It was my first “me” day out since before COVID. I’d been looking forward to visiting Salem again for a while. The smell of incense permeating the air with its soothing resonance; the shops full of crystals, tarot cards, and other artifacts of modern-day witchcraft; the people dressed in outlandish outfits distinguishing themselves from the tourists; the rainbow sidewalks and flags that make members of the LGBTQ+ community like me feel welcome and safe – these prospects all left me eager to head out of Marblehead into her sister city.
The purpose of my trip: to view “The Salem Witch Trials: Reckoning and Reclaiming,” an exhibit that was on display at the Peabody Essex Museum. Upon arriving, the wonderful staff at the ticket counter suggested I head up to the The Great Animal Orchestra on the third floor to put my name on the waitlist for the special sound exhibit. But, receiving the text while having a snack and a coffee in the cafe, I gave up my spot to finish my breakfast, and decided to slowly enjoy the exhibit that prompted this visit, without having to feel rushed by the prospect of losing my spot in an exhibit I would surely have time to revisit later.
Seeing the first-hand documents of the Salem Witch Trials, most of them nearly illegible and requiring assistance from printed transcripts, hit me harder than I expected. As someone who identifies as a witch, it hurt to think that people who didn’t even give themselves the same label were legally murdered because of false accusations from jealous neighbors trying to weasel their way into getting the victims’ land or destroy the social standings they coveted.
Even today, people don’t understand what a “witch” really is, using the term as an insult and basing their knowledge on pop culture and outdated stereotypes. The careful cursive signatures of the few admirable people who petitioned the courts in favor of the accused weren’t enough to save the lives of the 19 people who were executed and the 200 or so other people who were falsely accused and had their possessions and reputations stolen away from them in the hysteria.
After stepping back in time and viewing these documents and other artifacts owned by the accusers, victims, and judges who participated in the trials, I moved to the two sub-exhibits featuring photographs and fashion designs inspired by the haunted pasts of the artists. Both photographer Frances F. Denny and fashion designer Lee Alexander McQueen had relatives who were players in the Salem Witch Trials, and they were inspired by the ghosts of their ancestors to create the artwork hanging on the walls or propped in display cases in the museum.
I connected more strongly to Denny’s photographic collection, titled “Major Arcana” after the central cards in a tarot deck. Staring into the faces of other modern-day witches reminded me I’m not alone, and it was interesting to see the various forms witchcraft can take in different locations in America. I was so inspired I ended up buying the book! This collection, coupled with McQueen’s display of fashion designs and documents from his accused relative, made me feel that perhaps there is a way to help the victims of the trials, by keeping their memories and good names alive and living true to ourselves as modern day witches. But with so many of the accused still left not exonerated, I can’t help but wonder if it’s enough to make up for what we humans did in the past. Have we changed enough to have learned from our dreadful history?
Cassandra Sprague 