Kiki Keskinen is a witch. She’s also a journalism professor at Carleton University, an entrepreneur and a former PR professional, but it’s the reference to witchcraft that always raises a few eyebrows. She jokes that she often pauses after introducing herself, giving people a moment to process the “I’m a witch” job description. Witchcraft has shaped her life since childhood and now she runs Witch School — believed to be the only program of its kind in North America — from her home in Chelsea, Que.

Witchcraft is enjoying a cultural moment, with social media flooded by #witchcore content and NBC News declaring 2025 the year of the Etsy witch.​ While there’s no reliable way to measure how many Canadians identify as witches, census data shows a steady rise in people identifying with alternative spiritual practices, including Pagan and Wiccan traditions. Still, Witch School isn’t just a trend.

Keskinen’s school urges participants to “learn and play at the intersection of feminist Witchcraft, earth-based spirituality and natural healing.” The hybrid online-and-in-person model begins with museum visits, archaeology and artwork in the first semester. In the second semester, students explore practices such as sacred circle dancing, drumming and tarot reading. The third semester focuses on personal leadership and empowerment. The average cohort is 13 students.

​Brianna Donaldson is one of the 800 or so people who count themselves among Witch School’s alumni, which opened in 2017. She told Broadview: “I found Witch School before COVID, but I wasn’t in a place to really jump in as a single mama; fast forward four years, and in postpartum with my last, I was ready. The program is amazing for beginner witches looking for community and connection. It jump-started my next endeavours by allowing me to slow down and focus on my intentions.” 

Keskinen says prospective students tend to share three things in common: a feeling that the timing is right, a desire for community and a sense of curiosity. Her students come from diverse backgrounds, including Jewish, Christian, Indigenous and secular traditions.

Canadian witches haven’t always been met with acceptance. Canada engaged in witchcraft persecution as recently as 1920, when Margaret Pollock was convicted of “telling fortunes” under Section 365 of the Canadian Criminal Code. This law — covering witchcraft, sorcery and fortune-telling — was still legally in effect until 2018. While likely intended to prevent fraud, it also targeted marginalized spiritual practitioners like Pollock, who claimed to have God-given insights and visions. 

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Keskinen says her own journey as a witch started with “talking to chipmunks and thinking that the ferns and the birds were communicating with me. I went into the forest and made spells and talked to the wind.” 

As she grew up, her curiosity broadened. “I went to a Catholic school, I experienced the values of other religions and I was really legitimately curious about religion in general.” That led her to a group of women — many of them significantly older — who gathered to study goddess mythology and ancient archaeology. That group became Keskinen’s circle, and they met once or twice a month for 18 years. Then came the 2016 American presidential election.

​As Hillary Clinton was pelted with chants of “Lock her up! Lock her up!” Keskinen felt the implied threat. She drew parallels to historic witch persecutions, when women who aged unapologetically, shared knowledge and refused obedience were branded as “other.” Sensing a mounting wave of sexism, Keskinen went to her circle and said, “It’s coming.”

She realized that it was time to step into a leadership role — and that formal learning was needed. She began asking herself: “How does anyone learn what I’ve learned over the last 20, 30 years, put it in context and understand what the historical responsibility is right now?”

“That mix of politics, social justice, environmentalism, spirituality and feminism comes together in Witch School.” 

At a time when many people feel disconnected from traditional religious institutions, spaces like Witch School offer an alternative form of belonging that can feel especially meaningful in uncertain times. Community remains central to Keskinen’s work – from the circle that nurtured her to the bonds her students now form. 

“They make connections, authentic, real connections,” she says, adding, “They don’t want to be trampled on anymore. They want to have a voice. They want to be seen.”

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Vanessa Chiasson is a writer in Ottawa.

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