Still Burning Witches: The Church and Sexual Violence

As presented by Rev’d Dr Miryam Clough to MOW’s 40th Anniversary Conference, Lead Like a Woman!

As a young ordinand in the 1980s with a liking for feminist slogans, I was browsing in a women’s bookshop one day when something caught my eye. It was a red badge with the word “witch” written across it in black, gothic lettering. It made me smile. I bought it and pinned it to the denim jacket I was wearing at the time. It was one of several badges that I had pinned to various items of clothing and I thought nothing of it, beyond that it was mildly amusing. So, when I threw my jacket on one morning and took my seat in the hall at my theological college to listen to a guest speaker, I was horrified when one of my male classmates demanded aggressively that I be asked to take the badge off because, he said, it was “offensive and anti-Christian.”

It may surprise you to hear that, as a survivor of clergy misconduct involving coercion and violence, this experience stood out for me. It remained with me, not only because it was humiliating, but because it characterised the stupidity and pettiness of the sexism that was active in the college at the time, and because it was symptomatic of the underlying toxicity in the church that created an environment that was fundamentally unsafe for women – and others – and where more egregious acts of aggression and harm went unnoticed.

It is this systemic toxicity that I want to highlight today, primarily through some stories from the church’s history. While I won’t dwell too long on witches, this theme provides a useful illustration of the church’s complicity in gendered violence.

A couple of explanations before I go on: First, I’m using the terms sexual violence and gendered violence quite broadly, to include physical, sexual, and psychological violence, and containment or incarceration where sex and gender are a focus or justification for depriving someone of their freedom. Second, the focus of my work is on women’s experiences as a result of masculinist or patriarchal systems, but I want to acknowledge that others are damaged by these systems and that women can be complicit in them also.

All four major western Christian denominations – Roman Catholic, Lutheran, Calvinist and Anglican – engaged in persecuting so-called “witches.” More than eighty percent of the tens of thousands executed as such in the early modern period were women, whom, sociologist Tom Inglis notes, were seen as “oversexed, strong, independent, dangerous to men and … threatening [to] the existing social order.”[1] Many were single or widowed mothers. Some were simply unpopular with their neighbours, others were targeted because they were healers or midwives. Many of those accused confessed to witchcraft under torture.

To illustrate the arbitrariness of this form of gendered violence, I’d like to highlight four points from a recent secondary study of the Survey of Scottish Witchcraft – a database of the records of nearly 4,000 people, mostly women, who were accused of witchcraft in Scotland in the 16th–18th centuries.[2] This study, by Professor of Nursing Nicola Ring and colleagues, focusses on healers and midwives who were accused of witchcraft and analyses the information detailed about them in the survey.[3]

• The first point to note is that the practices the midwives and healers were accused of were not outlandish or satanic, rather, many of them were found to be consistent with recent nursing and midwifery practice. In fact, a subset of this group of healers and midwives was found to be using advanced healthcare practices likely derived from Christian monasteries.[4] It is notable that, as medical practice increasingly became the prerogative of university-educated male physicians, this group of educated practitioners disappears from the witch trial records. It is likely that these practitioners had been targeted for their medical competence because they were obstacles to male ambition.
• Second, Scotland’s Witchcraft Act (1563) intersected with the country’s shift from Catholicism to Protestant religion in 1560. Many of the healers and midwives were executed because they continued using pre-reformation healing practices which included attention to spiritual wellbeing and the use of Catholic prayers and rituals.[5]
• Third, others were considered harmful simply because they were women.[6]
• And fourth, the researchers concluded that the records of the trials reflect the perspectives of male witchcraft investigators who “held a particular worldview regarding what constituted orthodox religious beliefs, healing practices, and gender norms.”[7]

The persecution of witches was a form of gendered violence that served the interests of male religious and social power.

A recent documentary on the witch trials, fronted by actor Suranne Jones, highlighted that the fervour that fuelled historical accusations of witchcraft was particularly prevalent at times of social, environmental, and economic crisis, and that these persecutory dynamics continue to operate in the present. Jones explores the parallels between the conditions that supported various historical witch trials and more recent phenomena such as McCarthyism in the 1940s–1950s, and the current misogynist online harassment of women in the public sphere.[8]

None-the-less, it is easy to assign such egregious events as the witch trials to far off times and places, believing ourselves and our age to be more enlightened. So, I’m going to move to some more recent examples of faith-based gender violence, starting with the institutional containment of female sexuality.

