Unpacking the Detriments of the Wrongfully Oppressed  

          As a Dominican American, the denial of blackness and racism exists within my culture. Since the Dominican Republic is “white, Spanish, Catholic; Haiti is black, African, and Voodooist.”1 These dueling islands highlight the hatred towards blackness in D.R.’s treatment of its neighboring Haitians. Like Haiti, black people have been repressed and mistreated by its white colonizers. Eurocentric ideals have been implemented into society and cultural accustoms for centuries. From cultural values to beauty standards, the accepted standards have been European ideals. As a result, other cultures that don’t fit the Eurocentric standards are left undesired. Amongst the repressed exists black culture. Due to the hatred towards the black community, black culture is stigmatized, including its religious practices. Haitian Voodoo comprises these negative connotations instilled by its colonizers. 

           Haiti’s embracement of their blackness has only broken Haitians apart and pictured them as cult members. This marginalization of Voodoo has centered European standards as the status quo, leaving black culture undesirable. Voodoo became stigmatized as satanic, which constitutes the name: dark magic. Describing such religious practices as dark due to its unconventional practices illuminated the central racism embedded in black culture and the misrepresentation of it.  

        As a social justice activist, I wanted to challenge my culture’s racist biases towards the misunderstood Haitians. I was curious to find whether these biases held true or if they were just another way to repress black people. I centered my study on Haitians who practice Voodoo to challenge fixed assumptions of the religion as well as my own. I wanted to explore what truly defines Voodoo, and how this stigma has impacted those who practice Voodoo.  

Entering the Realm of Haitian Mysticism 

         The misrepresentation of Haitian Voodoo diminished its beauty; Voodoo connects religion to ancestry. Voodoo originates from the tribal religions of West Africa that was brought to Haiti during the French colonial period in the 17th century. The word Voodoo derives from the word Vodu, meaning “spirit god.” Voodoo comprises of protection by spirits. The slaves created a new religion based on their shared beliefs, while still absorbing each tribes’ traditions and gods. Influences from the native Indian population in Haiti were also integrated during this formative period. For many enslaved Africans, “black religion was one way of fighting against the dehumanization of the slave system,”2 while also “creating relationships and possibilities that the system shut down.”3 These spiritual practices provided a vital means of mental and emotional resistance to bitter hardships. It became an escape from their tragic reality, and a spiritual sanctuary from their oppressors.  

        Although this religion became a harmless seeking for protection from their mistreatments, the tribal practice and traditions caused their captors to fear this religion enough to ban this religion and convert slaves into the Eurocentric Christian religion. As a result, voodoo became superimposed with Christianity and birthed modern-day voodoo. It entails both Christian and Afro-native saints, but simultaneously established the negative misrepresentation of Haitian voodoo. Now voodoo “remains important but hidden aspects of [black] culture. To greater or lesser degrees, what one believes about imagined voodoo is also what one believes about [black] people.”4 Because this religion has become stigmatized, many Haitians have largely abandoned voodoo and now practice Catholicism almost exclusively. 

Opening the Mystical Portal into Haitian Ancestry 

        “In one minute, take a right,” said Siri as I walked on the Brooklyn streets on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Although it was the perfect three o’clock weather to have anyone in a good mood, my nervousness made the stroll unpleasurable. As I searched for an Afro-Botanica in Gowanus, Brooklyn to observe Haitian voodoo culture, I was intimidated by the murmurs that consumed my mind: “Voodoo is the devil’s practice, stay away from it.”  

       Commercialized Gowanus felt familiar because of the large population of blacks and Latinos that filled the streets. As I walked, Siri reminded me that I passed my destination. I traced my trail according to the iPhone GPS and stopped at Fifth Avenue and Sixth Street. My face turned red with embarrassment as I looked around like a lost tourist. As I searched for a shady spot to cool off, I noticed a tiny, squished shop between a Colombian restaurant and an abandoned body shop. I stepped closer to realize that it was the Botanica I was looking for. “You’ve arrived at your destination,” yelled Siri.  

