’Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.’ Exodus 22:18
‘May they be blotted out of the Book of the Living and not written with the righteous.’ Psalm 69.
No. We are the living.
When truth is what power wants it to be, morality comes at a terrible price, and justice is left to history.
In Glasgow, the year of Scotland’s deadliest witch-hunt, Jonet Mackie lives under the rule of men with unshakeable beliefs. The King and Church blame witchcraft for Scotland’s problems. Her husband, Thomas, traumatised by a childhood experience, refuses to believe.
Jonet and Thomas manage their difference by never speaking of it. But their peace can’t last. One day Jonet is assaulted by a powerful businessman, and in the confrontation that follows, Jonet is sure his wife curses them. When misfortune follows, she only becomes more convinced. With her marriage crumbling, her life spiralling, her husband forced into a terrible trade, and a minister ready with a sympathetic ear, Jonet makes a choice. One that changes everything.
‘As long as a King needs a cause, there’ll be those foolish or self-serving enough to take it up. What better way to unite folk than with fear? All the better if their targets can’t argue back.’
1597 was inspired by Marion Walker, and the important work of Scottish Charitable Organisation; Remembering the Accused Witches of Scotland.
Quotes from 1597 The Year of the Living:
Power, ego and lack of conscience were a dangerous mix
More space to spread her skirts. The congregation had thinned. Minister Cowper said it was God’s work.
The only thing between a witch and an innocent woman is the word of men. And I don’t trust them so much as you do… It’s God and the law that protects us Tom. Where will we be if we choose a different path?
They came for the spectacle, for the judgement, to be part of a story, for catharsis, for satisfaction. But not for God
And all the time I tried to talk to her, in my mind like – for wasn’t she supposed to be a witch? Couldn’t she hear my thoughts? – I kept telling her “Save yourself. Make them stop. Fly away.” But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t, Jonet. You know why? Because she was no more a witch than you or me. Then of course they burnt her. And Minister Cowper can say whatever the fuck he wants, ma jo, there’s nothing holy about that.
‘We have twenty-four heads in the cells and we are almost full to capacity. Each of those twenty-four has, I understand, begun naming others. If this new – more thorough – method of prosecution slows down processing, we will run out of cell-space, probably by the end of next week.’
It would be better to convict an innocent woman, than to defy the word of God… I have to object! That’s not a juridically recognised standard of proof.
One way or another, they came. An ancient woman of eighty years, a girl of fourteen, and every age between. A poultry seller, a healer, a seller of trinkets, a midwife, a maid, a laundress, two wet nurses, three itinerant beggars, a widow, a wife, a sister, a daughter. They came to receive their judgement. Not before God. Not even before The Great Witch of Balwearie. But before the men who used their names. The King’s justice.
Dear God, whatever is to come, heaven or hell, please let it not be run by men. At least not men in robes.
Every path led to a victim.
What would they run out of first? Women or fuel for the pyres?
Afraid? Sir. I’m not afraid. I’m terrified. I quake at the notion of standing in that courtroom, telling one more woman that she’ll be strapped to a post and used for kindling.
The calling of names went on, and she understood, each woman called out her own name. Declaring. ‘I’m here… I’m still here.’ Like sheep on a hillside without a shepherd to count for them.
Only a witch would have imperfections that didn’t bleed naturally. How does one bleed naturally?
She might as well have been a witch, for she no longer considered herself a woman.
What should she confess? He wanted to hear of her witchcraft, but she lacked the imagination for a story.
Goodness doesn’t wear vain robes or seek to occupy the chambers of power. Goodness is the quiet voice that speaks true no matter the cost, who acts for justice no matter how hard, who shares the heaviest burdens
Everyone answers. In the end.