in the “Made in L.A.” biennial in 2016, the Venice Biennale in 2017, and at the Tate St. Ives and the Sharjah Biennial in 2019.


Elegant and free spirited, Caland was a painter, sometimes sculptor, and designer of arty kaftans. Her paintings and drawings—and, indeed, even her kaftans—have an often frank, surrealist-tinged eroticism, featuring interlocking body parts and faces emerging from tangles of lines.


Huguette Caland, Bribes de Corps (Body Bits) (1973). Photo by Ben Davis.

If I were going to write a review of the show, I would say that its best works were the “Bribes de Corps” or “Body Bits” paintings of the early to mid ‘70s. These feature curvaceous, colored shapes, given just enough definition to make you understand that they double as up-close rolls of flesh, bodies smooshed together or zoomed in on. After that, I like her late-period abstractions, intricate, richly colored grids of interlocking patterns inspired by Palestinian textiles.

But I’ve been reading everything available about Huguette Caland for a week, and I am left a bit vexed. So instead of writing an ordinary review I decided that the most interesting question raised by the show is about how her life story gets told, and what is left out, and why.


Installation view of “Huguette Caland: Tête-à-Tête” at the Drawing Center. Photo by Ben Davis.

A Complicated Inheritance


All accounts of Huguette Caland’s life story contain the same important piece of background info: That she is the daughter of Bechara el-Khoury, a towering political figure and the first president of independent Lebanon in 1943.

El-Khoury is often described in the writing about Caland as a “national hero”—which is certainly true. Lebanon’s independence day celebrates the day he and other leaders were released from prison by the French authorities in 1943; Huguette had her first one-person show, in 1970, at an art center located on “Bechara el-Khoury Avenue.”



Installation view of “Huguette Caland: Tête-à-Tête” at the Drawing Center, featuring a portrait of the artist. Photo by Ben Davis.


But his legacy, it seems, was also somewhat tarnished by the circumstances of the end of his tenure. In everything I have read about Caland, I find no mention of how he fell from power, or what it might have meant to her. (In the most authoritative English essay about Caland’s early life, from the monograph Everything Takes the Shape of a Person, critic Kaelen Wilson-Goldie deals with this moment in a single parenthetical statement: “his nine-year-term as president had ended in 1952.”)

It may be that, given the suffering of Lebanon in subsequent decades, the upheaval of ‘52 has come to seem quaint. But it was not obscure, the first national crisis of the young nation. Bechara el-Khoury and the circle around him had become increasingly associated with corruption and nepotism. As one book put it, the family had become known for having “a finger in every business deal and every senior governmental appointment and realizing money from both.” Among other things, Huguette’s mother was caught taking $100,000 in gold to Paris, an embarrassment that was denounced in parliament, opening the floodgates of scandal.

Opposition factions united against him. A general strike paralyzed the country. El-Khoury appealed to the military to crush the rebellion.

When the military refused, in what is to this day remembered as a heroic act of neutrality, Bechara el-Khoury gave up power in the peaceful Rosewater Revolution. Huguette was 20.



Installation view of “Huguette Caland: Tête-à-Tête” at the Drawing Center. Photo by Ben Davis.

A Child of Independence


This drama predates Huguette’s becoming an artist by more than a decade. The very same year her father had to give up the presidency, 1952, she married Paul Caland, a young French-Lebanese lawyer and nephew of publisher Georges Naccache, a fierce critic of her father, connected to yet another exceptionally influential Maronite Christian family. (The two families were associated with rival political newspapers; Naccache had been thrown in prison in 1949 for an article saying—prophetically—that the system of political compromises that el-Khoury had founded the nation on was too fragile to last.)


They both soon took lovers, even as they had three children, Pierre, Philippe, and Brigitte. Bechara el-Khoury would die of cancer in 1964, with Huguette helping to nurse him at the family estate outside of Beirut. It was only then that she seriously thought of being an artist, enrolling in her mid-30s to study art at American University, constructing a personal studio to work on her family estate, and changing her entire look.



Huguette Caland, works from the “Homage to Public Hair” series (1992). Photo by Ben Davis.

Huguette had always struggled with her weight, and decided now to cease wearing Western fashions and to take up the loose-fitting abaya as more suitable to her shape. Her husband hated the change, calling them “sacks of potatoes.” Acquaintances in Lebanese society were said to think that “Sheikh Bechara’s daughter became crazy.”

In 1970, at the age of 39, Huguette Caland would abruptly leave her husband, her three children, and Lebanon, moving to Paris to live as an artist. The unconventional midlife turn was a dramatic act of self-realization and self-creation. “I wanted to have my own identity,” Caland said of her decision to seek an artist’s life abroad. “In Lebanon, I was the daughter of, wife of, mother of, sister of. It was such a freedom, to wake up all by myself in Paris. I needed to stretch.”

At the same time, she would remember that the deliberate estrangement was made easier because she saw her children often, given that they traveled as official swimming champions on the French national team, representing the former colonial power—her son Pierre Caland swam for France at the 1972 Munich Olympics. (Pierre went on to become a financier. Her other son, Philippe, became a film producer, making the infamous Hollywood disaster Boxing Helena, and touching off an international protest by Buddhist monks for his movie Hollywood Buddha—a film that features Huguette in the role of “mom.” Daughter Brigitte teaches Semitic languages at American University, is a chef, and, since 2005, has managed her mother’s legacy.)



Installation view of “Huguette Caland: Tête-à-Tête” at the Drawing Center. Photo by Ben Davis.

In Paris, Caland deepened her explorations into erotic abstraction. She also, famously, met fashion designer Pierre Cardin who, liking her billowy, self-decorated clothing, had her design “Nour,” a line of kaftans (four of these unique creations are shown in the Drawing Center on custom, surrealist mannequins). “It was the only job I ever had in my life,” she boasted. I haven’t been able to find any explanation of how she lived as an artist who had only a handful of shows and proudly only did paid work a single time, but I assume that family money was somehow involved.


