When a witch uses witchcraft to cast a protection spell for a woman fleeing domestic violence, is that spiritual work or political action? When an Indigenous leader performs a ceremony on land threatened by mining, are they engaging in religion or resistance? The question itself reveals a false binary.
The myth of neutrality
Every so often, I hear claims that witchcraft should remain separate from politics. Sometimes it’s framed as a matter of purity—keeping the spiritual above the “messiness” of human affairs. Sometimes it’s an attempt to maintain peace in diverse communities. Sometimes it stems from a very real fear of persecution. And sometimes it’s simply discomfort with naming power as part of spiritual practice. Yet this separation has never existed, and pursuing it serves only those who benefit from the status quo.
To claim that witchcraft is apolitical is to claim neutrality. But neutrality, more often than not, only serves existing power structures. Choosing not to act, or not to speak, allows systems of oppression to roll on uninterrupted. When we work with power—our own, the land’s, the subtle—we cannot pretend it exists outside the structures that shape every aspect of our lives.
The uncomfortable truth is that claiming spiritual neutrality is, in itself, a political position. It suggests that maintaining comfort and avoiding conflict are more important than confronting harm. It privileges those who can afford to remain detached from struggle because their basic rights and safety aren’t under threat.
Witchcraft isn’t only about candlelit altars and perfectly drawn circles, though it can include these. It’s about working with power—personal, communal, spiritual, natural. Sometimes that looks like a honey jar spell for sweetening relationships. Sometimes it looks like community care that keeps vulnerable people fed and housed. Sometimes it looks like ancestor honouring that refuses to let histories of resistance be forgotten. Magick, in this understanding, is the art of shifting power: aligning ourselves with what we want to see grow, and actively resisting what causes harm. Because power is never neutral, our magick can’t be either.
Why practitioners resist
The reasons many practitioners resist political witchcraft are complex and often valid.
Fear of persecution runs deep in our collective memory. Throughout history, people accused of witchcraft have been burned, hanged, and imprisoned—though most victims weren’t practising witches but rather convenient scapegoats for social anxieties. Today, allegations of witchcraft still lead to violence in parts of Asia and Africa. However, genuine practitioners have also faced persecution when their practices were seen as politically threatening. For many contemporary witches, keeping magic private feels like a survival tactic—a learned response to centuries of violence.
Desire for escape drives some to witchcraft as a refuge from an overwhelming world. If your daily life is consumed by injustice and struggle, spiritual practice might feel like the one space where you can find peace.
The free will ethic is perhaps the most common objection. Many argue that magick should not interfere with anyone’s free will. This ethic, whilst well-intentioned, often masks a deeper avoidance of confronting harmful power structures. Politics already interferes with free will every single day. Racism, sexism, homophobia, classism, colonialism, and ableism all constrain people’s choices, often violently. A refugee family has their free will constrained by borders and detention centres. A queer teenager has their free will limited by laws that deny their identity. An Indigenous community has their free will restricted by mining companies that poison its water. In this context, witchcraft that seeks to protect, to heal, to resist, is not a violation of free will but a restoration of it.
Ask yourself: Who is being protected when we refuse to act? Whose freedom are we preserving when we stay silent? The free-will ethic can be a useful compass when it helps us avoid manipulation and harm. When used as a blanket prohibition, it risks becoming a justification for complicity.
Lack of knowledge about the political history of witchcraft leaves some practitioners unaware that their spiritual ancestors were often activists, rebels, and revolutionaries.
These concerns deserve respect, but they don’t negate the fundamental reality that working with power is always a political endeavour. The question isn’t whether to engage politically, but how to do so with wisdom, compassion, and strategic thinking.
From myth to history: power has always been the point
Before examining historical examples, understand that the myths and stories many Pagans hold sacred already embed witchcraft within questions of power and justice.
In Leland’s Aradia: Gospel of the Witches, Diana sends her daughter, Aradia, to Earth specifically to teach the oppressed how to use magick against their oppressors—to “be free from slavery” through magical practice. Ancient Greek practitioners, as documented in the Greek Magical Papyri, cursed enemies in court, sought favour from officials, and bound those who abused their power. Celtic mythology presents us with the Morrígan, who shaped battles through sorcery, and Brigid, whose arts—smithcraft, poetry, and healing—were deeply intertwined with politics in societies where these skills determined military advantage, public opinion, and survival. Kings consulted Greek oracles and Norse völvas precisely because their magical knowledge had political implications.
These examples don’t automatically justify any particular position, but they reveal that the idea of “apolitical spirituality” would have been foreign to our spiritual ancestors. For them, the numinous included technology for navigating power, not retreating from it.
