Lifestyle
Witches Are Having a Cultural Moment. Maryland Is Taking Up Their Cause.
It was February 1698, and disease was sweeping through Leonardtown, a small village in southern Maryland. Locals knew whom to blame: They set fire to the hut of Moll Dyer, a single woman living alone on the edge of town who had been deemed a witch.
She escaped the enraged citizens, only to die in the frozen wilderness. Her body was found clinging to a rock, on which her knees and hands supposedly left impressions.
Ms. Dyer, arguably, inspired one of the most famous fictional witches in American pop culture: the one at the center of the 1999 horror film “The Blair Witch Project.” Although the film never explicitly mentioned Ms. Dyer’s fate, it is widely believed to have been based on her story. Ingeniously marketed as found footage, the hit film also endowed Maryland with a haunted reputation.
Ms. Dyer is one of seven people who were tried and convicted of witchcraft in Maryland in the 17th and 18th centuries. Only one was executed: Rebecca Fowler, a widow who was hanged in 1685 after a servant accused her of witchcraft. But all had their reputations sullied for centuries.
Now, the Maryland delegate Heather A. Bagnall, who represents a patch of the state north of Annapolis, has introduced a resolution in the general assembly to exonerate them all. The proposed resolution, which had an initial committee hearing on March 10, has been criticized as out of step with Marylanders’ priorities, but Ms. Bagnall bristled at any suggestion that the measure was frivolous. In an interview, she said she was partly motivated by the demise of Roe v. Wade, which was struck down by the Supreme Court in 2022, and by the anti-abortion measures passed in states like Texas.
“I’ve got a real appetite for it, and the more I talk about it, the more people realize, ‘No, this is serious,’” Ms. Bagnall said. “This is not just like a flight of fancy. It’s relevant today.”
She compared the campaigns against witches to those against transgender rights and racial diversity initiatives, which have recently come under sustained assault.
At the initial hearing last week, Ms. Bagnall was joined by witch exoneration advocates, including an Episcopalian priest. Afterward, her staff was thrilled but unsure of just when the measure might come up for a full vote. It could be months, even years.
Daniel Myrick, who co-directed “The Blair Witch Project,” said he supported her effort. “We are a flawed nation, and were born out of doing some incredibly cruel things,” he said in an interview. Better “symbolic” reckoning, as he put it, than none at all — and better late than never.
“It’s a social justice issue,” said Elizabeth Pugliese-Shaw, a family law attorney in the Washington, D.C., suburbs. “These people should never have been accused.” She became interested in witch exoneration after learning that other states had done so: In 2022, Massachusetts cleared Elizabeth Johnson Jr., whose conviction was the last to remain standing from the notorious Salem Witch Trials. Connecticut followed with its own witch exonerations in 2023.
Perhaps most notably, Scotland apologized for its witchcraft trials that led to the torture and execution of thousands of women from the 16th to the 18th centuries. “Anyone who didn’t fit the mold of what people expected would be targeted,” said Marlisa Ross, who recently staged a play about the victims of the Scottish witch hunt in Glasgow. Much like Ms. Bagnall, Dr. Ross said she saw a parallel between the witchcraft panic and the rising social animosities today. “It was a way to make everybody have a common enemy,” she said.
In the Puritan colonies of New England, witchcraft was a catchall accusation leveled against women for a variety of reasons: lack of a husband, personality quirks, an interest in herbal medicine or childbirth.
“The accusations are usually against outsiders within the community,” said Daniel T. Howlett, who is completing his doctoral studies in religion and disability in the American colonies at George Mason University in Virginia. Mr. Howlett is related to Mary Bradbury, who was convicted of witchcraft in the Salem trials. “Being a witch meant that you’d signed a covenant with the devil in most European traditions,” he said.
Often, women were simply convenient scapegoats. Beth M. Caruso, who led the exoneration effort in Connecticut, has written three novels about the state’s witch trials. Her interest was piqued after she learned of the plight of Alse Young, believed to be the first woman hanged for witchcraft in the American colonies in 1647. Much like Ms. Dyer, Ms. Young was blamed for a disease outbreak. “Where she lived was right next door to a cluster of child deaths,” Ms. Caruso said. “So then it made total sense as to why she was accused.”
The current cultural moment may be particularly auspicious. Witches have been enjoying something of a revival, and not only because of “Wicked,” the hit musical film starring Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo. The “witchtok” hashtag on TikTok has millions of posts, as users flock to witchcraft’s moody aesthetic, as well as to its emphasis on alternative healing and nature-centered spirituality.
