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Bewitching the Blame: the Crucible's Legacy of Appropriation and Bewitching the Blame: the Crucible's Legacy of Appropriation and
Sexual Shame in Popular Culture Sexual Shame in Popular Culture
Hope Kristine Morris
Illinois State University
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BEWITCHING THE BLAME: THE CRUCIBLE’S LEGACY
OF APPROPRIATION AND SEXUAL SHAME
IN POPULAR CULTURE
HOPE MORRIS
61 Pages
In The Crucible Arthur Miller uses tropes of female characters, Abigail and Tituba, to tell
a story of male heroism. In the process, he dismisses and appropriates the true stories of women
who suffered during the Salem witch trials for his own political and personal gain. In this thesis,
I argue that Miller’s appropriation and sexualization of women continues into contemporary
popular culture depictions of the Salem witch trials including the movie adaptation of The
Crucible and the television shows Salem and American Horror Story: Coven. These depictions
appropriate and sexualize women’s stories in order to fulfill the male gaze. This thesis also
explores how three contemporary women playwrights are writing new plays that address the
sexism of Arthur Miller, show how The Crucible perpetuates abuse, and encourage women to
confront sexism by creating their own works about the Salem trials. These plays are Abigail by
Sarah Tuft, John Proctor is the Villain by Kimberly Belflower, and Becky Nurse of Salem by
Sarah Ruhl. Finally, I argue that in order to have a true feminist redemption of the Salem witch
trials in popular culture, there must be more creative and scholarly analysis of Tituba, a woman
of color who has been most silenced in these depictions.
KEYWORDS: Abigail Williams, Arthur Miller, male gaze, Salem Witch Trials, The Crucible,
Tituba
BEWITCHING THE BLAME: THE CRUCIBLE’S LEGACY OF
APPROPRIATION AND SEXUAL SHAME
IN POPULAR CULTURE
HOPE MORRIS
A Thesis Submitted in Partial
Fulfillment of the Requirements
for the Degree of
MASTER OF SCIENCE
School of Theatre and Dance
ILLINOIS STATE UNIVERSITY
2021
© 2021 Hope Morris
BEWITCHING THE BLAME: THE CRUCIBLE’S LEGACY OF
APPROPRIATION AND SEXUAL SHAME
IN POPULAR CULTURE
HOPE MORRIS
COMMITTEE MEMBERS:
Ann Haugo, Chair
Kee-Yoon Nahm
Kyle Ciani
i
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to Dr. Ann Haugo, Dr. Kee-Yoon Nahm, and Dr. Kyle Ciani for their
continued feedback and support. Thank you to Cheyenne Flores, Breeze Pollard, Hannah
Sellmyer, Col Connelly, Ari Garcia, Kristi Morris, and anyone else who I have swindled into
reading chapters and offering feedback. Thank you to Sarah Ruhl for allowing me to read and
analyze Becky Nurse of Salem. Thank you to Molly Briggs-Yonke and Kelsey Fisher-Waits for
helping me find the plays, Abigail and John Proctor is the Villain. Thank you to Aaron Manke
who created the podcast, Unobscured, which first inspired my interest in the Salem witch trials.
Thank you to everyone else who listened to me cry over this project, who listened to be ramble
about the “a-ha!” moments, and who told me not to give up when I really thought I might.
H.M.
ii
CONTENTS
Page
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER I: MILLER’S MISREPRESENTATIONS OF THE WOMEN OF THE
TRIALS
CHAPTER II: BLAMING FEMALE SEXUALITY AND BLACK MAGIC
Blaming Female Sexuality
Blaming Black Magic
CHAPTER III: A FEMINIST RESPONSE
CONCLUSION
WORKS CITED
i
ii
1
10
25
25
34
40
55
59
1
INTRODUCTION
In colonial America, at least thirty-three people were executed for witchcraft. Twenty-
five of these people died during the infamous witch trials of Salem, Massachusetts. To
summarize the trials as explained by Salem scholar Mary Beth Norton in her book In the Devil’s
Snare and Stacy Schiff in her book The Witches: Salem, 1692, in the cold winter of early 1692,
the household of Reverend Parris of Salem village was disturbed by the strange behavior of his
nine-year-old daughter, Betty, and his eleven-year-old niece, Abigail Williams. Another child,
Ann Putnam, began to behave the same way. The girls appeared to be bewitched as they barked
like dogs, flung themselves across rooms, and had seizure-like fits. Betty, Abigail, and Ann
named their bewitchers: Tituba, an enslaved Indigenous woman of the Parris household, and two
impoverished local women, Sarah Good and Sarah Osbourne. In response to the accusation,
Tituba spun an elaborate confession where she spoke of the devil’s great force that caused her to
bewitch the children. After some painful persuasion, she began to name other cohorts of the
devil. Soon many women and girls (and some men) of Salem caught on and began to accuse their
neighbors, enemies, and even their own families. Schiff explains the panic in these words: “The
youngest of the witches was five, the eldest nearly eighty. A daughter accused her mother, who
in turn accused her mother, who accused a neighbor and minister. A wife and daughter
denounced their husband and father. Husbands implicated wives; nephews their aunts; sons-in-
law their mothers-in-law; siblings each other. Only fathers and sons weathered the crisis
unscathed” (4).
There is speculation over what truly caused this witch craze. Was it the desire for
property? Was it economic greed? Was it an attempt to rid Salem of its less desirable citizens?
Scholars have dedicated entire books in an attempt to explain the hysteria of the trials. Schiff
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presents a list of many common theories: “generational, sexual, economic, ecclesiastical, and
class tensions; regional hostilities imported from England; food poisoning; a hothouse religion in
a cold climate; teenage hysteria; fraud, taxes, conspiracy; political instability; trauma induced by
Indian attacks; and to witchcraft itself, among the most reasonable theories” (4-5). Regardless of
intention, Salem’s afflicted community members accused men, women, and children, both old
and young of the devil’s work, leading to the execution of many.
This tragedy not only devastated an entire community; the massacre of supposed
witches (mostly women) contributed to the dominance of a religious patriarchy in early
American law. Women could not read, practice medicine, run businesses, own land, be
midwives, marry again, or even be poor without being accused of being under the devil’s
influence. The social systems supported by the Puritanical accusations towards women still have
effects today, as Kristin J. Sollee explains in her book Witches, Sluts, Feminists: Conjuring the
Sex Positive. She quotes the Sabbat Cycle mission statement, saying, “Nearly four hundred years
after the first execution of the American ‘witch,’ many in our nation still call for the
establishment of an American theocracy and a return to the puritanical delusions of old (47).”
The witch trials were a grave tragedy primarily against women, and the theocratic oppression
that they established continues to affect the way women’s autonomy is revoked in contemporary
America specifically through anti-abortion legislation, lack of representation in government, and
refusal to believe women. The witch trials deserve to be and need to be remembered and
represented. However, in popular culture today, many representations of the Salem witch trials
are tempered through a misogynistic lens that perpetuates abuse of women.
The most influential representation of the Salem witch trials in the 20th century is
Arthur Miller’s play The Crucible which was written and first performed in 1953 during the Red
3
Scare in the United States. The play begins with Reverend Parris stumbling upon a group of
young girls, including his daughter and niece, dancing in the woods (Miller 10). To protect
herself, his niece, Abigail, accuses Tituba of bewitching them, crying, “She made me do it! She
made Betty do it...She makes me drink blood!” (43). Tituba, in fear of her life, confesses to
witchcraft: “No, no, don’t hang Tituba! I tell him I don’t desire to work for him, sir” (44). Soon
Tituba and the young girls in the town begin to name witches. Abigail, who is “seventeen...a
strikingly beautiful girl...with an endless capacity for dissembling” in Miller’s play, lusts after
John Proctor, her previous employer (8-9). When he rejects her out of loyalty to his wife, Abigail
names Goody Proctor in the courtroom as a witch. In an attempt to save his wife through
confession of his sexual sins, John Proctor himself is convicted of witchcraft and hanged.
This play creates fictional relationships in a historical setting. Yet The Crucible
presents itself as a factual account of the events of Salem by using real names and details of the
Salem witch trials. However, Miller’s interpretation strays far from the truth in many crucial
ways. Miller admits in “A Note on the Historical Accuracy of this Play,” that the play is not
entirely factual. He says, “This play is not history in the sense in which the word is used by the
academic historian” (Miller 2). To him, history is found in the essence of the story as he
perceives it, as I will discuss further in chapter one. This is because he is appropriating the story
for his own political agenda.
According to the book Communists, Cowboys, and Queers by David Savran, Miller
wrote The Crucible as an allegorical comparison of the Salem witch trials and the era of
McCarthyism in the mid-twentieth century. Savran calls the play Miller’s “heroic indictment of
McCarthyism” (21). The Crucible aims to criticize Miller’s the harsh practices of the 1950s US
government, and while the play achieves his purpose of a political narrative, Miller sacrifices the
4
narratives of the truly oppressed women of Salem. Real women and girls who lived and died in
the midst of this tragedy are forgotten, demonized, and objectified to achieve Miller’s personal
agenda of political resistance. In the process, two female characters are highly misrepresented:
Abigail Williams, the accuser, and Tituba, the accused. While the inaccuracies of the portrayal
are useful for creating a compelling plot, the misogynistic and xenophobic lens they create has
affected the way the trials are perceived today. My intent in this paper is not to criticize Miller’s
lack of historical accuracy, but to argue that the changes he made have significant effects on the
way sexuality and otherness are perceived surrounding the trials. There are a variety of other
influential plays and movies in American culture that represent the trials, however, I have chosen
to center my research on The Crucible for not only its widespread popular appeal but for its role
in the English and theatre classrooms as educational material. Many important figures in the
trials are misrepresented in The Crucible, and many are entirely left out. To examine the
individual history of each of these figures is an admirable goal, but the limitations of this project
have led me to focus on two of the characters who have the most existing scholarship
surrounding their roles in The Crucible: Abigail Williams and Tituba Indian.
The Crucible, the most popular cultural depiction of the Salem witch trials, does not
appropriately address the patriarchal impact on the women involved as both accusers and
accused. The Crucible centers the story around a male protagonist and both sexualizes and
villainizes the persecuted women and girls of Salem’s society. Feminist scholars have previously
analyzed the plays in favor of Miller’s interpretation of the female characters. In the book,
Feminist Rereadings of Modern American Drama, June Schlueter argues that Miller’s
representation of Abigail Williams empowers her politically and sexually. Schlueter claims that
“by challenging the apparently decent men and women of Salem, the young women, led by
5
knowing Abigail, act to scourge hypocrisy, punish its practitioners, and exact revenge for their
socially determined impotence” (123). She understands Abigail’s character as one of agency and
power. However, I argue that Miller’s depiction of Abigail revokes the power of truthful
representation. True empowerment comes from redeeming the female truth of the oppressive
trials. By putting Abigail in a position of power, Miller places the blame of the trials on corrupt
female sexuality. More feminist scholarship surrounding The Crucible is needed to address the
misrepresentation of the real women in Miller’s play. In the third chapter of my thesis, I will
explore three feminist plays that are doing just this.
The New England witch trials of the late seventeenth century contributed to women’s
role as the victim of a patriarchal society. According to Sollee in her book, Witches, Sluts,
Feminists: Conjuring the Sex Positive, as the feminist movement has grown in history,
specifically in the 1960s, the history of the witch trials has been reclaimed and used as a symbol
to address the contemporary persecution of women based on economic independence and sexual
shame. She says, “By the feminist explosion of the 1960s, the time was ripe for the witch to be
revived and regaled as a political symbol” (Sollee 52). Sollee explains that witchcraft has been
reclaimed by women throughout the U.S. as a way to get in touch with the feminine power that
was stripped from them in the making of American society. She expands, “Many view the witch
as the embodiment of a powerful femininity rooted in the earth, which transcends patriarchal
influence” (Sollee 19). This growing interest in what I will term, witch feminism, continues to
redeem the narrative of the Salem witch trials. However, interpretations of the women of Salem
as sexual deviants and barbarous foreigners still overwhelm the popular culture surrounding the
trials as I will explore in the second chapter of this thesis. To accurately embrace the ancestry of
the witchy woman in American society, the true stories of suffering and manipulation endured by
6
the women of Salem must be understood and represented, especially in modern media. Feminist
artists should continue to create new works that represent these women.
