Scotland’s witch trials, which extended from the 1560s to the 1700s, have been Scotland’s darkest time. Spurred by a turbulent sea journey and fueled by royal suspicion, religiosity, and social stress, the hunts produced charges against a minimum of 4,000, of whom thousands were executed, most of them women. The period’s brutality lives in a new book, How to Kill a Witch: A Guide for the Patriarchy by Zoe Venditozzi and Claire Mitchell, as well as in a commemorative tartan. This article looks at why they took place, at what atrocities were perpetrated, at their cultural heritage, as well as at their reverberations in today’s world, in which scapegoating, exclusion, and violence persist.
A Royal Spark: The Origin of the Witch Hunts
The trials have their origins in a perilous journey in 1589, in which King James VI of Scotland (later to be James I of England) sailed up the North Sea to collect his bride, Anne of Denmark. The journey was plagued by fierce storms, a standard feature of the stormy waters, but James suspected more nefarious agendas at play. The storms, in his mind, involved witches as agents of a plot with the devil, a perception which energized a 1563 Scottish Act of Witchcraft. The act, designed to introduce “godliness” to newly Protestant Scotland, anathematized those accused of “conspiracy with the devil,” opening up centuries of persecution.
James’s obsession was extreme. He wrote Daemonology in 1597, a tract used as a manual for identifying, and persecuting, witches. The widely-read book contributed to fear of supernatural threat, presenting witchcraft as a tool of Satan used to strike at society’s moral foundation. His hands-on involvement in trials, such as trials such as that at North Berwick, in which a coven of females was accused of riding sea in sieves, contributed to his reputation as a force to drive up the hunts. Referring to his early years, as Judith Langlands-Scott, an historian, summarizes, his childhood, in which his mother, Mary, Queen of Scots, was executed, contributed to his perception of women as “feeble and easily manipulated,” therefore most likely to be targeted.
The Tools of Persecution: Scapegoating and Torture
The trials of the witch were not due to single-minded superstition but to a combination of religious, economic, and social pressures. Zoe Venditozzi describes the period as a “perfect storm” in which systems of belief merged with social fear to scapegoat vulnerable members. Women comprised most accused, and most likely to have been old, disabled, poor, or otherwise vulnerable. In Forfar, as Langlands-Scott writes, accused were “those who cost society money,” i.e., blind, elderly, or addicts, who were seen to be a drain to a society dominated by Presbyterians keen to purge itself of “ungodly” influences.
Both identification, and punishment, of witches, were brutal. Torture devices like “pilliwinks” (thumbscrews), crushing boots, and “witches’ bridle” inflicted awful pain in order to elicit confessions. The “witch pricker,” a self-proclaimed authority like notorious John Kincaid, performed a nefarious function. Hired to seek “witch’s marks”—ritually supposed devil’s pact renunciations—Kincaid and colleagues strip-searched victims in front of all-male gatherings, a ritual Langlands-Scott describes as “psychosexual” in repression-seared Presbyterian society. These public humiliations, and executions, served to provoke fear as much as to reassert social control.
Contrary to legend, however, most of the victims were not first burned alive. Venditozzi explains that they were more often than not strangled first before their bodies were set afire, a practice stemming from fear that the devil would raise up deceased bodies. The purpose of burning was also theological in nature: to keep the accused from reassembling or coming to life on Judgement Day, denying them salvation. These details illustrate trials’ multidimensionality, with physical pain complemented by spiritual destruction.
A Living Memorial: The Witches of Scotland Tartan
In a symbolic move of commemoration, Scotland officially adopted tartan in memory of victims of the Witchcraft Act. The tartan, after a five-year campaign by Venditozzi and Mitchell, producers of Witches of Scotland podcast, was added to the Scottish Register of Tartans. The design of the tartan holds much symbolism: black and grey represent the dark time and ashes of those who were burnt, red represents victims’ blood, and pink represents tape used in trials, then as now. The tartan, worn in kilts, clothing, or otherwise, is a “memorial in living memory,” bringing to life the victims’ stories.
The campaign also hit a milestone point in 2022, as Scotland’s then First Minister Nicola Sturgeon formally apologised for the “colossal injustice” of the persecutions. Some female Church of Scotland ministers publicly apologised to the church for its role in the trials. Both of these, in particular from females, Langlands-Scott sees as ways of “giving voice” to silenced victims, saving their stories from a male-dominated narrative.