In the late ’80s, following the death of a lover, Romanian sculptor George Apostu, she would move to California. There, she had an architect build her a luxurious “chateau fort,” constructed with no interior walls—not even around the bedroom or bathroom. (A 2003 L.A. Times story about the house’s delightful architecture won Caland some of her first major press in English.) She held court there, made friends in the local artist community, and perfected radiant, free-flowing abstractions that captured her restless, happy temperament.


Huguette Caland, Bodrum (2008). Photo by Ben Davis.

In 2013, at 82, she returned to Beirut to attend to the sick Paul Caland, with whom she had never lost touch.
Phantom Threads

One aspect of Caland’s career that doesn’t get enough attention—perhaps her clearest act of commitment to a cause—was the founding of INAASH, a United Nations NGO, in 1969. The still-existing organization helps Palestinian women living in refugee camps within Lebanon learn traditional embroidery and sell it. This may seem like an aside here, but it’s relevant in that Palestinian embroidery patterns inspired Caland’s beautiful late work.



Huguette Caland, Appleton (2009). Photo by Ben Davis.

Many accounts give “Huguette El-Khoury Caland” sole credit for the organization, touting her influence as the daughter of the former president. Others mention two other women, Shermine Hneine and Gebran Majdalani, and say that a Palestinian, Serene Husseini Shahid, convinced these doyennes of Lebanese society to focus the organization on preserving Palestinian embroidery traditions after being enraged to see Palestinian textiles being sold as “Israeli” in New York.

By all accounts, Caland was moved by the plight of Palestinians displaced from their homeland. She reportedly had two busses of refugees brought to see her 1970 show at Dar El Fan art center.

Three and a half decades later, in 2006, a curator’s glimpse of Palestinian embroidery on pillows in Caland’s luxurious Venice home would inspire the Los Angeles Craft and Art and Folk Art Museum to do “Sovereign Threads: A History of Palestinian Embroidery,” with Caland helping to fund the show and make the curatorial connections.



Huguette Caland, City (2010). Photo by Ben Davis.

But the state of the available writing on Caland is such that I’m not quite sure, after days of reading, how one squares the narrative of her commitment to refugee women via INAASH with the narrative of her making a clean break with her responsibilities in a feminist act of self-invention for Paris—something that happened directly after the NGO’s founding. I’d like to know more!
Huguette Caland Now

On a Lebanese arts-and-culture chat show some years ago, daughter Brigitte Caland was asked what her famous mother would want an audience to take away from her work. “To like her art without thinking about a nationality or gender,” was the reply.

This is likely not a line that resonates with most of Caland’s fans just now, smacking of a dated universalism that directly contradicts the feminist and post-colonial types of criticism that have helped elevate her legacy in recent years. For me, that’s the reason to interrogate her biography a bit, because her personal story is explicitly being used to lend its aura to the art.



Huguette Caland, works from the “Homage to Public Hair” series (1992). Photo by Ben Davis.

The Drawing Center is playing the informative documentary, Huguette Caland: Outside the Lines (produced by Brigitte). In it, Kaelen Wilson-Goldie (who also reviewed the show) admits that Caland didn’t want to be called a feminist. “But it’s what you want out of feminist art which is seeing feminism in action, which is how you live your day to day,” she says.

Caland was certainly a fascinating character, living on her own terms, embracing sexual and creative freedom far in advance of what was on offer. At the same time, contemporary feminist theory has labored mightily to get out from under the class- and race-blind rhetoric that inflected the largely white, largely middle-class Second Wave in the ‘70s in the U.S. A contemporary intersectional approach, it seems to me, needn’t deny the substance of her rebellion, but might put some more focus on clarifying how Caland’s specific social position, coming from the very literal ruling class of a nation, gave her access to forms of self-actualization that most women didn’t and don’t have.

The habit of invoking her family’s political status, but in a purely mythologizing way, is more vexing—particularly right now.


Viewers watch Letters to Huguette at the Drawing Center. Photo by Ben Davis.

A second film at the Drawing Center, the meditative Letters to Huguette by great Lebanese photographer Fouad Elkoury, explicitly seeks to connect Huguette Caland’s seemingly self-focused artistic philosophy and today’s general interest in activism. It juxtaposes interviews of the elderly artist talking about her painting practice with images of the earth-shaking 2019 street protests in Beirut and then the near-collapse of the country under coronavirus in 2020.

Speaking of one young street protester, the narrator addresses himself to Caland: “just like you, he wants to affirm the rights of the individual.” The protesters on the streets, we are told, will “inevitably echo your own fight for freedom”—a heartfelt but odd tribute that seems to compare young people literally occupying the streets in collective political action to Caland leaving the country to pursue her passions on her own.


The film strikes a completely different note from the erotic fragments and sunnily abstract works we see in the actual show.

Letters to Huguette symbolically links Caland’s art to the spirit of contemporary protest by showing her talking about the fear she felt as a girl when her father was a pro-Lebanese independence activist being harassed by the French authorities. But isn’t it even slightly relevant, in the context of a film about anti-corruption protests, that her father was himself once targeted by anti-corruption protests?

The film briefly mentions, in one line, that Bechara el-Khoury himself designed the dysfunctional political system based on institutionalized religious division that the protesters are trying to tear down, while Huguette personally disapproved of this system—but the tension is not really explored. When the film shows us Huguette Caland holding forth on politics, she basically says that people from different backgrounds should get along. (Her daughter and advocate Brigitte stated on that chat show quite clearly, “She was born in a political house but I don’t think politics mattered to her.”)

To be clear: I like Huguette Caland’s art and I like this show! What I am getting at, anyway, is a much larger pattern: art history has a tendency to default to notions of artists as heroes, and to turn art into an all-purpose form of social wisdom. And so, because we like Caland’s work and want to make the case for it, the parts of her biography that resonate with contemporary narratives are emphasized, and anything that complicates the picture is deemphasized.

But isn’t it better—either to understand her art or to understand the forces shaping our own world—to emphasize that artists are not in any intrinsic way heroic, but people who are sometimes relatable and insightful, but often privileged or compromised, and sometimes inspiring, but not always in ways that you either could or would want to follow? How unfortunate an irony would it be if the very act of bringing a Lebanese artist into the center of art history becomes a way to create a subtly skewed view of Lebanese history?

