For decades, the Black witch has been a whisper in the background, casting spells that saved the day while getting none of the credit. She was the best friend, the backstory, the one who knew something but was never allowed to do everything. That era is over.
The Black witch is finally stepping out of the shadows and into the spotlight. And not just any witch our witches. The ones who channel power through rhythm and prayer, who carry their lineage in their locs, who understand that rootwork is resistance. Let’s start at the altar of the OGs.
Before 2026 wraps up, we have to introduce a new young Black witch who has entered the chat. Jordan Leftwich stars as Sasha Baptiste in Disney+’s Coven Academy, bringing some much-needed Black girl magic to the supernatural world. Set in New Orleans, Sasha is a powerful empath who can read people’s emotions, hear their thoughts and even influence what’s happening inside their minds. Talk about a gift and a curse. Fiercely protective of those she loves and cautious about whom she trusts, Sasha is navigating friendships, teenage drama and the complicated responsibility of possessing extraordinary powers. For Black girls who grew up wishing they could attend Hogwarts or join a coven of their own, Sasha is another reminder that they deserve to exist in these fantastical worlds, too. Because why should everyone else get to have all the magical fun?
Rachel True walked so the rest of them could float. Her role as Rochelle in The Craft (1996) was a lesson in high school magic and microaggressions, where witchcraft became her defense against racial violence. Jessica Williams brought regality to wand work in Fantastic Beasts as Lally Hicks, though like many of her peers, she was underused in a world built for white whimsy. And then there was Kat Graham’s Bonnie Bennett in The Vampire Diaries—the most powerful character on that show, yet always treated like a magical Band-Aid. Bonnie’s Grams, played by Jasmine Guy, deserved her own spinoff in a Southern gothic series where she ran a candle shop and read everybody for filth.
Tati Gabrielle’s Prudence in Chilling Adventures of Sabrina was Black witch supremacy wrapped in corset and cruelty. Jaz Sinclair’s Rosalind gave it soft, intuitive divination. And let’s not forget Twitches, a Black Disney classic with Tia and Tamera Mowry giving us twin flame realness and early 2000s spellbook couture.
Now, the Marvel universe is finally catching the spirit. Sasheer Zamata’s Jennifer Kale in Agatha All Along is chaotic neutral with attitude and power. Regan Aliyah as Zelma Stanton in Ironheart gives librarian-by-day, dimension-hopper-by-night. Both usher in a new era: mystical Black women who aren’t just wielding magic—they’re writing the rules.
“Black women have always been connected to the craft—whether as midwives, herbalists, or spiritual protectors. My character in Agatha All Along taps into that tradition, using potions and plants the same way our mothers and aunties did. It’s generational wisdom—like putting ginger on your stomach or aloe on a cut—and it’s been mislabeled as witchcraft for centuries. A lot of Black women were called witches just for being ‘difficult,’ for standing in their power, or for knowing too much. I love that we’re finally seeing those women as the heroes they’ve always been.” said Sasheer Zamata
We have to be real with ourselves for a minute. The reason it took so long for Black witches to bloom on screen isn’t just Hollywood’s fault. Christianity had a chokehold on Black imaginations for decades. So many of us grew up thinking anything with spells, potions, or glowing hands was “devil work.” I know people from the South who didn’t watch Harry Potter until they were grown with kids. That says a lot about how deeply some beliefs ruled entire households. And yes, plenty of Black folks are still Christians—and that’s their business. But it’s 2025. Some of us practice African spirituality, read tarot, follow the moon cycles and still know God. A girl and her deck of cards is no enemy of mine, and she deserves to see herself in the supernatural, too.
Because representation isn’t just about office jobs and trauma plots, it’s about wonder. Power. Seeing a powerful Black woman channel the ancestors or close a portal with nothing but her hands? That’s divinity too.
Angela Bassett’s Marie Laveau in American Horror Story showed us what righteous vengeance looks like, alongside Gabourey Sidibe, who plays Queenie, a human pin doll on the show who rights wrongs and is the voice of reason more often than not. Ashley Madekwe’s Tituba in Salem reclaimed the name they tried to bury. Debbie Morgan’s Seer in Charmed carried knowing in her bones and Eartha Kitt’s Madame Zeroni in Holes taught us that a curse can travel through blood like a birthmark.
Sinners arrived with Wunmi Mosaku’s Annie as the new patron saint of protection. She’s not just a hoodoo queen; she’s the auntie who doesn’t blink when the air gets heavy. The kind of woman who talks to the dead and still makes the best cornbread in town. Annie is what happens when generational magic meets millennial storytelling, and she proves that Black women don’t need a wand to be divine.
Black witches aren’t having a moment. They are the moment. And if the world is finally catching on? Baby, that’s just the spell working.