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.