“Part of the draw for us to witchcraft is the acceptance and celebration of our personal identities, bodies, bodily autonomy, a love of our planet and, in many cases, healing from past religious traumas,” Devin Hunter, who runs the website Modern Witch, wrote in an email. “For example, many of us are women, members of the LGBTQIA+ community, and are members of other underserved communities. Like us, those convicted and tried for witchcraft were often vulnerable people living on the fringes of society.”
(In some countries and regions, women continue to be prosecuted for witchcraft.)
Today, the legend of Moll Dyer still permeates Leonardtown, a tidy waterside enclave where a horse-drawn carriage might pass a hip cocktail lounge. The rock, the one where Ms. Dyer supposedly met her end, is covered by glass — touching it is said to enrage Ms. Dyer’s spirit and bring bad luck. A cat cafe on the town’s main strip is called “Meow Dyer,” an apparent reference to the accused witch’s name. Since 2021, a weekend in late February has been devoted to celebrating Ms. Dyer’s memory. This year, the events included “paranormal investigations,” axe throwing and a cocktail contest.
Historical markers on the road to Leonardtown proclaim Maryland’s legacy as a haven of religious tolerance. Nevertheless, when England passed an anti-witchcraft act in 1604, the state adopted it. But Ms. Bagnall is not bothered by the fact that centuries have passed since the injustices were committed under that law. “It’s never the wrong time to do the right thing,” she said.
Julia Demaree Nikhinson/AP
A federal judge has blocked President Trump from adding his name to the Kennedy Center, saying that the Washington, D.C. arts complex was named for the late president John F. Kennedy. In a ruling on Friday, the judge also temporarily blocked the administration from closing the Kennedy Center for a planned two-year renovation that was slated to begin in July.
U.S. District Court Judge Christopher Cooper wrote in his ruling that: “The Kennedy Center’s organic statute makes crystal clear that the Center is to be named for President Kennedy, and it cannot bear any other formal name or public memorial based on the Board’s unilateral say-so. Congress gave the Kennedy Center its name, and only Congress can change it.”
A Kennedy Center spokesperson told NPR in an email Friday afternoon that it will appeal the decision. Roma Daravi, vice president of public relations for the complex, wrote: “We will review the decision carefully though the reality remains — the Center requires an urgent and significant restoration – a truth that even the plaintiff acknowledges. With $257 million secured by President Trump and approved by Congress, the resources are in place and we remain committed to pursuing every lawful avenue to ensure the Trump Kennedy Center is restored as a national cultural landmark for all Americans to enjoy.”
NPR has requested comment from the White House, but did not receive an immediate reply.
As part of his ruling, Judge Cooper ordered that all signage and online materials referring to the “Donald J. Trump and John F. Kennedy Memorial Center for the Performing Arts,” the “Trump Kennedy Center,” or anything similar must be removed within 14 days.
The judge also blocked, for now, plans to close the Kennedy Center for two years of renovations. Trump and the center’s current voting board members – all of whom were selected by the president, who also became chairman of the center last year – had planned to start the renovations in early July, just after the 250th anniversary celebrations. In his 94-page ruling, Judge Cooper called the renovation plans “murky,” and wrote: “None of the board members had sufficient information in advance of the March 16 meeting to make a well-considered decision to close the center.” The center has been winding down its programming and has already dismissed most of its programming staff.
Referring to a Truth Social post written by President Trump in February, the judge also wrote: “There was no ‘one year review of the Trump Kennedy Center, that has taken place with Contractors, Musical Experts, Art Institutions, and other Advisors and Consultants, deciding between’ complete and partial closure, as President Trump claimed.”
Cooper’s ruling resulted from a lawsuit filed in March by Rep. Joyce Beatty of Ohio, an ex-officio member of the Kennedy Center board whose voting rights there were stripped last year.
The ruling does not prevent the Kennedy Center’s board from a future closure, but the judge said that it should do so only after the board has “sufficient information to make a considered, independent decision, taking account of its obligation to both maintain and operate a premiere arts venue and its solemn duty to memorialize a fallen President.”
Three years after my second divorce, with the help of a dating app, I went on 53 first dates in one summer. Fifty-three times, I put on my first-date uniform (nice but not trying too hard), flat-ironed my hair and texted my date itinerary to my friend Karen to make it easier for the FBI to track my whereabouts just in case this was the internet date that finally went wrong.
I had a system. The system involved a spreadsheet. I kept track of what I wore and what stories we shared to avoid repeating myself in case there was a second or third date. There were exploratory follow-up dates, but it usually only took one to know.
The coffees and lunches and dinners of that season flicker in my mind like a rom-com video montage. There were some average dates, plenty of nice-guy, zero-chemistry dates, but a few stand out.
Here are the notables.