“Huguette Caland: Tête-à-Tête” is on view at the Drawing Center, New York, through September 19, 2021.

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The Unholy review – Satan continues to inspire the very worst films

A poorly made horror takes an interesting concept, from a James Herbert novel, and squanders it with ineffective visuals and a dearth of scares

The Unholy. If the devil did exist then surely he’d have the power to destroy films as dull as this. Photograph: Sony

Benjamin Lee
THE GUARDIAN
Mon 26 Jul 2021

As histrionic homophobes continue to lose their simple little minds over the “satanic” new video for Lil Nas X’s catchy queer hook-up anthem Montero, perhaps they should be a little bit more concerned about supernatural Sony horror The Unholy. Like many genre films about the fight between god and the devil, it’s an affirmative story for Christians (good and evil do exist in strict binary terms) but like many of them as well, it’s also a woefully ineffective one, turning what should be an easy piece of jolting propaganda into something so incompetent that even believers will struggle to care who wins. If the devil did exist then surely he’d have the power to destroy films as dull as this.

It has the cursed aura of something shot three years ago, shelved and then dumped, a doomed hobble to the screen that’s become more commonplace in the last year as studios have understandably used the opportunity to offload their damaged wares. But surprisingly here that isn’t the case and instead, The Unholy was actually in production as the pandemic struck, becoming one of the first films to grapple with the complexities of having to film around a deadly virus. Plaudits are then earned for this but precious little else, writer-director Evan Spiliotopoulos taking an intriguing concept and doing the very least with it, disappointment soon turning to disinterest.

Based on James Herbert’s 1983 novel Shrine, the plot follows disgraced journalist Gerry (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) as he tries to find a story worth getting paid for. His search takes him to a small New England town and Alice (newcomer Cricket Brown), a local hearing-impaired girl who claims she can now hear and speak because of a holy visitation. Her miracles start to spread throughout the community but they rely on ultimate, unwavering belief in Alice’s new friend “Mary”, and when that is tested, all hell, or at least the most boring part of it, will break loose.

It’s exhaustively well-worn territory but the premise does initially offer up the vague hope of an interesting spin, exploring the danger of automatic, unquestioning faith and a clear, juicy example of the Martin Luther quote “For where god built a church, there the devil would also build a chapel”. But Spiliotopoulos, best known for having a hand in workmanlike blockbuster scripts like Beauty and the Beast, Hercules and Charlie’s Angels, is a disastrously unsure hand behind the camera, never quite managing to conjure up even the slightest ounce of menace with dated, cheap-looking visuals and a distinct dearth of dread. The creature that acts as a servant of Satan, killed back in the 1900s in human form and returning through Alice, is all jagged movements, crunching bones and extended claws, a cribbed, indistinct design that’s too lacklustre to evoke any real scares. The jumps employed by Spiliotopoulos are equally unsuccessful, as overused as they are over-emphasised, that familiar orchestral crash doing all the work over and over and over again.

Morgan does his grizzled B-movie best, slightly better served by what he has to play with than his co-stars: a confusingly accented Cary Elwes as a local bishop and a stranded Katie Aselton as the town doctor who is somehow remarkably an expert in every single medical field. The script’s many many shortcomings would perhaps be easier to forgive if the visuals were a little less shoddy, something that stings even more when one glances to the credits and sees producer Sam Raimi’s name. Raimi dragged us to hell back in 2009, but now his vision of hell is just a drag. The scariest thing about The Unholy is that he hasn’t disowned it.


The Unholy is released in the US on 2 April and on digital platforms in the UK on 2 August.


The origins of witches: Mystical malefactors have been with us across the millennia

'Beliefs in witchcraft are a reflection of a facet of human nature that we otherwise don’t want to acknowledge,' says anthropologist Manvir Singh

Author of the article:
National Post Staff
Publishing date:May 04, 2021 • May 4, 2021 •
You will find that every human culture has stories about witches with supernatural powers who are existentially threatening and morally repugnant.
 PHOTO BY WENDY LOVE/GETTY IMAGES/ISTOCKPHOTO


Witches get around, and not just on broomsticks.

Western culture has always bubbled with witch stories, from Endor and Sycorax to Sabrina the Teenage Witch and Cher of Eastwick.

But witches are not simply fantasies born of wild imaginations, invented by the Bible authors and William Shakespeare and so on, then copied like cartoons into the modern mass culture. They are not simply sexist tropes about old women, with their brooms and cauldrons (literally tools for cooking and cleaning) and their cat friends.

In fact, if you really look closely across cultures, as the anthropologist Manvir Singh has, you notice that beliefs about witchcraft tend to be directed at men and women in roughly equal measure.

More broadly, as Singh’s new peer-reviewed report in the journal Current Anthropology describes, you find that every human culture has stories about witches with supernatural powers who are existentially threatening and morally repugnant. The character is similar whether the source culture is the Yamba of Cameroon, the Santal of South Asia, or the Navajo of the American Southwest. Witches, Singh writes, “devour babies, fornicate with their menstruating mothers, and use human skulls for sports. They become bats and black panthers, house pythons in their stomachs, and direct menageries of attendant nightbirds. They plot the destruction of families and then dance in orgiastic night-fests.”

The details vary, but the character is the same. Human cultures always seem to come up with these ideas about mystical malefactors, notably witches with superpowers, but also sorcerers who have no supernatural powers of their own but rather learn and practice malicious spells, and people with the “evil eye” who can do harm just by looking or speaking.

In Singh’s theory, witches are part of human nature, placed there over the millennia by evolutionary dynamics.

To our evolved minds, witchcraft makes intuitive sense. So goes the theory

In an interview, he said his review of beliefs in witchcraft shows that they are not something peculiar that only used to happen in unique circumstances, such as the famous witch hunts in colonial New England and early modern Europe. Rather, they are expressions of human nature, features of our mind that reliably turn up in every human culture.