This understanding is difficult to come by in the current education surrounding the
Salem witch trials. Sollee says, “Ask anyone educated in America about Salem, and they’re
likely to come up with a salacious tidbit about that eventful year,” but after a survey of a diverse
group of Americans, she concludes that “though everyone was familiar with the brouhaha,
misinformation abounded” (33). Much of the education concerning the trials takes places in the
literature class while reading The Crucible. The Crucible is a staple in American theatre thus it is
widely read by young people in English and theatre classes. While the play offers a pathway to
literary analysis, it creates misconceptions about the real historic events. The play accomplishes
Miller’s purpose of scorning McCarthyism during the Red Scare, but also creates fictional
precedents for real events in American history, specifically events that still impact women today.
The Salem witch trials added to an already boiling colonial hatred of women’s economic and
sexual freedoms. The effects of this hatred and the massacre that came with it have carried a
legacy of shame into present society that impacts women and lingers in popular culture.
This form of patriarchal shame and hatred is not unique to North America, however.
The history of witch trials in Western culture is both endlessly fascinating and horrific.
According to Witch Craze: A New History of the European Witch Hunts by Anne Barstow, it is
estimated that there are over 50,000 recorded executions during the age of the witch hunt in
Europe, much more than in North America (22). Salem’s witch hunt seems small in comparison.
While there are many compelling examples of misrepresentation concerning the European witch
trials, to write about them all would take a much larger thesis. For this reason and for its direct
impact on American culture, which I understand more familiarly, I focus my research on the
7
trials within the New England colonies in the seventeenth century, more specifically, the Salem
trials of 1692.
Representations of Salem are still popping up in film, plays, literature, and television
shows. Many contain storylines, characters, and themes from Arthur Miller’s play. The specific
examples I will be addressing in chapter two are the 1996 film version of The Crucible with
Daniel Day Lewis and Winona Ryder and the television shows Salem and American Horror
Story: Coven. In the 1996 movie, Abigail Williams is turned into a manipulative and sexual
being that creates the conflict of Salem to quench her sensual desires. Likewise, Tituba becomes
a voodoo witch woman who provokes the children into demonology. In the television show
Salem, a woman’s greed and sexuality (though not Abigail Williams) is centered as the cause of
the witch scare. Additionally, the character of Tituba becomes the guilty party by forcefully
bewitching the main character and making her a powerful companion of the devil. Finally, the
anthology television show, American Horror Story: Coven, claims that there are two sects of
witches: the descendants of Salem and the descendants of Tituba. The two parties are at war with
one another and the most powerful descendants of Tituba, all Black, perform terrifying and
harmful voodoo on their Salem counterpart, all white. In each of these adaptations, Arthur
Miller’s depictions of Abigail and Tituba are used to perpetuate inaccurate tropes and further
misrepresent the real women of Salem in a misogynistic and xenophobic light. These tropes
appeal to the male gaze and reveal the continued male appropriation of women’s stories.
Using Sollee’s concepts of feminism, I will point out cultural misrepresentations of
these characters and conjecture the reasons for them. I will use the feminist lens to examine how
the witch trials contributed to a dominant patriarchal American culture, and how accounts with
women as the sexual villains perpetuate this oppressive culture. Along with this, I will use an
8
intersectional approach to analyze Tituba’s role as an “other” who takes the blame for the trials
as a Black woman yet wields none of the power of witchcraft. The primary purpose of these
analyses is to examine The Crucible’s effect on the perception of female sexuality and “foreign”
cultural practices and to emphasize the modern importance of accurately retelling the lives of the
oppressed women of Salem, both the accuser and the accused. In my final chapter, I will
introduce three newly written plays, Abigail by Sarah Tuft, John Proctor is the Villain by
Kimberly Belflower, and Becky Nurse of Salem by Sarah Ruhl, that respond to Miller’s work by
calling out his misogyny and appropriation, recognizing the abuse The Crucible perpetuates, and
creating a redemptive frame for the women of Salem and today.
There is plenty of discourse about The Crucible, but most analysis focuses on the male
protagonist, John Proctor. For example, in Communists, Cowboys, and Queers, the male author
focuses exclusively on the analysis of masculinity in Miller’s play. Abigail’s lust is considered
an attack on this masculine power. The majority of scholarly discussion about the play puts little
value in recovering the reputation of the female characters that Miller distorts, but rather focuses
on Abigail Williams and Tituba as fictional catalysts for the play’s events. The play turns two
victimized women into tropes: the vengeful mistress and the voodoo practicing enslaved African
woman. The blame of the tragic witch trials becomes associated with female sexuality and
foreign culture. My search for scholarship about Abigail and Tituba has led me to sources
addressing the historical inaccuracies including Victoria Pope’s article for the U.S. News and
World Report, “Myth v. Reality.” However, most of the sources, including video materials made
for educational purposes, interpret the two women as the instigators of the trials rather than
victims of oppressive circumstances. The sources that have crafted my understanding of the trials
themselves are The Witches by Stacy Schiff, the history channel documentary, Salem Witch
9
Trials, the podcast Unobscured by Aaron Manke, In the Devil’s Snare by Mary Beth Norton,
Devil in the Shape of a Woman by Carol F. Karlsen, and Records of Salem witchcraft, copied
from original documents. These sources each offer a unique perspective on the comprehensive
history of the Salem trials.
The Crucible offers insight into Puritanism as well as McCarthyism. However, in the
process of creating these perspectives, Miller disparages the true oppression suffered by the
women of Salem and appropriates it for his own political and personal gain. The trials become a
man’s game, where women are the villains, and the stories of many key female players in the
trials are forgotten or misremembered. Abigail Williams and Tituba Indian are two of these
women whose truths have been skewed and sacrificed in order to achieve Miller’s narrative and
agenda. These tropes affect popular culture’s depictions of Salem still today. In becoming aware
of current popular culture misunderstandings and redeeming the truth of these women, modern
feminists can better understand the circumstances that solidified the patriarchal structure of
America’s society from a young age and create new works that elevate the silenced stories.
10
CHAPTER I: MILLER’S MISREPRESENTATIONS OF THE WOMEN OF THE TRIALS
Arthur Miller’s play The Crucible has become one of the foremost works of literature
about the Salem witch trials. It is often used in educational settings to discuss Puritanism and is
widely produced onstage in its original setting. The play was not written primarily as an
educational source about the trials, however. The play was intended to allegorically address the
harsh practices of McCarthyism during the Red Scare of Miller’s time. In this chapter, I will
examine how Miller appropriates history to accomplish his own personal and political goals. I
will specifically address the way women are treated in his story through examination of the
characters of Abigail and Tituba. I will illuminate how Miller’s demonization and sexualization
of these women functions as his plot device, his fulfillment of the male gaze, and his personal
valorization.
This appropriation of women’s stories paints Miller as the overcomer and hero of the Red
Scare. In Communists, Cowboys, and Queers, David Savran explains Miller’s leftist role in the
“witch-hunt” against communism and calls The Crucible “his [Miller’s] heroic indictment of
McCarthyism, in 1953” (20-21). Miller, who was accused of being a communist during the Red
Scare, places himself as the tortured hero of the Red Scare through the allegory of John Proctor
on trial. Though The Crucible is arguably one of the greatest American plays--Miller is certainly
regarded as one of the greatest American playwrights--and does accomplish its goal of speaking
to Miller’s contemporary issues, the true history and real lives involved in one of early
America’s painful atrocities are objectified in achieving this. This begs the question: when does
allegory become appropriation? Appropriation is defined by the Cambridge Dictionary in two
ways, both of which I believe apply here, “the act of taking something for your own use, usually
11
without permission” and “the act of taking something such as an idea, custom, or style from
a group or culture that you are not a member of and using it yourself” (Cambridge Dictionary),
Alternatively, an allegory is defined as “a story, play, poem, picture, or other work in which the
characters and events represent particular qualities or ideas that relate to morals, religion, or
politics” (Cambridge Dictionary). While the events in The Crucible do represent the political
ideas of Miller, they are events and ideas taken from real people and their trauma. These real
people, particularly the women affected by the trials, are used as Miller’s pawns for political
commentary rather than studied and respected as a crucial part of history. Beyond this, Miller
takes many liberties to make the Salem Witch Trials fit into his allegorical framework.
While Miller never claims that The Crucible is completely factual, he does make a few
major claims to justify his decision to rewrite Salem’s story. First, he claims that the information
needed to make the play completely accurate does not exist: “As for the characters of the
persons, little is known about most of them” (Miller 2). This note makes the assertion that
thorough records do not exist--or at least not enough to assist in telling the story. However,
records have existed since the trials about what occurred, including detailed transcripts of the
court proceedings, diary entries of the prominent men in Salem, and letters written by the women
and accused. Many authors have used those to craft the story of Salem. Acknowledging the
existence of some sources, Miller reassures readers that he is as accurate as possible and uses his
imagination to fill in the gaps, saying, “I believe that the reader will discover here the essential
nature of one of the strangest and most awful chapters in human history. The fate of each
character is exactly that of his historical model, and there is no one in the drama who did not play
a similar--and in some cases exactly the same--role in history” (2). Miller justifies warping the
facts by asserting that his play captures the essence of the truth, which is more real than
12
verifiable evidence. In Making of Salem: The Witch Trials in History, Fiction, and Tourism,
Robin DeRosa discusses this authorial power. She states, “For although this play is fiction, it
(and not “real history”) contains the ‘essential nature of what happened.’ In other words, Miller
tries both to offer a disclaimer about the imaginative aspects of his work, and to claim a higher
level of veracity for the play’s authority” (DeRosa 133). Miller grants himself authority to
reshape history by raising the importance of “dramatic purposes” (Miller 2). However, it is
important to acknowledge that access to these historical sources may have been limited when
Miller was writing the play, and the sources specifically written by women may have not been
deemed significant or worthy of study at the time.
While the changes Miller made may be acceptable to apply to the male characters in the
play, I argue they greatly misrepresent the women. Miller starts his notes with helpful factual
evidence about Salem and its inhabitants to aid the reader. The notes seem to be his way of
differentiating fact and fiction in the play. He writes that his play is truthful “except as indicated
in the commentary I have written for this text” (Miller 2). He gives evidence such as: “At the
time of these events Parris was in his middle forties” and other very basic facts (Miller 3).
However, this transforms when he begins his descriptions of Abigail Williams and John Proctor.
No longer are the notes factual materials to read along with the play; instead, they are his
personal opinions and choices about the characters. He says of John Proctor, “the steady manner
he displays does not spring from an untroubled soul. He is a sinner” (Miller 20). Before he
begins to assert his opinions, Miller has made himself a reliable source through his notes.
Because of this, his change to fictional creation is so subtle that it is easy to mistake it for truth.
Though Miller has not claimed to be entirely factual, he has set a precedent for truth. When he
breaks this precedent, he forces the reader into a false view of Abigail, one that identifies her as a
13
sexual temptress and of Tituba, one that claims she is equipped with exotic powers. While it may
seem innocent enough to change a few historical details to create a work of fiction, the effects of
Miller’s depiction of the Salem witch trials have been lasting. Because of his presentation of the
details, popular culture has continued to adopt the notion that the trials began because of Abigail
and Tituba.
To any Salem scholar or student, the most obvious factual slip of Miller’s play centers
around Abigail Williams, the niece of Salem’s reverend and one of the first afflicted persons in
Salem. In Miller’s play, Abigail Williams is introduced as a seventeen-year-old woman and
described as “a strikingly beautiful girl, an orphan, with an endless capacity for dissembling”
(Miller 9). All sources from the trials indicate that Abigail Williams was actually eleven years
old, hardly more than a child, though she likely carried many adult responsibilities even at the
early age of eleven (Schiff ix). It is possible that Miller conflated Abigail with another accuser,
seventeen-year-old Mercy Lewis, who was orphaned during Wabanaki attacks in the King
Philip's War (Norton 49). Like Abigail, Mercy also was one of the key accusers of Elizabeth
Proctor during the trials. However, in The Crucible, Mercy herself is portrayed as a character in
the play as one of the accusers. Regardless of his reasoning, the age difference of Abigail, as well
as the sultry description, immediately calls into question Miller’s driving point to the plot of The
Crucible, the affair between Abigail Williams and John Proctor.
