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Showing posts sorted by relevance for query Voodoo. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query Voodoo. Sort by date Show all posts

Sunday, July 1, 2012

Benin Maintains Homage to Voodoo


By Ellen Knickmeyer ("Associated Press," March 3, 2001)


Extracted from http://wwrn.org/articles/7685/?&section=occult


COTONOU, Benin (AP) - They're waiting for a white dove to land on someone's shoulder this weekend in the West African nation of Benin, or for the right ray of light to illuminate the right man at the right time.
Oh, and they're also voting for president, on Sunday.
By coincidence, both the nation's top political post and top religious post are open at once. The death last month of 89-year-old Sossa Guedehoungue, president of the official National Community of Voodoo, compelled Benin to search for a new leader of the traditional religion at the same time it picks a head of the body politic.
Benin gave the world both voodoo and West Africa's first democratic transfer of power, in 1991 - but voodoo came long before.
So don't look for chiefs of the centuries-old tradition of voodoo to give the country's decade-old bout with the ballot box a try.
``Voting is a modern notion, an imported notion,'' said Erick Vidjin Agnih Gbodossou, president of an international association of voodoo, in town from Senegal.
``In democracies, someone who has money can use it to win,'' Gbodossou said, speaking in a National Community of Voodoo compound and clinic in Benin's commercial capital of Cotonou, as followers spoke softly into cell phones and something out in the courtyard squealed sharply and then stopped.
``That is why we must let the natural forces work,'' said Gbodossou, wearing a traditional robe. In voodoo, ``one should consult the oracles.''
At least 60 percent of Benin's 6.3 million people practice voodoo. The tradition holds, in part, that life derives from the natural forces of earth, water, fire and air.
Countless Africans shipped into slavery from this lagoon-lined strip of the south Atlantic, then called the Slave Coast, took the legacy of voodoo with them to the Caribbean, American South, and elsewhere.
White outsiders, intent on supplanting voodoo with their own religions, depicted it as something ``barbaric'' and ``negative,'' Gbodossou said - hence the zombies and pin-skewered voodoo dolls of Hollywood.
On its home turf, though, voodoo is widely revered in every aspect of life - politics included.
Benin President Mathieu Kerekou, seeking re-election, devoted part of Friday's day of campaigning to a rally in the dusty village of Ouidah, the cradle of voodoo.
The 68-year-old Kerekou circled the meeting ground of the fetish-strewn village in a green baseball cap and a smile, against a cacophony provided by Ouidah's young men pounding drums and shaking beer cans full of rocks.
Kerekou initially tried to stamp out voodoo when he ruled Benin as a Marxist dictator for 18 years during the Cold War.
He lost the country's first presidential elections in 1991, angering him so that he placed a voodoo curse on the office. He conceded the loss, nonetheless, and since then has been vying with top rival Nicephore Soglo for power - and the voodoo vote.
Soglo, a former World Bank administrator, made Jan. 10 National Voodoo Day in Benin after defeating Kerekou in the 1991 election. Kerekou won the office back in 1996. Sunday, it's Soglo's turn again as challenger, among 16 other contenders.
Talk in the closing days of the current campaign had Kerekou putting a magic powder in the water system to somehow help his re-election bid.
Some of Soglo's supporters, meanwhile, feared a repeat of 1991, when what they took to be a curse caused Soglo to fall ill after his election. ``We are very afraid of it happening again,'' said Agoli Agbo Didier, a 30-year-old teacher.
And as voodoo plays into Benin's politics, Benin's politics play into voodoo. Benin set up the national voodoo bureau in the 1990s, with Guedehoungue picked as its president in a state-sanctioned process among leaders of the various voodoo sects.
One, Daagbo Hounon of Ouidah, boycotted the state selection. Hounon, who traces his lineage all the way back to the 15th-century voodoo chief Dodo, says the position of Benin voodoo leader is his by birthright.
Guedehoungue's death on Jan. 27 opened the government-approved voodoo post.
After assisting in the voodoo president's Feb. 25 burial, the bureau's vice president spent the closing days of the national presidential campaign last week stumping for Kerekou.
Timing in the other selection - national voodoo bureau president - is a matter of waiting for signs, said Gbodossou, the visiting international voodoo chief.
The decision could be a matter of a white dove coming to one of the voodoo leaders, for example, ``or a special light that shines specially on one person,'' he said.
In the dirt-road village of Ouidah, meanwhile, the 78-year-old Hounon sits straight-backed in a concrete-floored temple lined with earth-toned murals of his predecessors, starting with Dodo.
Hounon stayed out of the politicking for the nation's presidency, backing no candidate, just as he stayed out of the politicking for the national voodoo post.
``Voodoo is not an association. It does not have rallies. It does not have a president,'' said young follower Dati Towadan Hounon, kneeling at the traditional voodoo leader's feet and speaking for him.
``Voodoo is not a democracy. Voodoo is a religion.''

Sunday, March 25, 2012

Zombies Not Welcome


By ("Yahoo News," May 9, 2006)

Extracted from http://wwrn.org/articles/21475/?&place=caribbean&section=occult


Port-Au-Prince, Haiti - Gelin Jean Sergo was just 12 years old when one angry, restless spirit, Simbi Andezo, came to him in a dream and said he was to become a "vodousiant," or practitioner of voodoo.

"My life changed that night," says Sergo, now a "hougan," or voodoo priest, and second in charge of a temple in downtown Port-au-Prince. "I was having difficulty in school and in social situations, but everything got better when I became a vodousiant."

More than its beginning as a slave revolt that created a nation, more than its bloody history of exploitation, occupation and dictatorships, more than even the grinding poverty that afflicts the majority of its population, Haiti is known for one thing — voodoo.

The word voodoo comes from the West African word "vodun," which means spirit. While there aren't accurate statistics, the government says significant portions of Haiti's population of more than eight million people are practitioners.

"It was brought here from Africa, with slavery," says Sergo. "The culture of voodoo is in the heart of every Haitian."

Haitian voodoo became mixed with Catholicism, probably as a way for slaves to hide it from their masters — most of whom forbade the practice. Voodoo spirits were, and still are, associated with painted images and statues of the Catholic saints, concealing the original intent of the vodousiants' worship.

Voodoo was officially sanctioned as a religion in 2003 by ousted Haitian President Jean-Bertrand Aristide, himself a former Catholic priest. There is a formal commission known as Conavo to help correct what some adherents say are misconceptions about voodoo: the obsessions with zombies, voodoo pin dolls and sexual orgies, fed by Hollywood and popular culture.

Sergo is assistant director of the commission.

"We want to show voodoo as a religion focused on doing good," he says in the neat temple office, complete with bookshelves and a computer. In fact, the only outward sign that the space is connected with voodoo at all is a small, costumed plastic doll attached above the door frame. "We want to establish it more as a social institution."

Voodoo has much in common with traditional religions, including the belief in a supreme being, "Bon Dieu" or "Good God," and a host of spirits or "Loas," who help humans make connections with divinity.

The spirits, however, are said to fall into two categories: "Rada," the calm, happy spirits, and "Petro," the angry, agitated spirits of black magic. Neither is considered specifically good or evil. The spirits are summoned with offerings, usually animal sacrifices like chickens, but also with produce, like sugar cane and even rum.

Hougans like Sergo say most people outside the faith focus on the black magic aspect of voodoo, the sensationalized portion. It exists, they say, but comprises perhaps only five percent of the religion. Radas make up the other 95 percent.

They insist the drums and dancing, central to voodoo worship, can create the wrong impression, shrouding voodoo in mystical opacity and primitive, orgiastic sensuality.

In fact, many contend that the central tenet of voodoo is really about healing — overcoming physical and spiritual sickness with good spells — not sticking pins in dolls and turning people into the undead.

At Sergo's temple, the surroundings are overtly drab. Even Sergo, in his gray polo shirt monogrammed with the words "GMC-Isuzu" in red stitching, doesn't fit my expectations of a voodoo priest. The only things that give a hint of his calling are his silver skull ring and a skull on his belt buckle.

He shows me the tools of his trade. For the most part they are tame looking objects used in voodoo ceremonies, like colored flags, water jars, necklaces and a bell attached to a gourd, called an "anson," used to summon the spirits. He also holds up a photocopied manuscript in a plastic binder, "The Book of Voodoo," which outlines the terms and practices.

While voodoo has many adherents here, crossing class and socioeconomic divisions, the wealthy and educated are more likely to practice secretly to avoid being tainted by the perception that voodoo is a superstition of the "ignorant masses."

"They come to us quietly," says Sergo, "to ask us for spells to help protect their businesses and families."

And if the past is any indication, voodoo's reform movement may face an uphill battle.

Despite, or perhaps because of, their historical interweaving, voodoo has had a turbulent relationship with Catholicism. Militants in the Catholic Church went on a rampage in the early 1940s, burning down voodoo temples and artifacts. But the campaign did little more than drive voodoo underground for a while. It emerged even stronger as a result of the oppression.