“Beliefs in witchcraft are a reflection of a facet of human nature that we otherwise don’t want to acknowledge,” Singh said.

Singh is an anthropologist at the Institute for Advanced Study at Toulouse, and recently completed doctoral research at Harvard University, in which he did field work among the Mentawai people of Indonesia. There, he was studying the local religion of a crocodile god who punishes people who do not share, and the activities of men who in another context might be called witch doctors, but are properly described as shamans.


In the peer-reviewed journal Current Anthropology, he reports the first results from a new research tool he created, the Mystical Harm Survey, which is used with the Human Relations Area Files, a massive scholarly data set that anthropologists use to compare ethnographic details about different modern human cultures.

In effect, he explains the origin of witches.

“We start with this puzzle of why human societies reliably develop these beliefs,” Singh said in an interview. The common approach to explaining this, known as functionalism, is basically to say that beliefs in harmful magic are an adaptation at the societal level that get reinforced because they promote co-operation. If everyone believes in witchcraft, this traditional theory goes, few people will harm others out of fear of reprisal. Fear of witches keeps everyone in line.


One problem with this theory, however, is that from an evolutionary perspective, a belief in witchcraft is incredibly costly. It destroys communal trust. To this day, people get killed for suspicion of witchcraft.

So, what if the source of witchery was closer to individual psychology? What if people look for compelling explanations of misfortune, and witchcraft is psychologically appealing, rather than socially useful?

Manvir Singh on Siberut Island, Indonesia, with the Mentawai people who believe in a punitive crocodile spirit. PHOTO BY LUKE GLOWACKI

The hypothesis Singh set out to test was that humans are endowed with psychological mechanisms that predispose them to think others are the cause of their misfortune. We are “adaptively paranoid,” and one result is a belief in witches.

His explanation is evolutionary, and refers to three cultural selective processes. The first is selection for intuitive magic. When people try repeatedly to influence the misfortune of others, they retain a sense for magical power. They remember stories about harmful magic, and as they do, they convince themselves it works, and that others use it. Over time, this is absorbed into culture and passed along in stories, fixing the idea in individual minds.


The second is selection for plausible explanations of misfortune. When things go bad, people look for someone to blame, and beliefs in magic give straightforward explanations, often much easier to grasp than the true ones. The crops did not fail because of chance weather or some unknown pest. They failed because a witch is trying to harm us. Which witch? Probably that weird old lady down the way, with the cats and the funny smelling soup pot.

The third is selection for demonizing narratives, in which mystical beliefs validate mistreatment of others.


“Separately, these selective schemes produce traditions as diverse as shamanism, conspiracy theories, and campaigns against heretics — but around the world, they jointly give rise to the odious and feared witch,” Singh writes in the report. “The three proposed schemes occur under different circumstances and frequently act independently of each other, separately producing superstitions, conspiracy theories, and propaganda. But they also interact and develop each other’s products, giving rise to beliefs in sorcerers, lycanthropes (werewolves), evil eye possessors, and abhorrent witches.”

Belief in witchcraft obviously will not stand up to modern scientific scrutiny, but humans have been around longer than science, and to our evolved minds, witchcraft makes intuitive sense. So goes the theory.

Even in contexts where people do not believe in or talk about witches, the same dynamics are evident and analogous beliefs emerge, Singh said, such as conspiracies about malicious governments or secret societies, which offer a conveniently broad explanation for specific misfortunes.

What makes Singh’s work a rare contribution to the science of witchcraft and sorcery is not just that he has catalogued these beliefs in “mystical harm” across diverse cultures, but that his theory also offers testable and falsifiable predictions about how these beliefs should change across circumstances.

His new research is turning to a larger database of religious history at the University of British Columbia, for which he will adapt his “Mystical Harm Survey,” to test these predictions. For example, on his theory, people should be more likely to believe in sorcerers as sorcery techniques become more “effective-seeming.” People should be more likely to blame misfortune on bad magic when they are already distrustful or persecuted, and more likely to demonize people as witches in times of stressful uncertainty. Mystical explanations also should be more likely in the absence of alternative explanations, or for particularly bad misfortune.

One curiosity is why good magic always seems to get second billing in witch stories. Singh’s view is that humans are predisposed to adaptive superstitions, but good events do not prompt the same bafflement as bad events, so in the long run, the bias leans toward suspicion and fear.




Queen’s to host symposium unpacking media representations of witchcraft

August 5, 2021 Zoha Khalid
Augmented reality artwork in-progress, After the Witch of Malleghem, by local artists Jenn E Norton, Emily Pelstring, and Edie Soleil, created for the Witch Institute.

A week-long virtual symposium is organized from August 16 to 22 by The Witch Institute, a one-time symposium hosted by the Department of Film and Media at Queen’s University in Katarokwi/Kingston. The Witch Institute is a collaborative meeting space for people who want to share diverse understandings of witches and witchcraft and “complicate, reframe, and remediate media representations that often continue to perpetuate colonial, misogynistic, and Eurocentric stereotypes of the archetypal figure,” according to the organization’s website.

“We noticed a recent trend in witch-related media across television, film, music, and fashion where the witch is often cast as a feminist icon, and we wanted to understand the significance of this recent resurgence of witch imagery,” said Emily Pelstring, Co-Organizer of The Witch Institute.

The symposium constitutes seven planned events, including 18 roundtables, 14 workshops, and many exciting screenings, talks, and performances. It includes a lecture by Dr. Silvia Federici on the role of witch hunts in colonization and globalization processes; a conversation between the star of the iconic 90s witch film The Craft, Rachel True, and Dani Bethea about the representation of black femininity in witch horror; a screening and conversation around Anna Biller’s feminist satire The Love Witch; and an expanded version of the short film program Spellbound, with an accompanying workshop and raffled multimedia Collective Spell Package, curated by Geneviève Wallen.


“We suspect that this rise in interest in witchcraft and the reclamation of witch-identity is in part a response to the intensification of the conservative politics that we are seeing across the globe. If this is the case on some level, it is worth asking more questions about how these reclamations respond to the current conditions and what witchcraft and related practices mean for marginalized communities,” said Pelstring.

