During an interview with Catherine Thureson about my book Witch Queens, Voodoo Spirits, and Hoodoo Saints, I highlighted the importance of respecting Southern folk traditions and folkways. Catherine's review for Foreword subsequently praised my book, describing it as a captivating exploration of New Orleans' profound spiritual heritage. After acknowledging the diverse cast of characters in the book, she wondered how I decided who to include in it. This was my response.
This is such a great question. And as you can imagine, one I asked myself numerous times as I was deciding who to include in Witch Queens, Voodoo Spirits, and Hoodoo Saints. I wanted to accomplish a couple of things by writing this book. First, I wanted to highlight some of the more commonly known figures, provide perhaps a different perspective, and tell a part of their stories that had not been told before. I wanted to contribute to an already established body of folklore by introducing some lesser-known figures that have been forgotten over time. And then there are those I wanted to bring out of the shadows and into the light so that people could get to see them, perhaps for the first time. In essence, I wanted to broaden the public story a bit, digging into ancestry and culture and spirit in a way that redirects stereotypical thinking towards a narrative that is meaningful, authentic, and representative of New Orleans’s magicospiritual culture.
Each story in the book features a figure not often heard of outside the local tourist economy. Some stories have resided among old, unpublished manuscripts of the Federal Writers Project and in the dusty newspaper archives of the 1800s and 1900s. Yet, they are as relevant today as they were in their own time. Annie Christmas, for example, seeks racial and gender equality. She is gender fluid and is an enforcer of justice. She uses magic and prays to her African gods to navigate life challenges. She has a great sense of humor and loves life, but she ultimately commits suicide. What makes such a strong woman suicidal? We can see from her story that her strength can be alienating—people fear her even as they respect her. But ultimately, it is the loss of her true love that brings her down. She tried for years to find a soulmate, then she lost him. She would rather join him in death than live without him. Her story is entertaining, but it is also very tragic and human.
Betsy Toledano was another woman who lived in New Orleans in the 1800s and was a Voudou queen. During that time, Voudou was against the law there, and the local police were constantly harassing black folks. They would routinely break up gatherings of people practicing their Afro-Creole religion, and once a queen was identified, she would be an ongoing target. Betsy Toledano was one of the Voudou queens who fell in that category.
Unfortunately, we don’t know much about Betsy as a woman or voudouist in pre-Civil War Louisiana. We know about her activism from newspaper reports. But these reports give us quite a bit of information about her beliefs and character. What makes Betsy stand out is that she was an activist and spoke plainly and directly to the judges presiding over her cases. Her story is important in part because it illustrates how little things have changed concerning the relationship between the judicial system, people of color, and Indigenous religions. But wow, what courage and conviction she displayed by telling a white judge in antebellum Louisiana that she was proud of her Congo religion, had no intentions of hiding it, and had a right to practice it.
I can relate to Betsy in many ways. I know what it is like to be interrupted by the police while in the middle of a ceremony. When people see or hear things that look different, they like to call the cops even though we aren’t bothering anyone. When I moved to a small town in the Midwest in the nineties, for example, I met with the local fire department to inspect a firepit we built for ceremonial purposes. I had gotten permission from the town to build it and wanted to avoid any problems in the future. We got permission, and the fire department approved of the fire pit and even said, “you look like you know what you are doing.” So, I proceeded to hold a ceremony.
The ceremonial preparations lasted all day, and a medium-sized fire burned for quite some time until we entered the lodge. Well, we weren’t in the lodge but for about fifteen minutes before a neighbor called the police on us. So, I had to exit the lodge and deal with the cops. Luckily, I had a letter from the city with permission to show them, so I was prepared. Can you imagine being a pastor of a church and having to have a permission slip from your city to hold your service?
Betsy would not have been so lucky because it was against the law to practice Voudou in the 1800s, and no permission slips were to be had. Every time she wanted to serve her community, she would face nosy, intolerant neighbors and be taken to jail if caught in the act. We might think, well, that was a long time ago, and things have improved. That is indeed the case; however, it is notable that I was eighteen years old when the American Indian Freedom of Religion Act was passed in 1978. It has only been since 1994 that President Bill Clinton decriminalized the use of peyote as a religious sacrament. The Native American Church is still subject to regulations imposed by their colonizers. So, it has not been all that long ago for me and everyone else who practices a traditional Indigenous religion.
Interestingly, in Louisiana, an archaic law remains that outlaws the practice of Voudou within the city limits. As far as I am aware, it is not enforced; however, the law remains and could be revived at any time, in essence, criminalizing the thousands of people who practice Voudou there.