         The Botanica had a large, white sign at the top of the site that read “Botanica Universal” where the word, Botanica, stood out the most because of its big, bold font. It was right on top of a miniature chocolate and beige brownstone building. The tiny shop welcomed me as I was flourished by beautiful, bright-colored flowers that surrounded the entrance. This Instagram-worthy scenery with its diverse lineup of flowers made the beginning of this journey more positive than before.  

      As I pushed past the glass door, the employees welcomed me with an embrace of smiles. “Buenos dias,” they eagerly said as I walked inside. I responded with a smile to show my appreciation of their kindness. The few that worked there were people of color with fluency in Spanish. It was like I never left my neighborhood. They gave every customer the devoted attention that the customers desired. They all appeared happy as customers asked them questions about their religious cultures. Their specific, intellectual responses illuminated the employees’ proudness to brag about the beauty in these religions. It was beautiful to see this religion bribing people together.  

      The shop’s therapeutic aura also highlighted the welcoming energy that was shown through the employees. The area’s rich smells of soothing lavender incense hugged the tight space and the customers that visited. The musty smell from outside’s weather was almost entirely masked by the space’s strong scents of flowers and spices that kissed my nose. With no distracting music, the Botanica’s white noise further distressed the space for the unpleased and intimidated customers like me. I was finally comfortable enough to enjoy my experience around this shop.  

      The shop’s walls were occupied with long, wooden shelves packed with different elements from different religions. The packed walls were a lot to look at, that I almost got a headache just quickly glancing around. Almost every shelf was labeled according to the religion it represented, where each had significant materials pertaining to its religion. The compact space seemed smaller with the diverse items that filled its space, but overwhelming by the mixture of elements that decorated the shop. There are more Afro-religions in the world than I presumed. I noticed that many religions represented practices of healing and protection through its fragile, ceramic statues of fallen angels and pastel, protecting crystals. Although each shelf was different from the other, they embodied the same significance to its practices. From its spiritual warriors to protecting elements, these Afro-religions are meant to guard away evil, not invite them.  

         The mix of religions and the tremendous amounts of supplies overwhelmed anyone who looked around. Now it makes sense why employees were bombarded with questions every ten minutes. It became my turn to ask around for the Voodoo section. I could imagine all the deeming looks, confused expressions, and silent judgement I would receive as I mentioned the word voodoo. Instead, the employee eagerly smiled as I asked about the Haitian religion. Wow, what a relief! The dark-skinned, timid lady led me to a secluded corner isolated from the crowd at the front of the shop. I was disappointed that the voodoo section was as secluded as Haiti once was. The voodoo section appeared the least popular for customers as I was the only one near it in the shop’s busiest day of the week. It saddened me to see the prejudice ingrained amongst people of color. Even in an inclusive setting like this Botanica, the undesirability of black aspects haunts the welcoming space.             

        The voodoo section had wide range of ceramic novelties from black saints and warriors to protectors of death. There was even a Grimm Reaper figure that exerted a chilling energy when I looked at it. The inclusivity of voodoo culture was represented through the religion’s novelties that accurately represented blackness. The figures had curled black hair, dark complexions, and colorful clothing that reflected the African culture. I loved the accurate representation this religion highlighted through the statues. Some figures appeared smiling, exerting a warmth not usually portrayed in this Haitian religion. Unlike the rest of the shop, this corner was the most compressed and limited because of its undesirability. The harsh reality was that voodoo was as undesirable to blacks as it was to its colonizers. Surprisingly, the voodoo section highlighted a warmth and security that I did not initially experience throughout the shop’s other religious sections. 

        Although the “universal” Botanica had a limited Voodoo section with an empty crowd, its representing materials highlighted the positivity of Voodoo. Even if this religious section was the least desirable, its healing energy and protective aura personally outshined them all. Through the beauty of its pretty, black saints and strong, intimidating warrior figures, I became skeptic about my culture’s biases. Voodoo became an uplifting sanctuary for Haitians and its Afro-descendants through my eyes. 