Moving into documented history, we find that witchcraft and politics have consistently been intertwined. During World War II, Gerald Gardner and the New Forest Coven reportedly performed Operation Cone of Power to deter Nazi invasion—not abstract spirituality but direct magical intervention in a political crisis. Enslaved Africans in the Americas transformed their spiritual traditions into tools of survival: Hoodoo, Obeah, Lukumi, Candomblé and other African diaspora practices included protective charms against violent masters, poisons to defend against assault, and rebellion magick that helped coordinate uprisings. These weren’t decorative additions to “pure” spirituality—they were the difference between cultural death and survival.
Modern witchcraft movements emerged alongside 1960s and 70s feminist, queer, environmental, and anti-war activism. Starhawk and the Reclaiming Tradition explicitly wove together political action and magical practice. More recently, Indigenous water protectors at Standing Rock combined traditional ceremony with direct action against the Dakota Access Pipeline. Brujería practitioners have become increasingly visible in Latine activism. During the Black Lives Matter uprisings, practitioners created protection spells for protesters and justice workings targeting police accountability.
These examples reveal a truth: witchcraft has always been a living force in struggles for liberation. It has been banned, demonised, and ridiculed precisely because it gives people outside official systems a way to claim and wield power.
Witchcraft as resistance
For some of us today, particularly those marginalised by mainstream society, witchcraft remains fundamentally a practice of resistance. It offers healing in a world designed to exploit us. It provides ways to reclaim natural cycles in a society built on extraction and exploitation. It connects us to ancestors whose voices were silenced but whose power endures. It creates space for those pushed to the margins to claim their own power.
One of witchcraft’s greatest strengths as a political tool is its accessibility. Whilst expensive crystals might dominate social media witchcraft, the most powerful magick often uses what’s at hand: tap water charged with intention, herbs from the garden or local bush, dirt from meaningful places.
Consider what it means to practise earth-based spirituality whilst governments approve new coal mines. Consider what it means to honour the feminine divine whilst politicians restrict bodily autonomy. Consider what it means to work with ancestor spirits whilst history books erase their stories of resistance.
Witchcraft is a tool of survival, but it’s also a tool of disruption. It reminds us that no system is absolute, no authority is untouchable, and no oppression is inevitable. When we work magick, we practise the radical belief that change is possible, that power can shift, that healing can happen, and that justice can be manifested.
Politics beyond parties
When I say witchcraft is political, I don’t just mean elections or parties; I also mean the broader social and cultural context. Politics encompasses every aspect of how power operates in society: who gets to speak and who is silenced, who is protected and who is abandoned, whose knowledge is valued and whose is dismissed.
Witchcraft is political when it asks us to honour land and water whilst governments prioritise corporate profits over climate survival. It is political when we refuse to appropriate closed traditions, choosing instead to engage with Indigenous and diasporic practices through consent and reciprocity. It is political when we create inclusive spaces for queer witches, witches of colour, witches living with disabilities, and others who have been excluded.
In Australia, witchcraft becomes political when we acknowledge that we practise on stolen land, when we learn from Aboriginal spiritual traditions with respect rather than appropriation, and when we use our magick to support First Nations sovereignty. It’s political when we cast protection for asylum seekers in offshore detention, when we work healing magick for communities devastated by mining and fracking, when we honour the spirits of those who died in police custody.
Living the practice: ethics and methods
Every spell, every ritual, every offering carries a choice about power. Who and what are we aligning ourselves with? Do our practices reinforce existing hierarchies, or do they challenge them? Do they turn away from suffering, or do they confront it?
These aren’t abstract questions. They play out in the details of our practice: which deities we invoke, whose traditions we draw from, how we source our materials, where we focus our energy, and who we include in our circles.
Power dynamics are complex; someone might hold privilege in one context whilst being marginalised in another. What matters is developing awareness of these positions and making intentional choices about how to utilise the power we hold. I don’t claim that every witch must engage politically in the same way. This blog reflects my perspective, shaped by my experiences as a Cuban-American-Australian living in Melbourne, by my understanding of magick as inherently connected to power, and by my belief that we have responsibilities to each other and to the land. Other thoughtful practitioners may reach different conclusions. But we serve ourselves and our communities poorly when we pretend these questions don’t exist.
Ethical guidelines
Start with consent and relationship. Before working magick on behalf of others, ask permission when possible. Build genuine relationships with the communities you want to support. Follow the leadership of those most affected by the issues you’re addressing.
Consider your own position. What privileges do you hold? What vulnerabilities do you carry? Sometimes the most potent magic is stepping back and amplifying others’ voices.
Respect cultural boundaries. If you’re drawn to work with traditions outside your heritage, understand that some practices are closed regardless of study or good intentions—they belong exclusively to specific bloodlines, nations, or initiatory lineages. For other traditions, engagement may be possible through proper protocols, years of study, and formal initiation. Often, the most respectful approach is finding ways to support those communities without claiming their practices as your own.