The symposium is free to attend for the public and is virtual, but ticket reservation is required due to limited numbers.

“We hope that this week-long symposium effectively brings together voices from various communities with different approaches to sharing knowledge. We are hosting roundtables and workshops where scholars, artists, and practitioners of witchcraft will come into dialogue with one another. This can only enrich the conversations we have around the roles of media, spirituality, creativity, and political activism in our lives,” said Pelstring.

Visit www.witchinstiute.com for a full schedule of events and to reserve
 tickets.


New Buckland Museum of Witchcraft and Magick Exhibit Demonstrates How Art Can Heal

Posted By  on Tue, Mar 9, 2021 at 1:59 pm

Transmutations: Witches, Healers and Oracles is now on exhibit. - COURTESY OF THE BUCKLAND MUSEUM OF WITCHCRAFT AND MAGICK
  • Courtesy of the Buckland Museum of Witchcraft and Magick
  • Transmutations: Witches, Healers and Oracles is now on exhibit.
Stephen Romano has curated several exhibits for Cleveland's Buckland Museum of Witchcraft and Magick. He was the man behind the following exhibits: the wildly popular William Mortensen's WITCHES, an exhibit that featured a selection from Romano's comprehensive collection of works by the artist; Barry William Hale, the first ever solo exhibition by the world renowned Australian artist who's a member of Ordo Templi Orients; and Apparitions, an exhibit that presented more than 40 works from Stephen Romano's collection on the subject of ghosts, spirits and the paranormal ranging in dates of creation from the early 1600s to the present.

Now, he’s teamed up once again with the museum to present Transmutations: Witches, Healers and Oracles, an exhibit dedicated to the esoteric photographic works of Destiny Turner, Alexis Karl, Courtney Brooke, Lorena Torres Martell and Nahw Yg with words by renowned author Kristen J. Sollee.
“The exhibition features artists who have channeled their life experiences into their art making practice using the languages and aesthetics of the esoteric, witchcraft, shamanism, and other contexts which imply the conjuring and manipulation of forces outside of mundane sensory perception,” reads a press release about the exhibit, which through April 30.

The exhibition will also feature vernacular and historical photographic works, including works from our collection of vintage lobby cards, as well as the early 20th century photography of William Mortensen, Walter Bird, John Everard, Roland Henricks and many others.

"The title of the exhibition, 'transmutations,' came in conversation with the artist Destiny Turner, who is also a poetess, and suggests the action of changing or the state of being changed into another form.. either in actual form from matriarch to witch or shaman (and back again), from darkness to light, from mundane to supernatural,” says Romano in a press release. “The possibilities are endless, and Kristien J. Sollee's texts best compliment how that applies to the works in this exhibition. The show features artists whom I call ‘authentic,’ as they have channeled their true life experiences directly into their art making practice. These artists use the language and claim the imagery of the esoteric, witchcraft and healing to perpetuate what is to me the noblest and highest ambition an artist can have, to use art as a social healing device."

To ensure social distancing, the museum only allows visitors via ticketed appointments. Masks must be worn. Tickets to Transmutations: Witches, Healers and Oracles are available now.

Film Coven of Sisters gets a lot right about
 the terrible 1609 Basque witch-hunt


An engraving of the sabbath from Pierre de Lancre’s Tableau de l'inconstance des mauvais anges. Author provided

Pierre de Rosteguy de Lancre’s 1612 book, Tableau de l'inconstance des mauvais anges et démons (Tableau of the Inconstancy of Evil Angels and Demons), is the most sensationalist account of a sabbat, the nocturnal gathering of witches, ever written. Recounting a witch hunt the judge had conducted in the French Basque country in 1609, the book is replete with allegations of cannibalism, vampirism and a great deal of demonic sex.

Historians have not quite known what to do with de Lancre, who may have executed as many as 80 women and men as witches. They’ve either desperately tried to make him out to be the very “picture of the Catholic Reformation man”. Or they descend into unhelpful denunciations of his “attitude bordering on imbecility”.

The Spanish film Akelarre (translated as Coven of Sisters) succeeds where the historians fail, capturing de Lancre’s personality – a blend of piety, curiosity and erotic fixation with the sabbat. It takes the material from de Lancre’s book and asks the simple question: how did de Lancre obtain this wealth of material about the witches’ sabbat? (“akelarre” in Basque.)
Spellbound by the Sabbat

The film, by the Argentinian director Pablo Agüero, centres on the relationship between a Spanish judge called Rostegui (based on de Lancre) and a group of teenagers suspected of witchcraft. In an attempt to evade execution, the six teenage girls decide to tell the judge what he wants to hear. Their leader, Ana, realises that the judge is desperate to prove the reality of the sabbat. They plan to string him along, even offering to re-enact the sabbat, with the hope of winning enough time for their fathers – sailors who had gone to the New World – to return and rescue them from the judge’s clutches.

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De Lancre’s Tableau highlights the contrast between elite French culture and that of the Basque border territory. It even likens the inhabitants to Native Americans from the New World. This clash of cultures is well represented in the film – Basque food, language, and dress are cursed and mocked.


Indeed, the contrast was more profound in real life. Like the film’s Spanish judge, de Lancre did not speak Basque. Every encounter had to pass through an interpreter, causing him considerable distress about possible deceptions. The film also captures this insecurity. The girls speak Spanish but switch into Basque to keep their secrets and undermine the judge’s superiority, just as de Lancre feared.

It might seem implausible that the judge desired to know every intimate detail of the sabbat but many scenes in the film are based on de Lancre’s account. The real French judges (de Lancre had a colleague) had the teenagers re-enact the dances they performed at the sabbat. The judges also asked one witch to fly off in front of them. When she could not, she promised to bring back the necessary potion the next time she went to the sabbat. Even the rather comic scene where the judge inquires about the size of the devil’s penis has roots in the Tableau.
From the “witches” perspective

While the film gets a lot right, it misses two crucial complicating factors.