Meeting the Magical Makers 

          A few weeks later, I came back to the same Botanica to discover the truth about voodoo by its owner. As I nervously walked in, I noticed a charming, joyful women. The room smiled back as this beautiful, dark woman walked towards me. She gave me a warm embrace that felt familiar. We exchanged smiles before she said a word; her smile was as illuminating as the lunar poster behind her that read spirits of the moon in French. “Allez,” she said as she walked over to a round table with angel statues.   

     “Bonjour,” she exclaimed before telling me that her name was Naja. Naja is the indigenous word for Crescent moon. Her name reflected the cultural upbringing in her appearance. This Haitian-born priestess wore a flowy, colorful dress drawn with Afro-patterns, dark dreadlocks that hugged her temple, and had spiritual stone necklaces wrapped around her neck for “protection from my holy ancestors.” The sunlight that pierced through the glass window kissed her chocolate skin as she started the conversation. She told me about the first time she realized Voodoo was “home, and not hell.” 

     Naja fell in love with her culture at her mother’s healing ceremony. She can still smell the aura of her home through this vivid memory. She remembers it like a dream: beautiful black women dancing around in light, white linens that jumped along with their swift moves. The white they’d wear symbolized safety, and the step dances that moved to the African drum beats emphasized their connection to their motherland. These memories hit close to home. It was like she was describing my culture’s traditional festivities. To this Voodoo priestess, these rituals that others saw as satanic were “a supernatural portal to bring me closer to my ancestors.”  

        I asked Naja about her motherland as she praised Haitian culture. She feels an unreal bond to Haiti even though she hasn’t visited her island since childhood. I curiously asked: “what’s special about Haiti?” She eagerly responded with a comparison between her motherland and its national religion. Naja explained that Haiti and Voodoo are underdogs.   

      Because Haiti is stereotyped as the home for evil, Naja believed Haiti was misunderstood like its religion. Naja started passionately preaching about her country with hurt in her voice and despair in her glassy, watery eyes. “It’s not fair that blacks are evil because we embrace the culture that our colonizers tried to strip away.” I consoled her with warm hugs and bright smiles as we went deeper into the tragic detriments that Haiti currently suffers. I was sad to witness the same pain in Naja that I had seen in my black friends before. Naja added that “the real evil entity here isn’t us, but the EUROPEANS that we emancipated from!”  

       Naja told me that Haiti is a surreal dream. Her beautiful descriptions of the mystical subculture attracted me. Her island embodies the resistance and persistence of their repressed roots through its mystical traditions and Afro-native roots. Like the misunderstood Haiti, Voodoo highlights black resistance through the embracing of its roots. Haitian Voodoo is a mystical sanctuary that protects from evil, not invite it in.   

       Like Naja, the Haitian-American native, Jude, believed Voodoo was established as a protecting sanctuary. However, he believes that Voodoo progressively became an evil concept. Jude expressed the complexities of Haitian Voodoo: “it entails both the supernatural world and our own reality.” Voodoo embodies both the supernatural spirits and the angels of the heavens, but one can overshadow the other depending on how it’s used. I was disappointed to learn that this beautiful religion had its dark side. Jude explained that although he never visited Haiti, his family kept him close to his roots; Voodoo was as much alive to Jude as to any proud Haitian. Unfortunately, his family progressively embraced the darker side of Voodoo. Jude’s family embraced the evil side of Voodoo that the rest of the world emphasized. He said, disappointedly: “this was not the Haiti I stood for.”  

          Jude had a positive outlook on Voodoo as much as he had on his broken-down island. He explained that Voodoo reflected the repression and pain blacks dealt with for centuries, and the resistance this religion created for them. Although Jude believed Haitian Voodoo embodied the black movement, he witnessed the evil within Haitian culture. Through the animal sacrifices and other immoralities, Voodoo transformed into a fear. Jude believed that Voodoo was essential to his Haitian roots but said that “I will never go back to it after the nightmares I’ve witnessed!” 

