In Singapore, some women are reclaiming witchcraft and turning it into a feminist practice

Nabilah Mohamed Ali has always been able to see spirits. The first spirit she saw as a child was that of her grandfather, who, by then, had been dead for some years. Her mother had the same ability, too — but Nabilah's father didn't believe what they were saying.

"People were always dismissive of the fact that my mom and I could see spirits," says Nabilah. "I grew up in a really religious household, where men were supposed to lead, supposed to make the decisions... So when my father said he disapproved of it, we had to shut out that spiritual side of ourselves."

It's why Nabilah wears her title of 'modern Hekatean witch' today with no small amount of pride — and triumph. As a self-proclaimed witch, Nabilah uses her powers to help women gain clarity on their careers and love lives; abusive or unfaithful male partners are also fair game for her hexes. For Nabilah — a woman who has suffered emotional and sexual abuse from cisgender men — it is a deeply gratifying way to reclaim the autonomy she feels was never available to her.

"Witches have always been using their craft to reclaim their power against men, against the patriarchy," says Nabilah, who has been actively practicing witchcraft for close to half a decade. "And it's no different for me."

In the centuries since witchcraft began being documented, the practice has always carried with it an undercurrent of feminism. Historically, the practice has been used by poor, marginalised women to provide healing and support to their local communities. Academics say that witchcraft has also been used as a form of protest, a sentiment that is well and alive today: See Lana Del Rey in 2017, where she called on her fans to join a "mass occult ritual" and cast a hex against then-president Donald Trump. 

For professor Catherine Spooner of Lancaster University, It's an ironic — if unsurprising — shift. Spooner's research focuses on the history of gothic culture, especially within the broader context of contemporary culture; Lancaster also happens to be the place where one of the most famous witch trials in English history took place in the 17th century.

"The witch has become symbolic of something bigger," says Spooner. "Of women's anger at persecution, at the miscarriage of justice, and of their right to determine the fates of their own bodies."

Many modern witches say they are followers of female-presenting gods: Common figures include Hekate, the Greek goddess who presides over magic and spells, Isis, the Egyptian goddess of healing and magic, and Kali, a Hindu goddess often presented as a destroyer of evil. Spooner adds that women may be drawn to witchcraft because it offers "the same things other religions do."  

"It offers community, spiritual meaning, enlightenment — but packaged in a way that celebrates, rather than denigrates, women," adds the Professor of Literature and Culture. "It speaks to a need some women feel for spiritual empowerment on their own terms — and not those of patriarchal world religions." 

But for all the feminist leanings of the craft, much of it remains tangled in misogynist, patriarchal notions — notions that modern witches are finding hard to shake off.

For all the centuries it has survived, the art of witchcraft has not been able to shed its hyper-sexual stereotypes, or inherent negative associations with femininity. Why? Artist and researcher Zarina Muhammad wagers a guess. Her area of research includes the roots of mysticism and magic, and in the early days of her work, she realised that many eminent books on witchcraft were written by "old, or dead, white men." She says that might explain the archaic – and often misogynistic – undertow of modern-day views of witchcraft.

"Many of these historic anthropological texts were filled with flaws, and very problematic racist, sexist biases," says the lecturer at Lasalle College of the Arts. "Which is why I'm always thinking – how can we take more of a decolonising approach to understanding witchcraft?"

Modern witch Narayanee Singaram says she has seen that prejudice play out in her everyday life. At a former workplace, a colleague noted that Narayanee was doing exceptionally well; they joked that she “must have been using witchcraft” to give herself an edge.

"They just couldn't believe I was good at my job," she says. "As if a woman needs to have supernatural abilities to be competent." Previously, critics have noted that Donald Trump's infamous chant of 'lock her up' – bestowed on then-presidential rival Hillary Clinton, who was at times given the sobriquet 'The Wicked Witch of the Left' – bore the echoes of a "modern-day Salem witch trial." It's a comparison not lost on Narayanee.

"Women in power have always been associated with witches," says Narayanee. "And people have always felt that need to burn them."

A new brew

Despite the modern, aesthetic varnish that witchcraft has now garnered, not everyone has embraced it as part of a liberating new-age movement. In places like Papua New Guinea, women who are suspected of sorcery continue to be persecuted, shunned, and sometimes, lynched. A 2019 article by Time says that the United Nations estimates there are some 200 killings of 'witches' in the country annually; local activists say up to 50,000 people – almost always vulnerable women – have been "chased from their homes" due to these accusations.

"I think for someone to be in a position to practice witchcraft openly is someone who is able to occupy a position of privilege," says Zarina.

It's something that Narayanee is keenly aware of as well. "I'm very particular about studying my practice," she says. "As witches, you shouldn't just 'cut and paste' a culture or religion into your practice without fully understanding and respecting it. For example, if you want to practice voodoo, you need to understand – where does it come from? What's the cultural background of this practice, and how can you do it justice?"