The Story of Alse Young

In 1647, the forefathers of American anxiety were sweating through their collars. Their “city on a hill” was cracking. The flu was tearing through families. Crops were failing, and their God was ghosting them.

And then there was Alse Young. Early thirties. No sons. A woman too clever for their comfort, who refused to make herself small.

Her garden grew herbs that healed bodies and unsettled men. She knew the secrets whispered between root and stone. She could look at a man and see the rot in his soul. They weren’t wrong to be afraid of that.

Her independence was a heresy. Her existence, a glitch in their grey design. A woman who could heal without a man’s permission? Absolutely intolerable.

So when the sickness came, killing four children in one neighbor’s home alone, they didn’t look for a cure. They looked for a scapegoat. Alse was the easiest target: inconvenient, independent, terrifying in her knowledge.

On May 26, 1647, they hanged her as a witch. Not because she was dark, but because she shined when they couldn’t.

They called it justice. But their noose was only theater, a fig leaf for their failure, their fear, their fragile egos.

What they couldn’t realize is that silencing her meant her story would never shut up.

Alse was the first woman in the colonies hanged for witchcraft. She wasn’t the last. And neither are you.

They say history repeats itself.

We say: Fine. Let’s be the witches this time.

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