Good News for Witches
Every Halloween, thousands of Wiccans descend on Salem, Massachusetts—and local churches reach out.
Lauren F. Winner | posted 10/23/2000 12:00AM

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A haunting industry
As strong as the Christian witness in Salem was last year, some local observers estimate that it used to be even greater. "There was a fairly strong Christian movement here, major attempts to save people and to oppose the rise of Wiccans," historian Tad Baker says of 1992, the tercentenary of the Salem witch trials. "I think that has died down somewhat now."Baker, who teaches at Salem State College, says half a million people visit during the Halloween season."Salem makes a huge profit on the martyrdom of good people," he observes with evident distress. "Remember that no one who confessed to being a witch died. Only those good Christians" who refused to say they had participated in diabolical activities were executed.Though witchery is a major industry in Salem, not everyone is happy about it, and evangelicals are not the only ones who wish Salem's witchy ways would abate. "The current mayor campaigned on toning down Haunted Happenings so that we don't become the witch capital of the world," Baker says. "But if you spend Halloween here, you see that's not easy to accomplish."Wift concurs. "It's a tough place to take a strong stand for Christ, because some of the powers that be in the town are opposed to it."If Christians managed to root out witchcraft from Salem, Wift says, the town's tourist economy would wilt. Even some local Christians, she suspects, are at best ambivalent about the evangelistic outreach at Halloween. "They think it detracts from the town's main attraction, that faith is fine as long as it doesn't interfere with that."Indeed, Wift ran into hostility on her night of witnessing during Halloween 1999. One woman, clad in legendary witch's garb from black pointy shoes to a black pointy hat, sought her out. The woman, who identified herself as a local, said she did not practice Wicca—in fact, she was a churchgoer. But she fingered Wift as an interloper, even correctly guessing that she hailed from New York."There are plenty of people you can spread your message to down there," the local fumed. "You don't understand what Salem is about. This is not about worshiping Satan, it is about celebrating our civic heritage—and, incidentally, it's how we stay afloat, both our identity and our economy." The black-clad, broomstick-toting woman suggested, in language that was none too polite, that Wift should take her witness back to New York and not return to Salem until she had all of Manhattan bowing at the foot of the cross.Not all of Wift's encounters were so discouraging. One young witch, apparently no older than 13, sat and chatted. "But why do I have to pray to a male God?" the girl protested. "And why does God care what name I use for him, whether I use Jesus or Mother Earth?"As Wift deftly explained why it makes all the difference if Jesus was who he said he was, the girl grew quiet. She even held Wift's hand.How the girl spent the rest of Halloween—returning home curious to read the Bible or delving back into her compendium of goddess tales from around the world—is unknown, but Wift was sure that somewhere the girl understood the difference between crying out to Mother Earth and reaching out to Jesus.