Sources indicate that John Proctor was in his sixties at the time of the trials (Schiff xii).
In Miller’s text John Proctor is explicitly described as a “farmer in his middle thirties...powerful
of body, even-tempered, and not easily led...In Proctor’s presence a fool felt his foolishness
instantly” (Miller 20). Not only has the age been changed to justify the affair, but the description
also inserts Miller’s personal characterization of Proctor that has no historical proof backing it.
14
In the article “The Crucible of History,” William J. McGill Jr. argues that the affair is a
possibility. He says, “it is not implausible that an Abigail, even if only eleven, could develop a
romantic fixation on her employer. Furthermore, the likelihood that such a fixation might have
issued in a sexual relationship cannot be dismissed” (McGill 260). Yet even McGill
acknowledges that the change of Proctor’s age from sixty to thirty implicates a likelihood that
history does not. McGill’s argument shows that The Crucible’s legacy of misogyny has lived on
in scholarly criticism. Though the suspicion of Abigail and John Proctor’s affair is baseless,
McGill holds Miller’s words as a possibility where a young girl could have tempted a man into
sexual deviance.
Regardless, drawing a conclusion from these age differences, as well lack of historical
record, the affair between John Proctor and Abigail Williams most likely never happened. In her
book, The Devil in the Shape of a Woman, Carol F. Karlsen argues that Miller began this sexual
implication through The Crucible. She says, “the idea that the possessed were sexually
“promiscuous...stems in part from the popularity of Arthur Miller’s The Crucible….Miller
changed the age of Abigail Williams, from 11 to 17 and made sexual motives the basis of her
accusations” (Karlsen 344). While Abigail did accuse John Proctor and Goody Proctor of being
witches, her allegations probably had more to do with her uncle’s resentment of the Proctors than
with her sexual agenda or grudge. John Proctor, like many other prominent citizens in Salem, did
not support Parris’s ministry and believed him to be greedy and selfish. He refused to pay him in
firewood and denied his request to own the parsonage personally. Parris was likely resentful of
this and could very well have used his niece to exact revenge. Despite this knowledge, Miller’s
depiction of Abigail as a sex-hungry temptress with a “confidential, wicked air” and “endless
capacity for dissembling” places the blame for a major tragedy on her shoulders--which, in
15
reality, are the shoulders of an eleven-year-old orphan (Miller 342, 333).
In the article “Scapegoating Non-Conforming Identities: Witchcraft Hysteria in Arthur
Miller’s The Crucible and Caryl Churchill’s Vinegar Tom,” Tarih Kültür and Sanat Araştırmaları
Dergisi explain that Abigail “is described as the ultimate femme fatale with tempting physical
appearance” and “is denied a chance to explain her real motives behind her actions by the
author” (7). The femme fatale was a popular trope by the time Miller wrote the play. In an article
written for The Week by Scott Meslow, he argues that the first depiction of the femme fatale is
“Eve, the first woman, who ended up snaring a hapless guy named Adam...but the basic,
archetypal narrative of a woman tempting a man into his own downfall turns out to be a
culturally pervasive one... like Circe and Clytemnestra...like succubi and yuki-onna...like
Cleopatra, Lucrezia Borgia, and Mata Hari.” He goes on to explain that this iconic woman who
uses “her unapologetic sexuality as a kind of blunt cudgel against the male protagonist” gained
popular traction through Noir films of the early 20th century (Meslow). This misogynistic trope
has often been regarded as a thrilling plot device, which could easily indicate Miller’s decision to
depict Abigail in such a way. In some of his other works, like After the Fall, he depicts women
as these whorish characters. By portraying Abigail as a seductive villainess, Miller appeals to an
audience’s desire to “have it both ways, enjoying the vicarious, prurient sexuality while knowing
she'll eventually be punished for it” (Meslow). This theory leads me to argue that Miller adapted
Abigail’s character to create a crowd-pleasing plot and character trope. Unfortunately, this
decision disregards and disenfranchises the real women of Salem’s history. Likewise, it exploits
and demonizes female sexuality as the cause of the fall of not only Salem but of Miller’s political
climate as well.
Another major tweak to reality made by Miller is found in his depiction of Tituba, the
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woman enslaved by Salem’s reverend (Abigail’s uncle) and the first person to be accused of and
confess to witchcraft. According to Arthur Miller’s story, Reverend Samuel Parris “brought her
with him from Barbados” (8). Tituba’s descendancy is in reality widely debated. In original
transcripts of the trials, she is referred to as a “Tituba Indian,” “the Indyen woman,” “titibe an
Indian Woman,” suggesting that she was from a tribe indigenous to America (Norton 21). The
majority evidence supports this idea that she is of “Amerindian descent,” and Mary Beth Norton
argues in her book, In the Devil’s Snare, that “Tituba came from Florida or the Georgia Sea
Islands...almost certainly not born in New England...thus not of Wabanaki origin” (21). Though
Tituba was an Indigenous woman, she was likely Arawak, not of a tribe that citizens of Salem
were familiar with in their area. Despite many scholars arguing that she is likely of Arawak
descent, Tituba is almost always portrayed as a Black Caribbean or African woman in
documentaries, television shows, books, and even museums. Tituba was likely captured from the
Americas and brought to work on a plantation in Barbados. Because the number of enslaved
Amerindian people in Barbados was relatively small, it is possible for scholars to trace the
personal history of Tituba. Records trace the sale of a young enslaved Indian girl named
“Tattuba” to distant relations of Samuel Parris (Breslaw 22). Though there are no records
directly stating that this is the same woman, the rare nature of the name has led scholars to
assume it is the same Tituba. What is known for certain is that Parris, after a failed mercantile
career in Barbados, moved to Boston taking Tituba with him as his servant. After their arrival,
we know only the basics of Tituba's life--she was married to another servant of the Parris
household, John Indian. It is supposed by some scholars that she also had a daughter named
Violet, but there are no formal records of this.
I was surprised in my research to see how often the media claiming to be historically
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accurate depicted Tituba as Black. This depiction of Tituba as a Black woman has become
common due to Arthur Miller’s changes in The Crucible. In the article, “The Metamorphosis of
Tituba, or Why American Intellectuals Can't Tell an Indian Witch from a Negro” by Chadwick
Hansen, he argues that “the last vestige of Tituba's actual race withered away Arthur Miller's
play, The Crucible, leaving her a "slave." And in Miller Tituba's magic is blacker as well as her
race” (10). Norton says, “Every surviving piece of contemporary evidence identifies her as an
Indian. Later tradition transformed her into an African or half-African slave” (20). According to
Hansen’s statement, it is Miller who effectively erases her true identity. This change in ethnicity
may on the surface seem insignificant, but in light of the play, it makes her the prime target to
receive the blame of the trials. Tituba is considered an outsider, someone from a foreign land
bringing her culture’s dark magic with her. Unlike the “civilized” white protestants, Tituba,
portrayed as a Black woman, is expected to know magic and voodoo. In the introduction to her
book, Tituba, Reluctant Witch of Salem, Elaine Breslaw states, “There is no reference anywhere
in the seventeenth-century documents to Tituba as an African or as someone of an African
background. Like the mythology of Tituba as a voodoo priestess, there is no indication in the
extant records that either Tituba or her husband had African ancestry” (xxi). Why did Miller
choose to depict Tituba as a Black woman rather than Indigenous? Breslaw argues that this
change began before Miller stating, “The gradual metamorphosis of Tituba from an Indian to an
African since the nineteenth century is an unfortunate mistake based on embellishment,
imagination, and a tinge of racial bias” (xxi). I suggest that it is more than a tinge. I conjecture
that Miller’s perpetuation these myths to appeal to preconceived notions of Blackness and
witchcraft.
One effect of Miller’s depiction of Tituba as Black is to appeal to the familiarity of the
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popular perception of enslaved Black women in his time period. A well-known depiction of an
Black enslaved woman that has permeated American culture is the “mammy” figure--an
offensive imagining of the Black nursemaid in the Old South who dotes upon her master’s
children. This iconic character can be found anywhere from dishware to film, and even
museums. A perplexing reality is that even the Salem Witch Museum in today’s Salem, MA has
a wax figure portraying Tituba as Black and in stereotypical mammy garb. In her article,
“Reproducing Witchcraft: Thou Shalt Not Perform a Witch to Live,” V.K. Preston describes this
effigy, “The wax museum’s staging of Tituba, presenting the most notorious character of the
Salem trials, is a particularly overt example of linking contemporary discourse on race and labor
through scenes of alleged witchcraft. The aproned and corseted Tituba effigy at the wax
museum...evokes a mammy figure in racist 19th- and 20th-century iconography” (149). In
portraying Tituba as a mammy figure, Miller turns her into a more “palatable” character and
refuses to recognize her uniquely oppressive situation. He describes her love for Betty: “she...can
no longer bear to be barred from the sight of her beloved” (Miller 32). By embracing the
sentimentalized and inaccurate depiction of enslaved women as beloved by their owners, Miller
ignores the traumas suffered by them and erases the many Indigenous women who were enslaved
in the colonial era.
However, I argue that the most resounding effect of Miller’s change of her race is to
add further mystery and intrigue to his play by exoticizing the witchcraft. How could such
terrible witchcraft come to a town of the Puritan elite? It is much simpler to blame the devilry on
an outside source, particularly from a world already associated with dark magic. By making
Tituba a Black Carribean woman, he implies an association with voodoo that places the blame of
Salem’s mysteries on her shoulders. Breslaw explains, “Interest in Tituba and her role in the
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1692 events has traditionally focused on her supposed witchcraft molded by the practice of
voodoo...derived from African folklore” (xx). Why would Miller want to evoke these images?
The terror that rose in Salem in the year of 1692 has puzzled scholars for centuries. There are
countless theories including “class tensions; regional hostilities...food poisoning...cold climate;
teenage hysteria; fraud, taxes, conspiracy; political instability; trauma induced by Indian attacks;
and...witchcraft itself” (Schiff 4-5). Rather than leave the truth of the trials open ended, Miller
selects an easy target to shoulder the blame--the foreign enslaved woman who lived in the Parris
household at the time of the girls’ strange affliction.
In The Crucible, Abigail and the other girls seek out Tituba, whose “foreign” origin
associates her with witchcraft, to conjure spirits and predict their fortunes. Miller here adds
another false element to his play, though it is not seen onstage. It becomes clear within the first
act of the play that Abigail, Betty, and the other young girls of the village went with Tituba to
dance and conjure spirits. Parris accuses Abigail, saying, “I saw Tituba waving her arms over the
fire when I came on you...And I heard a screeching and gibberish coming from her mouth. She
were swaying like a dumb beast over that fire...And I thought I saw--someone naked running
through the trees!” (Miller 11). It is even implied that Tituba made Abigail a potion to kill Goody
Proctor. A bewitched Betty wakes to scream at her cousin, “You drank a charm to kill John
Proctor’s wife! You drank a charm to kill Goody Proctor!” (Miller 19). There is no evidence to
support this massive change to the plot and charge against the female characters. By adding this
scene, Tituba and the girls of Salem do not remain afflicted of great illness and hysteria as we
see them in history. Rather, they become the cause for their own affliction by bringing dark
magic into the society. In this we see most clearly that Miller manipulates history for his own
agenda that places primary blame on the women of Salem instead of its oppressive patriarchal
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figures.
If in The Crucible Abigail’s lust is the spark of the trials, the confession of Tituba is
the flame. After being accused of afflicting the children of her household, Tituba confesses to
witchcraft. Her elaborate confession includes graphic details of the devil and his cohorts who
force her to hurt the little girls. It is Tituba’s testimony that secures the dismal fate of Sarah
Good and Sarah Osborne. Her accusations empower the young girls to take their claims further
and cause the judges to begin the largest witch hunt in American history. While Tituba’s
confession truly happened and truly fueled the witch trials, there are important details of her
story which have been distorted in popular culture, in large part due to the legacy of The
Crucible.
