Enslaved Africans. Free people of color. African and Afro-Creole women. Haitians. Healers. Rootworkers. Priestesses. Musicians. Midwives.

People who prayed to God, honored their ancestors, worked with herbs, attended Catholic Mass, called upon saints and spirits—and somehow managed to preserve pieces of themselves inside a society literally designed to strip those things away.

That is the New Orleans story I want you to experience.

And if you're coming to New Orleans for Thanksgiving, you can work some of this history into your trip without turning your entire vacation into a history class.

I promise. You can still eat. You can still drink. You can still listen to music. You can still wander through the French Quarter. You can still have Thanksgiving dinner.

And yes...

You can still cut up a little bit. 😂

But give me a few hours.

Because underneath the beads, balconies and Bourbon Street is another New Orleans.

And she has a story to tell.

First: Hoodoo and Voodoo Are NOT the Same Thing

We need to get this out of the way before somebody emails me.

Hoodoo and Voodoo share roots in the African diaspora, but they are not interchangeable.

So Why Did This Become So Big in New Orleans?

There wasn't one single reason.

New Orleans was almost the perfect cultural environment for African, Caribbean and Catholic spiritual traditions to meet each other.

Congo Square: Where Black People Refused to Disappear

If you're interested in this history, Congo Square needs to be one of your stops.

Located inside Louis Armstrong Park in Tremé, Congo Square became famous as a gathering place where enslaved Africans and free people of color gathered on Sundays.

They traded.

They danced.

They sang.

They drummed.

They socialized.

And they maintained pieces of African culture in a world that kept trying to erase it.

Think about what that means.

People who could legally be bought and sold still created spaces that said:

We are here.
We remember.
We have rhythm.
We have spirit.
We have community.
We have traditions that belong to us.

And the cultural importance of Congo Square doesn't stop at spirituality. African rhythm, dance, call-and-response and musical traditions helped shape the larger musical language of New Orleans.

Jazz didn't fall out of the sky either.

Marie Laveau Wasn't the Only Black Spiritual Figure

New Orleans Voodoo was not one woman running around the French Quarter by herself.

There were Voodoo queens, kings, healers, conjure workers and spiritual practitioners throughout Black communities.

Historical accounts also remember a powerful figure known as Dr. John—or Bayou John, traditionally described as an African-born practitioner who eventually became an important presence in New Orleans' Voodoo culture.

And Black women were particularly important.

That matters.

In a society where Black women could be denied political power, economic power and even ownership of their own bodies, spiritual and healing traditions could create another kind of authority.

A woman might not be able to vote.

She might have limited legal rights.

She might live under slavery or racial restriction.

But people could still come to her for healing, prayer, protection, herbal knowledge, midwifery, spiritual advice and community leadership.

Power finds a way.

So Why Did Voodoo Become “Evil”?

THIS is the part I really want people to understand.

The scary reputation surrounding African diasporic religions didn't develop inside some innocent historical vacuum.

Black spiritual traditions existed inside societies that already feared Black independence.

And after the Haitian Revolution—when enslaved Black people literally overthrew slavery and colonial rule—white slaveholders had an extremely practical reason to fear African gatherings, Haitian influence and forms of Black organization they didn't understand or control.

Over time, racist journalism and popular culture increasingly turned “Voodoo” into shorthand for something supposedly primitive, frightening, dangerous or immoral.

Then Hollywood got ahold of it.

And baby...

Hollywood RAN with it. 🙄

Zombies. Curses. Human sacrifice. Cannibalism. Voodoo dolls. Demons. Crazy ceremonies.

A complex Black religious and spiritual history became entertainment.

Does That Mean Everything in Hoodoo or Voodoo Is “Good”?

Now don't twist what I'm saying either. 😂

Humans are humans.

Spiritual traditions around the world can involve healing, justice, protection, petition, divination and attempts to influence circumstances.

But asking whether Voodoo itself is evil makes about as much sense as asking whether Christianity itself is evil because one Christian somewhere prayed for something ugly.

Religions cannot fairly be reduced to their most sensational practices—or to what outsiders claim those practices are.

For many practitioners, African diasporic traditions have centered healing, prayer, protection, ancestors, community, balance and relationships with spiritual beings.

So no.

Walking into a Voodoo museum isn't going to make your head spin around.

Buying a book about Hoodoo isn't automatically opening a portal in your hotel room.

And learning about African ancestral traditions is not inherently demonic.

Calm down. 😂

New Orleans Isn't “Magical” by Accident

There is a reason this city feels different.

Part of it is architecture.

Part of it is music.

Part of it is the Mississippi River.

Part of it is humidity.

And part of it is 300 years of everybody's business being everybody else's business.

😂

But underneath all of that is memory.

African memory.

Caribbean memory.

Creole memory.

Catholic memory.

Black American memory.

The memory of people who survived slavery and still found reasons to dance.

The memory of women who weren't supposed to have power becoming spiritual authorities anyway.

The memory of ancestors who crossed oceans carrying little more than what they could remember.

And sometimes memory becomes ritual.

Sometimes memory becomes music.

Sometimes memory becomes prayer.

Sometimes memory becomes a root tucked inside a bag.

Sometimes memory becomes a candle beside the image of a saint.

Sometimes memory becomes a drumbeat in Congo Square.

And sometimes...

memory becomes magic.