Carving Traditions: Halloween from the margins

The air crackles with the chill of autumn, swirling with the scent of fallen leaves and faint bonfires. Costumes abound: witches with crooked hats and flowing capes, skeletons clattering along the pavement, and spectral figures drifting through our communities. Amidst the glitter and face paint, identities blur, and the masks we wear reveal more than they hide. 

Halloween feels like a night of fantasy and escapism. But under its playful surface lies a powerful and historical connection to women, marginalised genders, and the queer community. It’s a connection forged through resistance, expression, and defiance.

Witches are arguably the most iconic symbol of Halloween, and their history is deeply intertwined with that of women, particularly those persecuted for defying the patriarchal structures of their time. The witch trials of Europe and early America disproportionately punished women who lived outside societal expectations – for instance, healers, midwives, and, surprisingly, brewers.

In medieval Europe, brewing was largely women’s work. Known as brewsters or alewives, women produced beer as a means of survival and commerce. But as the brewing industry became more profitable, male brewers began to push women out of the trade. As researcher Laken Brooks argues, the imagery associated with alewives – tall hats, cats to guard grain stores, and broomsticks used to advertise their home-brewed ale – became intertwined with the later depictions of witches. 

When we see witches on Halloween, we’re not simply seeing a figure of fantasy; we’re witnessing a historical symbol of how society has often demonised independent, skilled women who step outside the boundaries of what is expected of them. Witches were branded as dangerous, subversive, and uncontrollable. 

Nowadays, it is a sad impossibility to disentangle the image of a witch from anti-trans campaigners, misaligning themselves with those persecuted as witches throughout history. Of course, witches represent those who stood against societal norms; women and marginalised people who resisted control and oppression. The irony lies in the fact that these groups, which champion extreme patriarchy and heteronormativity, have co-opted witches as symbols for their cause. By using this symbol, anti-trans campaigners claim a figure that has always defied the very structures they seek to uphold.

For the queer community, Halloween has historically been more than just a night of spooky revelry – it’s been a moment of liberation, as noted by Them magazine. In the 20th century, long before Pride parades were commonplace, Halloween provided queer people with an opportunity to express themselves freely, often for the first time.

Gender norms were rigid and unforgiving; Halloween offered a unique loophole. Halloween’s embrace of costumes and disguises allowed queer individuals to experiment with their gender presentation and sexual identity in ways that, on any other night of the year, were dangerous. Dressing in drag or adopting an androgynous appearance could be dismissed as ‘just a costume’ during Halloween, offering a rare moment of safety and freedom in a hostile world.

For one night, queer people could embody who they truly were – or who they aspired to be – without fear of persecution. Bars and clubs in cities like New York, San Francisco, and New Orleans began to hold elaborate Halloween parties where queer expression was not merely tolerated but celebrated. Halloween's sense of play, its blurring of identity and reality, allowed queer people to explore their true selves in a way no other holiday could.

Halloween’s broader themes also resonate with other marginalised communities. Monsters are often metaphorical stand-ins for the ‘Other’, the one who is feared and misunderstood by mainstream society. Whether it’s the misunderstood Frankenstein’s Creature or the seductive vampire, monsters are often portrayed as those who live on the fringes, and in them, marginalised folk can see reflections of their own experiences.

Historically, queer people have often been portrayed as ‘monstrous’ in mainstream culture, their identities framed as something unnatural or even evil. But on Halloween, this fear of the ‘Other’ can be reclaimed. The queer community has long found power in taking on these identities and turning them into sources of pride and strength. Drag performers, for instance, often blend the grotesque with the glamorous, embodying the idea that what society calls monstrous is often a source of creative power.

At its core, Halloween is a celebration of the otherworldly: the liminal space between what is and what could be. For marginalised genders and the queer community, it’s a night that can be both fun and deeply symbolic. It’s a time when the things that society fears – queerness, the blending of genders – become the focus of celebration, not condemnation.

While the monsters upon our TV screens may be frightening, the real fear which Halloween confronts is society’s fear of difference: the fear of women who step outside traditional roles; the fear of queer people who refuse to conform; the fear of the ‘Other’ who exists on the margins. Halloween turns that fear on its head and gives those who have been marginalised the chance to own their power, if only for one night.

From women who were persecuted for brewing ale and using their knowledge of herbs, to queer individuals who have claimed Halloween as their own, Halloween offers a unique space of empowerment and self-expression. In that sense, Halloween is more than just a spooky celebration – it’s a night of resistance, transformation, and liberation.