Scholars have puzzled for centuries as to why Tituba not only confessed to witchcraft
but also spun a wild tale that incriminated nine other Salem villagers. Some argue it was to take
ownership of a situation where there was no winning, to exact her revenge on the town while
avoiding execution through confession. Breslaw argues, “Quite likely she also hoped that
confessing to supernatural power would intimidate her tormentors into leaving her
alone...Invoking the Devil...was one of those extra-legal weapons used by powerless people who
would challenge law and authority. Tituba devised an even more imaginative use of that kind of
resistance to protect her life” (116-117). Tituba’s confession truly was a moment where, for
perhaps the first time in Salem, the power was in an enslaved woman’s hands.
Despite this confession, perhaps the most important of Miller’s distortions to address is
Tituba’s own dalliance in witchcraft. What we know of Tituba is that she was a God-fearing
woman who prayed alongside Reverend Parris and his family. In Puritan culture, Parris would
have held a responsibility to manage the morals of his slaves as well as family. Breslaw explains,
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“ Samuel Parris...had religious obligations to his servants” and “servants were...expected to
accompany the family to church services...had no liberty to indulge in enjoyable or personally
productive leisure activities” (75, 74). The likelihood that Tituba spent much time doing
anything without Reverend Parris’s watchful eye nearby is unlikely. Why is Tutuba regarded as
the one who brought witchcraft to the children then? I would argue for three primary reasons: her
cultural background and otherness, her responsibility for the mischievous children, and her
willingness to assist in folklore magic.
The understanding of New Englanders about Native people was based on their
experiences with and fears of captivity and terror from tribes like the Wampanoag, Pequot,
Narraganset, Nipmuc, and Wabanki. King Philip's War occurred from 1675-1678, and memories
of terrible raids and murders were fresh for colonists. Though the trauma caused by the colonists
was equally, if not more so, terrible for the Native people, New Englanders regarded the
Indigenous people as heathens and savages who worshipped the devil. Norton even argues that,
“The association among Indians, black men, and the devil would have been unremarkable to
anyone in the Salem Village” (59). Though Tituba was not associated with these tribes directly,
she was an easy target to pin the blame on for the devil’s entrance to society. Eventually, “Tituba
admitted to having learned about occult techniques in Barbados” and claimed her mistress had
taught her (Breslaw 109). This would have been easy for the Salem villagers to believe based on
their narrow view of cultures and religions other than their own and their fear of any worship
which deviated from their own model.
The second reason that Tituba may have been the first woman accused is that she was
considered responsible for the children of the Parris home. According to some scholars, two of
these children did the unthinkable (to their Puritanical father) and played a fortune-telling game,
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though other scholars like Mary Beth Norton disagree that this ever happened (23). Abigail,
Parris’s eleven-year-old niece, and Betty, his nine-year-old daughter, are said to have been
playing a game with their friends (likely two of the other main accusers, Mercy Lewis and Ann
Putnam Jr.) where an egg was dropped in a glass with hopes that the shape would show them
their future husbands. According to Salem lore as depicted by the Travel Channel Documentary
about the Salem witch trials, the yolk took the shape of a coffin, startling the girls. They argue
that that the wild symptoms of bewitchment began after this occurred. Whether or not this is true,
it represents the legends that popular culture has promoted. Because Tituba’s role was to watch
the children and make sure they behaved, she was easily blamed for allowing them to play such a
game.
Perhaps the making of the witch-cake proved the most direct reason for blaming Tituba
for bringing witches to Salem. Making a witch-cake was an act of old folklore magic that was
intended to act as a counter to dark magic. The process was to take the urine of the bewitched
person and bake it into a cake of rye. The cake was then fed to the dog with the intention to cast
the evil spirits out of the person and into the dog. Parris's neighbor, Mary Sibley, suggested to
Tituba that she make this cake in order to cast the devil out of the girls. After Parris discovered
that Tituba had assisted in conducting this counter magic, he was furious and beat Tituba,
claiming she had brought evil into the home (Norton 27). Breslaw explains his actions: “By
blaming Tituba for the misfortune of his family, he was able to uphold the stereotype of the
Indian as Devil worshipper while distancing himself from the taint of association with the evil
force she represented” (112). This would be important for Parris because, as Richard Godbeer
explains in his article, “Your Wife Will Be Your Biggest Accuser: Reinforcing Codes of
Manhood at New England Witch Trials,” the men most likely to be accused of witchcraft were
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those closely associated with a female confessor. For all of these reasons, we see the likelihood
that Tituba would be blamed for beginning the witch craze in Salem. Yet most significantly,
Tituba was vulnerable to these accustations because of her role as a woman, person of color, and
slave in a patriarchal colonial society. She had no rights or esteem in the town—she is powerless
to the weight of these accusations.
In The Crucible, Miller does not use these same instances, but rather exoticizes
Tituba’s magic. At the beginning of the play, Parris sees Tituba over a cauldron. He accuses her,
“I saw Tituba waving her arms over the fire when I came on you...And I heard a screeching and
gibberish coming from her mouth. She was swaying like a dumb beast over that fire!” (Miller
334). Parris’s accusation of Tituba depicts her as not only a foreign witch, but as a “beast”--
reducing her to nothing but an animal, something to be feared. Miller also indicates that Tituba
gave Abigail chicken blood to drink to curse John Proctor’s wife. Abigail cries out against
Tituba, “She makes me drink blood!” In Miller’s depiction, Tituba even affirms this, “I give she
chicken blood!” This intense and scandalous witch act makes her compact with the devil seem
like a genuine possibility in the play. Tituba, who was already an easy target for the blame, is
thrown into the fire as the main instigator of magic in Miller’s play. Likewise, her broken
English and “Barbados songs” indicate that she is a foreign woman who brings the dark magic
with her from a mysterious otherworldly culture.
The mystery of the Salem witch panic has haunted scholars for ages. The desire to
explain the phenomenon is inevitable, and many have put forth their best explanations, from bad
rye bread to post-traumatic stress disorder (Schiff 4). As humans we seek to find reasoning for
tragedies like the Salem Witch Trials, often at the risk of blaming the innocent. Miller’s
explanation for the trials places the blame on women. Abigail Williams’s sexual drive and lust
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over John Proctor initiates the trials, and the magic itself comes from the foreign witch, Tituba.
This blame adds to a long history of fear of a woman’s sexuality and fear of the foreign.
Through most of Western history, power lies exclusively in the hands of men. Likewise,
the art that comes out of a historical period reflects those in power at the time. Not only does the
information we know of the trials come primarily from the men involved (though women were
most affected), the history of the trials is also transformed through Miller’s retelling. Rather than
a tragic piece of history where women old and young lost their lives, Miller makes the trials a
male narrative about conquering female temptation. This continues to happen today as narratives
of the oppressed are appropriated to benefit the oppressors. Appropriation of the Salem witch
trials by men is apparent in Miller’s work but does not stop in the 1950s. Modern depictions of
the women of Salem continue this cycle by playing to a male gaze and agenda as will be
explored in the next chapter.
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CHAPTER II: BLAMING FEMALE SEXUALITY AND BLACK MAGIC
Miller’s transformation of the trials into the battle against female and foreign
malevolence has echoed throughout popular culture depictions of Salem since its publication.
Even in contemporary culture, which claims to be empowering women and abolishing
xenophobia, the Salem witch trials are still surrounded by sexual allure and exotic witchery. The
movie adaptation of The Crucible remains close to Miller’s narrative, while other productions,
like Salem and American Horror Story: Coven, stray from his model. Regardless of direct
reference to Miller’s story, these contemporary portrayals follow his model of ignoring and
distorting historical fact and sexualizing and exotictizing real women. The highly gendered roles
affirmed by Miller’s play continue to be seen in representations of the women of the trials, and
the truth of the trials continues to be appropriated for the male gaze. In this chapter, I will expand
upon the ways modern depictions of the Salem witch trials sexualize women to fulfill male
desire, specifically in my analysis of the movie adaptation of The Crucible and the television
show, Salem. I will use Laura Mulvey’s analysis of the male gaze to deconstruct these shows. In
analyzing American Horror Story: Coven, I will argue that these adaptations continue Miller’s
pattern of appropriation by fetishizing and villainizing women, especially Black women.
Blaming Female Sexuality
Female sexuality has been demonized for centuries. In the Bible, the root of the Puritan
ideology that controlled Salem, women are blamed for the fall of mankind because of their
inability to resist the devil’s temptation. In her book, Witches, Sluts, and Feminists, Kristen J.
Sollee states, “Christian women were indoctrinated with narratives about the lurking evils of
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womanhood from their youth, so it stands to reason they could succumb to the belief that they,
too, were the Devil’s handmaidens” (25). Depictions of women during the witch trials fed into
this doctrine. There are graphic portraits from the era of women having sexual intercourse with
the devil—these women are labeled as witches. Sollee explains this connection of witchcraft and
female sexuality in both history and contemporary culture: “For centuries, the word “witch” has
been used to punish women and to police female sexuality” (13). An exploration of one of the
most infamous texts within the witch hunting era, The Malleus Maleficarum, confirms this link.
According to Sollee, this book, which became the ultimate guide in witch hunting, states, “All
witchcraft comes from carnal lust, which is, in women, insatiable” (23). While men were also
accused of being witches, women were in the majority of the accused for this reason. Witchcraft
has been attached to female sexuality since the witch hunts’ beginnings, and this clearly makes
its way into Miller’s writing.
In Laura Mulvey’s essay, “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,” she explores the
concept of scopophilia in film. She defines scopophilia as, “pleasure of looking at another person
as an erotic object” (Mulvey 67). Mulvey argues that the way women are depicted in film is an
indulgence of male scopophlia. Women are portrayed as sexual beings to be possessed by male
characters. By seeing a reflection of himself within the male characters, the male viewer can
possess the woman as a sexual object as well. This act of implementing the male gaze in film can
be seen in the following examples of films and television shows about the Salem witch trials:
The Crucible (1996) and Salem (2014). The sexualization of women echoes Miller’s acts of
pinning the blame for the trials on the shoulders of women. The women are not just portrayed as
overly sexual beings, but also use their sexuality to manipulate a community into its downfall.
These depictions represent the way society has aligned its perception of the Salem witch trials,
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but more so, they show again the appropriation of female trauma to satisfy the male agendas.
In The Crucible, the connection between witches and female sexuality is made
through Miller’s depiction of Abigail Williams. Abigail Williams is depicted as a seventeen year
old girl who is the niece of Reverend Parris of Salem. She is portrayed as temperamental and
seductive with “an endless capacity for dissembling” (Miller 9). She is obviously the leader of
the group of girls accusing people of witchcraft in Salem in the play. She even threatens the other
girls from confessing, saying, “Let either of you breathe a word, or the edge of a word, about the
other things, and I will come to you in the black of some terrible night and I will bring a pointy
reckoning that will shudder you” (Miller 20). Along with her hardened and cruel personality, she
has sexual sin attached to her name. She had an affair with a married man in Salem Village
named John Proctor. When he attempts to tell her he will no longer sleep with her, she continues
to seduce him. She says, “I know how you clutched my back behind your house and sweated like
a stallion whenever I come near!” (Miller 22). When he continues to refuse her, she will not
accept it. Soon after, Proctor’s wife and eventually Proctor as well are accused of witchcraft by
Abigail. Miller makes it clear that Abigail accuses Goody Proctor out of lust for John, in hopes
he will abandon his wife once she is outed as a witch. In this way, Miller blames the downfall of
Salem on Abigail’s sexuality, reinforcing patriarchal control and shame in the play.
This approach is unsurprising considering Miller’s culture of the 1950s that scorned
women for premarital sex while giving men a free pass. This is obvious through social, political,
and medical practices of the 1950s that labeled “promiscuous” young women as the primary
cause for unwanted pregnancies, venereal disease, and even rapes. In the book, Good Girls by
Amanda Littauer, she describes the condemnation of parents and experts in the 1950s and quotes
a study where a parent said, “It’s the girls’ fault, this early dating. They grow up too fast. Dress
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and live faster” (130). This culture of blame and shame of female sexuality likely influenced
Miller’s shaping of the female characters in his play, which continues to find its way into more
modern depictions of the Salem Witch Trials.