Hundreds of vodousiants were killed after the fall of the dictatorship of Jean-Claude "Baby Doc" Duvalier. He and his father, Francois "Papa Doc," known as the "voodoo physician," were closely associated with the practice.

Today, voodoo is under pressure from the Protestant evangelical movement in Haiti, which seeks to distance itself from voodoo and has banned some styles of music from its services, and even some instruments, like drums.

Voodoo also is criticized for its fatalism, the belief that most lives are predestined by the spirits and that little can be done to change them. Critics say that belief has kept Haiti mired in poverty and prevented its growth and success as a nation.

Sergo dismisses those arguments, calling himself an example of voodoo's power to transform for the good.


Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Haitian Students Explain Voodoo Religion


By Jennifer D. Owens ("Howard University The Hilltop," November 9, 2004)

Extracted from http://wwrn.org/articles/4904/?&place=north-america&section=occult


In order to clear up the myths and false accusations regarding the practice of voodoo, the Haitian Student Association (HSA) hosted a program titled "All Souls Day: The Demystification of Voodoo, an Examination of Voodoo in the Caribbean Islands," Thursday evening in the Blackburn Center.

Two panelists, Haitian-born Serge Bellegarde and Howard Caribbean history professor, Selwyn Covington, educated the packed room with information about the roots of Voodoo and why people should take a look at it without the negative bias the Christian religion has placed on it.

"Just as all religions have negative aspects, the Voodoo religion does, but for some reason, these negatives are given much more attention," Bellegarde said.

According to Covington, there is no need to look far in order to understand the depth of voodoo in Haitian society. It is in the dance and the drum beats in their popular music. All are based on the African culture. Voodoo does not sacrifice animals. It initiated divination by water or baptism and the use of the Holy cross. People who practice voodoo believe it holds an inner belief system that Christianity does not.

Covington believes that despite its positive attributes, the mainstream tends to focus on the negative aspects. Exorcisms are practiced by Catholics to rid people of evil and voodoo heals as well. Because it is not done in person and without contact with the person being healed, it is seen as out of the ordinary.

The panelists wanted to clarify that sticking needles in dolls that many people see on television is black magic and is not associated with voodoo.

As recent as 10 years ago, people were still being punished for practicing voodoo in certain parts of the world. In 1935, the Haitian penal code outlawed the practice with punishment of six months to two years in prison.

Colonial documents complained about the use of voodoo because it was unknown to them. They linked it to death. However, this religion has survived the negative and attempted to rid itself of the negative perspective surrounding it.

"Back in colonial times, Europeans realized the power of this religion practiced by Africans. Today Christianity uses it, but covers it with Catholic symbols," Covington said.

Director of Blackburn Roberta McLeod, whose family practices Roots, which is very similar to voodoo said, "Voodoo is a very powerful religion stripped from powerful people in order to overpower them."

The Haitian Revolution used voodoo to give those slaves involved the strength to fight and overtake their masters. The same cultural dances people do today were used to give the slave population strength.

President of HSA, Dapney Guillaume, who is Catholic, described her experience with the voodoo religion.

"I get fed the negatives of voodoo from my parents. They do practice its form of healing through medicine, but the stories of ghosts scare me in both religions," she said. "I have a new found respect for voodoo and believe that as we have the right to practice what religion we want, they have the right to practice theirs."

Junior psychology major Kristy-Lee Jean-Pierre also received negative messages from her parents about the practice.

"My parents always taught me to stay away. The program explained that people's thoughts on voodoo are due to enslaved minds," she said. "Voodoo actually is used to help people and protect them from harm with the help of ancestors."


Saturday, April 7, 2012

New head of voodoo brings on the charm


By Marc Lacey ("International Herald Tribune," April 4, 2008)

Extracted from http://wwrn.org/articles/28206/?&section=occult


Port-Au-Prince, Haiti - The goat tethered to a tree outside of Max Beauvoir's home is doomed.

Beauvoir, tall and majestic with closely cropped white hair, is a voodoo priest who was just named the religion's supreme master, a newly created position that is aimed at reviving voodoo.

His grand residence on the outskirts of the Haitian capital serves as a voodoo temple for practitioners and a late-night hangout for those paying customers eager to take in an exotic evening of spiritual awakening.

Called the Peristyle de Mariani, it is where Beauvoir and his followers dance around a giant totem to the beat of drums. It is where they light bonfires to summon the spirits. And it is where they drain the blood of animals like that scrawny white goat to, among other things, heal the sick.

On a recent night, Haiti's voodooists convened for a special ceremony. With music blaring and devotees dancing with all their might, two children threw white rose petals on a red carpet. Then along came Beauvoir.

Popular in Haiti even among many of those who attend Christian churches, voodoo lacks the formal hierarchy of other religions. Most voodoo priests, known as houngans, operate semi-independently, catering to their followers without a whole lot of structure.

But many of Haiti's houngans recently came together into a national federation and named Beauvoir, 72, as their public face. He is now the spokesman for a religion that followers believe too often gets a bad rap and is in dire need of an image overhaul. (Think "voodoo economics.") Even before he got the job, Beauvoir was a voodoo promoter extraordinaire. With his own Web site, www.vodou.org, and a following among foreigners intrigued by voodoo, Beauvoir is criticized by some purists as too much of a showman.

"My position as supreme chief in voodoo was born out of a controversy," Beauvoir said, explaining how Haiti's elite have marginalized the houngans that generations ago wielded significant influence in society. "Today, voodooists are at the bottom of society. They are virtually all illiterate. They are poor. They are hungry. You have people who are eating mud, and I don't mean that as a figure of speech."

Beauvoir, a doctor's son who was not particularly interested in spiritual matters in his youth, left Haiti in the mid-1950s for the City College of New York, where he studied chemistry. Then he went off to the Sorbonne for graduate study in biochemistry. After various jobs in the New York area, he returned to Haiti in the early 1970s to conduct experiments on traditional herbal remedies.

It was then that voodoo called.

His nonagenarian grandfather was dying and the entire extended family had gathered around his bed. Before he went, though, the old man pointed at Beauvoir and ordered him to take over his duties as a voodoo priest.

Beauvoir said he was taken aback. He did not know the man well and could not understand why he had been selected from the 20 or so other family members in the room. And he knew almost nothing about voodoo.

But that was decades ago. Beauvoir has devoted the rest of his life to studying the religion, a mix of Christianity (introduced by slaves to mask their paganism from their masters) and animism that traces its origins to West Africa, which is also where Haitians, descendants of slaves, originated. The more he learns about voodoo, Beauvoir said, the more convinced he is that it can, and should, play a role in resolving Haiti's problems, especially given the religion's reach among the most disenfranchised people.

As it is now, he said, the government seeks the input of Catholic and Protestant leaders when grappling with societal issues. "But do they call for the input of the voodooists?" he asked, shaking his head.

Haiti has long been a battleground for Christian missionaries who view voodoo as devil worship and work tirelessly to convert the population to Christ. Voodoo also has one god, modeled on God of the Christian Bible, but it incorporates pagan elements that make Christians uneasy: casting spells and catering to spirits that are seen as the major forces of the universe.

To turn things around, Haiti's voodooists decided they needed to organize themselves and confront voodoo-bashing head on.

"We decided to come together and form a new voodoo structure," Beauvoir said. "We Haitians want to move forward in life. We need to find our identity again, and voodoo is our identity. It's part of our collective personality. We feel the government we have is relying too much on foreigners to fill their pockets."

Voodoo and politics have long been intertwined in Haiti, with some past leaders reaching out to voodooists as a way of burnishing their populist credentials. Beauvoir has himself been linked with François Duvalier, or Baby Doc, the dictator who fled the country in 1986 after a popular uprising against him. And Beauvoir opposed Jean-Bertrand Aristide's rule, becoming a hated figure among loyalists of the former Catholic priest.

In "The Rainy Season," her book on Haiti, Amy Wilentz portrays Beauvoir as an opportunist who preys upon his people and has "the oily manner of a man whom you wouldn't want to leave alone with your money or your child."

Beauvoir waves off such criticism. He acknowledges that he received death threats from political opponents in the mid-1990s and was worried enough about his safety - and that of his wife and two daughters - that he fled Haiti for the United States. He settled in Washington, D.C., where he continued with voodoo ceremonies from his apartment not far from the White House. Recently, though, he returned home and wasted no time in grabbing the voodoo spotlight.

Speaking of the current crop of political leaders, Beauvoir is as harsh as some are about him.

"They have been seduced by Western attitudes," he said of current leaders. "They believe foreigners think that way so they have to think that way. They fear that if they don't oppose voodoo, they won't get a dime in their bowl."

The movie industry is another focus of Beauvoir's wrath. And he speaks as something of an insider, having helped the anthropologist Wade Davis with his investigation of voodoo, which first became a book, "The Serpent and the Rainbow," and later a Hollywood movie.

