My fascination with witches was born out
of reading “The Crucible” my sophomore
year of high school. I read aloud the voice
of Elizabeth Proctor to the class, my voice
trembling as I pleaded with the judge for
my innocence, that I did not harm Abigail
Williams through supernatural means, that
John Proctor was a faithful husband, that I
wasn’t a witch. But the judge didn’t believe
me, nor did the town of Salem, swept away
by a fear only God could instill. Soon I’d be
hanged with 18 others, one of 20 victims of
the trials.
Arthur Miller’s recount of the events
of Salem is nonetheless historical fiction,
an allegory for the Red Scare of the 1950s.
Abigail Williams wasn’t a teenage Winona
Ryder but a little girl, and John Proctor
wasn’t a strapping and brooding Daniel Day-
Lewis but an old man. There was no affair
between the two that led to Abigail accusing
Elizabeth Proctor of witchcraft.
But the characters mentioned in the play
were all real residents of Salem. Abigail real-
ly did accuse the Proctors, as well as dozens
of others, of witchcraft. And both Proctors
really did die as a result of Abigail’s accusa-
tions against them, making them two of the
20 victims of the Salem Witch Trials, not
counting the four who died in prison and the
hundreds of others who were imprisoned on
the charge before the chaos ceased in 1693.
This semester, I revisited my fascination
with witches and signed up for History 375:
History of Witchcraft. Telling my friends
about this particular course registration
meant I was soon met with raised eyebrows
and scrunched faces. They all had the same
question: Are witches even real?
The short answer: Yes, but not in the ways
one might expect. While there are practitio-
ners of witchcraft today, they are separate
from the ‘witches’ of the trials conducted
against people like Elizabeth Proctor.
For the United States, much of our under-
standing of witchcraft is filtered through
the lens of Salem. And yet, the events that
occurred in Salem pale in comparison to
the European trials of the Early Modern
Period — a few centuries earlier than Salem.
While estimates vary wildly, the most recent
numbers are that between 40,000 to 50,000
people were hanged and burned at the stake,
75 to 80% of whom were women, during the
European witch trials. In context, as Shake-
speare was writing his sonnets and Michel-
angelo painted the Sistine Chapel, supposed
witches, most of them women, were being
burned for crimes they did not commit.
One purpose of History 375 is to dis-
sect the various reasons, events and players
behind the atrocities that occurred during
the Early Modern Period, and therefore, no
one simple explanation exists for why each
victim was accused. However, one reoccur-
ring element of witch trials throughout his-
tory is apocalyptic thinking, that demonic
evil is present and those involved must be
defeated. This line of thinking characterized
the Red Scare of the 1950s and Satanic Panic
of the 1980s. Today, conspiracy movements
such as Q Anon rely on this same sensational
notion that people, specifically the “elites,”
are secretly engaging in child sacrifice and
devil worship.
With a basic understanding of the accused
witches of Salem and Europe and the hyper-
bolic ways in which they were portrayed and
ridiculed, I wanted to know what the real
witches were like, here in Ann Arbor.
Wednesday, October 26, 2022 // The Statement — 4
Between my fourth and fifth failed attempts
to land a hit on the seventh hole of the afternoon,
my friend declared with a laugh:
“This article is going to be an attack on golf.”
For a time, I was tempted to write such a piece,
especially after an adolescent frustration kicked
in on hole six. The autumn sun started to fade,
and my fingers grew stiff in the cold — too stiff to
continue taking notes. My eyes watered, largely
from the relentless wind, but other factors may
have played a part as well.
I grew frustrated with the ball and my tech-
nique worsened further. Each swing of my club
spewed sizable chunks of dirt through the air.
Even when my club struck home, the ball spun
wildly into the bushes or sadly plunked down a
few feet from where it’d taken off.
Behind me, a group of my friends, steadfast
companions in my first attempt at the sport of
golf, followed my gradual progress toward the
distant flag. Along the way, they cheered for my
meager victories and my failures all the same.
The support kept me from spiraling, even when
confronted head-on with the reality of my golf-
ing ability.
While I expected my athletic reservations to
minimize any confidence I might have on the
University of Michigan Golf Course, the open-
ing hours were actually a blast. Reports of the
course’s allure had trickled down to me over the
years, but I’d never visited to see for myself.
Upon arrival, the staff issued us two shiny
golf carts that thrilled us with their novelty
and smooth handling. I had never been respon-
sible for a golf cart before and took quickly to the
simple joy of navigating the course. We glided
over pathways carved through the open green
expanse, then jolted over crooked bumps in
the hills. A passenger was likely to be bounced
straight from the seat if not holding on tightly,
and, in the end, I accidentally crashed one cart
during a daring attempt to catch up to the other.
No damage ensued, fortunately, and the event
only raised our spirits further.
Surprisingly, though, beyond our golf cart
hijinks, my little band of first-time golfers
adhered well to the athletic rituals so foreign to
us. I uncovered a deep satisfaction in the thwack
of a golf ball lofted toward the horizon, and in
doing so, suddenly demystified a reverence I’d
always assumed was exclusive to Ross Business
students.
Above the course hung wreaths of clouds,
etched with deep purple shadows from
the dying light of day. Evergreens stood
sturdy along our hilltop vantage while
more colorful trees swayed and shed their leaves
on perfect green grass. It made for an idyllic por-
trait, one I hoped was never lost on those who
frequented the course.
This spectacular view of autumn, however,
did not come free of charge. At the University of
Michigan Golf Course, one game between four
students costs $236.
One game costs more than a used guitar. It
costs more than a 75-gallon fish tank or 1,000
bananas. It’s more than a pair of leather boots
with a lifetime warranty, or a Scotch whiskey
aged 16 years. In 1868, the United States gov-
ernment spent fewer dollars to purchase 11,000
acres of Alaskan land than my friends and I spent
to golf for one afternoon. At the current federal
minimum wage, $236 equates to 32 hours of paid
labor, or a full week’s work, after income tax.
In short, golf is expensive. By my stan-
dards, it’s unreasonably expensive. Though an
informed golf advocate could surely cite a hun-
dred upkeep fees that justify the cost, I don’t
believe such an egregious price of admission
should apply to students already piling heaps of
money at the foot of an affiliated university with
a $12 billion endowment.
The Michigan Daily provides exhaustive cov-
erage of the arguments both
for and against golf courses,
including
overwhelming
data on wasted land and
water. Reporter Alex Nobel
cites an enormous 2.08
billion gallons of water
used each day main-
taining golf courses,
an amount equal to
that of 3,000 Olympic
swimming pools.
My first swing at golf: Lessons from the green
Sitting face-to-face with one of Ann Arbor’s witches
BY JOHN JACKSON, STATEMENT COLUMNIST
BY ELIZABETH WOLFE, STATEMENT COLUMNIST
Read more at
MichiganDaily.com
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
John watches his ball’s trajectory
Sunday, October 16.
JEREMY WEINE/Daily
John finishes off a hole with a
short putt Sunday, October 16.
JEREMY WEINE/Daily
HANNAH TORRES/Daily
Kai Belcher performs a T
arot card
reading Monday, October 17.