In these modern depictions, this view of evil female sexuality is emphasized by casting
choices. The film version of The Crucible produced in 1996 is directed by Nicholas Hytner and
stars Winona Ryder as Abigail and Daniel Day-Lewis as John Proctor. The casting choice of
Winona Ryder contributes to the sexual perception of Abigail, because Winona Ryder was a
well-known actress at this time who had already played the leading lady in many other films
including Heathers, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, and Edward Scissorhands (IMDB). Before The
Crucible, she had already established a reputation of playing an unconventionally beautiful
character with a dark side. She was often typecast as the “femme fatale” as described in chapter
one. In Marvin Carlson’s book, The Haunted Stage: the Theatre as Memory Machine, he
presents his theory of “ghosting,” the idea that theatre will always be impacted by remembrances
of past performances. This argument can specifically be applied to typecasting. Continuously
casting a certain actress in similar roles can carry the impression of her into other performances.
In this instance, because of Ryder’s previous work, audiences are more likely to associate her
character with female deception. Abigail, already matching the femme fatale persona, became
another one of Ryder’s sexy, brooding roles. Though she may be dressed like a Puritan, Ryder’s
legacy as a glamorous object satisfies the male gaze. Likewise, the casting of Daniel Day-Lewis,
creates in viewers a “more perfect, more complete, more powerful ideal ego” for male viewers
(Mulvey). Day-Lewis was known for playing dashing, heroic gentlemen before his role in The
Crucible; he starred in movies such as The Last of the Mohicans (1992) and The Unbearable
Lightness of Being (1988). In The Crucible he is portrayed as rugged and brooding, and as in
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Miller’s play, comes out the hero who has conquered the temptation of a woman’s evil wiles.
Another way the movie’s casting promotes the sexualization of Abigail is by downplaying the
age gap between Abigail and John. While the actual Abigail Williams was eleven at the time of
the trials, Miller’s Abigail is seventeen. To a twentieth century audience, casting a seventeen-
year-old walks a fine line of acceptability. However, if Abigail is not portrayed as a young girl,
she can assume guilt for the affair while John Proctor is free of shame. By casting Ryder, who
was twenty-five at the time of the movie’s release, Abigail is played by an older and more
womanly actress who can situate as the object of male desire without provoking guilt. This
womanly lust makes the blame on Abigail’s shoulders acceptable; she caused the affair, she
caused the accusations, she caused the tragedy of Salem.
Visually, the movie surrounds the female characters with darkness, intrigue, and sexual
symbolism by including additional scenes in the movie that are not found in the play. The first
scene of the film, which is not found in Miller’s play, depicts Abigail waking up her cousin and
meeting the other girls in town to conjure spells with Tituba. There are shots of the girls running
and giggling together as they go deeper into the misty forest to do their forbidden fun. Tituba
welcomes them, and they stand in a circle, anxious to see the magic she will perform. Tituba
sways as she sings her “Barbados songs” and mixes items into a cauldron. The spells that are
conjured are love spells to make boys and men in town fall in love with the girls. As the girls
drop their magical offerings into the cauldron, they speak the names of the men. The girls tease
Abigail saying, “Give her John Proctor again, Tituba,” and showing that Abigail’s sexual
escapades are no secret. Tituba takes a live chicken and swings it around her head, ready to put
in it the cauldron, when Abigail whispers in her ear. In broken English, she says, “No, Abby, that
bad thing!” Out of impatience, Abigail takes the chicken, breaks its neck and smears the
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chicken’s blood across her face. The girls scream and begin to dance wildly, letting down their
hair and stripping their clothes. As Reverend Parris approaches the scene, a woman’s naked body
is seen from behind. The naked girls dancing represents the use of unbridled sexuality to defy
patriarchal forces, which is immediately deemed a great sin by the reverend. The women not
only break the rules of performing witchcraft and dancing, they also commit the sin of rejecting
the patriarchal control of a woman’s sexuality. The depiction of the naked women in such close
connection with the symbols of stereotypical “evil” witchcraft including the drinking of blood,
the sacrifice of an animal, and the casting of deadly spells, makes one consider that the movie
also aims to associate the liberated female sexuality shown by the dancing women with sin.
Through these images, the occurrence of witchcraft in Salem is associated with the lust of the
young women. Likewise, it fulfills the scopophilia of male viewers, who know the sexuality will
soon be punished.
Another way that The Crucible movie contributes to the blame of female sexuality is
through the physicality between Abigail and John when they meet in the movie. Unlike many of
the movie’s other scenes between John and Abigail, this scene is found in Miller’s original text.
The shot shows Abigail sneaking up to John from around the corner of the barn. When they
speak, they stand close to each other, and she leans against the wall, sighing with desire. She
appeals to John and speaks to him of their sexual history using the same words from the play.
Unlike the stage directions indicate in the play, however, she then kisses him passionately and
sensually reaches for him. This blatant desire for sexual relations through the physicality shown
on screen strengthens the connection between the witch trials and Abigail’s sexuality by
explaining her lustful motive. In a later scene that is not found in the play, Abigail attempts to
force John to touch her sexually, and he responds by shoving her away. She warns him that he
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will regret his mistreatment of her. Later, another scene is added to the movie, after John has
been accused and imprisoned. Abigail begs him to run away with her so they can be together.
The movie makes it continuously apparent that Abigail’s intention for starting the witch trials is
to win John’s love. John’s larger struggle with the government of Salem is represented through
his struggle with Abigail. When Salem’s leaders beseech him to save himself and sign a
confession to witchcraft, he is tempted to confess. However, in doing so, he loses his integrity
and honor (according to Miller), so he resists and is led to his death. To make this decision, he
must expel the temptation to surrender to the entreatments of those who claim to care for him.
Abigail claims to love him, and begs him to give in and save himself; so do the leaders of the
town. Female sexuality becomes not only the catalyst for the trials but a metaphor for temptation
and control. The movie clearly appeals to a male audience who long to place themselves in
Proctor’s role by not only lavishing in the sexual attention of Abigail, but also dominating and
punishing her as the villain.
Female sexual temptation and power continue to be associated with the Salem witch
trials in other representations as well, even those that don’t discuss Abigail specifically. In the
television show, Salem, there is no Abigail Williams mentioned. However, the main character,
Mary Sibley (named after another real woman of the Salem trials) is portrayed as a dangerous
sexual being. Both of the main characters of the show, Mary Sibley and John Alden, were real
people living in Salem and associated with the witch trials. However, the true figures are related
in name only to the show’s characters. Salem creates an entirely fictional plot for Mary and John
that does not even remotely resemble known history. Numerous other historical names are
associated with the show’s characters including Mercy Lewis and Cotton Mather, but it is
important to note that the show is fully fictionalized.
32
The first episode of Salem introduces the idea that the problems in Salem are centered
on sexuality before witchcraft even enters the town. The first scene of the series begins with a
man and woman in the stocks being whipped and humiliated as the man is branded as a
“fornicator”. Quickly afterwards, Mary Sibley and John Alden’s relationship is introduced as
they secretly exchange a kiss in the night. Soon we find that Mary is pregnant with John’s child,
though they are unmarried with no intent to wed, a great sin in Puritan society. In an attempt to
avoid her own punishment, she is led into the forest by the show’s sexualized version of Tituba,
where she performs an abortion. Mary’s abortion is beyond physical, however. It is a spiritual
abortion: a sacrifice that sells Mary’s soul to the devil in order to gain power and prestige. Again,
feminine vice brings evil to Salem, this time through a woman exercising her autonomy over her
body and her place in society. When Mary chooses to accept this abortion, which is presented
more as a paranormal phenomena than a physical procedure, she allows the devil to enter Salem
through her.
The connection between pregnancy (or lack thereof) and evil is a long-standing one.
According to Sollee, in The Malleus Maleficarum, one of the most important sources during the
witch hunts, there is a chapter titled “That in Various Ways Midwife Sorceresses Kill the Fetuses
in the Womb and Cause Miscarriages, and When They Do Not Do This, They Offer the New
Borns to Demons” (39). Because the female body is considered inherently evil—based on the
Christian perspective of the first woman, Eve, bringing sin into the world—and only women can
have children, the act of childbirth has often been related to evil and witchcraft. For instance,
many midwives in Europe were executed as witches. In Sollee’s book, she says, “During the
witch-hunting era, the female figure most intimately acquainted with sex, birth, and fertility was
the midwife. Armed with knowledge of herbology, biology, and in particular, reproductive
33
health, these predominantly poor, peasant women were easy targets for accusations of sorcery”
(Sollee 39). In another play of the twentieth century, Caryl Churchill’s Vinegar Tom, a local
witch is contacted by a young woman to help her end her pregnancy. When the town discovers
this, both the woman and the witch are deemed witches and tortured.
To a modern audience whose society has a long history of conflict about abortion
rights, this parallels many conservative mindsets that believe abortion is the cause of evil in
America. Sollee argues that the persecution of women giving and seeking abortions is far from
over. She says, “like the inquisitors, witch finders, and civilian accusers of yore, Republican
lawmakers and their ongoing attacks against sexual and reproductive health place a woman’s
right to bodily autonomy perpetually under siege” (43). For an audience familiar with this
demonization of women’s reproductive rights, the abortion in the first episode of Salem
continues the attachment of the characters to great evil. In this way, Salem uses the witch trials to
symbolize the downfall of America and placing blame on women who take control of their own
bodies. Rather than recognizing the suffering religious oppression brought to the town of Salem,
especially women, the creators of the show continue Miller’s tradition of appropriating female
pain for male agendas.
Beyond this abortion, we see other indications of the villianization of woman’s bodily
autonomy through Mary’s sexuality. Not only does Tituba promise Mary with the abortion that
she will escape the scorn of being an unmarried mother, she also promises her that if she allows
witchcraft into Salem, she will be regarded as the most powerful woman in town. Mary gains this
power through sexually manipulating the wealthiest man in town into marrying her, then taking
control of him. Her sexual prowess is seen in her seduction of the men around her and accounts
for the downfall of Salem's leaders. As the show continues, John Alden returns and it becomes
34
clear that the plot is centered on the relationship between Mary and John, as well as various other
sexual relationships and indiscretions. A final indicator of the sexual nature of the show is found
in the costuming. The actresses in the show are dressed in sexy, revealing clothing, even as
peasants and Protestants. They are adorned in blacks and reds, with corsets accentuating their
cleavage. This is one of many ways Salem continues to situate female sexuality as the center of
the Salem witch trials. Even though the show does not connect directly to The Crucible, the same
theme of scornful female sexuality that Miller established prevails. The story of the oppression
of innocents becomes a tale of hyper-sexualized vice; history is entirely ignored and misused to
satisfy the male gaze.
Blaming Black Magic
Studying the popular culture representations of Salem witch trials opens another
discussion on the appropriation of female suffering—the suffering of Black women. In The
Crucible (1996), Salem (2014-2017), and American Horror Story (2013), multiple women are
blamed for their role in the trials, but the greatest victim of this heaping of shame is the character
of Tituba. As a Black woman, she is portrayed as wicked and unholy, but she is also deemed by
creators of these shows as unworthy for a full storyline and dynamic character development. In
Miller’s play and these more recent representations, Tituba is given the blame of ushering
witchcraft into Salem, but not given the power that seemingly comes with it for the white women
portrayed in the story. The character of Tituba has the power to bring evil but as a Black woman
is still disenfranchised as that power is stolen by the white characters.
In the movie version of The Crucible, Tituba is blamed directly for bringing evil to
Salem, because she is not just implicated in the witchcraft but is actually seen performing it. In
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the opening scene, she rounds up the circle of young girls, laughing maniacally. As they speak
the names of the boys they want, she invites them each to toss a plant into her cauldron,
reminiscent of traditional western witch stereotypes. She begins to sing a “Barbados song” and to
sway back and forth. Both of these images evoke an essence of dark magic and foreign power.
The next shot shows her swinging the chicken around her head, preparing it for Abigail, who
then smears the chicken’s blood on her face to speak a curse on John Proctor’s wife. This animal
sacrifice is reminiscent of voodoo stereotypes and makes Tituba look like a real witch who has
tainted the young girls. In this way, she is unlike the white women in the movie who are naive to
dark magic. The scene sexualizes the young women and places an enslaved Black woman at the
center of this sexualization which draws upon racists stereotypes of women of color as a sexual
corruptor and “beast.” While Abigail may be blamed for using her lust to fuel the trials, only
Tituba’s exotic evil can be blamed for starting the craze of magic in the first place.