You may be aware of the Irish Magdalen laundries from films like The Magdalene Sisters and Philomena. [9] The incarceration of thousands of women and girls in these punitive and inhumane institutions was justified theologically and with recourse to scripture. Many of the Magdalene women, as they are known, were young unmarried mothers. Many were victims of sexual abuse or incest. Some were sent to the laundries because they had learning disabilities, or because they were thought to be “too pretty” and were regarded as a temptation to men. Some were routinely transferred to the laundries in adolescence from other institutions, such as orphanages and industrial schools. Some were as young as 12 when they were incarcerated, and a significant number were never released. Many died in the laundries.[10]

When they entered the laundries, women and girls were given new names, were forced to wear drab uniforms, and their hair was cut short. They were poorly nourished and subjected to continual religious penance and strenuous unpaid labour, which brought considerable income to the church. Their babies were forcibly adopted – often in exchange for a fee. Despite being incarcerated without any legal mandate, those who managed to escape were often returned to the laundries by gardaí (police) or family members. This abuse was systemic and many in Irish society colluded with it. This practice of incarcerating women and children on the basis of sex – whether consensual or not – continued until the end of the last century. Ireland’s last Magdalen laundry closed in 1996.

Anyone who has seen The Magdalene Sisters or Philomena will be aware of the brutality and cruelty of these institutions, which operated in a number of countries around the world, including Australia. I was not aware, before New Zealand’s recent Royal Commission of Inquiry into Abuse in Care, that some of New Zealand’s faith-based institutions operated along similar lines.

The Anglican St Mary’s Home for unwed mothers in Auckland was established in 1884, and, like the Magdalen Laundries, which were founded in the late eighteenth century with an initially philanthropic intention, became increasingly punitive in the twentieth century. Women who were in St Mary’s Home from the 1950s to the 1970s have subsequently disclosed that they were sexually abused by doctors, made to undertake hard physical labour throughout their pregnancies, were deliberately undernourished so that they would have small babies, were slapped and refused pain relief as they gave birth, and their babies were forcibly adopted.[11] In 2005 and 2022, Bishops John Paterson and Ross Bay apologised on behalf of the church to women who disclosed the abuse they suffered at the home during this time.[12]

Maggie Wilkinson, one of several women who gave evidence about St Mary’s at the Royal Commission, described her experience as a 19-year-old in 1964. There is little to distinguish her account from the testimonies of Magdalen Women. Maggie describes St Mary’s as Dickensian and dehumanising. Girls and women were forced to work long hours while their sickness benefits were paid directly to the home. They were not allowed to use their own names or wear their own clothes and were subjected to emotional and verbal abuse. Young pregnant girls were told to say they were 16 years old if they were asked and there was evidently no support for girls who had been raped. In an act of gross spiritual abuse, Maggie was made to swear on the Bible that she would never attempt to contact the daughter who was forcibly taken from her.[13]

The Magdalen laundries operated around a biblically justified dichotomy of the feminine as virgin or whore. This polarity was operative in St Mary’s Home also, where the unmarried mothers were kept separated from the adjacent maternity home for fear that they might be a source of moral contagion. They were called “fallen women” by the matron and made to attend chapel twice a day for their sins. Australia was no different. You may be familiar with Australian artist Rachel Romero’s work, which was exhibited in the National Museum of Australia in 2011 as part of the exhibition, Inside: Life in Children’s Homes and Institutions. In her painting titled “Stigmata: The Indelible Stain,” Romero tells her story:

There was, in the city of churches, a convent of the Good Shepherd run by nuns who had consecrated their pure and blemish-less bosoms to the ‘rescue’ of girls deemed ‘delinquent.’ An abused young woman who had fled her home in 1967 was sent to this prison-like convent. Here, she worked unpaid alongside other unwanted young women in the convent’s commercial Magdalene laundry, an antiquated facility run like a Dickensian workhouse. Stripped of their names and identities and stigmatized evermore as Magdalenes, many of the girls, upon their release, spent the rest of their lives trying to live with this indelible stain.[14]

The laundries were named after Mary Magdalene, who was often sexualised and portrayed as a repentant prostitute in Western art. I’m going to expand on this a little, to illustrate one of the ways scripture is manipulated to justify abuse. Artistic representations of the repentant Magdalen were popular from the 16th century, the seductive mix of partial nudity, voluptuousness, humility, and submissiveness appealing to the voyeuristic male gaze and to male fantasies of sexual and religious power – both reflecting and reinforcing gender inequalities. In the Magdalen laundries and other related institutions, scripture, theology, and doctrine underpinned the incarceration and abuse of women and girls for sex – even when sex was not consensual or hadn’t actually occurred. But was this treatment of women – legitimised through the construct of the repentant Magdalene – what the Gospel writers intended?