The film, first of all, presents witchcraft as a novelty. The girls use the Spanish word for witch, bruja, even when speaking in Basque, as if it was unfamiliar to them. Yet Basques had a long, disturbing history of prosecuting witches. When the Spanish Inquisition first dealt with witchcraft in the late 15th century, its officials did not refer to supposed witches as brujas – they used the Basque equivalent sorginak.

Secondly, the abduction of children and teenagers by witches was a persistent part of Basque witchcraft lore on both the Spanish and French side of the border

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Akelarre film poster. Wikimedia

De Lancre did not consider his teenagers to be witches, he called them “witnesses”. Brought to the sabbat against their will, their role was to denounce those who had abducted them as witches. Although their bodies were searched for the devil’s mark – the film’s most harrowing scene – they were not usually at risk of death.

The French judges executed only one teenager, 17-year-old Marie Dindarte who made the mistake of confessing that she travelled to the sabbat on her own. De Lancre was delighted by her testimony. Marie, totally oblivious, confessed “continuously without torture”, implicating other witches. In vain, she recanted when she unexpectedly found herself on the scaffold.

These comments notwithstanding, Akelarre has got a lot right about the Basque witch-hunt’s most salient features: Pierre de Lancre’s erotic fascination with the sabbat and his strange collaboration with his teenage witnesses. Students of the early modern witch-hunt should take note of this film. And a wider audience might appreciate it more knowing how close to the truth it is.

April 15, 2021 

Author
Jan Machielsen
Senior Lecturer in Early Modern History, Cardiff University
Disclosure statement
Jan Machielsen is Senior Lecturer in Early Modern History at Cardiff University and a Humboldt Research Fellow at the TU Dresden. He is currently completing a book on the witch-hunt in the French Basque Country.
Partners
Cardiff University provides funding as a founding partner of The Conversation UK.


Sirens, hags and rebels: Halloween witches draw on the history of women’s power


Witches have a long history dating back to Ancient Rome. This print from 1815 is by British engraver Edward Orme. (Wellcome Collection)

Notwithstanding the pandemic, witches in pointy black hats appear in the windows of stores and homes across my city this Halloween. Witch costumes are popular with young girls who, in ordinary times, parade the streets collecting candy, reinscribing an ancient stereotype that has roots in misogynistic fears and fantasies about female power and its dangers.

Young women and girls don this costume because it allows them to flirt with the daring possibilities of female agency — expressed as naughtiness and defiance — that is normally off limits to them. But what are the origins and history of the witch stereotype that explain its enduring cultural appeal as a symbol of women’s dangerous power?

My book, Naming the Witch: Magic, Ideology, and Stereotype in the Ancient World, investigates the origins of magic, focusing especially on its association with women in ancient representations.
The first witch

Circe in Homer’s Odyssey has often been identified as the first witch. She lured men into her compound and turned them into wild pigs with a magic potion. Interestingly, the Greek text identifies her as a goddess, affirming that her powers derive from legitimate and divine sources, rather than mageia, associated with the religion of Greece’s nemesis, Persia.


Medea the Sorceress is an oil painting by British painter Valentine Cameron Prinsep (1838–1904) that depicts Medea collecting funghi to make a poison. (Southwark Art Collection)

Medea, another prototype for the witch in ancient literature, similarly derives her power from divine sources: she is a granddaughter of the sun and priestess of Hecate, a goddess from Caria (in modern Turkey), who is identified with magic by the fifth century BCE. Hecate presides over liminal transitions — births and deaths — and was believed to lead a horde of restless souls on moonless nights, which needed to be placated by offerings at the crossroads.

It is likely this association with the restless dead that led Hecate to be frequently petitioned on curse tablets and binding spells from ancient Greece and Rome. By the Renaissance, she had become the witch’s goddess par excellence, as reflected in Shakespeare’s Macbeth.
Depravation and witches

The image of the witch begins to take shape in earnest during the Roman period: the Roman poet Lucan’s Pharsalia, which presents an account of the civil war that ended the Roman Republic, depicts a necromantic hag to graphically signify the depths of depravity to which civil war leads. Erictho prowls cemeteries and battlefields, reviving corpses to learn from them the outcome of the war. She gorges out eyeballs, gnaws on desiccated fingernails and scrapes the flesh off crucifixes.

This image of an old hag — wizened, grey-faced and mutilating the dead — provides an important template for later representations of witches.


A print made from an engraving by Robert Threw of ‘Macbeth, the three witches,
 Hecate, and the eight kings, in a cave,’ originally painted by Joshua Reynold. (The Wellcome Collection)

More influential still are the Roman poet Horace’s many depictions of Canidia and her cohort of lusty hags who dig for bones in a pauper’s cemetery and kill a child to use his liver in a love potion.

Scholars have speculated on the real identity of these women, missing the point that they are caricatures. These characters do not illuminate the secret rituals of real Roman women, but are literary tropes that function in different texts to convey ideas about legitimate authority, masculinity and social order.

Images of depraved women, cravenly committing infanticide, violating their biological role as mothers, making potions to control men and violating male prerogative in a patriarchal society indicate more about the fears ancient writers had regarding patriarchal authority and the proper governance of society.
Magic versus religion

Accusations of illicit magic appear across the spectrum of ancient writings, including early Christian texts. Charges of practising magic functioned to denounce messianic competitors such as Simon of Samaria (also know as Simon Magus) or to delegitimize prophets and priests of alternative forms of Christianity that were subsequently denounced as heresy. Accusing these leaders of wielding magic (rather than miracle) was part and parcel of an effort to delegitimize them in favour of bishops and leaders of churches that came to form the Catholic Apostolic Church.

In Jewish writings also, depictions of using magic occurred within contexts of religious competition and were often linked to charges of heresy. In many cases, men are depicted using magic, but women are universally charged. In fact, the Babylonian Talmud states that most women practise magic.


The burning of three witches in Baden, illustrated by Swiss clergyman Johann Jacob Wick in 1585. (Wikimedia Commons)


Witch hunts and social order


This history of associating magic with heresy and social disruption contributed to the witch hunts of the early modern era. Many people incorrectly assume that witch-burning was primarily a medieval phenomenon but, in fact, witch-hunting peaks in the modern era: The Reformation challenged religious authority, exploration exploded the limited view of the world previously held, and capitalism and urbanization disrupted the social networks that protected people and gave them a sense of security.