         Although Haitian Voodoo was established for protection, Voodoo is also used for revenge. Through revengeful practices, immoral acts are born like animal sacrifices and the summoning of evil entities. As a result, Jude ended ties with Voodoo once he turned 18 and switched to Catholicism. I was shocked that Jude followed the inverse practices from his culture. He chose Catholicism because its religious culture is partly intertwined into Haitian Voodoo. He acknowledges that while Catholicism is a Eurocentric religion that is the opposite of Haitian culture, some of the saints and gods worshipped in Voodoo were from Catholic figures. Jude still felt “a connection to my Haiti through this religion because I had prayed to these gods before while practicing voodoo.” Catholicism became the spiritual sanctuary that voodoo had once been to Jude.  

      Voodoo became a lingering past memory to Jude because it is still the aspect that connects him to his culture. While Jude believes voodoo can be a positive home to embrace Haitian blackness, this religion has become complicated due to its evil underlying components. “I can’t say voodoo is evil, but I can’t say part of its long-held stigmas aren’t true.”  

      Ultimately, voodoo is far more complex than pure evil or cultural resistance as seen through the dueling stories of Naja and Jude. The Haitian religion remains a connection to its ancestral roots and a reminder of black power, while unfortunately reflecting an undesirable underworld that other Haitians unfortunately embrace. Haitian voodoo is both an ancestral portal yet, a powerful fear. 

Behind the Scenes of the Interview 

Naja: a Haitian-born priestess with chocolate brown, sun-kissed skin. Her eyes matched her dark complexion, and her bright smile radiated her presence.  

• Were you born in Haiti or are you Haitian-American? 

“Oui, I was born in Haiti but came a few years before the terrible earthquake that has left the island devasted. I came here when I was about the same as you right now. You’re 19, right?” 

• Are you in-touch with your Haitian culture? 

“Of course! I was born in Haiti, I feel a connection that can never leave, even if I leave Haiti. It’s like the bond you still have with your mother; it can never break even if you’d separate. Well, Haiti is like my second mother, the motherland.” 

• What does Voodoo mean to you? 

“Everyone says it’s not good, but it’s the one thing that connects me to Haiti, that brings me closer to my ancestors, to the beautiful generations I never got to meet… my deceased family, my spiritual loved-ones. Voodoo is our meeting spot. It was meant to bring us together.” 

“That’s just… beautiful when something can connect you to culture THAT much, it’s amazing to experience. In that way, would you say you’ve grown closer to your culture through Voodoo?” 

“Ya! The first time I witnessed the beauty in our isolated culture was through a Voodoo ritual my mother had practiced with our family at home. It was beautiful to see religion come together with our Africanity, and our blackness. It was at that moment I saw our culture in a different light… it…. was so, what’s the word?… surreal! A surreal dream.” 

The Truth About Haitian Voodoo 

           Uncovering the deeper truth of Haitian voodoo was a bittersweet experience. While this religion can be beautiful, it also has its ugly side like anything else. It was both shocking and disappointing to find out that this religious aspect of Haitian culture was being used for malicious motives as well. This negativity was apparent through my scouting experience for my interview; it took months to find someone who practiced the religion and saw it in a positive light. Most Haitians I asked feared even saying the word Voodoo. I did not realize the significant negative connotations this religion had until I saw the misrepresentation through its own people. After the amount of bad looks I got from Haitians for even asking about the religion, the disconnection from a culture that negative misrepresentations create became clear. Even Haitians themselves see Voodoo as evil as its white colonizers pictured it. 

         However, I appreciate finding the truth of this misrepresented black religion. This study has highlighted the beauty within the misunderstood. Through the misrepresentation of Voodoo, I have learned that while voodoo has its complexities, it is like any other religion: a spiritual sanctuary. It is used to protect and heal like any other, and its home to those who believe in it. Uncovering the complicated truth of this study has been satisfying to know that I was able to dismantle the stigmas of this repressed religion. Although this study has its ugly side, I presented the beauty that exists even within dark magic. 

References 

Dubois, Laurent. (2001). Vodou and History. Comparative Studies in Society and History, gggvol. 43. www.jstor.org/stable/2696623.  

Mcgee, Adam M. (2012). Haitian Vodou and Voodoo: Imagined Religion and Popular Culture. Studies in gggReligion/Sciences Religieuses, vol. 41, no. 2.  

Winn, Peter. (2006). A Question of Color in Americas: The Changing Face of Latin America and the Caribbean.