The gospels portray Mary Magdalene as an independent and trusted follower of Jesus, who financially supported his ministry, courageously stood with him at his crucifixion, was the first to witness his resurrection, and was charged by him with sharing the good news of his rising. Early theologians present her as the most devout of Jesus’ followers and an important early Christian leader.[15] Nowhere in the gospels is she described as a sex worker or as sexually promiscuous, yet this masculinist misconstruction of the biblical figure of Mary Magdalene has been used to silence and punish countless women and girls – often for the sexual impropriety and crimes of men.[16]

Art is more than a tool of patriarchy, however. Rachel Romero’s series of paintings and film on her time in a Magdalen laundry in Adelaide is a powerful critique of church and state care and misogynist attitudes about gender and sexuality. I love the way she highlights the virgin-whore polarity so prominent in the church’s discourse about women, and her resistant or subversive use of Christian symbols – the cross, the crown of thorns, the stigmata – to highlight the brutality and perversion of the church’s treatment of girls in church-run institutions.

New Zealand’s Royal Commission of Inquiry into Abuse in Care found that, during the inquiry period – the second half of the twentieth century –

New Zealand society held narrow views about the place of women and girls in society, informed by Christian morality, social conservatism and rigid ideas about gender roles, including what constituted appropriate sexual behaviour. Women and girls whose behaviour did not fit these norms were often hidden away or sent to be reformed.[17]

Girls were judged by different standards than boys, and fear of female sexuality led to concerns about promiscuity. This misogynist attitude also intersected with a racist belief in the hypersexuality of Māori and Pasifika women, meaning that Māori and Pasifika girls were disproportionately affected by incarceration in so-called care facilities and by abuse within that system.[18] These attitudes resulted in girls being wrongly placed in psychiatric care or, if they became pregnant, in homes for unmarried mothers.

I remember being horrified, when I was researching the Magdalen laundries some years ago, to learn about the British Contagious Disease Acts of the 1860s, which permitted forced vaginal examinations, and the detention and treatment of any woman suspected of prostitution – in an attempt to curb the spread of syphilis in men, who, needless to say, were not subjected to such measures. Josephine Butler, who described this treatment of women as “medical rape,” successfully led the campaign against the acts, which were repealed in 1886.[19] I had no idea until the Royal Commission’s report was released in July, that the forced venereal disease testing of girls and women in institutional care in New Zealand continued into the 1980s and even young children were subjected to it. Abuse of girls and women included intrusive routine vaginal examinations for non-medical reasons, the withholding of menstrual products, and forced contraception, abortions, and sterilisations.[20] The Commission also reported that sexual abuse was more prevalent in faith-based care than in state settings.[21] Forty-six percent of girls who approached the Commission having been in faith-based care reported being sexually abused, and 48 percent reported emotional abuse.[22] Physical and spiritual abuse and neglect were also prevalent in faith-based care settings.

As I was investigating the Irish Magdalen laundries, I also wrote about the case of Joanne Hayes, a young Irish mother who was subjected to what was described as a modern-day witch hunt following the birth of her illegitimate child.[23] Joanne’s story strongly reflects the influence of the Catholic Church on Irish society at the time – both in her attempts to hide the birth of her baby and in the way she was scapegoated for failing to conform to Catholic ideals of purity and motherhood.

On April 14, 1984, the body of a baby boy was found on the beach at Cahirciveen in County Kerry. The ensuing police investigation, which, unusually for a case of infanticide, involved the Dublin Murder Squad, focussed on identifying women who were or might have been pregnant, those known to be involved in extramarital affairs, single women with children, and families where there was a known history of violence or incest. Two days earlier, twenty-five-year-old Joanne Hayes had given birth to a stillborn baby, the second child of her relationship with a married man, Jeremiah Locke, in a field on her family’s farm in Tralee. Joanne had left the baby in the field, returning early the next morning to hide his body in a creek. Joanne’s baby came to be known as the Tralee baby.

Confident that Joanne’s circumstances made her the mother of the Cahirciveen baby, the gardaí refused to believe Joanne’s account of the birth of her own child, refusing even to search for him, despite her having told the police a number of times where the baby was hidden – and offering to show them. Under what they later described as extreme pressure from the gardaí, Joanne and her family confessed to the murder of the Cahirciveen baby. When the body of the Tralee baby was discovered, the gardaí decided Joanne must have given birth to twins.