On the big screen, zombies are scary monsters, Beauvoir complained, and not the carefully controlled subjects of voodoo science that he believes them to be.

"The voice of Hollywood has grown beyond the border of the United States," he said. "It's everywhere. The voice of Max Beauvoir is very small compared to that."


Saturday, June 23, 2012

Voodoo religion's role in helping Haiti's quake victims


By Henri Astier ("BBC," February 21, 2010)

Extracted from http://wwrn.org/articles/32721/?&section=occult


Miami, USA - A month before Haiti's devastating earthquake, prominent musician Theodore "Lolo" Beaubrun and a few friends were summoned by spirits who tried to warn them about the impending cataclysm.
"They told us to pray for Haiti because many people would die," says Mr Beaubrun - the frontman of the group Boukman Eksperyans.
"I thought it was about politics. I didn't know it was going to be an earthquake."
The spirits may have failed to make themselves understood, but according to Mr Beaubrun - whose music and outlook are steeped in voodoo culture - they are standing by the Haitian people in their hour of need.
"We are extremely traumatised," he says.
"We have seen death. But the spirits entered the minds of people to advise and help them heal. They speak to us. It's like therapy."
But Mr Breaubrun's idea that voodoo should play a leading role in helping victims of the country's worst-ever natural disaster is currently little more than a hope.
Voodoo relief
Haiti's traditional religion has kept a low profile in the aftermath of the earthquake.
The songs and prayers heard amid the rubble and tent cities around Port-au-Prince are overwhelmingly Christian.
The voodoo religion may be practised by many Haitians - the exact number is unknown - and has not been totally absent from the aid effort.
Louis Leslie Marcelin, another singer who also describes himself as a spiritual guide and healer, has used his home in Port-au-Prince as an alternative school and a care centre.
"We work with children and parents," he says. "We work with poor people whose relatives have died."
But such efforts by voodoo leaders have been few and far between. The bulk of the religious relief aid work in Haiti has been carried out by Catholic and Protestant groups.
"For a religion that's supposedly the national religion of the Haitian people, it's amazingly absent in the earthquake phenomena," says Gerald Murray, a University of Florida anthropologist who has carried out extensive fieldwork in Haiti.
Prejudice
Some argue that voodoo's conspicuous absence in the aftermath of the quake is due to prejudice. Many Christians - especially Protestants - regard voodoo as devil worship.
This idea was expressed in its most striking form by the US televangelist Pat Robertson, who said shortly after the quake that Haiti had made a "pact with the devil" when it defeated French colonists two centuries ago.
According to Mr Beaubrun, such attitudes have been in evidence during relief operations.
"Some Christian communities do not want to give food to voodoo followers," he says.
"As soon as they see people wearing peasant clothes or voodoo handkerchiefs, they put them aside and deny them food.
"This is something I've seen."
Hostility to voodoo - which blends elements of Christianity with West African animistic beliefs and practices - is indeed rife among some evangelical groups in Haiti and elsewhere.
However most mainstream Christians - notably Catholics - have insisted on not marginalising the voodoo faith.
Father Reginald Jean-Marie of Notre-Dame, the largest Roman Catholic church in Miami's Little Haiti, insists: "Any system of belief that people cling to especially in a time of crisis can be of help to them."
Blaming voodoo for the country's problems, he says, is "theological nonsense".
"When the (Asian) tsunami happened it was not because people did wrong," he says.
"Things happen because they are natural disasters. If you claim that voodoo is responsible for those things, then is God responsible when bad things happen to good Christians?"
Faraway god
The three days of prayer held for earthquake victims on 12, 13 and 14 February pointedly included voodoo practitioners.
And, perhaps equally pointedly, a houngan (voodoo priest) taking part in the event stressed the common element between his faith and Christianity.
He told the BBC he would "pray to bondye" - referring to the voodoo supreme god, while not stressing the "loa", the lesser spirits that are at the centre of rituals.
This suggests tension between Haiti's rival faiths is not the main reason for voodoo's lack of visibility after the earthquake.
The principal factor, according to anthropologist Gerald Murray, could be theological.
In the voodoo belief system, natural disasters are not caused by the "loa", but by a distant "bondye".
The supreme being that unleashes the forces of nature is an unfathomable entity which cannot be influenced.
Only the lowly "loa", Mr Murray notes, can be accessed or propitiated - often through rituals led by houngans.
The main role of these specialists, Mr Murray adds, is the diagnosis and healing of an individual's illnesses.
"They have not traditionally played a role of national, social leaders of any type," he says.
"They will continue to be spirit healers for people who believe that their problems have been caused by the loa - but this earthquake was not caused by the loa."
Many Haitians will find solace in voodoo, which remains an important element of Haitian identity.
But the coping strategies it offers in the aftermath of the earthquake may be limited.


Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Growing voodoo presence in U.S. catches attention


By Jim Jones ("The Charlotte Observer," June 22, 2001)

Extracted from http://wwrn.org/articles/9394/?&section=occult


"I think the interest in voodoo is growing," said Robert Stewart, a New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary faculty member who has researched the religion for his denomination and for a BBC special on New Orleans voodoo.
As evidence he cites the many voodoo sites on the Internet, the growing numbers of voodoo studies by scholars, the popularity of spirituality with many Americans and the trend among African Americans of learning more about their religious roots.
Via the Internet, the curious can have a virtual voodoo experience complete with drum music. Click the mouse and fashion a voodoo doll, or order a potion or powder to bring back a lost love, save a business or put a hex on an enemy.
Outlawed at times in Haiti and other places, voodoo is derived from an intricate West African faith brought by slaves to Haiti, where it was scrambled with Catholicism and the religious practices of Haitian Arawak Indians.
In America it has also been influenced by spiritualism, the belief the dead communicate with the living.
Proponents estimate there are 1.5 million adherents of voodoo in the United States, where its main centers are New Orleans, Chicago, Philadelphia and Brooklyn. It is a major religion of Haiti, where people often practice it along with their own brand of Catholicism.
Voodoo priestess Miriam Chamani of New Orleans says although voodoo offers an extreme contrast to mainstream religion, it is just another way of reaching out to a higher power to solve problems, especially for African-born people.
"We are dealing with the souls of people," said Chamani, who is founder and Queen Mother of the Voodoo Spiritual Temple. "I see myself as a true believer of the universe. I believe in going through many mishaps and experiences and receiving what is necessary for the soul at that moment, when problems come upon us."
Voodoo emerged in the United States in the 1800s, mainly through the work of famous priestess Marie Laveau, a hairdresser who became known as the pope of voodoo. She died June 15, 1881.
Chamani moved from Chicago to open the temple in 1989. Chamani is one of the best-known voodoo mambos, or priestesses.
"At a time when many Africans are emerging from racist situations, many of my people are looking for something from Africa to fulfill themselves," Chamani said. "But voodoo is not just for Africans."
Chamani sees herself as a healer of both body and mind. Like Laveau before her, she charges for her services. The voodoo tour companies also contribute money to support her work.
"Many people today are running away from mainstream religious houses," Chamani said. "Not everyone can feel refreshed from their despondency by going to church."


Sunday, June 17, 2012

For These Witch Doctors, the Spell Begins With WWW


By Matthew Robb ("The Washington Post," March 17, 2003)

Extracted from http://wwrn.org/articles/9506/?&place=north-america&section=internet-related