This, however, does not give Tituba power or agency in Salem. She is not esteemed for
her confession to witchcraft like the white girls, but is punished severely. When Abigail accuses
her of being a witch, Parris beats an confession out of Tituba. She claims she does not work for
the devil, but Parris as well as the audience are not convinced, because we have just seen her
perform some form of dark magic in the forest. Whether or not she has a “compact with the
devil,” the movie makes it clear that she certainly practices witchcraft. This opening scene,
which is mentioned as only a rumor in the play, is emphasized in the movie adaptation. I argue
that this increases the allure and exoticism of the story and ultimately, the stakes of the movie.
Rather than a story about young girls behaving poorly, the story becomes one of a demonic force
brought on by a Black woman. Yet after Tituba’s confession, she sinks into the background of
the story. She is punished, then forgotten. We see a Black woman’s suffering become a plot
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device, a crutch to keep white women from assuming full blame.
The television show, Salem, takes this blame of Black women a step further. The show
centers on a witch coven in Salem led by a powerful young woman (Mary Sibley) that causes
great turmoil, resulting in the killing of innocents through witch trials, which the coven controls.
In the first episode of Salem, Tituba is introduced as a guide to the main character and eventual
coven leader, Mary Sibley--a reversal of the roles of reality; the real Mary Sibley convinced
Tituba to make the witch cake. The fictionalized Tituba offers Mary, a desperate woman afraid
of bearing the shame of adultery in her Puritan society, a solution to her unwanted pregnancy.
She brings Mary to the forest and promises her that if she gives herself to the devil, she will be
free from the pregnancy and have all her desires met. Though Mary fights against it, Tituba
coerces her into the abortion of the baby. This is not merely an abortion but rather it is a sacrifice
and pact made with the devil. Through forcing this pact, Tituba brings demonic forces into
Salem. Though Mary later relishes in her wealth and power, she still protests to Tituba that she
does not want to work for the devil. Tituba scolds her and reminds her that she would be nothing
without the devil’s work. Tituba, in this depiction, works actively for the devil, inviting him into
Salem. She is truly the instigator of the witch trials, but she is still not the one in power. She is
Mary’s servant and ultimately the devil’s servant as well. Her role is to shoulder the blame of
evil yet never obtain the power it brings.
Tituba is blamed for ushering in witchcraft in other television series as well. In the
anthology series, American Horror Story, the season “Coven” portrays Tituba in a less direct
way, but clearly associates her with dark magic. The television show depicts two covens of
witches, one primarily white and one primarily Black. In the article, “Tracing Tituba through
American Horror Story: Coven,” Dara Downey explains the show’s set-up, “American witches
37
are both united as a single ‘tribe’ and starkly divided by race and ethnicity, a division that
effectively structures the season as a whole” (16). The members of the primarily Black coven are
considered descendents of Tituba and are led by the infamous voodoo queen of New Orleans,
Madame Marie Laveau. On the other hand, the coven of primarily white witches are considered
to be descendents of the witches of Salem. The story is that Tituba shared the practice of
witchcraft with the Salem women who eventually avoided persecution and fled Salem, taking
Tituba’s craft with them, while Tituba and her descendants suffered. This history sparks a long-
held feud between the two groups which escalates the plot throughout the season.
The descendants of Salem perform a witchcraft that resembles what most people would
associate with modern depictions of witches. They cast spells and charms, and one of them can
read minds. The one member of the coven whose magic takes a largely different form is the
young Black woman, who is herself a human voodoo doll. She can inflict pain on others by
causing herself pain. She eventually leaves her coven to join the descendants of Tituba. The
Black coven’s magic is less westernized in what most people associate with witchcraft. It is more
exotic and takes the form of ritual dances and sacrifices as well as the summoning of a very
creepy Gatekeeper of the Spirit World named Papa Legba who comes to Marie Laveau annually
and demands the sacrifice of an innocent life. The difference in the portrayal of the two covens is
drastic—even though they both perform violent magic. The colors are darker and earthier in the
shots of the descendents of Tituba, while the descendents of Salem are portrayed in very clean
white spaces and are usually wearing sharp black outfits. The white witches are portrayed as
elite, and the Black witches are portrayed as savage.
This series shows a very clear misconception of Tituba that is being perpetuated in
popular culture. By surrounding her descendants with voodoo, the show’s creators fall into the
38
same myth that Miller began: that Tituba brought witchcraft to Salem from her exotic home to
usher evil into young America. To amplify this further, the show clearly situates the descendents
of Tituba as the antagonists of the plot. While eventually the two covens must join forces to fight
witch hunters, most of the show’s early conflict is between the descendents of Salem and Tituba.
Because the protagonists of the series are members of the Salem coven, Tituba’s descendents are
depicted as villainous and dangerous. Downey says of “Coven” and Salem, “the lacunae and
misconstructions that make up the history of depictions of Tituba are at once addressed,
perpetuated and exploited for dramatic effect in these shows, and in AHS: Coven in particular
(18).” While the shows do not claim to be historically accurate by any means, they utilize
misunderstood history to create their own riveting story lines, much like Miller. Even within
these fictional storylines, however, we see the real precedent of white people appropriating both
the work and struggles of Black women. The Salem witches not only stole the witchcraft from
Tituba, but the Black witches are also killed off in the plot instead of the white witches.. Towards
the end of the season, a witch hunter attacks the Black witches’ hideout, a beauty salon, with an
assault rifle. Rather than the white witches suffering, the Black witches take the fall—fulfilling
the male need for women to be punished for their crimes.
I argue that the turning point in popular culture’s depictions of Tituba was the publication
and popularization of The Crucible. Miller’s play exoticizes Tituba’s magical background and
abilities and blames Salem’s witch craze on her introduction of witchcraft into the Puritan world.
This depiction not only villainizes an innocent and oppressed woman, but also uses her race to
fetishize a culture for its “dark magic.” However, this blaming of Black women does not begin or
end with The Crucible. These depictions of the witch trials are examples of appropriating
women’s but more specifically women of color’s experiences of suffering to fulfill a male gaze.
39
As women playwrights have gained more of a voice in recent years, however, this appropriation
has been examined through a feminist lens and called out for its misogyny. In the next chapter, I
will explore three plays written by women between 2018-2020 that seek to reframe and redeem
the story of Salem.
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CHAPTER III: A FEMINIST RESPONSE
The Crucible distorted the popular perception of the Salem witch trials and placed
blame on women. Through the examples of the previous chapter, it is clear that there are patterns
of this interpretation that have been repeated in pop culture media. The Crucible has provided a
misogynistic and racist model that many artists have emulated in their own works about the
Salem witch trials. Male creators have appropriated the story of female suffering and persecution
for their own agendas whether for pleasure or political gain. This unfortunately continues today
as men in power use the witch hunts as allegory for sexual assault allegations. I believe that
Miller’s work to associate women and their sexuality with the downfall of Salem has allowed
this idea of appropriating witch hunts to become commonplace. The 2016 election of President
Donald Trump is yet another example of how authority figures doing this perpetuate sexism and
misogyny. Whether using social media to tweet vicious remarks about women or supporting
policies that actively revoke women’s rights, Trump aimed to police female bodily autonomy, to
discredit women in leadership, and denigrate women who challenged his authority. He has been
accused of sexually assaulting twenty-five different women. These alleged crimes and those of
men who have been convicted of rape and sexual assault, such as film producer Harvey
Weinstein and actor Bill Cosby, have highlighted the realities of sexual violence committed by
men in power. Likewise, accusations of powerful political officials including Supreme Court
justices Clarence Thomas and Brett Kavanaugh, Congressman Al Franken, and New York
Governor Cuomo display the ever-growing public outcry to end sexual abuse. Women have
taken to social media with the #MeToo movement to encourage survivors of sexual assault and
harassment to share their stories and raise awareness and community for these survivors. The
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#MeToo movement was founded by Black activist Tarana Burke in 2007 and has provided a
healing community for survivors and provided resources to promote their well-being. In 2017,
the movement gained nationwide attention after white actress Alyssa Milano began the hashtag
that encouraged women to share their stories of sexual assault (Garcia). From this, many cases of
sexual harassment have come to light, including prominent politicians.
The response to this from Republican lawmakers has been aggressive and defensive.
Their responses echo the accusations of both the Salem trials and McCarthyism that deem
women as witches, liars, and whores. Like Miller’s portrayal of John Proctor, men, specifically
white men, consider themselves victims of injustice for being called out for their crimes. In the
article, “Donald J. Trump and the rhetoric of ressentiment,” Casey Ryan Kelly explains, “white
victimhood rhetoric is largely unconcerned with adjudicating the structural nature of injustice.
The long-standing effort to paint white Americans, white men in particular, as victims erases the
material distinction between real structural inequality and indignation that arises from felt
intensities'' (8). This idea of the white man as the victim was seen especially during the trial of
Supreme Court justice, Brett Kavanaugh. Rather than empathizing with the woman Kavanaugh
assaulted, conservative supporters claimed that the judge was being treated unfairly because of a
liberal trend.
In response to this victimized backlash to the #MeToo movement, Katie Gentile in the
article “Give a Woman an Inch, She’ll Take a Penis,” explains that many of these leaders have
equated sexual assault charges to a witch hunt. She contextualizes the inappropriate nature of this
term: “Witch hunt might feel an appropriate term because there is a similar manic quality, but
witch hunts targeted women who had overstepped heteropatriarchal boundaries” not men who
committed acts of violence on the female body (242). Even Trump himself has referred to any
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anti-Trump rhetoric as a “the single greatest witch hunt of a politician in American history!”
which is a blatant misunderstanding of history and the 16th and 17th century witch trials’ unique
and targeted persecution of women (Harriger 181).
Trump’s use of “witch hunt” to describe American politics is not a first, as we have seen
in these previous chapters. Arthur Miller wrote The Crucible as an allegory for his own
experiences with government “blacklisting” for communism in Hollywood. However, I argue
that in the process, he created a model set by The Crucible, which blames a man’s downfall on
the lust and revenge of a scorned woman, that Trump and others draw their modern parallels to
the witch trials of New England. Miller makes the history of witch trials that killed thousands of
women around the world into one of male victimhood and female malice. This revised history
continues to shame and police women in the misogynistic, Trump-era culture of today.
However, this is not the only way Miller’s play has set the framework for the story of the
trials. The Crucible has recently been used conversely by contemporary playwrights to address
these long standing issues of sexism. Women playwrights are reclaiming the narrative Miller
created and using it to confront sexism head on in his work, life, and influence in American
culture. By exposing the play’s disparaging portrayal of women, these playwrights are able to
connect the misogyny of the Puritans in the 1600s, of Hollywood in the mid-20th century, and of
the politics of today. The plays, Abigail by Sarah Tuft, John Proctor is the Villain by Kimberly
Belflower, and Becky Nurse of Salem by Sarah Ruhl discuss The Crucible in light of modern
issues by placing its performance in a contemporary setting. While the plays’ goals are not
necessarily to correct or demand historical accuracy, these plays still shed light on the gaps and
discrepancies in Miller’s text and their continued effects on popular culture. All three plays
expose what society has chosen to accept as the norm in both the witch trials and women’s lives
43
in general and to expose the way men have appropriated the suffering of 17
th
century women and
modern women to achieve their own goals and desires. All three of the plays end with a call to
action for women to create their own works that redeem the women of Salem and modern
women living under the oppression of the patriarchy.
In the play Abigail by Sarah Tuft, a male director recently accused of sexual assault
decides to stage a production of The Crucible in order to make a comeback in society. A famous
male actor, who is at first hesitant to work with the director again, is cast as John Proctor, and a
young, cute internet sensation, Ashley, is cast as Abigail Williams. Though expecting her to be
ditzy and naive, the director quickly finds that Ashley is headstrong and curious. She comes into
rehearsals with questions and concerns about the script, criticizing Miller for his sexist portrayal
of women. Soon Ashley also connects what she learns of Miller’s personal life to the text and
critiques his misogyny towards his former lover and salacious Hollywood icon, Marilyn Monroe,
and its relationship to the play’s characters. Rather than encouraging her curiosity, the director
and other cast members are frustrated by her concerns. The director offers to work on the play
with her personally, but he instead gets her drunk at his home and assaults her. She is at first
ashamed about the incident but as she continues to connect with the oppressed women in
Miller’s script, she becomes empowered to speak her truth. She reveals the rape, quits the play,
and writes her own one-woman show about Miller’s disparaging of Abigail Williams and
Marilyn Monroe.