Subsequent pathology reports revealed that the blood group of the Cahirciveen baby meant it could not have been the child of Jeremiah Locke, leading to what came to be known as the superfecundation theory. It was postulated that Joanne had had sex with two men within the space of forty-eight hours, becoming pregnant by both of them. At a later stage in the investigation, when it had been medically established that Joanne was not the mother of the Cahircaveen baby, though under duress she had initially confessed to his murder, the existence of a third baby – the Azores baby – was proposed. This fantasy baby, fabricated in order to explain Joanne’s earlier forced confession, had evidently been swept out to sea.

Joanne’s trial was described as “medieval.” The Dublin lawyers were so frenzied in their examination of her sexual history that she collapsed in court and was forced to continue her testimony under sedation and barely able to hold her head up.[24] I mention this case for a couple of reasons. As I thought about Joanne Hayes and the women incarcerated in Magdalen laundries within my lifetime, I began to realise that Ireland and New Zealand were not that dissimilar, particularly in respect to attitudes to sex and to unmarried mothers and their children. As a teenager in an Anglican family in the 1970s, it was made very clear to me that, were I to become pregnant, I would be sent to a mother and baby home to limit embarrassment to my family, and my baby would be adopted.

The other reason I mention the case of the Kerry Babies is to highlight the extraordinary lengths some sectors of society will go to, to blame and shame women for sex – even to the extent of fabricating details in a way that is completely bonkers. In echoes of the witch trials, the psychological manipulation used by gardaí resulted in Joanne and members of her family making false confessions. The superfecundation and Azores baby theories were completely implausible, but they dominated the trial and the attention of the nation for six long months. In 2018, DNA testing proved again that Joanne Hayes was not the mother of the Cahirciveen baby – and proved conclusively that she was not his murderer. In 2020, Joanne and her family were awarded 2.5 million euros compensation for their treatment.[25]

A few months ago, I attended a hearing where an ordained indigenous woman was questioned so persistently and aggressively about her private life by the white, male lawyer representing the church, that she, and the seven women who had attended the hearing to support her – three of whom were priests – were in tears. This treatment of her, like that experienced by Joanne Hayes, was medieval. It is deeply concerning that, in 2024, any woman in the church should be interrogated about her personal life in the way this woman was. I suspect that few male clergy have been questioned so brutally for committing abuse or breaching fiduciary duty – neither of which this woman had done. Her experience, like that of Joanne Hayes, and many girls and women in the church and in church-run institutions, was the product of a prurient policing of women’s sexuality – heavily driven by moralism and distorted Christian teaching.

Our General Synod in New Zealand earlier this year included a session on women’s leadership. Nearly 50 years since the first women were priested (in 1977) it was felt necessary to caucus by gender to discuss this issue and the problems women are facing.  At the women’s caucus, it transpired that I was one of the most recently ordained priests in the room. Had my life not been blighted by the misconduct of male clergy, I would have been the first in that group to have been priested – way back in 1989. While some members of synod were congratulating themselves for consenting to a discussion on the obstacles women are currently facing in the church, those of us present who witnessed similar conversations in the 1970s and 1980s were disappointed that it was necessary. Some were reluctant to revisit the trauma of that time and left the room. Our conversations back then were far more radical. Many New Zealand Anglicans today have only known the church with women priests, yet sadly, many of the women who fought for equality in those decades subsequently left the church, and with them, and, perhaps, with the ordination of New Zealand’s first woman bishop in 1990, the stuffing evidently went out of the fight for equality. It seems the church congratulated itself on leading the way, and decided its work was done.

I’d like to read you an extract from my book Vocation and Violence: The Church and #MeToo. This is from an interview with Sarah – not her real name – an experienced Anglican priest in New Zealand. Identifying some of the factors that facilitate abuse, Sarah says:

I think vulnerability has increased in the church. I don’t really see people with disabilities having any status whatsoever, particularly women. Vulnerability and being different. Ageism is a horrible thing in the church right now. The church would fall down if some of us weren’t there taking services. And then thrashing lay women to death. I think the way the church uses women is highly problematic. But definitely vulnerability, difference, and disadvantage. The disadvantaged are doubly disadvantaged in the church … . I don’t trust anyone in authority in the church. I have to really force myself to go to the Eucharist on Sundays now. I feel physically sick when I hear accolades from women for ‘the poor vicar’, because I know he talks about them and the work they do in the most dismissive, disrespectful ways … . When women who really want to draw attention to problems and encourage positive change do that in the church currently, the pushback is strong; it’s diminishing, and it’s silencing. The church seems to be less of a respecter of persons now than it ever has been. There’s been no real assessment of women’s ministry or the suffering this undermining of women causes. It’s a form of neglect. I see to this day women who are used abusively and forced to speak gratefully. Especially older women clergy, of whom I am one, who are excluded from decision making, are regularly ‘called to order’, and who have no pathways to speak about it without being construed as pathetic, needy, or wanting power. It would be termed elder abuse in the secular world. From my experience, there are three consistent factors that create the conditions for abuse: secrecy passing as confidentiality, power passing as leadership, and canonical legalities passing as accountability.[26]

New Zealand’s Royal Commission of Inquiry into Abuse in Care identified the constraints on women’s leadership in the church as a contributory factor in abuse, however, some of our church leaders see things differently. At the faith-based hearings in 2021, a representative of the Anglican Church stated his belief that abuse is not related to the church’s culture. He attributed it instead to the actions of predatory individuals who have taken advantage of a few blind spots in the church’s efforts to keep people safe. This view was reiterated in a subsequent statement to the Commission, alongside an attribution of blame to secularism. In 2018, the Wilberforce Foundation’s Survey of Faith and Belief in New Zealand identified church-based abuse and attitudes about gender, sexuality, and unmarried mothers as major obstacles to Christianity.[27] This would suggest that secular New Zealand has little tolerance for abuse in the church; indeed, the church’s track record in this respect is one reason people stay away. It is safe to say, that the church failed to protect people by doing what the church has always done – by conducting itself – to use the words of Ms C, who was groomed and abused by an Anglican priest from the ages of 12–17 – as a “misogynist old boys’ club” designed to protect abusers,[28] that prioritises and entitles men in its theology and practice, elevates its clergy to unrealistic moral heights, and continues to marginalise women, children, and others.

This denial of the systemic nature of church-based abuse is the crux of the problem. Abuse in the church is absolutely systemic, and it is the product of toxic masculinity. It is supported by the language, theology, and structure of the church and until this changes, abuse will be with us. Our General Synod’s session on women concluded with prayer to a male God. So long as we prioritise the masculine in our language, we will privilege it in our church structures. In doing so, we limit our understanding of our humanity and of the divine, and we allow abuse to flourish.

For many women abused by clergy, the fight for accountability from the church has proved costly. Historically, survivors and their advocates have been forced out of their roles in ministry and church leadership while abusers have been protected. Some women have felt that their training or ministry roles have become untenable when their complaints of harassment or abuse have been disregarded. The spiritual abuse that accompanies any act of abuse by clergy may leave women questioning their faith and the validity of their vocations to ministry. Often the process of reporting abuse is badly handled and retraumatising. Were it not for the absolute tenacity of those survivors who have come forward – some repeatedly – the church would still be side-stepping this issue. The cost to those individuals is high. However, when abuse disclosures are met with empathy and constructive action, healing can take place – for the church as well as for those directly affected.

In an interview for Vocation and Violence, Catholic theologian Roćio Figueroa, herself a survivor of abuse by the leader of a religious order, spoke of the things that had helped her to heal from the profound crisis of faith caused by her own abuse and exposing that of others. Grace, patience, prayer, and time were essential for her. She also mentioned being supported by loved ones, being able to express her anger about what had happened, and having space away from thinking about God, faith, and her vocation. She gave up teaching theology for a time, while she reframed her faith from her own authentic perspective – through the lens of her critical thinking – rather than accepting what she had been told. Forgiveness was important for Roćio – but it may not right be for everyone.[29]

Just over 20 years ago, I left the church believing it was an unsafe and harmful place for me to be. In turning my back on the church, I was also closing the door on a calling I had first experienced when I was seven years old. In 2020, God – and Covid – conspired to put me back in the very setting that had been a site of trauma for me in the 1980s. In January 2022, after two postponements due to Covid lockdowns, I was ordained deacon alongside my dear friend Christine, whose husband, John, had stood to support me during the “witch” incident all those years ago, when we were students together. We were ordained at Oihi Bay in the Bay of Islands, where Samuel Marsden, at the invitation of a Māori chief, Ruatara, first preached the gospel in 1814. This was one of the most joyful occasions of my life. In his address that day, Bishop Te Kitohi (Kito) Pikaahu acknowledged that my ordination was 34 years overdue. In that moment, so much was put right for me. In 2020, learning that I was writing a book on clergy abuse, Bishop Kito had said to me, “the church needs to take responsibility for this. If I can help, let me know.” A few months later, I shared some of my experiences with him. He listened. He accepted what I said. He did not ask any intrusive questions. I left his office that day feeling deeply supported and having re-entered a process of discernment for ordination.