Balance spiritual and material action. Magick without material follow-through can become spiritual bypassing. Pair your spells with donations, volunteer work, political engagement, or other tangible forms of support. But remember: magick isn’t less valuable than material action. They work together.
Protect operational security. Not everyone can safely engage in political witchcraft openly. Develop practices that allow for anonymous or secret workings when necessary. Be mindful of what you post on social media, especially when working against influential figures or institutions.
Ground your work in relationship with land and ancestors. Political witchcraft rooted in place and history tends to be more sustainable and effective than work based solely on ideology or outrage.
Accept uncertainty about outcomes. We cannot always measure the success of magical work in conventional terms. A protection spell might work in ways we never see. Focus on doing the work with integrity rather than demanding visible proof. The alternative—doing nothing—certainly won’t create the changes we seek.
Practical approaches
Protection magick: Create protective charms for vulnerable communities—asylum seekers, queer youth, protesters, domestic violence survivors. Layer your magical work with material support, such as donations to relevant organisations.
Justice spells: Direct magical energy towards accountability for those whose power causes harm. This might involve binding spells to limit harmful influence, truth-revealing workings to expose corruption, or justice magick timed with legal proceedings.
Community altars: Build or tend collective altars dedicated to liberation themes, such as climate healing, racial justice, queer freedom, and disability rights. Let these spaces anchor ongoing magical work whilst building community connection.
Environmental magick: Work with the spirits of land, air, and water to resist ecological destruction. Participate in tree planting, waterway cleanups, or advocating for renewable energy.
Ancestor work: Call upon ancestors who resisted oppression—whether you know their names or not—as allies in present struggles. Learn their stories, honour their sacrifices, and ask for their guidance.
Solidarity rituals: Time your magical workings with marches, vigils, court dates, or global days of action. Even when you cannot be physically present, you can lend spiritual support to movements for change.
Witchcraft thrives when it operates at multiple levels simultaneously. The spell and the protest, the altar and the petition, the ritual and the rally—these approaches don’t compete but create a web of change across seen and unseen realms.
We must hold realistic expectations. A protection spell cannot stop every bullet. A justice working cannot guarantee immediate accountability. Magick works alongside material conditions, not instead of them.
Sometimes our spells fail. This doesn’t invalidate the practice; it reminds us that magick is one tool among many, not a panacea. The challenge lies in maintaining hope and commitment without falling into either magical thinking that ignores material reality or cynicism that abandons spiritual practice altogether.
Who can risk what
Not all witches can safely engage in openly political practice, and recognising this reality is crucial. Class position, immigration status, family dynamics, employment situations, physical safety, disability, and other factors all influence what types of engagement are possible.
Those of us with more privilege—whether through citizenship, economic security, racial positioning, or other advantages—have particular responsibilities. We can take risks that others cannot. We can speak truths that others would be punished for voicing. This doesn’t mean guilt or self-flagellation. It means thinking strategically about how to use our positions most effectively.
There’s no hierarchy of worthiness in how we engage. The witch casting protection spells from their sickbed is doing sacred work. The witch who can only afford to light a single candle for justice is wielding power. The witch who practises in secret to avoid family violence is making a brave choice. Political witchcraft isn’t about performing radicalism; it’s about working with power in whatever ways are authentic and sustainable for each practitioner.
An invitation to conscious power
Every witch must decide how to live their Craft with integrity. For some, politics will be front and centre—working magick against authoritarianism and organising magical actions at protests. For others, political engagement will be quieter and woven into daily choices about language, consumption, and care. Some will work publicly, whilst others practise in secret.
There is no single right way to bring consciousness about power into witchcraft, but there is value—indeed, necessity—in asking these questions: Where does my craft align me, and with whom? What powers do I choose to serve, and what powers do I choose to resist? How does my practice reinforce or challenge the systems that shape our world?
The witch who claims political neutrality whilst practising in a society built on stolen land, who invokes goddess energy whilst ignoring the oppression of women, who works with plant spirits whilst remaining silent about environmental destruction, has already made political choices. The only question is whether those choices are made consciously and intentionally.
Witchcraft is not separate from politics because witchcraft is fundamentally about working with power. And power—whether personal, spiritual, communal, or governmental—is always political. To practise magick is to step into relationship with forces that can heal or harm, liberate or oppress, create or destroy.
The question facing every practitioner is not whether to engage politically, but how to wield power with wisdom, courage, and love. How to use our magick not just for personal comfort, but for collective flourishing. How to practise witchcraft that serves life itself.
In a world crying out for healing and justice, I hope more of us choose to be a witch who answers that call.