Kimberly Belflower’s play, John Proctor is the Villain, also links The Crucible with
sexual assault on women’s bodies. The play takes place primarily in a high school English
classroom where students are reading The Crucible in 2019. A group of students want to form a
feminist club but are discouraged from doing so because of recent sexual assault allegations in
44
their community. The school counselor calls it “a tricky situation with everything that’s been
going on in the community… people are—tensions are high” (Belflower 10). The students are
finally granted their club when their male English and sex education teacher volunteers to be
their sponsor if they use it as an opportunity to discuss The Crucible too. The discussion of The
Crucible becomes very personal when a student’s father is accused of assaulting multiple
women, then even more so when it is revealed that the English teacher has preyed on many of his
students, including two in his class.
Becky Nurse of Salem by Sarah Ruhl does similar work in connecting The Crucible’s
sexism to modern instances of injustice. Becky Nurse is a tour guide at the Salem Museum of
History who rarely uses the “script” they give her. She claims to know the history better than
anyone else, because she is a descendant of Rebecca Nurse, one of the executed women. This
gets her in trouble, however, and she loses her job. Things quickly go awry when Becky is
arrested for stealing the wax statue of Rebecca Nurse from the museum. Meanwhile, Becky’s
granddaughter is in a high school production of The Crucible where she and other girls are
sexually harassed by their director. The play ends with them sharing a post-performance ice
cream cone and reflecting on the women before them whose lives have been sacrificed literally
and figuratively by the trials and by popular culture.
Each of these plays works to expose the historical inaccuracies Miller uses to
accomplish his sexist goals in The Crucible. For instance in Abigail, Tuft addresses the age gap
between Abigail and John through Ashley’s curiosity to learn more about the true events of the
play. Doing this in a contemporary setting shows just how inappropriate the creation of the affair
between John and Abigail is, especially through a modern lens. She says, “Abigail’s desperately
coming on to Proctor like some sort of unhinged seductress. I mean, Proctor and Elizabeth
45
literally refer to Abigail as a “whore” eight different times...But you know what? In real life,
Abigail Williams was eleven years old. Eleven. John Proctor was sixty” (Tuft 31). While the
other actor playing John Proctor is shocked, the director and his wife merely brush it off as an
artistic liberty. Ashley describes the play as “inherently misogynistic” and argues with the
director about its role in modern society (26). By taking Miller’s changes out of the context of
the play and into the world of 2019, Tuft illuminates the crude deception of Miller’s choices.
Ashley’s disgust for these discrepancies Miller created expresses Tuft’s argument for a revised
look at The Crucible with a feminist perspective that considers the harm of a white male gaze.
Beyond the changes to Salem’s history, Tuft also addresses Miller’s personal agenda
behind The Crucible. While it is widely known that Miller wrote the play as an allegory to the
Red Scare, the knowledge of Miller’s more personal ties to the story are lesser known. As Ashley
says, “it’s a bad allegory” (Tuft 34). Her thorough pre-rehearsal research on The Crucible reveals
to her and the audience that Miller’s personal life permeates every inch of the play, but
specifically through the affair between John and Abigail. At the time he wrote the play, Miller
was attempting to return to his wife, Mary Slattery, after having an affair with Marilyn Monroe
(Abbotson 18). Ashley connects the two saying, “Abigail is Marilyn. So by making her
hypersexualized and the aggressor, he’s saying his infidelity is all her fault, not his. He’s
projecting his shame onto his invention” (Tuft 36). She explains further that what she learned
from Miller’s biography showed her just how much Monroe was demonized by Miller. The play
delves further into Miller’s treatment of Marilyn Monroe and his depictions of her on stage and
screen. Ashley describes the movie The Misfits that Miller claims to have written for Monroe that
sexualizes her pain and sadness. She also describes the role Miller modeled after Monroe in his
play After the Fall where he realizes she is a “whore” (Tuft 40). Ashley uses these disparaging
46
portrayals of Monroe as supporting evidence to argue that Miller wrote the play with sexist
intentions. Beyond his political agenda, Miller also appropriates the stories of the women of
Salem to shame women in his own life. He attempts to clear himself of guilt, like John Proctor,
by demonizing a character representative of Monroe.
Abigail also addresses a concern that I myself have encountered writing this thesis. Miller
is regarded as one of the greatest American playwrights, and for many scholars and audiences,
The Crucible is the quintessential American play. In fact, many regard his work as almost a
sacred text. Even the character of the director’s wife in Abigail says of Arthur Miller, “The man
was a god.” Denying the artistry that has earned Miller his prolific role in the canon would be
both a disservice and irrelevant to the argument. Miller, though a highly regarded artist, is still
human thus still has personal biases and agendas that make way into his writing. Deeming him or
his work as infallible is a flawed way of thinking as it does not allow for the necessary feminist
deconstruction. In Abigail, both men and women defend Miller when Ashley calls his work
sexist. Tuft uses this part of the play to show that glorifying Miller beyond reproach is to
contribute to the oppression of women and their stories. This can be applied to other
representations of history as well and asks us to question why we allow powerful men and what
they deem as truth to live beyond reproach.
In a similar way, Becky Nurse of Salem addresses and condemns these pseudo-historical
changes made by Miller that show his misogynistic agenda. The play begins with Becky giving a
tour to a group of high school students at the Salem Museum of Witchcraft. She begins by
introducing herself as a descendant of Rebecca Nurse, a fact she is very proud of, and leads them
around the museum. She stops at a wax figure of John Proctor and briefly explains the plot of
The Crucible to the students. She calls it, “our goddam Christmas pageant in Salem,” then begins
47
to explain its historical inaccuracies, specifically noting the relationship between John and
Abigail (5). She scoffs at the idea that Abigail could possibly be seducing John. She says, “Now,
in the play, the reason Abigail wanted to get revenge on John Proctor’s pregnant wife (this is
what I could never really wrap my head around) is that this young girl wants to fuck an old
man...More likely that John Proctor molested...Abigail” (6). These “editorial” notes made by
Becky are later the cause of her removal from the tour guide job. Though she is correcting
popular culture’s misconceptions of history, the public does not want to accept the true history,
thus she is reprimanded and eventually fired from her job. Though she is right, Becky makes the
story less palatable for the listeners. Additionally, her language on the subject is crude. Even
though the subject itself matches the vulgarity of her language, she still loses her job for
choosing indignation over decorum. By showing Becky getting fired for this, Ruhl shows how
intrigue is valued greater than truth, especially in regards to the Salem witch trials. She also calls
out Arthur Miller for allowing the young girl in his pedophilic plot to be considered a “whore”
and the downfall of Salem. However, Ruhl also makes a unique point about human nature and
society by expressing the ways people refuse to accept the truth when it is uncomfortable or
places the cis white male as the oppressor. This is not limited to the Salem witch trials but rather
spans throughout American history which is often glorified into a patriotic fantasy that
eliminates the stories of the oppressed.
These plays go beyond calling out Miller, however. They also bring to light modern
societal issues that echo Miller’s misogyny. Abigail also uses The Crucible as a means to discuss
contemporary women’s issues, specifically the #MeToo movement. The director of the play
within the play has already been accused of sexual harassment when he decides to direct the
play. He believes that he must redeem his name, like John Proctor, and believes directing The
48
Crucible is the way to do this. Once Ashley reveals to the rest of the group that John Proctor
would actually be a pedophile if Miller’s story were true, it becomes even clearer how the stories
parallel one another. The play uses Miller’s misappropriation to the tell the story of sexual
assault in show business, an issue that has become widely discussed in media. This includes a
“rehearsal” between the director and the young actress where he rapes her. This rape leaves her
insecure and lost, causing her to quit the play as well as her YouTube channel. Having painful
material like this trauma centered around a performance of The Crucible associates the play with
its own layers of sexism and abuse and mirrors the abuse of women in Miller’s play. .She
exposes the commonly used phrase, “witch hunt,” as an appropriation of women’s suffering. The
very decision of the director to produce The Crucible is based on his belief that he is a John
Proctor himself as his good name is smeared by villainous women. The Crucible is not even
regarded as a story about the Salem witch trials. To him, the play is meant to represent men who
must overcome the dangers of female sexuality and hysteria. In the play, the director even calls
his own scandals a “witch hunt,” equating paying for his crimes of assault with the murder of
innocent women, men, and children. This common strategy of men to allude blame for their
crimes is a shameful misappropriation of the deaths of over 10,000 women who were convicted
and executed as witches through the 15
th
-17
th
century in Europe and America. It is a crime
against the truly oppressed to allow their pain to be an allegory for male “victimhood” that is
based in sexism and toxic masculinity.
In many ways, John Proctor is the Villain echoes the sexism of The Crucible as well.
The connections between the atmosphere at the school and the atmosphere of 1600s Salem are
apparent in the play through the religious zealotism and hypocrisy of both communities. While
the 2019 school is obviously much less extreme than 1600s Salem, there is a sense of religious
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oppression through the “purity culture” established in John Proctor is the Villain. The English
teacher doubles as their sex education teacher which preaches abstinence instead of protected
sex. The teacher reminds the students, “there will never be any kind of birth control that teaches
faithfulness trust responsibility or commitment” and uses examples to convince students that the
more they have sex with others, the less faithful they are to their eventually partner (Belflower
41-42). Despite preaching this to his students, he has had sex with multiple young girls in his
classes over his years as a teacher. The hypocrisy and sexism of purity culture is intertwined
deeply with the class reading The Crucible. In this way, Belflower illustrates how The Crucible
not only places men at the center of the story but is also used by men to perpetuate sexist ideals.
Another way we see the studying and production of The Crucible continue a cycle of
abuse is through the way the English teacher preys on his students. He uses the play to get close
to his students by sponsoring their The Crucible centered feminist club and by having “after-
hours” conversations with his female students. In these conversations, he plays himself as the
victim of a witch-hunt, much like John Proctor. Also like Proctor, he calls into question the
character of the girl making the accusation. This is supported by the perception of other
characters in the play. She is called a whore by her classmates and is not believed by the school
board when she attempts to report the crime. The characters use The Crucible as a weapon
against the young girl by equating her (and the other women who come forward about abuse) to
Abigail.
Ruhl shows another modern parallel of sexism in Becky Nurse of Salem when Becky
watches the news on a TV at the bar and hears a Trump rally chanting “lock her up!” about
Hillary Clinton. During the 2016 election, conservative Republicans used a scandal over
Clinton’s use of a personal email address for government work to condemn her as a “crook” and
50
“criminal.” Similar to the outrage against women and cry for their imprisonment in the Salem
trials, conservative leaders today demonize powerful women. During the trials, this act of
demonizing helped keep the powerful in power, mainly men. Kristin J. Sollee explains that one
of the first reasons witch trials surfaced in Western culture was because at the time, women were
dominating the medical field as midwives and herbalists. As modern medicine began to develop,
men began to take over the field and found their work threatened by these women. Thus, they
were deemed witches and murdered by the thousands in order to maintain male dominance in
their field. Similarly, when a woman encroached upon the male-dominated territory of politics,
Clinton was treated as a criminal. In fact, some even called her a witch. Meanwhile, Trump is
accused of multiple crimes that have been brushed aside by his supporters. It is clear that just as
women were more likely to be accused in the witch trials, the flaws of women today are
amplified and broadcast more than those of men. Again, the witch trials are twisted by men into
a story of a woman’s criminality. Ruhl associates The Crucible with sexual exploitation in other
ways as well. Gale, Becky’s granddaughter, auditions for the local school’s performance of The
Crucible where she is cast as Betty. The director makes uncomfortable advances to the young
women, encouraging them to dance naked in the woods for “character work,” then show him
pictures. Like the two plays analyzed earlier in this chapter, this play shows how The Crucible
continues to be used as an abusive tool by men against women.