Eighteen months later, just days before my book came out, Bishop Kito led our ordination retreat. In the intervening time, I had been offered a home in Te Hāhi Mihingare – the Māori Anglican Church – and had been studying and teaching for a year on our regional ministry training programme. Three weeks ago, I had the privilege of leading the ordination retreat for our newest deacon.

In April this year, Anashuya Fletcher was ordained and installed as Assistant Bishop of Wellington. She is one of two women out of a total of 11 bishops in Aotearoa New Zealand, with two dioceses currently without episcopal leadership.[30] The Diocese of Polynesia, our province partner, has yet to appoint a woman bishop. In June, Bishop Ana presided at the opening Eucharist of General Synod. As I watched this petite woman confidently extend her arms – and her smile – to joyously pray the Eucharistic Prayer, I was filled with hope for the church. The way she filled the space was incredible, and I have never seen the Eucharist celebrated with so much joy and presence. I believe Bishop Ana will be a strong role model for young women as they discern their vocations to ministry.

Without strong women’s leadership, the church is weighed down by repeated abuse scandals. We know this – and Justin Welby’s overdue resignation has highlighted it once more. If we are to lead as women, we need to take up space in our churches. We need be intentional in our vocations.[31] We need to support and mentor one another. We need to demand and create training and ministry settings that nurture us in our faith and where we, and our emerging women leaders can flourish. We need to embrace and empower the witches in our midst.

References

Abuse in Care, Royal Commission of Inquiry. “Transcript of Ms C for Faith-based Redress Hearing.” December 8, 2020. https://www.abuseincare.org.nz/our-progress/library/v/182/statement-of-ms-c-for-faith-based-redress-hearing

Abuse in Care, Royal Commission of Inquiry. Whanaketia: Through Pain and Trauma from Darkness to Light. June 2024. https://www.abuseincare.org.nz/reports/whanaketia.

Abuse in Care, Royal Commission of Inquiry. “Witness Statement of Margaret Anne Wilkinson.” September 17, 2020. https://www.abuseincare.org.nz/assets/Evidence-library/Interim-Report-2021-He-Purapura-Ora-he-Mara-Tipu/Witness-statement-of-Margaret-Wilkinson-17-September-2020.pdf.

Abuse in Care, Royal Commission of Inquiry. “Women and girls’ experiences of abuse and neglect in care: summary and key messages.” June 2024. https://www.abuseincare.org.nz/assets/Whanaketia/Summaries/Summary-Women-and-Girls.pdf

Atwell, Alyssa. “The British Contagious Diseases Acts (1864, 1866, and 1869).” Towards Emancipation? https://hist259.web.unc.edu/contagious-diseases-acts-1864-1866-and-1869/, accessed November 2024.

Binning, Elizabeth, and Simon Collins. “Church Apology ‘Wonderful’.” NZ Herald, March 5, 2005. https://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/church-apology-wonderful/TY3UKT5N36LWB7V4C7YPTFDBHU/.

Bond, Helen, and Joan Taylor, Women Remembered: Jesus’ Female Disciples. Hodder and Stoughton, 2022.

Clough, Miryam. Shame, the Church and the Regulation of Female Sexuality. Routledge, 2017.

Clough, Miryam. Vocation and Violence: The Church and #MeToo. Routledge, 2022.

Cussens, Ione. “Help where help was needed – Single Mothers and the Salvation Army Bethany Home in 1960s-70s Auckland.” Auckland History Initiative, August 5, 2021. https://ahi.auckland.ac.nz/2021/08/05/help-where-help-was-needed-single-mothers-and-the-salvation-army-bethany-home-in-1960s-70s-auckland/.

Doward, Jamie. “Why Europe’s wars of religion put 40,000 ‘witches’ to a terrible death.” The Guardian, January 7, 2018. https://www.theguardian.com/society/2018/jan/07/witchcraft-economics-reformation-catholic-protestant-market-share.

Frears, Stephen, dir. Philomena. 2013. https://philomenamovie.com/.