Within this context, accusations of witchcraft offered plausible solutions to people’s problems: if a poor neighbour asked for bread, the guilt of denying her might be assuaged by accusing her of witchcraft; if science was challenging belief that God exists, torturing a woman into falsely confessing she had sex with a demon might offer tangible “proof” for the existence of supernatural beings.

Women who challenged male authority might garner an accusation of witchcraft, as could women suspected of sexual immorality. Witch-hunting functioned as a method of social control that sought to channel female behaviour into certain acceptable moulds.
Today’s witches

While witch-burnings and the torturing of women merely for looking or acting different ended in the 18th century, the use of this stereotype to malign women, especially women in power, has not. During the 2016 U.S. presidential campaign, Hillary Clinton was often either satirically depicted as a witch or was outright accused of committing acts, such as child murder, that have been associated with witches for centuries

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Witches are experiencing a resurgence, and not just at Halloween. (Shutterstock)

The shadow cast by Medea, Erictho and Canidia continues to haunt powerful women who question male authority or deviate from traditionally prescribed female roles of subservient wife and mother.

How, then, should we understand the popularity of witch costumes on Halloween? Or the increasingly wide appeal and legal recognition of Wicca as a new religious movement that appeals to both men and women?

Read more: This Halloween, witches are casting spells to defeat Trump and #WitchTheVote in the U.S. election

Wiccans actively reclaim the label “witch” and construct an alternative identity for themselves through a myth of pre-Christian paganism. Witches filter ancient myths through an eco-feminist lens to formulate religious values that prioritize the Earth, elevate the female (without denigrating the male) and promote a non-hierarchical decentralized movement catering to personal needs and expressions of spirituality. This vision of witchcraft appeals to an ever-growing number of people today.

This Halloween, my three-year-old daughter and I are both dressing up as witches. In doing so, I hope to deepen her sense of opportunity and possibility in the world that lies before her.

October 29, 2020 

AUTHOR
Associate Professor, Humanities, Carleton University
Disclosure statement
Kimberly Stratton received funding from the American Association of University Women (AAUW) and the Josephine de Kármán Fellowship Trust for research related to this article.



GAMING
Black Book: A Glimpse Into the Life of a SLAVIC Witch

11/08/2021,

The skies darken and the sun is setting… evil is bound to take a firmer hold soon. In Black Book, you take the role of a young witch named Vasilisa, on her perilous journey to rescue her beloved. I’ll share with you some details as to what you can expect from the journey of a young sorceress in the dark, rural corners of Cherdyn, her homeland.

Explore what it’s like to be a Witch

In Cherdyn, the occult is on every step of peasant life. Wise and knowledgeable people learn how to fight off evil or how to command it. Witches — or Knowers, as they call them locally — possess arcane knowledge powerful enough to cast curses, spells, and even blessings. From their teachers, they inherit their knowledge of spells, herbs, and the arcane. Some of them even command a flock of unholy demons to do their bidding.



Peasants often approach Knowers with gifts and plead to help them resolve issues with all matters occult, arcane, or health-related. Every Knower has a history and reputation, and your actions will shape Vasilisa’s image in the eyes of Cherdyn’s citizens.

Command your flock of imps

Due to their nature born of Hell, the imps are restless and desire to torment, sow chaos and cause mischief. Vasilisa, like every Knower, carries a heavy burden. Will you let them torment her or send them away to torment someone else, though it is sinful? The choice is difficult to make. Perhaps there is a clever way to have to do something meaningless, but that is for you to discover.




Unlock the secrets of the Black Book

The Black Book is a powerful and ancient artifact of unknown origins, said to fulfill any wish of a person who manages to break all 7 of its seals. Old Egor, her teacher, passed this book to her in the rite of succession. The last seal is Vasilisa’s only hope to bring her beloved from the dead, and her sole objective. She has only 40 days before his soul departs from this world.




Following Vasilisa’s journey to break the Book’s seals, you will face mythical enemies and creatures, some of which are believed to be folk tales and nothing other than that. With every broken seal, her power will grow.

Battle the unholy

Vasilisa’s natural talent for the occult, together with the Black Book, makes her a force to reckoned with. The Book has Black and White pages — curses and blessings — both of which can be weaved into zagovors; mighty combination spells. Even with your powerful sorcery, your enemies will require a unique approach to deal with.




Vasilisa is not all about battling evil and slinging spells, however. She is well versed in card games, and does not shy to go for a round or two of Durak, a local card game, which you can also play with your companions or locals.

Empower yourself with wards, amulets, and herbs

A little bit of magic rubs off on many things, like charms, amulets, rite items, and many others. The earth itself springs with magic, accumulating amazing properties in herbs and roots found all around Cherdyn. Select the right trinkets for the journey, stack on magical herbs, and journey forth towards the unknown.





Along with Vasilisa, you will travel at the edge of worlds, finding the thinnest edge where worlds collide. Your actions determine the outcome of her adventure, including her companions that you may take along with you. Stay true to your moral compass, prepare well for battles with evil, and discover what it is like to be a Witch out of time…

See you in Cherdyn, Knowers.





Black Book


HypeTrain Digital
☆☆☆☆☆ 2
★★★★★

A fusion of card-based RPGs and Adventure games, “Black Book” is a haunting tale of a young sorceress, who gave her life to serve the dark forces. Dive into the cold, yet alluring world of Slavic folktales – and uncover the secrets that hide in the darkness. A young girl named Vasilisa, destined to become a witch, decides to throw her fate away and marry her beloved – but that dream is shattered when her betrothed dies under mysterious circumstances. Aching for her lost love, Vasilisa seeks out the Black Book – a demonic artifact, said to be powerful enough to grant any wish to the one who uncovers all 7 of its seals. Join Vasilisa in her adventures across the rural countryside, as she solves the woes of common folk by confronting demons and performing exorcisms. Uncover the seals of Black Book
Unleash hellish spells on your enemies! Collect spell cards and new skills as you progress. A Historic Adventure
Solve riddles and complete side-quests as you learn more about life in the Slavic countryside. Lead a Demonic Flock
Send demons to do your bidding, but be careful – idle demons will torture you if you don’t find them something to do! Myths and legends
Explore a world based on Northern Slavic mythology. Learn from an in-game encyclopedia, created with the help of expert anthropologists – and find all folk tales hidden within the game!
Pretending To Be A Witch Was Actually A Punishable Offence In Canada Until 2018

There were no spells in these parts! 🧙‍♀️

Helena Hanson

October 20, 2020

Beware, witches and wizards! Until pretty recently, there was a very weird Canadian law related to spells, magic and fortune-telling.