However, these plays do more than just associate The Crucible with sexism and abuse;
they offer examples of women reclaiming the story of the witch trials that has been appropriated
by men. Abigail concludes with Ashley’s performance of a one woman show that exposes the
faults of Miller and shines lights on the true history of Salem. She also exposes the director’s
malfeasance by using the technology her generation is familiar with, YouTube, to broadcast his
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unapologetic confession. In this way, Tuft encourages a new generation of feminists (which
includes herself) to question the “greats,” look for gaps in history where a woman’s perspective
has been largely ignored, and to create new works which illuminate the truth they find. Ashley
does just this in her play, and this mirrors what the playwright herself is doing in writing the
piece. Tuft encourages those who are outraged by learning the truth to find a way to
communicate these truths to others. Unlike the other modern depictions of the Salem witch trials
explained in chapter two, Tuft offers a model to reclaim the witch trials’ importance to women’s
history by directly confronting those who appropriated it.
Like Abigail, John Proctor is the Villain has a redemptive ending. The class is
assigned a creative project about The Crucible. Two of the students write their own script as
Elizabeth Proctor and Abigail Williams. They treat each other with compassion, call out John
Proctor for his crimes against women, and encourage the other students in the classroom to break
out of the strict culture of their classroom by dancing wildly. In doing this, Belflower offers a
chance for the women of Salem to be seen and recognized for their truth. Additionally, she calls
out to women to create new works about the Salem witch trials and shows the inspiration a
feminist adaptation can bring to modern society. Similarly, the troubling experience of the young
actresses in Becky Nurse of Salem empowers them to make their own statement during the play
about how sexist The Crucible really is and why it should be reexamined and its popularity
rethought.
However, there is a very obvious lack of intersectionality in these plays. Intersectionality,
a term coined by legal scholar, Kimberle Crenshaw, is defined as the unique intersection between
racial and gendered oppression that women of color experience. In a 1991 article, Crenshaw
defines intersectionality as, “the ways in which the location of women of color at the intersection
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of race and gender makes our actual experience of domestic violence, rape, and remedial reform
qualitatively different than that of white women” (1245). Tituba’s experience of the witch trials
is certainly different than that of the other women involved. Her confession was prompted by
being beaten within an inch of her life, which was already a life of enslavement and prejudice.
While there is every opportunity to analyze the character of Tituba as well as Abigail, all three of
these playwrights mention Tituba as merely an afterthought.
In Abigail, Ashley does mention Tituba’s disparaged history. She says, “If you read up on
the actual events, the real Tituba never actually led any wild sexy dancing in the woods. Never
did voodoo with chicken blood. She was a slave who only "confessed" after being tried and
brutally beaten. Many say she later recanted” (28). She expands by explaining that Tituba was
not Black but rather Arawak. In noting this change, Tuft identifies Miller’s reliance on popular
American stereotypes about Black women as slaves—like the mammy stereotype mentioned in
chapter one—to tell his story. The director and producer respond by arguing, “We have a very
diverse cast” (29). This response echoes the very lackluster response of white Americans to
racial injustice. By having a “color-blind” philosophy, no real equality is achieved. Rather, the
true issues of oppression are hushed and dismissed. Tuft shows that having a “diverse” cast or
portrayal of Tituba is not a remedy for Miller’s racism in a production of The Crucible. While
Tuft illuminates many sexist implications of The Crucible in her text, her mention of Tituba is
brief. There is no actress playing Tituba in the play. Her history is mentioned only as an
afterthought to Ashley’s concerns about Abigail’s portrayal. This play offers a white feminist
perspective and lacks a complete intersectional approach to the analysis of Miller’s play. With
this in mind, we see that the feminist arguments made by Tuft in the play, while insightful about
Abigail, are limited by their lack of inclusion of Tituba’s experiences and ultimately the
53
experiences of women of color. In the other two plays, Tituba is not mentioned at all.
This is alarming in that Tituba was the most vulnerable and disenfranchised person in the
Salem witch trials yet the stories are centered on white women. This mirrors exactly what has
happened within the #MeToo movement. Black women may have started the movement and may
be the most affected by assault and abuse, but white women center their own stories above those
of women of color. While these feminist plays make strides towards an analysis of Salem
centered on women’s voices, they silence or glance over the voices of Black women. Feminism
is not feminism if it does not include women of color. These plays are only a starting point and
until our popular culture depictions of the Salem witch trials uplift the voices of Black women,
we cannot do justice to the women who lost their lives or livelihoods in 1692 Salem and we
cannot dismantle sexism in our own society.
There are two other plays that I am aware of that have been written in the last decade that
depict the Salem witch trials from a feminist perspective and focus on Tituba, Tituba by
Winsome Pinnock and Witch Hunt by Carol S. Lashof. These plays do an excellent job of
amplifying the voice of Tituba with historical accuracy and by putting the power back into her
hands. However, I decided not to include these works in my thesis, because they do not relate
directly to The Crucible and ranged past the scope of my argument. These plays are about
sharing history rather than exposing Miller’s sexism, thus they are not included in this thesis.
While there is feminist scholarship and creative work about Tituba, it doesn’t directly dismantle
the damage Miller has done as a pseudo-historian of the Salem witch trials.
The Crucible has become the foremost popular culture reproduction of the Salem witch
trials. Its legacy is established not only in the role it plays in the literary and dramatic canon, but
also in the recurrence of the tropes it creates in contemporary pop culture. This legacy can be
54
analyzed as historically inaccurate, misogynistic, and racist because of its depiction of women as
sexual, foreign villains. The contemporary plays by Sarah Tuft, Kimberly Belflower, and Sarah
Ruhl introduce a new discourse on The Crucible’s legacy. By using a feminist framework, these
playwrights reclaim the narrative for the women oppressed by the trials and critique Miller’s
patriarchal influence on the perception of history. Perhaps in including new plays like these into
the realm of media surrounding the witch trials, a fuller and more woman-centric perspective can
honor one tragedy that shaped America’s culture towards women.
Each day our eyes are opened more to the prejudice that has formed American history
and continues to shape society today. Similar to the way the Salem witch trials have been
rewritten from a white male perspective, other forms of racism, sexism, and xenophobia have
been glossed over to glorify the white man. We as a nation have refused to open our eyes to the
truth for centuries which has left us with an unchanging cycle of oppression. As recent events in
society have shown us, we are finally beginning to listen and educate on the painful truth of our
history. From there, we have a responsibility to educate ourselves and to create new work that
elevates the voices of the marginalized. I believe the plays Abigail, John Proctor is the Villain,
and Becky Nurse of Salem are examples of how understanding our true history can shape the way
we see the world today.
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CONCLUSION
Arthur Miller’s The Crucible has been influential in shaping the narrative surrounding
the Salem witch trials and witch hunts in general in the United States. The real history of the
witch trials, however, is far more complicated when considering gendered expectations,
economic controls, and religious dictates. The grim period of history is responsible for the
persecution of thousands of women based on the traditional view of women as inherently evil
and on their ability to exercise independence. I argue that due largely to the popularity of The
Crucible, this perception of women in the witch trials persists, as can be seen in the sexualized
portrayals of Abigail and Tituba in recent popular culture such as the movie version of The
Crucible (1996), the TV show Salem (2014-2017), and the anthology series American Horror
Story: Coven (2011).
Miller’s use of sexist tropes turned the witch trials into a man’s fight for honor in the
face of women’s sexual temptation rather than a story about the suffering of oppressed women.
He appropriates their struggles for his own personal and political gain and disguises this as
allegory, despite relying on real names and events to tell his story. While Miller’s attempt to
expose McCarthyism’s harsh practices is important, using and villainizing the lives of women to
tell his story is a shameful misappropriation that center white men instead of oppressed women.
The trend of appropriating the stories of Salem’s women for man’s personal gain is seen in the
popular culture depictions discussed in chapter two. Film and television are infiltrated with
depictions of the trials that make women into “others” or “femme fatales” who are punished for
exerting their power and autonomy. This fulfills the need of the male gaze described by Laura
Mulvey for men to see themselves as heroes and women as punishable and controllable. In these
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adaptations, we again see men appropriating real women’s tragedies for their own gain.
The sexist way the history of the witch trials has been portrayed is coming to light,
however, as female playwrights such as Sarah Tuft, Kimberly Belflower, and Sarah Ruhl have
begun to produce work that calls out Miller’s misrepresentation and creates a new standard of
understanding of the trials. These authors also shed light on the connections of the trials to
modern political issues in the United States, especially sexual assault allegations and the poor
treatment of women by political leaders and their followers. Not only do these plays call out
appropriation of the Salem witch trials, but they also expose the ways producing this play
perpetuates and justifies sexism and abuse in contemporary society. Perhaps most importantly,
these plays encourage women, through their plots and by example, to redeem the stories of
Salem’s women and call out sexism by creating new works which give the oppressed women a
voice. There is still a glaring gap in this discourse, however, and that is found in the lack of
discussion about Tituba and her marginalized position in Salem and in Miller’s play. While these
plays accomplish many goals in redeeming the real story of women from Miller’s appropriation,
they silence the voices of BIPOC women. Without the voices of these women, a feminist
analysis is an incomplete and inaccurate depiction of The Crucible’s sexism.
I am writing this thesis in the midst of great political turmoil and crises of morality in
the United States. Writing a thesis about the Salem witch trials against a backdrop of a global
pandemic, the loss of Black lives by police brutality, and the reversal of transgender healthcare
rights has often left me feeling like my work is unimportant in the grand scheme of history.
However, I have learned much from my work that I believe can be applied to the situations we
face today. The first of these is that our history is often dictated by those in power, especially cis
white men. Even when the true history is available to us, many choose to accept the stories that
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depict them as heroes rather than oppressors. In the Salem trials, men in power dominated the
court and spurred on the trials by their greed for property and revenge. However, the story of
popular knowledge has been warped to depict a heinous woman’s lust and a foreign witch’s
devilry. Similarly, the history of the oppression of enslaved Black people and slain Indigenous
people has been molded into a history of economic progress and manifest destiny. While the
Salem witch trials may not be America’s greatest tragedy, it is a tragedy that has been grossly
misremembered. I argue that the dominance of writers like Miller contributes to this
misinterpretation.
I do not argue that we do away with The Crucible. The play’s historical and literary
significance should not be discredited. However, I do argue that an examination of the
consequences of Miller’s work is necessary for its continued reproduction onstage and in
classrooms. There is little other media that depicts the Salem witch trials in an accurate and
alternative nature to Miller’s white male gaze. I argue that new works about the witch trials of
both nonfiction and fiction are needed to create a more comprehensive understanding of the time
period. These works must be mindful not to reproduce the tropes Miller enforced like many
works have but rather use creativity to remember the lives that were lost in the tragedy and to
offer alternative understandings of the mystery of Salem.
My final argument concerns the normalization of the phrase, “witch hunt,” in common
conversation. A sexual assault scandal is not a witch hunt. An examination of a leader’s crimes is
not a witch hunt. An accusation of communism is not a witch hunt. A witch hunt is a historical
tragedy that led to the execution of thousands of people. It is the oppression of female
independence by patriarchal leaders. To use it to describe anything different is a disrespect and
misunderstanding of history. Miller’s use of the Salem witch trials as an allegory helped
58
establish the precedent that this is an appropriate comparison to modern political turmoil. Unless
thousands of women and girls are murdered, I refuse to accept “witch hunt” as a political term.
In conclusion, I dedicate this thesis to the women of Salem. I dedicate it to those who
were hanged for their refusal to confess: Bridget Bishop, Sarah Good, Elizabeth Howe, Susannah
Martin, Sarah Wildes, Martha Carrier, Martha Corey, Mary Eastey, Mary Parker, Alice Parker,
Ann Pudeator, and Margaret Scott. I dedicate it to the men who died defending them: George
Burroughs, George Jacobs Sr., John Proctor, John Willard, Wilmot Redd, Samuel Wardell Scott
Sr., and Giles Corey. I dedicate it to those who died in Salem’s jail: Anne Foster, Sarah Osborne,
Mercy, the infant daughter of Sarah Good, Lydia Dustin, and Roger Toothaker. I dedicate it to
the countless young girls manipulated by a patriarchal society into convicting their friends and
neighbors. I dedicate it to Dorcas Good, the five year old who went mad in prison. I dedicate it to
Tituba, who sat forgotten in prison for years after the trials ended. I dedicate it to the women who
have been forgotten by history. May we not forget what a society based in fear, religious
radicalization, and oppression can create.
59
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