Wherever there are Black people, there is Hoodoo. But the roots of Hoodoo take us back to the Southernmost parts of the United States. If you dig deeper, you’ll find this tradition was and still is an everyday part of Black rural folks’ spiritual lives, lives that converge with what the old folks called, the church house. Where women danced and moaned and shouted, overwhelmed with the holy spirit. Or what my grandma calls, getting happy.

Much of what we recognize as Hoodoo or superstition, the old folktales that have been passed down for generations, starts with them. The church mothers. The prophets. The anointed. Artist and Hoodoo, Sirene Martin comes from a lineage that embodies all of that. A descendant of a family that has lived and loved in Kentucky for over 200 years, Martin understands that being intentionally engaged with the practice means honoring and respecting the old ways of our ancestors.

In our conversation, we talk about Martin’s early experiences with Hoodoo, the influence of the church on her practice, why the lived experiences of country Black folks matter and the sometimes problematic, but necessary representation of Hoodoo in popular culture.

What is your earliest memory of Hoodoo? Who introduced you to the tradition?

I think it would have to be my grandma and there’s not a singular memory because there’s not a singular event. There was this consciousness that we were raised to have, almost this cosmology that we have in our family. I think, for me, what anchored me into this tradition, this supernaturalism, Hoodoo, Appalachia, was when I was about eight or nine. And it was fall, it was cold, it was Fall Revival. And I was brought into the back of the church, into a little room. There was like 15 people in there, and it was me and a couple of other kids. And this particular church mother, Sister Alma Ford, was praying for us in this room. And of course she was praying for us to receive salvation and receive the Holy Ghost. All that good stuff.

And I remember that instance being my anchor because I feel like that was the first time I had made personal contact with the divine through her praying. And it wasn’t until I got home. I was like, ‘Grandma, I think I’ve been saved.’ And so, that was the feeling that I received. Whatever spirit, Sister Alma Ford was calling down tapped into my heart. It felt like fire shooting up in your veins, that’s how I remember it. It was like something cold, but something hot, wrapping around my heart.

Can you talk about how growing up in the church impacted your practice?

I think it is the foundation of my practice. My church is very different now because unfortunately, a lot of the old people are dead and a lot of the things I remember seeing the old people do, people don’t do. They started shaming a lot of the old people for engaging in spiritualities the way they were taught. And so I think the church of the early 2000s, when I was a child, that was my foundation. I have always loved seeing people catch the Holy Ghost. It was always something magnificent to me.

The way people’s bodies would react, especially seeing my grandmother [who is a] very reserved and quiet person. But when she quickened into the spirit, she’d get up and spin around and dance and then her sister, they’d both catch the spirit at the same time and they would almost be dancing around each other. I just loved it because it just seemed freeing, but it was just like getting struck by lightning. It was just like, what is this that is waking up something in you that doesn’t exist all the time?

And then the music, I’ve always caught the Holy Ghost, even as a young person. Especially with my mother, she was a singer, so anytime my mother sang, I was going to cry. Then as I got older, it just became stronger and something that I couldn’t fight. So I’ve always had this spiritual thing on me, whether I knew what was going on or not. I was just easily affected by the emotion and whatever was going on in the church. We’re a very musical family. The songs, especially the old, old hymns are some of my favorites, the old spirituals. So yeah, I think church as it has been brought to me by my country ancestors is very important to my practice and it’s very important that I name that church made by my country Black ancestors, not Christian church, but how these country Black folks made church.

What has been your experience as a Trans person finding a community within Black spiritual spaces?

It’s been a turnoff. It’s been harmful and it’s been isolating. But I feel like I arrived online to these spiritual communities with this need to find language to this consciousness that I have always had, and to make it more tangible than it was. I feel like now I’m not looking too much anymore. Or rather being more confident and secure that I’ve always known the things to do, that I’ve always had this spiritual cosmology, that I’ve always had this knowing. Now I am starting to feel and see the spiritual intention and significance of what I’ve been given by my family and my community, and that has almost led me to sort of back away from quote unquote finding a spiritual community. I have a few people in my circle that are also Hoodoos and spiritualists that I find comfort and consolation in.

But for me as a black trans person, I always have to put a rural background in there because people interact differently with me because I am a rural person and I interact differently with them because I have this rurality. . .I often have felt like I’ve had to leave certain parts of me during certain conversations. What is it? ‘Trim the fat and leave the rest.’ People say that all the time, but it’s so harmful to sit amongst people who are actively erasing you in these conversations, just because they have some type of spiritual knowledge, people that say that they’re Trans allies, but they do not have a trans consciousness. They still very much have this cishet binary view, and it comes out in the very subtle things.