Jay Leno and David Letterman got their barbs in and moved on, but I'm still intrigued.
Intrigued by the Vanity Fair revelation that Michael Jackson three years ago hired an African witch doctor to put a hex on 25 Hollywood celebrities, among them billionaires Steven Spielberg and music mogul David Geffen.
According to the story, the witch doctor works his magic in Switzerland, goes by the name Baba, and charges $150,000 per house call. And then there's this: After inking the deal, Baba butchered 42 cows, while Jackson took a ceremonial blood bath and then returned to the states to resume his life as a Perfectly Normal Parent.
This provocative story raises the question: How is your average revenge-minded working stiff supposed to rake up $150,000?
You and I can't afford Baba. He's the Rolex of witch doctors, by invitation only. Baba doesn't do charity work, and he certainly isn't on Kaiser Permanente's list of preferred providers.
So what options has the do-it-yourselfer who definitely has a grudge, but not the cash, to bankroll his voodoo revenge fantasies? The answer was easy. Determined to strike out on my own, so to speak, I turned to the Internet and struck gold.
My first hit, CareerVoodoo.com, hawks its "Get That Job Voodoo Doll" and the "Pink Slip Voodoo Doll" as the ultimate corporate survival tools. The premise is simple: If you can't beat the competition, eliminate it altogether.
In 12-point Arial font, the sales pitch sweetly woos, "When . . . back-stabbing and typical dirty office politics just won't work any longer, this is the tool that will keep your name off the 'pink slip' lists. Then, use it to enhance your career, get promoted, win at job interviews."
The ad suggests that, by simply affixing a $19.95 voodoo doll to your suit lapel you will send "a very powerful message to upper management and corporate recruiters." Can't argue with that. To complete your new look, Gemnaries.com will sell you an authentic "mojo bag" ($5.95) or a shaman herbal medicine bag ($6.95), conveniently sized to fit your business card, Palm Pilot, and blow dart.
After a little more Googling, I found "authentic" voodoo dolls handcrafted by the ominous "Mr. Lucky" (Mardigraswizard.com). Yes, we're talking a witch doctor so fiendish, so diabolically sinister that he's forced to assume the inconspicuous alias "Rev. Zombie."
On his user-friendly Web site, Rev. Zombie's publicist, the Wizard, describes him as "a famous and reclusive New Orleans craftsman and artist" whose objets d'art are prominently displayed "in many of the finer shops and museums in New Orleans."
Big ax to grind? No problem. Rev. Zombie will gladly supersize your order.
For a nominal fee, the famous and reclusive witch doctor will go into a "self-induced magical trance" (I'm thinking a Bob Marley CD and mucho ganja) and customize for you a six-foot voodoo doll.
Forget the triple-weave afghan. There's nothing like one of Rev. Zombie's voodoo dolls sprawled across your family room love seat to make that powerful statement: Leave me alone.
Hoping to position himself as the next Martha Stewart, Rev. Zombie even offers a few interior design tips, suggesting that you display his voodoo dolls "in your business lobby, shopping mall, or personal altar." Meanwhile, commuters will surely take comfort in the fact that there's nothing on the books that specifically prohibits driving in HOV lanes with a six-foot voodoo doll in your passenger seat.
Attuned to the latest trends, Gemnaries.com has shrewdly cornered the market on voodoo dolls shaped like gingerbread men.
I think I'm on safe ground when I say that the brilliant Chinese strategist Sun Tzu would probably frown upon trying to strike terror in the hearts of your adversaries using pink, polyester-filled gingerbread dolls.
In the end, your choice is simple: Max out your credit card and go with Baba, witch doctor to the stars, or work your own magic with the help of the all-powerful Internet.


Friday, January 27, 2012

Benin Voodoo Festival Draws Crowds


By VIRGILE AHISSOU (AP, January 10, 2002)

Extracted from http://wwrn.org/articles/7687/?&place=western-africa&section=occult


OUIDAH, Benin - It was National Voodoo Day in this west African land and participants in flowing robes rubbed shoulders with American tourists as some 10,000 people gathered Thursday for prayers, sacrifices and libations.
The annual festival is held in tents decorated with the flags of different voodoo sects on a beach in the picturesque, coastal town of Ouidah, about 15 miles west of the commercial capital, Cotonou.
Daagbo Hounon Houna, head of the Voodoo sect in Ouidah, lead prayers and a benediction before sacrificing goats and chickens on a seaside altar.
At least 60 percent of Benin's 6.3 million people practice voodoo - a tradition that holds, in part, that life derives from the natural forces of earth, water, fire and air.
Countless Africans shipped into slavery from this lagoon-lined strip of the south Atlantic - then called the Slave Coast - took the legacy of voodoo with them to the Caribbean, American South, and elsewhere.
Today, scores of Americans and Haitians return every year to attend the Jan. 10 festival.
``I am proud to continue the traditions of my ancestors, who originated from Benin,'' said Dah Kpogninou, leader of a voodoo sect in Haiti who regularly attends the festival at the invitation of a participant from northern Benin. He was dressed in multicolored African robes, with beads hanging round his neck and wrists.
Through the years, the festival has also become a tourist attraction, drawing visitors from France, Italy, the United States and beyond.
``It's a wonderful way to begin the new year,'' said Linda Swift, a social worker from Chicago, who was attending for the first time.
Despite Hollywood images of zombies and pin-skewered voodoo dolls, the religion now draws followers from a variety of racial, religious and cultural backgrounds.
``Voodoo is above all about love and peace, but also the respect for tradition,'' explained Kpodjinou Finagnon, a French man who became an initiate in Benin. ``Voodoo has brought me great serenity.''


Saturday, June 30, 2012

Religious use of mercury persists even after health warnings


By David Fleshler ("South Florida Sun-Sentinel," June 30, 2004)

Extracted from http://wwrn.org/articles/9558/?&place=north-america&section=occult


In a strip mall in Lauderhill, Fla., behind a window displaying statues of Voodoo spirits, the St. Ange Botanica sells herbs and candles to help people gain love, money or health. It also sells mercury, a hazardous heavy metal and a common ingredient in Caribbean religious rituals.

In Voodoo, Santeria and other faiths with African roots, many practitioners sprinkle the silvery liquid on the floor, carry it with them in pouches, burn it in candles and pour it into bath water. While these practices are intended to bring luck or success in love, federal health officials said they could be making people sick and contaminating their homes.

Although mercury is a legal product, the St. Ange and most other religious supply stores keep it out of sight. When a reporter requested it by its Creole name, vidajan, a clerk went to a room in the back and returned with a plastic bag of mercury capsules. They cost $6 each.

Ribert Mones, the store's owner, whose business card identifies him as a spiritualist able to assist with evil spirits, jinx removal and love problems, said clients mix mercury with a cologne called Florida water and spread it on their bodies for luck.

"It's not dangerous," he said, standing by a counter stacked with jars of powdered herbs. "I can put it on my body, and nothing will happen. It's not something that can hurt people."

But long-term exposure to low doses of mercury can cause tremors (initially of the eyelids, tongue and fingers), irritability, excessive shyness, nervousness, insomnia, memory loss and a decline in cognitive abilities, according to a 2002 report on the ritualistic use of mercury by the Environmental Protection Agency. When many of these symptoms appeared among 19th-century British hat makers, who used hot mercuric acid to make felt hats, they inspired the expression "mad as a hatter."

Many people sprinkle mercury in their homes, where it can work into carpets and floorboards and emit hazardous vapor for years.

"That's a real concern," said John Risher, senior science adviser in the toxicology branch of the federal Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry. "I know some practitioners sprinkle it in their houses, near cribs. Then you leave the house or the apartment, and somebody has just bought a contaminated home."

Voodoo and Santeria are rooted in the beliefs of West African people who came to the Caribbean as slaves. Voodoo became established in Haiti, Santeria in Cuba. Both religions have a supreme being, as well as lesser deities on whom believers call for help with their lives. Just inside the door of the St. Ange Botanica, for example, stood a statue of Legba, the most important Voodoo spirit, surrounded by gifts: a store-bought cake, a bowl of coins and dollar bills, candles and champagne bottles.

Both religions use Catholic imagery, with Africa-derived deities represented through portraits and statues of Catholic saints. Both use magic and rituals to achieve earthly goals.

Persisting for centuries in the face of oppression from the French, British and Spanish, these religions developed traditions of secrecy that have made it difficult for health officials to learn about the use of mercury. Few people who use it or sell it will cooperate with researchers, preventing any systematic study of its impact on health, according to the EPA report.

When government and academic researchers in New Jersey and Connecticut visited the religious supply shops called botanicas, many denied selling it and asserted incorrectly that it was illegal. But when the researchers sent Haitian or Cuban colleagues to the same shops, they were able to buy it.

"No one really has a clue in terms of numbers," said Arnold Wendroff, founder of the New York-based Mercury Poisoning Project, who originally brought the issue to the attention of the federal government. "One survey in the Bronx (New York) found that in 1995, between 25,000 and 155,000 units of mercury were sold."

In the northern Miami neighborhood of Little Haiti, where dimly lit botanicas are crammed with jars of herbs, votive candles and portraits of Voodoo spirits, many stores claimed not to have mercury. Others sold it.

At the Tous les Saints Botanica on in Miami, a man behind the counter brought out a bottle and poured a few drops of mercury into a vial, spilling beads of it on the counter. The vial of mercury cost $5. At the Isidor & Carmel Botanica, also in Miami, a woman first denied having any for sale, saying "they don't want us to sell it no more." Then she relented and allowed a clerk to sell a capsule for $2.

Visits to botanicas in Miami's Hialeah and Little Havana neighborhoods found none that acknowledged selling mercury, known in Spanish as azogue. But health officials said Santeria uses mercury in rituals similar to those of Voodoo.

In the book Rituals and Spells of Santeria, sold by a botanica in Fort Lauderdale, Fla., five rituals call for the use of mercury. To attract men, the book recommends a weekly bath of parsley, cinnamon, anis seed, honey and a "bit of quicksilver." To win someone's love, the book advises writing the person's name on a piece of parchment, placing it in an empty tuna can, adding mercury, mint oil, cinnamon and other ingredients, setting a wick on the solution and lighting it for one hour.

Ernesto Pichardo, a prominent Santeria priest in Hialeah, said he doesn't use mercury and has only rarely seen it used in rituals.