Up until 2018, it was actually a totally-real punishable offence to pretend to be a witch or wizard in Canada.

Section 365 of the Canadian Criminal Code prohibited “pretending to practise witchcraft,” as well as a few other spooky things.

Everyone who fraudulently pretends to exercise or to use any kind of witchcraft [...] is guilty of an offence punishable on summary conviction.

Government of Canada

Anybody caught pretending to practice “sorcery, enchantment or conjuration” could also have landed themselves in trouble, prior to 2018.

In addition, telling fortunes or faking a skill in “an occult or crafty science” was also banned under the same legislation.

If you were wondering whether anybody was actually charged for such things — the answer is yes!

An Ontario woman was faced charges of fake witchcraft just days before the unusual law was swiped from the Criminal Code.

Fortunately for the witches and wizards among us, the House of Commons passed Bill C-51 back in December 2018, which repealed Section 365 altogether.

Now, Canada’s sorcerers are free to practice fake magic and spells as they please once again!

*This article's cover image is for illustrative purposes only.
Women used to dominate the beer industry – until the witch accusations started pouring in

Three women dressed in Middle-Age period garb as alewives. 
Hulton-Deutsch Collection/Corbis via Getty Images

What do witches have to do with your favorite beer?


When I pose this question to students in my American literature and culture classes, I receive stunned silence or nervous laughs. The Sanderson sisters didn’t chug down bottles of Sam Adams in “Hocus Pocus.” But the history of beer points to a not-so-magical legacy of transatlantic slander and gender roles.

Up until the 1500s, brewing was primarily women’s work – that is, until a smear campaign accused women brewers of being witches. Much of the iconography we associate with witches today, from the pointy hat to the broom, may have emerged from their connection to female brewers.

A routine household task


Humans have been drinking beer for almost 7,000 years, and the original brewers were women. From the Vikings to the Egyptians, women brewed beer both for religious ceremonies and to make a practical, calorie-rich beverage for the home.

In fact, the nun Hildegard von Bingen, who lived in modern-day Germany, famously wrote about hops in the 12th century and added the ingredient to her beer recipe.

From the Stone Age to the 1700s, ale – and, later, beer – was a household staple for most families in England and other parts of Europe. The drink was an inexpensive way to consume and preserve grains. For the working class, beer provided an important source of nutrients, full of carbohydrates and proteins. Because the beverage was such a common part of the average person’s diet, fermenting was, for many women, one of their normal household tasks.

Some enterprising women took this household skill to the marketplace and began selling beer. Widows or unmarried women used their fermentation prowess to earn some extra money, while married women partnered with their husbands to run their beer business.

Exiling women from the industry


So if you traveled back in time to the Middle Ages or the Renaissance and went to a market in England, you’d probably see an oddly familiar sight: women wearing tall, pointy hats. In many instances, they’d be standing in front of big cauldrons.

But these women were no witches; they were brewers.


They wore the tall, pointy hats so that their customers could see them in the crowded marketplace. They transported their brew in cauldrons. And those who sold their beer out of stores had cats not as demon familiars, but to keep mice away from the grain. Some argue that iconography we associate with witches, from the pointy hat to the cauldron, originated from women working as master brewers.

Just as women were establishing their foothold in the beer markets of England, Ireland and the rest of Europe, the Reformation began. The religious movement, which originated in the early 16th century, preached stricter gender norms and condemned witchcraft.

Male brewers saw an opportunity. To reduce their competition in the beer trade, some accused female brewers of being witches and using their cauldrons to brew up magic potions instead of booze.

Unfortunately, the rumors took hold.

Over time, it became more dangerous for women to practice brewing and sell beer because they could be misidentified as witches. At the time, being accused of witchcraft wasn’t just a social faux pas; it could result in prosecution or a death sentence. Women accused of witchcraft were often ostracized in their communities, imprisoned or even killed.

Some men didn’t really believe that the women brewers were witches. However, many did believe that women shouldn’t be spending their time making beer. The process took time and dedication: hours to prepare the ale, sweep the floors clean and lift heavy bundles of rye and grain. If women couldn’t brew ale, they would have significantly more time at home to raise their children. In the 1500s some towns, such as Chester, England, actually made it illegal for most women to sell beer, worried that young alewives would grow up into old spinsters.

Men’s domination of the beer industry has endured: The top 10 beer companies in the world are headed by male CEOs and have mostly male board members.

Major beer companies have tended to portray beer as a drink for men. Some scholars have even gone as far as calling beer ads “manuals on masculinity.”

This gender bias seems to persist in smaller craft breweries as well. A study at Stanford University found that while 17% of craft beer breweries have one female CEO, only 4% of these businesses employ a female brewmaster – the expert supervisor who oversees the brewing process.

It doesn’t have to be this way. For much of history, it wasn’t.

Editor’s note: This article has been updated to acknowledge that it isn’t definitively known whether alewives inspired some of the popular iconography associated with witches today. It has also been updated to correct that it was during the Reformation that accusations of witchcraft became widespread.

 March 10, 2021

Author
Laken Brooks
Doctoral Student of English, University of Florida
University of Florida provides funding as a founding partner of The Conversation US.

















I WOULD NOTE THAT WOMEN PICTURED HERE ALSO COULD BE WELSH WOMEN WHO ALSO WORE FLAT TOP TALL HATS