Cultural Resurgence: Modern Attitudes toward Wicca
The trials have not been forgotten, though; they continue to captivate and inspire. The Witches of Scotland podcast, listened to by millions of people around the globe, is evidence of a renewed interest in said history. The subject has been approached by fiction as well, with Hex by Jenni Fagan, Bright I Burn by Molly Aitken, and The Wicked of the Earth by AD Bergin framing their stories in the trials. Meanwhile, a “witchy” fashion style has gone mainstream. Movements like WitchTok, WitchCore style, and television programs like Practical Magic 2 and Domino Day serve as evidence of a broader interest in witchcraft, as a result of growth in neopaganism and emergent witchcraft practices.
The new witches, who might practice rituals using herbs and crystals or tarot, as well as nature worship, have little in common with the accused of the past. Most of today’s witches, as Claire Mitchell suggests, are no longer viewed as “agents of the devil” but as spiritual practitioners, or empowerment practitioners, ranging from self-help to more structured groups such as Wicca. The “witches” of the past, Venditozzi maintains, were everyday people—many of them Christians—swept up in extraordinary events, not magic practitioners. Modern witches, with many joining to support the Witches of Scotland campaign, identify with the accused, as they, too, must face discrimination.
However, commodifying the “WitchCore” style does raise concerns over glamorizing a history of violence. Mitchell argues there is no danger of that, as current witchcraft differs from early witchcraft history as a crime in which people were accused of evil. Langlands-Scott agrees, noting that current witches do not make claims to those who were executed, recognizing most victims as not being pagan, but Christian, but that trials for suspect heretics in a post-Cromwell initiative for a “godly” society.
Dark Humor, together with Busted Myths
How to Kill a Witch lightens up its deadly subject with dark humor, a survival mechanism employed by the authors to come to terms with the atrocities of the era. Venditozzi and Mitchell expose the absurdity of charges by the witch hunters—witches seen dancing in a church or surfing over sieves—while satirizing self-styled experts of self-righteous demeanor. This humor, employed in works such as The Witchfinder, satirises the trials as farces, where whimsical confessions were elicited to justify atrocities. Venditozzi’s quick-witted quips, “It’s a clever trick, isn’t it, the way society blamed women… All to justify what they were doing. It’s bananas!”
The book dispels myths as well, such as that of witches burnt at the stake. Burning did happen, though sometimes strangulation preceded it, a fact which serves to emphasize trials’sbloodiness. By debunking myths, authors root their story in reality, and victims’ agony feels more real.
Remnants of the Past: Lessons for Today
The trials hold significance, as they mirror a cyclical pattern of scapegoating during periods of social anxiety. Margaret Atwood, author of The Handmaid’s Tale, which draws parallels to such atrocities, spoke about Salem witch trials recurring time after time in history. Venditozzi agrees, citing current examples of outgroups scapegoated during crisis. The book cites a U.S. pastor in modern times warning his congregation about witches among them and cites Advocacy for Alleged Witches, an advocacy group campaigning against persecution in accordance with superstitious beliefs, as a way to highlight the living parallels of these trials.
The Witches of Scotland tartan, as well as both authors, strive to enlighten people and ensure that things don’t happen again. Mitchell suggests Scotland’s poor record at recalling its victims of witch trials compared to Norway or America should not be ignored. Venditozzi warns against accusing “isolate or vulnerable members of society in order to re-win public trust, a process as relevant today as in centuries past.”
A Reckoning With Hope
In contrast to the trials’ dark reputation, however, there exists hope. The popular demand, as evidenced by a podcast to a global audience, as also in tartan manufacture, indicates a desire to engage with it. Apologies by figures such as Sturgeon, as well as female ministers, represents a step towards accountability. For Langlands-Scott, similar action, by a majority of females, represents reappropriation, redeeming the voiceless, as a means of sending a warning to potential injustices. How to Kill a Witch: A Guide for the Patriarchy can now be found in stores in the UK, whilst in America it comes out in autumn as How to Kill a Witch: The Patriarchy’s Guide to Suppressing Women. With their book, tartan, and campaign, Venditozzi and Mitchell ensure Scotland’s victims of witch trials are not forgotten or caricatured. By doing so, their actions encourage us to learn from history to create a more humane, more vigilant future. — **