"I've seen some people use it, just a capsule," said Pichardo, whose church successfully went to the U.S. Supreme Court for the right to sacrifice animals. "Its use is not common. It's not significant. I don't see the hazard. I don't see the danger."

Several state and local governments in areas with large Caribbean populations have taken steps to research the impact of ritualistic mercury use and encourage people to find less dangerous alternatives.

New York City, for example, is working with the federal government on a study of mercury levels of children in communities that have historically used mercury in rituals. New York health officials have met with botanica owners to discuss the use of mercury and have distributed brochures warning against the practice. Most officials reject the idea of making it illegal, saying that would simply drive it underground.

It's unclear what Florida has done. Several botanica owners in Miami-Dade County said they had received a letter from the government last year warning against selling mercury, but weren't sure who sent it.

Arnold Wendroff, of the Mercury Poisoning Project, said Florida officials didn't want to deal with the issue because it carried political risks.

"There should be a major problem down in Florida," he said. "The Florida state health authorities are well aware of this issue, as are specifically the Miami-Dade County health authorities. And they have refrained from investigating these exposures, apparently due to political considerations."

Virgilio Minino, president of the Latin American Foundation for Environmental Protection, which tries to discourage the ritualistic use of mercury among Hispanics, said, "I think they're just worried about the votes. If they do anything about the mercury issue, that might hurt them."

Jack Price, environmental manager for the Florida Department of Environmental Protection, said the responsibility rested with the Florida Department of Health. Dr. David Johnson, executive medical director for the health department's Division of Environmental Health, said the state has distributed a general brochure on mercury that mentions the danger of using it in religious rituals. He said primary responsibility for public outreach rested with county health departments, which are branches of the state health department.

But officials with the health departments in Miami-Dade, Broward and Palm Beach counties said they were not doing any specific public outreach on this issue.

"We can talk about the health issues of mercury in general," said Rosa Oses, spokeswoman for the Miami-Dade County Health Department. "But when it's something related to religion in rituals, it's not something we deal with."


Saturday, October 13, 2012

Islam appears to spread in Haiti, a country where Christianity and Voodoo hold sway


By (AP, October 10, 2012)

Extracted from http://wwrn.org/articles/38280/


Port-au-Prince, Haiti – School teacher Darlene Derosier lost her home in the 2010 earthquake that devastated her country. Her husband died a month later after suffering what she said was emotional trauma from the quake. She and her two daughters now live in tents outside the capital of Port-au-Prince, surrounded by thousands of others made homeless and desperate by the disaster.
What's helped pull her through all the grief, she said, has been her faith, but not of the Catholic, Protestant or even Voodoo variety that have predominated in this island country. Instead, she's converted to a new religion here, Islam, and built a small neighborhood mosque out of cinderblocks and plywood, where some 60 Muslims pray daily.
Islam has won a growing number of followers in this impoverished country, especially after the catastrophe two years ago that killed some 300,000 people and left millions more homeless. A capital where church attendance is so prevalent that the streets echo with Christian hymns on Sundays now has at least five mosques, a Muslim parliament member and a nightly local television program devoted to Islam.
The disaster drew in aid groups from around the world, including Islamic Relief USA, which built 200 shelters and a secondary school with 20 classrooms.
"After the earthquake we had a lot of people join," said Robert Dupuy, an imam or Islamic spiritual leader in the capital. "We were organized. We had space in the mosques to receive people and food to feed them."
Derosier said she was drawn to the religion's preaching of self-discipline, emphasis on education and attention to cleanliness. The constant washing, she said, helps her and other Muslims avoid cholera, the waterborne illness that health officials say has sickened nearly 600,000 people and killed more than 7,500 others since surfacing after the quake.
"This is a victory for me," the 43-year-old woman said about her post-quake conversion. The former Protestant spoke in the tent-filled courtyard of her home, her face framed by a clean, black head scarf. "It's a victory that I received peace and found guidance."
In part, the Muslim community's growth can be attributed to the return of expatriates who adopted the faith in the U.S., said Kishner Billy, owner of the island's Telemax TV station and host of the nightly program "Haiti Islam."
Billy and some others believe that Islam's Haitian past goes back before the country's independence in 1804, and that a Jamaican slave and Voodoo priest named Boukman who led the slave revolt that ousted French colonizers was actually a Muslim.
"Islam is coming back to Haiti to stay," said Billy, who says he converted from Christianity 20 years ago. "Future generations, my sons and daughters, will speak about Islam."
There are no firm statistics on the number of Muslims in Haiti, just as there are no reliable figures for many things in the country, including Port-au-Prince's exact population.
A 2009 study by the Pew Research Center on the world's Muslim population estimated that Haiti had about 2,000 devotees. Islamic leaders in the country insist the figure is much higher and growing.
Islam is hardly unknown in the Caribbean; countries such as Trinidad & Tobago, Suriname and Guyana have significant Muslim populations. Many of those nations have strong roots in countries such as India and Indonesia where Islam is widespread.
The ancestors of Haitians, by contrast, were brought largely from non-Muslim areas of Africa. Haiti's French colonial rulers also imported their Christian beliefs.
The recent growth of Islam, as well as other new religions, shows Haiti is modernizing and becoming more pluralistic, said Patrick Bellegarde-Smith, a professor of Africology at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee.
"Inroads made by Islam (and by extension, by Mormonism and Rastafarianism) tell me that Haiti is very much a product of this century, subject to all winds, ill-winds and otherwise, that blow over the Caribbean nation-states," Bellegarde-Smith wrote in an email.
Rosedany Bazille, a 39-year-old teacher who converted several months after the earthquake, said she had felt rudderless before embracing the religion and was looking for a way forward.
"Islam can put people on the right path and show them who's God," she said.
Some Haitian Muslims belong to the Nation of Islam, a U.S.-based branch of the religion that preaches black self-determination. Some local members converted while serving time in U.S. prisons before being deported back to Haiti. The group's leader, Louis Farrakhan, visited the country for the first time last year.
The decision to convert has made some targets of discrimination.
The Haitian government doesn't recognize Islam as an official religion, nor does it honor Muslim marriages. Wearing the skullcaps or flowing head scarves typical of the religion can draw stares and finger-pointing. Derosier said her neighbors gossip that she's evil.
Voodoo, a blend of West African religions created by slaves during the colonial period, has long been a popular faith in the country, with elements followed even by some of the 85 percent of the population who claim Christian beliefs. Voodoo was once so commonly embraced that the notorious dictator Francois "Papa Doc" Duvalier used it to terrify and control the masses.
Most Christian Haitians identify themselves as Roman Catholics. A priest, the Rev. Jean-Bertrand Aristide, was elected president in 1990 by opposing the hereditary dictatorship that continued with Francois' son, Jean-Claude "Baby Doc" Duvalier.
With so much still wrong in Haiti, the need for Islam couldn't be greater, said Billy. Two months ago, he launched his live talk show to educate his compatriots about his adopted faith.
"Haiti has gone astray. It can't produce anything," said Billy. "Right now Haitians just want a visa to go the United States, to Canada. They don't want to stay in Haiti."
With a tapestry of Mecca and praying crowds as a backdrop to his TV show one recent evening, Billy and his co-host Ruben Caries invited watchers to send questions about Islam via text messages.
Billy's BlackBerry buzzed with missives, including this one in Creole: "M vle vini Muslim" — "I want to be a Muslim."



Sunday, February 19, 2012

Black magic fails to revive dead woman


By ("Indo-Asian News Service," August 15, 2005)

Extracted from http://wwrn.org/articles/18275/?&place=asia-pacific&section=occult


Kolkata, India - A woman rushed to voodoo practitioners after being bitten by a snake died and her decomposed body was set sail in a river in West Bengal, media reports said.

The practitioners failed to revive Bharati Munda who died in the Sundarbans area in 24 Parganas district. A snake bit her Aug 9.

Distraught villagers first took her to a voodoo practitioner instead of a hospital.

But her condition deteriorated and she was taken to the Sarberia Christian Missionary Hospital where she died.

The woman's body was brought back to the village and another voodoo practitioner began rituals to revive the dead.

However, after some days when the body decomposed and stench filled the air, the villagers gave up.

The body was finally set sail on a raft made from banana stem in line with local beliefs.

"We don't cremate the bodies of those who die of snake bite. We float them in the river on rafts," said a villager.


Thursday, February 9, 2012

Police say shrine near bodies not tied to killings


By Michael Grabell ("Dallas Morning News," February 8, 2007)

Extracted from http://wwrn.org/articles/24194/?&place=north-america&section=occult


Dallas, USA - Police and religious experts say that a pot containing a human skull, found near the bodies of a missing couple last week, appears to be a shrine of the Afro-Caribbean religion Palo Mayombe.

Detectives stressed that there is no connection between the killings and the shrine. And religious scholars said that despite stereotypes, there is no element of human sacrifice in Palo Mayombe or other Afro-Caribbean religions, such as Santeria or Voodoo.