There was the extremely tall, minor league baseball player I met at BJ’s in Burbank. He said no more than four words to me the entire meal, but managed to chat up our waitress. I believe he walked me to my car and went back for her number.
The quiet and irritable TV editor I met at Guelaguetza on Olympic Boulevard. We ordered the chicken mole and chapulines. During the meal, he had a panic attack and excused himself to call his therapist. He actually told me this.
The experimental-video director with the white faux hawk I met at Go Get Em Tiger in East Hollywood. He spent the date in an hourlong monologue about his ex-wife Julia, stopping only to show me many, many photos of Julia.
A young man, originally from Phoenix, asked to meet at Soot Bull Jip on 8th Street. A struggling writer-actor-production assistant, he confided that he had looked up my name on Internet Movie Database and noticed that I was a producer. He then proceeded to pitch me an animated children’s show about singing giraffes. He also asked for a ride to Vons. I declined both.
The screenwriter I met at République who, based on his startling non-resemblance to his photo, had obviously posted a picture of someone else on his profile. He brought me three mixed CDs of music based on what he “knew” I would like. It was all Radiohead and Elliott Smith. I adjusted my dating profile because I was apparently coming off as depressed.
There was the nervous and uptight English tutor, with a script in turn-around and a famous roommate, that I met at a Starbucks in Koreatown. This guy corrected my grammar within the first five minutes of our introduction. Then, he proceeded to inform me that rather than be put off by this, I should be grateful for the new information so I could fix my error and not appear to be uneducated.
The trendy, bearded sports photographer I met for a late-night dinner at Fred 62 in Los Feliz. I had high hopes for this guy, and we made plans for a second date. But then things started unraveling once we realized I had already dated his younger brother.
There was also the suave (Hand kiss? Really?) and extremely tan French tennis pro I crossed La Cienega Boulevard for and met for lunch at Thai Vegan in Santa Monica. He was on a nonstop series of calls on his cellphone during the entire meal and then asked for a second date. I said, “Non, merci.”
When describing these guys to Karen, I used their identifying traits to label them. (Stalker Creep. Dude Looks Like a Lady. Mom Jeans Guy.) Like an FNG in Vietnam, it was better not to learn their names.
Due to a story he had shared with me via email, date No. 53 was identified as Naked Drummer. I tried to reserve judgment. Before Naked Drummer came to meet me for our first date, he called at the last minute and said the following:
“I want to recap. I just turned 30. I am currently living with my mother. I play guitar in an alternative folk band. I have a semi-crappy temp job at Disney with no benefits. I drive a green ’97 Plymouth Grand Voyager minivan that smells like weed. If you would like to change your mind about this whole dinner thing, now is your chance.” He described himself as tall, dark and tall.
For some reason, I broke many of my first date “safety rules” with Naked Drummer. I gave him my address. I let him pick me up. When he came to get me, I let him into my apartment. We went for dinner at Noshi Sushi on Beverly Boulevard. None of that is prudent behavior, and I do not recommend any of it except the chu toro.
Naked Drummer was a funny, smart, nice Jewish boy who had been touring in bands in that Grand Voyager since college graduation. On the first date, we bonded over takuwan rolls and our histories as teenage goths. My goth uniform included black Maybelline eyeliner I used a lighter to heat the tip with before application. His goth uniform included an olive-green trench coat he borrowed from his mom. We were a match made in Joy Division heaven. He confided he was an Insane Clown Posse Juggalo, I intimated I was in the Kiss Army. (We were both lying about those last two.)
Reader, I married him.
The author is a former writer, director and producer for television. She and Mr. Rosenberg live in South Pasadena. She’s on Instagram: @smacksy.
L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
Lifestyle
Poppy Liu wants to remind you how revolutionary I Love Boosters is : Bullseye with Jesse Thorn
I Love Boosters starts like a fun heist movie. There’s a gang of cool ladies from the Bay Area who steal clothes from high-end designers and sell them at a steep discount to their friends and neighbors. But I Love Boosters is also a Boots Riley movie. The film is surreal and bombastic, branching out in a thousand directions and traversing a dozen genres. So it can’t really stay a heist movie.
Poppy Liu drives that change more than pretty much any other character in the film. She plays Jianhu, a garment worker in China who joins the gang and brings with her a bonkers new wrinkle to the story. It’s a role Poppy was made for. She’s made her career playing confident, somewhat unhinged weirdos. She was cast in a lead role in the 2019 sitcom Sunnyside, had other parts on Better Call Saul, The After Party, and Hacks.
Liu joins us to talk about starring in I Love Boosters and the message that she hopes audiences take away from the film. She also chats with us about her upbringing in Minnesota, how she got into comedy acting, her role on Hacks, and much more.
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