I want to comment on this idea of leaving behind parts of yourself because even with myself, I think that rural aspect is where I always feel like I’m a step behind, especially in online spiritual spaces.

For me personally, my transness is not separate from my ruralness. It’s not something that I can separate. And I really think my Black rural identity, in my mind, is the most pervasive. Because it is the framework that I am coming from, the very essence of my being as a Black country person. There’s no separation, especially because I still have not left. I’m still in Kentucky. I’ve never lived anywhere else. And so there’s something very foundational about it.

For us as rural people, we are really truly going to feel most comfortable with people who understand that experience because it is a very distinct experience, you know, and it’s an experience that has been, what’s the word? Maybe not subjugated but…

I think it’s been looked down upon. One thing I started noticing at this age, I don’t think I paid attention to when I was younger, is that the country folks are always the butt of the joke or seen as not smart and everything they do is backwoods.

Yeah. We’re still seen under this guise of primitivism. And it is so harmful, and it’s so weird seeing people claim the South now, when I grew up almost hating it, wishing I was from somewhere else because people don’t respect the twang, they definitely don’t respect the lived experience, but now because we live in this capitalist, consumerist culture, they think the South has something to give them. And it’s not necessarily that they’re respecting the people that live here. It’s that they now want to attach themselves to something they think now has value. But it’s not a good value. It’s a “let me eat whatever is here” consumerist value.

I think about the ways Black people that have historically been deeply connected to the land are denigrated, especially for the connection with animals and it’s little subtle things like pigs. I remember my uncle having a pig and it being slaughtered, the top three worst sounds for me but I’ve experienced it. I’ve lived through it. And that stuff is looked down upon.

But a lot of these spiritual traditions, they are talking about sacrifices this, and sacrifices that. So, when it’s this way to be consumed and performed on the internet, it’s not seen as something that’s primitive, but when it’s people feeding their families, because this is what the pigs were, they were food. Then it’s made into a joke. These things that we grew up with, that were just a way of life are denigrated.

I feel like one of the worst things that I ever have interacted with on the internet was this idea of slave food. What do you mean slave food? How disrespectful and not only disrespectful, but just ignorant. My aunt was literally telling me a story about how our particular ancestors, my blood ancestors who were survivors of enslavement, would have to hide food in burrows in the ground so that they would be able to feed their children later on. And what they would be able to hide would be the pig parts, after what they have already served to the enslaver family.

So just knowing that history, but also pigs in general, there’s this whole notion that pigs are unclean and I guess I get it, but it’s just so disrespectful to those of us who have eaten pork as a delicacy. It’s not just, we’re consuming pork, but pork is a delicacy to enjoy with your family. It is amazing, right? Because it’s central to a lot of our communities and cooking.

It’s definitely disrespectful and it assumes this lack of autonomy over our foodways when we know that’s not true. And the fact that you can take that and create this really rich culinary tradition that, now, the people who you were cooking for are emulating. We’re not the only ones eating pork or things like chitterlings. I need people to let that go. There are places charging so much money and making that a delicacy while we’re being accused of eating “slave food.”

Everyone does soul food now. What has happened with a lot of Black American culture is that it gets ate up by American culture and it’s like, no, it is not American culture because we are not Americans by choice. We are not of this country by choice. Our culture is very distinctive and should be held separate.

How do you feel about Hoodoo Heritage Month and the growing visibility of the tradition in popular culture?

I think it’s amazing. The more we as Hoodoos start standing on the truth, I think the more solidified the tradition will become. I’ve seen a lot of misnomers growing up. Even a couple of years ago, there was this movie called “Spell” that was about Appalachian Hoodoos and I thought it was just the worst thing ever. But I think for me, I’m mostly glad that it’s becoming a stronger part of our cultural memory for good or bad. People are having conversations about it that we have not had for maybe 50 plus years.

So yeah, I don’t think it’s going to do anything too detrimental because the tradition has survived this long and it will continue to survive because there will be some of us that will always have this authentic connection, and so no matter what is going on outside of, it’s just, I’m not too worried about it. I’m glad to see that Hoodoo Heritage Month is becoming more popular. I’m glad to see that more Black Americans are finding a home in this spiritual practice and coming back and finding relationship to things they may have thought were insignificant, but somehow now they see that it actually has a spiritual intellectualism or cultural intellectualism behind it. So I’m interested to see what happens, you know, I’m curious. That’s how I feel about it. Very curious.

Did you miss our Hoodoo Heritage Month event with Hess Love & the Conjure Cleaner? Catch it now on Youtube.