The pot was found Jan. 29 near Interstate 45 and Dowdy Ferry Road as police searched for the couple. But it was across a river and hundreds of yards from the bodies.

The three-legged iron vessel was wrapped in black and red cloth and contained animal bones, chicken feathers, a machete and an 18-inch statue of a man, carved from dark wood. Police also found a human skull.

It appears to be a prenda or nganga, used by followers to house the spirits of the dead and of nature, said Eoghan Ballard, who wrote his Ph.D. dissertation on African religions.

Palo Mayombe originated in the Congo in west-central Africa. Like Santeria and Voodoo, it spread to the Caribbean through the slave trade and to the U.S. after the Cuban exodus of the 1960s.

"It's important to remember these aren't synonyms," Mr. Ballard said. "They are names for very different African religions."

Palo Mayombe is a naturalistic religion in which followers believe in drawing energy from the earth, said Michelle Gonzalez Maldonado, a religious studies professor at the University of Miami.

Ms. Maldonado said there is much less scholarly research on the religion than on Santeria or Voodoo. Palo Mayombe is rare and secretive.

There are numerous Palo denominations, and as they developed through the slave trade, followers mixed in other customs. Some Palo priests believe they can make bad things happen to other people, giving the religion a reputation for black magic, Ms. Maldonado said.

"There's no governing body that dictates religious ritual, so there's not as if there is a manual you're given," she said.

Ms. Maldonado said she had never come across a human skull in her studies of Palo Mayombe, but Mr. Ballard said he had.

But both doubted that the skull had been stolen from a grave.

"Most of them now buy them through legal sources [such as medical supply stores] because like most people, they don't want to be arrested," Mr. Ballard said. A search of eBay found a handful of purported human skulls being sold for about $300.

Hutchins police Detective Emily Owens said it remains a mystery why the shrine was in the woods because the vessel is usually associated with home worship.

"We don't think there was any rituals going on out at the site," she said. "There may be a reason why it was out there. I haven't found that out yet."

Mr. Ballard suggested two theories. He said a follower might have been instructed through a ritual to set it there for a certain time to allow it to gain energy from nature. It's also possible that a follower converted to Christianity and disposed of an object they now considered an implement of the devil.

Other experts said it might have been disposed of after its owner died, allowing it to return to nature.

The shrine's discovery near the bodies of Linoshka Torres and Luis Campos and the initial linking by police to Santeria has angered followers of that religion, who said it only fuels stereotypes that the group practices human sacrifice.

"This is absolutely, absolutely not Santeria," said Ernesto Pichardo, a vocal Santeria priest in the Miami area.

He said Santeria has been given a bad name by criminals. In 1989, a cult and drug-smuggling ring killed 15 people near Matamoros, Mexico, under the guise of Santeria.

"He was just outright killing people related to the drug trade, and he was using this delusion of religion to control the people he was involved with," Mr. Pichardo said.

There is a double standard for Afro-Caribbean religions, he said: When crimes happen and ritual objects are found, people automatically think it's part of the religion. But when mothers kill their children to give them to God or to protect them from the devil, people attribute it to mental illness.


Saturday, November 3, 2012

A Zombie Is a Slave Forever


By Amy Wilentz ("The New York Times," October 30, 2012)

Extracted from http://wwrn.org/articles/38477/


Los Angeles, USA - Zombies will come to my door on Wednesday night — in rags, eye-sockets blackened, pumping devices that make fake blood run down their faces — asking for candies. There seem to be more and more zombies every Halloween, more zombies than princesses, fairies, ninjas or knights. In all probability, none of them knows what a zombie really is.
Most people think of them as the walking dead, a being without a soul or someone with no free will. This is true. But the zombie is not an alien enemy who’s been CGI-ed by Hollywood. He is a New World phenomenon that arose from the mixture of old African religious beliefs and the pain of slavery, especially the notoriously merciless and coldblooded slavery of French-run, pre-independence Haiti. In Africa, a dying person’s soul might be stolen and stoppered up in a ritual bottle for later use. But the full-blown zombie was a very logical offspring of New World slavery.
For the slave under French rule in Haiti — then Saint-Domingue — in the 17th and 18th centuries, life was brutal: hunger, extreme overwork and cruel discipline were the rule. Slaves often could not consume enough calories to allow for normal rates of reproduction; what children they did have might easily starve. That was not of great concern to the plantation masters, who felt that children were a waste of resources, since they weren’t able to work properly until they reached 10 or so. More manpower could always be imported from the Middle Passage.
The only escape from the sugar plantations was death, which was seen as a return to Africa, or lan guinée (literally Guinea, or West Africa). This is the phrase in Haitian Creole that even now means heaven. The plantation meant a life in servitude; lan guinée meant freedom. Death was feared but also wished for. Not surprisingly, suicide was a frequent recourse of the slaves, who were handy with poisons and powders. The plantation masters thought of suicide as the worst kind of thievery, since it deprived the master not only of a slave’s service, but also of his or her person, which was, after all, the master’s property. Suicide was the slave’s only way to take control over his or her own body.
And yet, the fear of becoming a zombie might stop them from doing so. The zombie is a dead person who cannot get across to lan guinée. This final rest — in green, leafy, heavenly Africa, with no sugarcane to cut and no master to appease or serve — is unavailable to the zombie. To become a zombie was the slave’s worst nightmare: to be dead and still a slave, an eternal field hand. It is thought that slave drivers on the plantations, who were usually slaves themselves and sometimes Voodoo priests, used this fear of zombification to keep recalcitrant slaves in order and to warn those who were despondent not to go too far.
In traditional Voodoo belief, in order to get back to lan guinée, one must be transported there by Baron Samedi, the lord of the cemetery and one of the darkest and most complicated of the religion’s many complicated gods. Baron is customarily dressed in a business jacket, a top hat and dark glasses; he’s foul-mouthed and comic in a low, vicious way. One of Baron’s spiritual functions, his most important, is to dig a person’s grave and welcome him to the other side. If for some reason a person has thwarted or offended Baron, the god will not allow that person, upon his death, to reach guinée. Then you’re a zombie. Some other lucky mortal can control you, it is believed. You’ll do the bidding of your master without question.
Haiti’s notorious dictator François Duvalier, known as Papa Doc, who controlled Haiti with a viselike grip from 1957 until his death in 1971, well understood the Baron’s role. He dressed like Baron, in a black fedora, business suit and heavy glasses or sunglasses. Like Baron at a ceremony, when Duvalier spoke publicly, it was often in a near whisper. His secret police, the Tontons Macoutes, behaved with the complete immorality and obedience of the undead, and were sometimes assumed to be zombies under the dictator’s control. I once heard a Haitian radio announcer describe Klaus Barbie, a Nazi known as the Butcher of Lyon, as “youn ansyen Tonton Makout Hitler,” or one of Hitler’s Tontons Macoutes: a zombie of the Reich.
The only way for a zombie to have his will and soul return is for him to eat salt — a smart boss of a zombie keeps the creature’s food tasteless. In the 1980s, with Duvalier’s son ousted from power and the moment ripe for reform, the literacy primer put out by the liberation theologians’ wing of the Roman Catholic Church in Haiti was called “A Taste of Salt.”
There are many reasons the zombie, sprung from the colonial slave economy, is returning now to haunt us. Of course, the zombie is scary in a primordial way, but in a modern way, too. He’s the living dead, but he’s also the inanimate animated, the robot of industrial dystopias. He’s great for fascism: one recent zombie movie (and there have been many) was called “The Fourth Reich.” The zombie is devoid of consciousness and therefore unable to critique the system that has entrapped him. He’s labor without grievance. He works free and never goes on strike. You don’t have to feed him much. He’s a Foxconn worker in China; a maquiladora seamstress in Guatemala; a citizen of North Korea; he’s the man, surely in the throes of psychosis and under the thrall of extreme poverty, who, years ago, during an interview, told me he believed he had once been a zombie himself.
So when kids come to your door this Halloween wearing costumes called Child Zombie Doctor or Shopko’s Fun World Zombie, offer them a sprinkling of salt along with their candy corn.