Goodare, Julian, Lauren Martin, Joyce Miller, and Louise Yeoman. The Survey of Scottish Witchcraft: 1563–1736. University of Edinburgh, January 2003. https://witches.hca.ed.ac.uk/.

Harrison, Shane. “Kerry Babies: Irish State Apologises to Joanne Hayes.” BBC, December 18, 2020. https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-55364644.

Inglis, Tom. Truth, Power and Lies: Irish Society and the Case of the Kerry Babies. University College Dublin Press, 2003.

Jones, Nicholas. “Exclusive: ‘When I woke she was gone’ – her newborn girl was taken 57 years ago; finally, an apology.” NZ Herald, April 1, 2022. https://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/abuse-in-state-care-inquiry-baby-taken-for-adoption-anglican-church-apologises-57-years-later/ZY3XIM6WNVCQ2HBPC5MAOTL4AU/.

Keel, Anna, dir. Suranne Jones: Investigating Witch Trials. Channel 4. First shown Sunday June 23, 2024. https://www.channel4.com/programmes/suranne-jones-investigating-witch-trials.

McCafferty, Nell. A Woman to Blame: The Kerry Babies Case. Attic Press, 2010.

McCrindle Research Ltd. Faith and Belief in New Zealand. The Wilberforce Foundation, 2018. https://mccrindle.com.au/article/topic/demographics/faith-and-belief-in-new-zealand/.

Mullan, Peter, dir. The Magdalene Sisters. Momentum Pictures, 2002.

Ring, Nicola A., Nessa M. McHugh, Bethany B. Reed, et al. “Healers and midwives accused of witchcraft (1563–1736) – What secondary analysis of the Scottish survey of witchcraft can contribute to the teaching of nursing and midwifery history.” Nurse Education Today 133, (February 2024). https://doi.org/10.1016/j.nedt.2023.106026.

Rachael Romero, “Stigmata: The Indelible Stain,” 2011, Inside: Life in Children’s Homes and Institutions, National Museum Australia, https://insideblog.nma.gov.au/tag/the-pines/.

[1] Tom Inglis, Truth, Power and Lies: Irish Society and the Case of the Kerry Babies (University College Dublin Press, 2003), 230.

[2] The survey/database, compiled by researchers from Edinburgh University, details the records of just under 4,000 people who were accused of witchcraft in Scotland from 1563–1736, most of whom were named. It is estimated that nearly two thirds may have been executed. Most (84%) were women. Many were defined as witches by their neighbours. Those executed were mostly strangled at the stake before their bodies were burned. Proving a relationship with the devil was crucial to obtaining a conviction and 90% of those accused of devil worship were women. A small group were midwives or folk healers (Julian Goodare, Lauren Martin, Joyce Miller, and Louise Yeoman, The Survey of Scottish Witchcraft: 1563–1736, University of Edinburgh, January 2003, https://witches.hca.ed.ac.uk/).

[3] Nicola A. Ring, Nessa M. McHugh, Bethany B. Reed, et al., “Healers and midwives accused of witchcraft (1563–1736) – What secondary analysis of the Scottish survey of witchcraft can contribute to the teaching of nursing and midwifery history,” Nurse Education Today 133 (February 2024), https://doi.org/10.1016/j.nedt.2023.106026.

[4] “The treatments and practices used by this sub-group appear informed by knowledge of alchemy, astrology, medical theory, medical herbalism and/or botany, knowledge which pre-Reformation was only held by elite groups including the religious orders.” Ring et al., “Healers and midwives accused of witchcraft (1563–1736).”

[5] See also Jamie Doward, “Why Europe’s wars of religion put 40,000 ‘witches’ to a terrible death,” The Guardian, January 7, 2018, https://www.theguardian.com/society/2018/jan/07/witchcraft-economics-reformation-catholic-protestant-market-share.

[6] Ring, et al., “Healers and midwives accused of witchcraft (1563–1736).” However, it is notable that it was often women who would dob their neighbours in for being witches.

[7] Ring et al., “Healers and midwives accused of witchcraft (1563–1736).”

[8] Suranne Jones: Investigating Witch Trials, Anna Keel, dir., Channel 4, first shown Sunday June 23, 2024. https://www.channel4.com/programmes/suranne-jones-investigating-witch-trials.

[9] The Magdalene Sisters, dir. Peter Mullan, Momentum Pictures, 2002; Philomena, dir. Stephen Frears, 2013, https://philomenamovie.com/. I have retained the earlier spelling “Magdalen,” often used by historians, when referring to the laundries.