Saturday, February 18, 2012

Seer for trial in voodoo murders


By Gabriella Gamini ("The Times," September 8, 2003)

Extracted from http://wwrn.org/articles/8768/?&place=south-america&section=occult


Valentina Andrade was a trusted clairvoyant in the backwater Amazonian town of Altamira. Many in the rural riverside community trusted her fortune-telling.
But in a horrifying twist, Andrade, 75, has been revealed as the leader of a satanic sect that killed boys to use their sexual organs in voodoo rituals.
She will be the last of five sect members to stand trial accused of luring poor boys into the jungle, where they were smothered with chloroform and dragged away to have their genitals removed.
Revelations about the terrifying events have shocked the town, and hundreds of residents have been holding a vigil outside the court in the nearby city of Belem to demand justice.
Andrade is accused of leading the Superior Universal Allignment, which has its headquarters in Argentina and many followers in neighbouring Paraguay and in Holland. A judge remanded her in custody last week to await trial later this month after she was caught trying to leave the country.
The crimes were committed more than 10 years ago. A former policeman, a businessman and a doctor have already been jailed for the murder and mutilation of young boys.
Carlos Alberto Santos, a security guard and ex-policeman, was sentenced to 35 years, Amailton Gomez, the son of an influential landowner, received 57 years, and Anisio Ferreira, a doctor, was sentenced to 77 years.
Between 1989 and 1992, 19 boys aged between 8 and 14 were abducted, one after another, in the town of Altamira. They were all from poor families.
Some were lured away as they herded cattle in the patches of cleared rainforest outside the town, and others as they picked mangoes. Some were shoe-shine boys in the town centre.
Five managed to escape their captors, but six were found dead with their sexual organs removed. Three others were mutilated but managed to survive the ordeal. Another five remain unaccounted for.
A government prosecutor said an investigation had yet to be launched into the cases of those boys whose bodies had not been found.
Families of the victims cheered and wept when Ferreira was sentenced. It emerged at his trial that the mutilation of the boys had been carried out with medical expertise, including the use of anaesthetic.
Two of the three survivors appeared as witnesses in the trials. One 24-year-old man, who was nine when he was abducted, told how he was lured into the forest, tied to a tree and then smothered with chloroform.
"I will have to live with the terrible injuries they inflicted on me. But I am glad that at least those who did it are at last behind bars," he said.


Saturday, July 14, 2012

Venezuelans turn to magic in difficult times


By Daniel Flynn (Reuters, February 15, 2001)


Extracted from http://wwrn.org/articles/8762/?&place=south-america


SORTE, Venezuela - In a clearing beneath the magic mountain of Sorte, a half-naked witchdoctor cavorts over three quivering boys lying inside an intricate chalk circle lighted by candles.
"Strength, by the light of the moon. Strength, by the light the queen," his followers chant in the dusk, invoking the protection of Maria Lionza, the mythical forest goddess who rules Venezuela's most powerful cult.
The three boys have come to this jungle shrine to be purified from witchcraft. The rite mingles voodoo rituals from the South American nation's slave past with Indian shamanism and the beliefs of the dominant Catholic church.
The shaman sprays liquor from his mouth over their bare bodies and blows smoke from a cheroot into their faces while summoning a spirit from Maria Lionza's court to possess him.
Suddenly, his eyes roll and he bursts into a high-pitched jabbering. He has been taken by Elegua, a belligerent young spirit from the court of the seven African powers -- one of dozens of minor deities in Maria Lionza's spirit kingdom.
"Strength," chant the youths, quickening their drumming as the medium writhes and shrieks. Eventually, he collapses and his disciples help the dazzled boys to their feet.
Despite rumors of black magic and violence, hundreds of brightly clothed pilgrims flock each weekend to the birthplace of Maria Lionza, seeking relief from illness or adversity.
Rising social discontent has swollen her following in recent decades as wild swings in the price of Venezuela's lifeblood, oil, have impoverished three-quarters of its 24 million people and turned the once-affluent nation to soul-searching.
"In times of crisis, such as now, people look to the spiritual, some power from above, for a miracle," said Marino Diaz, author of a book on the cult.
OPIUM OF THE MASSES
For some, Maria Lionza was a green-eyed Indian princess sacrificed by her father to a giant serpent, for others the daughter of a Spanish conquistador who escaped to the woods.
As disenchantment grows in the cramped hillside slums of the capital Caracas, the voluptuous wood nymph has come to symbolize hope for many. Flowers and tributes from the faithful adorn a statue of the fertility goddess astride a tapir, erected during the 1950s nationalist regime of dictator Marcos Perez Jimenez, which guards the main highway through the capital.
"For us, Maria Lionza represents equality, a figure from the time of the Spanish who protected the Indians, the slaves and those in need," said Rafael Mendez, a 44-year-old mechanic from Caracas, referring to Venezuela's colonial past.
Sorte's rituals have their roots in the tobacco shamanism practiced by Indians since before European adventurers first braved the Orinoco River in a futile quest for El Dorado.
"Tobacco is the messenger," said a toothless Maria de Sorte, puffing a cheroot as she stood beside the river that guards the entrance to the forest. "It opens pathways to the spirits."
Before a caravan of pilgrims may cross the river, a spiritual medium must smoke tobacco at the great altar and ask permission of the queen. Such candlelighted shrines, adorned by statues of Maria Lionza or spirits from her Mestizo court, which adherents claim is a vernacular offshoot of the dominant Roman Catholic Church, are scattered across Venezuela.
A trail of more than 80 altars, each dedicated to a separate spirit or court, stretches toward the peak of the mist-shrouded mountain. The lush green woods around them reverberate with the beating of drums, wild cries and the explosion of coconuts filled with gunpowder, used to scare away evil spirits.
REBELS WITHOUT A CAUSE?
While Maria Lionza is a peaceful nymph, most of the figurines that deck the jungle altars at Sorte are warriors: rebellious Indian chief Guaicaipuro; runaway slave leader Negro Felipe; Argentine leftist revolutionary Che Guevara; and Venezuela's homegrown independence hero, Simon Bolivar.
"In Venezuela, the worship of the past has become enlisted for the cause of dissent and revolt," said Yolanda Salas, an authority on the cult from state folklore institute FUNDEF.
Venezuelans' reverence for the rebel has been exploited by the current president, colorful, left-leaning Hugo Chavez, who led a failed military coup in 1992 only to be elected democratically six years later. He has hijacked the memory of the great Bolivar to glorify his own political "revolution."
Brushing aside political conventions, the former paratrooper has depicted the battle for Venezuela's democratic destiny as a fight between good and evil, God and Satan. In the process, he has attained messianic status for many cult members.
"Millions of spiritualists voted for Chavez, we formed an alliance when he ran for president. ... Chavez is like a high spirit made flesh, a liberating spirit," said bleary-eyed witch doctor Luis Perez, emerging from a trance.
In religion, as in politics, there are always those who will take advantage of the poorly educated masses. Venezuela's social turmoil, including rising violent crime and poverty, has promoted more mutinous and exotic sects: the blond-haired warriors of the Viking court, the Afro-Cuban spirits of Santeria, and the court of the Thieves.
These are foul-mouthed spirits who like liquor and sex and show their power by forcing mediums to slash themselves with broken bottles or knives. The higher up the path in Sorte, the more bizarre the rituals; there are rumors of animal sacrifice and voodoo in the remote woods.
"When a medium assumes the personality of a spirit, they have guides on how to act," said author Diaz. "Some people do not feel destined to be a medium, they just put on theater."
In a hut near the foot of the mountain, an old man sits at a candlelighted altar decorated with images of Maria Lionza. "I am a great guru ... the greatest in Latin America and in Europe as well," said Rafael Reyes, his dark eyes sparkling. "I control the third eye and the sixth sense," he added mysteriously.
The cult, he explained confidentially, is related to a Druid religion that sacrificed humans to make soap.
"You have to be careful of the charlatans around here," cackled Juana de Dios, the closest thing to a high priestess at Sorte, who leads the annual "fire dance" to celebrate the feast of Santa Barbara -- a dance across burning coals.
Behind her fast-food shop, the wizened spiritualist said she studied for two years before starting her 45-year career. She claimed to have performed miracles, curing people of madness and even removing a kidney with the aid of a spirit doctor.
"People talk about the situation of the country, but the faithful have always come," she said, chuckling. "Don't drink the water here or you will keep coming back forever."

Sunday, January 29, 2012

Dispelling the myths about witchcraft


By Laura Holmes ("Portsmouth Herald," October 29, 2001)

Extracted from http://wwrn.org/articles/9430/?&section=occult


Debra Wiley says she cringes every time someone asks her, "Are you a good witch or a bad witch?" "I don't walk around asking people, 'Are you a good Christian or a bad Christian?'" says Wiley, a self-proclaimed Wiccan witch from Dover.
Maybe if people were better educated about her religion, she says, they would know better.
Wiley and her friend, Scarlett Ridgway, a Wiccan witch from Portsmouth, have been "out of the broom closet" for many years. Neither of them hide the fact they are witches, but because of 500 years of persecution in Europe and America, and decades of negative stereotyping, many others are not so public.
The possibility of harassment, verbal abuse and, in extreme cases, violence make many witches afraid to take advantage of one of America's most prized possessions — freedom of religion — "all because of misunderstanding," says Rebecca Murphy, a Wiccan witch and licensed pagan minister from Manchester.
"Look up the word 'witch' in a dictionary and you'll read, 'A person who practices black magic,' or something similar. Even though it's in the dictionary, that definition is not accurate. And that's because the dictionary follows popular culture, not the other way around. Until the word 'witch' and its correct definition is in general use for, I believe, 10 years, it won't change," says Murphy.
Witch, witchcraft, Wiccan, pagan; these words are not interchangeable, but try to define them, and that, says Murphy, is a problem.
"We're still trying to define some of them ourselves," she says.
Historically, a "witch" was the wise woman of the community, the person to go to for healing, advice and matchmaking. But through political and religious attacks, that image has been twisted into an evil, old hag with a green, warty face.
So what is a witch today? It depends on whom you ask, says Murphy, but generally speaking, a witch is any person who practices the "science of witchcraft." This includes herbalism, astrology, color therapy, gemology and other ways in which witches believe they can influence the physical and spiritual planes.
"You can be a witch and a Wiccan, and you can be a witch without being a Wiccan. You can be a witch of voodoo. You can also be a Satanic witch. You can even be a Christian and be a witch — I've met some.
"African medicine men and women use witchcraft; they're called witch doctors. The core of it is each one of those means something different to each one of those witches," says Murphy.
On the other hand, defining paganism is simpler. It describes any faith other than Christian, Muslim or Jewish.
"Pagan encompasses a lot of different groups — Druid, Native American, Strega or Italian witchcraft and Wicca are the more familiar ones," says Murphy.
So, what is Wicca? Again, it depends on whom you ask. It's a religion, but it has no dogma and no scriptures. It has values and morals, says Murphy, but no Bible.
"A Catholic can say, 'You have the 10 Commandments, you have to go to church once a week, you get communion, you're supposed to do this and this and this, and in this order because this is how it was written, this is how it's supposed to be.' You can't do that with Wicca. There is no Holy Book of Shadows," she says. "And there's a reason for that — we don't need one."
Instead, says Murphy, Wiccans learn from nature and its cycles of birth, death and rebirth as an example of divine perfection and as a basis for their value system. "As above, so below" is a phrase many Wiccans use to remember the divinity's presence in nature.
Even though Wicca is open to interpretation, there are tenets. They include male and female aspects of divinity; the sacredness of the earth and its seasons; and that "magick," or spell-casting, can influence reality. Other than that is personal preference.
"It's a very personal, choice-centered path," says Wiley. "You can take what you like from other studies, like the Celtic path or the Fairy path, and combine them. You can even add aspects of Native American or Judeo-Christian religions into your ritual or prayer; like calling on angels. I use angels quite often and believe in them strongly," says Wiley.
Ancient lore, modern practice
Made a legally recognized religion in 1986, many aspects of Wicca are ancient in origin. Its practices were adopted from the beliefs and rituals of earth-based pagan societies of old Europe, which were passed down verbally through families.
This lore, combined with ritual from other religions, and the more "recently" adopted practices, such as crystal-healing, Tarot cards and candle-magick, make today's Wicca a hybrid.
"We're building a new foundation on bits and scraps of what we found and what we know. Wicca is, in and of itself, a paradox. It's a very ancient religion that's learning how to be new. We have an ancient background, but we have a whole new set of rules we're working by. You can say, 'OK, on the morning of the solstice you should go out and watch the sunrise and dance for hours.' Well, hey, most of us have day jobs and I don't think I can call in to work with that excuse," says Murphy.
But modern-day Wiccans have learned to merge their "mundane" lives with their "magickal" ones. As solitary witches, or within a coven, they cast circles and spells in their living rooms or backyards, at the beach or in a forest, even online.
"We're a very low-overhead religion. We don't need churches, we don't need priests, we don't need ministers, because we are that ourselves," says Wiley.
Focusing on the spiritual, whether solitary or in a coven, witches, including men (they are not called warlocks or wizards) embark on a road of religious study.
Very few have the benefit of being born into a family of witches, so most rely on personal research or apprenticeship for their knowledge.
And like any other religion, the degree to which witches practice varies. Some, like Murphy, Wiley and Ridgway, incorporate Wicca into their day-to-day lives. Others may only perform rituals during the pagan holidays or for specific need.
Either way, a focal point for all Wiccan witchcraft is the "wheel of the year," the eight holidays, or Sabbats, of the seasonal calendar: Samhain (Halloween), Imbolc (Candlemas), Beltane (May Eve), Lughnassad or Lammas (August Eve), Ostara (spring equinox), Mabon (fall equinox), Litha (summer solstice) and Yule (winter solstice).
Sabbats and their associations define the core of the religion's rituals, as well as its spiritual shape.
"We celebrate the changing seasons — the gift of Mother Nature bringing forth the springtime and the harvest, and then the awakening of the God who is actually the opposite of Mother Nature. He is the time that the earth sleeps, the time of winter, the time of quiet reflection.
"He stands in protection of the earth while the Goddess sleeps, and then in the spring when she awakens, he brings forth the blooming flowers. So it is a very beautiful religion," says Wiley.
Dispelling myths on magick
More so than the belief system of Wicca, it is perhaps the ritual aspect of the religion, the how-to part of Wiccan witchcraft, the magick — so spelled to discern it from the work of theatrical magicians such as David Copperfield and Penn and Teller — that seems to be the most misunderstood. From Hollywood movies such as "Practical Magick" and "The Craft," and television programs like "Sabrina, The Teenage Witch" and "Charmed," to American culture throughout, magick has been portrayed with only minimal accuracy.
First, witches can't fly. Nor can they turn someone into a toad, or anything else. They certainly can't point a finger and make things "happen." And contrary to almost every horror movie, simply reading a spell from a book won't make it work. Even Harry Potter is way off the mark.
What's missing from every depiction of witchcraft in our culture, says Murphy, is the spiritual aspect, the divine connection.
"Words are just words. They can describe the feeling and they can describe how to do a spell, but until you can will your spiritual self to connect to your higher power, be it God, Goddess or whatever, nothing's going to happen."
Witches and Wiccans do cast spells. That's how they hope to influence the outcome of their lives and the lives of those who seek their help. A spell is just another word for prayer, says Wiley, and ritual and ritual tools simply make the prayer more effective.
"We set up our prayer space or sacred circle, we acknowledge the four compass points and bring them together, and we call the Lord or the Lady. We do these things because it is the best way that we know how to bring as much conscious, positive energy to a table, to a prayer circle as possible," says Ridgway.
No devil for witches
Another depiction that Wiccans wish would stop is, of course, devil worship. In the history of religion, the devil, or Satan, is actually a recent Christian concept, says Murphy.
"When the Roman Empire invaded the Celtic Empire, Christians changed the nature god revered by the pagans into an evil god — Satan," she says.
That association continued and found its way to America via the Spanish Inquisition of the 14th and 15th centuries, when witches were falsely accused of devil-worshipping and then tortured, burned, hanged and drowned.
Then and now, says Ridgway, devil worship is part of Satanism and never had anything to do with Wicca.
"We don't have a devil. We do believe in positive and negative aspects, but they deal with nature and people, not something in a divinitory realm," says Ridgway.
Wiccans, she says, can't blame the Devil for doing bad things. "We believe that if we do something, we need to take full responsibility for it," says Ridgeway.
Part of that responsibility stems from the two Wiccan laws that help foster good behavior: the Wiccan Rede and the three-fold law. The Wiccan Rede reads: "An' it harm none, do as thou wilt," which basically means don't do anything that will harm anybody. The three-fold law is a universally accepted belief among Wiccans that whatever is sent out, be it negative or positive, comes back to the sender three-fold.
Both laws remind Wiccans that their thoughts and their deeds affect them as much as they do others.
"Debra and I both have had people come up to us and say 'I want to make so-and-so fall in love with me. Give me a spell.' It doesn't work that way. If someone came to me in that kind of pain, I might be able to help them cast a spell of healing, or a spell of peace, to help them find their own path to the person they're truly supposed to be with," says Ridgway.
Wiccans also need the permission of the person they want to help before attempting any kind of spell.
"Say you're going through a difficult time and I wanted to pray for strength for you. I have to get your OK first," says Ridgway.
Like witchcraft, Halloween has been totally reinvented by popular culture, Wiley says. Compared to its origins as the end of the agricultural year, it's been completely disguised as a children's holiday or a festival of fear for adults. For Wiccans, Halloween is a celebration of a good harvest and a time to give thanks, as well as a time to reflect on the past year and plan for the year to come.
In witchcraft lore, says Wiley, it's also the night when the veil between the physical world and the spiritual world is the thinnest.
"Like the Feast of the Dead, All Saints Day and All Soul's Day, it is a time to call on your ancestors for guidance, to pray to them, and thank them, even give them an offering," says Wiley.
Wicca — like Halloween, witchcraft and witches — is centuries old and shares many similarities with other religions. Upon true scrutiny, says Murphy, people will find that Wicca really isn't that different.
"Eventually, all religions had their roots in the same place," she says. "We deviated, we splintered, we even changed the entire concept a time or two, but we all began from the same starting point and we're all going to end at the same finishing point — we just took different paths to get there."