[10] For discussion of the laundries see Miryam Clough, Shame, the Church and the Regulation of Female Sexuality (Routledge, 2017), particularly Chapter 8.

^[11] Ione Cussens, “Help where help was needed – Single Mothers and the Salvation Army Bethany Home in 1960s-70s Auckland,” Auckland History Initiative, August 5, 2021,

https://ahi.auckland.ac.nz/2021/08/05/help-where-help-was-needed-single-mothers-and-the-salvation-army-bethany-home-in-1960s-70s-auckland/; Abuse in Care, Royal Commission of Inquiry, “Witness Statement of Margaret Anne Wilkinson,” September 17, 2020, https://www.abuseincare.org.nz/assets/Evidence-library/Interim-Report-2021-He-Purapura-Ora-he-Mara-Tipu/Witness-statement-of-Margaret-Wilkinson-17-September-2020.pdf.

^[12] Elizabeth Binning and Simon Collins, “Church Apology ‘Wonderful’,” NZ Herald, March 5, 2005, https://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/church-apology-wonderful/TY3UKT5N36LWB7V4C7YPTFDBHU/; Nicholas Jones, “Exclusive: ‘When I woke she was gone’ – her newborn girl was taken 57 years ago; finally, an apology,” NZ Herald, April 1, 2022, https://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/abuse-in-state-care-inquiry-baby-taken-for-adoption-anglican-church-apologises-57-years-later/ZY3XIM6WNVCQ2HBPC5MAOTL4AU/.

[13] Abuse in Care, “Witness Statement of Margaret Anne Wilkinson.”

[14] Rachael Romero, “Stigmata: The Indelible Stain,” 2011, Inside: Life in Children’s Homes and Institutions, National Museum Australia, https://insideblog.nma.gov.au/tag/the-pines/.

[15] See Helen Bond and Joan Taylor, Women Remembered: Jesus’ Female Disciples (Hodder and Stoughton, 2022).

[16] This theme is developed in Clough, Shame.

[17] Abuse in Care, Royal Commission of Inquiry, “Women and girls’ experiences of abuse and neglect in care: summary and key messages,” June 2024, https://www.abuseincare.org.nz/assets/Whanaketia/Summaries/Summary-Women-and-Girls.pdf, 3.

[18] Abuse in Care, Royal Commission of Inquiry, “Women and girls’ experiences.”

^[19] Clough, Shame, 146; Alyssa Atwell, “The British Contagious Diseases Acts (1864, 1866, and 1869),” Towards Emancipation? https://hist259.web.unc.edu/contagious-diseases-acts-1864-1866-and-1869/, accessed November 2024.

[20] Abuse in Care, “Women and girls’ experiences,” 19–21.

[21] Abuse in Care, Whanaketia: Through Pain and Trauma from Darkness to Light, June 2024, Part 4, Chapter 5 – “The extent of abuse and neglect in care,” paras 1124–1139, https://www.abuseincare.org.nz/reports/whanaketia/part-4/chapter-5.

[22] Abuse in Care, Whanaketia, Part 4, Chapter 5, para 1054.

[23] Clough, Shame, 136–7. See also Inglis, Truth, Power and Lies, and Nell McCafferty, A Woman to Blame: The Kerry Babies Case (Attic Press, 2010).

[24] McCafferty, A Woman to Blame, xviii

[25] Shane Harrison, “Kerry Babies: Irish State Apologises to Joanne Hayes,” BBC, December 18, 2020, https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-55364644.

[26] Miryam Clough, Vocation and Violence: The Church and #MeToo (Routledge, 2021), 65–66.

[27] McCrindle Research Ltd., Faith and Belief in New Zealand, The Wilberforce Foundation, 2018, https://mccrindle.com.au/article/topic/demographics/faith-and-belief-in-new-zealand/.

[28] Abuse in Care, Royal Commission of Inquiry, “Transcript of Ms C for Faith-based Redress Hearing,” December  8, 2020, https://www.abuseincare.org.nz/our-progress/library/v/182/statement-of-ms-c-for-faith-based-redress-hearing, 665.

[29] Clough, Vocation and Violence, 48–51.

[30] The Ven. Anne van Gend was elected as Bishop of Dunedin on 5 December 2024.

[31] The need for intentionality was emphasised by Bolivia Smith in a panel discussion on women’s leadership at General Synod, June 2024.