Coalition of Hindus of North America
Just as the African spiritual tradition has become a byword for evil; Hindus must guard against the distorted portrayals of our faith and religious practices especially in the diaspora.
When most people in the West hear the word “Voodoo,” they picture dolls, curses, and horror-movie villains. What is rarely known is that, Vodou*, is a living spiritual tradition descended from Vodun, the faith of peoples from the African heartlands of what is now Benin and Togo. At its heart, Vodou is about honoring spirits (lwa), ancestors, community, healing, and balance with the divine. It has nothing to do with the sensationalized “black magic” caricature that dominates pop culture.
The history of Vodou, how it was suppressed, distorted, and nearly erased, holds sobering lessons for Hindus and our Dharma today.
On the African continent, colonial powers treated Vodun and similar traditions as obstacles to imperial dominance. Missionaries and administrators dismissed them as “paganism,” “fetishism,” or “savagery”. Such language was designed to justify religious conversion campaigns and political domination. Ancient rituals were outlawed, festivals restricted, sacred sites seized and histories rewritten. Colonial schools and the missionary zeal for conversion taught generations of Africans that their ancestral spirituality was primitive, pushing many believers to practice in secret or abandon their faith altogether.
In Benin, the heartland of Vodun, French rule actively demonized the practices and the post colonial governments that followed independence kept up the pressure, branding it “backward.” Even now, aggressive extremist religious activities continue to target practitioners through stigma, site desecrations, and at times, outright violence.
The pattern is familiar since the playbook across colonizers was the same. Colonization doesn’t just take land or wealth, it severs communities from ancestral knowledge, sacred geography, and inherited practice, all the while insisting that the colonizers’ religion is a “better” one.

The transatlantic slave trade carried millions of Africans across the ocean, stripping them of language, ritual objects, and the freedom to worship openly. In colonial Haiti, the Code Noir, a 1685 decree by King Louis XIV, banned African religious practice, and forced the natives to convert to Catholicism. Enslaved practitioners survived by folding their lwa into the guise of Catholic saints, a syncretism born of necessity. For example, the spirit of war Ogou was associated with Saint James. This allowed practitioners to outwardly conform to Catholicism while maintaining their African heritage traditions.

Such persecution didn’t end with declarations of emancipation. Post-slavery, there were attacks on practitioners, raids on places of worship, altars were destroyed, and laws criminalizing religious practice and gatherings continued for generations. The intention was to spread fear in the community against their practices. In the Voudou diaspora, communities held on to some form of Vodou practice, but over time, it was diluted, lost context, and the gaps widened between generations.
Nevertheless, those same traditions were also instrumental in developing a sense of resilience. Vodou practice ignited the successful Haitian Revolution: the 1791 Bois Caïman ceremony was led by a Vodou priest Dutty Boukman and priestess Cécile Fatiman. This involved enslaved Africans making a sacred pact to fight for their freedom, sparking a massive, successful slave rebellion through political organization and spiritual mobilization.
Recognizing the unifying power of Vodou, many post-slave rebellion governments in Haiti systematically suppressed its practices. Both colonial and native leaders engaged in state-sanctioned persecution manifested in various forms, from violence to propaganda, including targeted ‘Anti-Superstition Campaigns’. Forced underground and into shame by decades of criminalization, Haiti’s outward religious identity eventually shifted towards Abrahamic faiths, even as Vodou has endured as a cultural undercurrent with continuing practices.
Perhaps the most lethal weapon used against Vodou wasn’t a law or a raid, it was the narrative. “Voodoo” became a slur, a shorthand for savagery.
During the 19th century, Western newspapers fabricated lurid stories of human sacrifice and orgies, specifically to portray people of ancient religions as primitive and unfit for respectable treatment in modern society. Hollywood picked up where the newspapers left off. Horror films like Disney’s The Princess and the Frog (2009), Macumba Love (1960), and countless shows reduced an entire faith to ghosts, curses, and sinister “voodoo dolls.” Even today, people associate Vodou more with witchcraft than with legitimate African indigenous religious practice.
This should sound familiar to us Hindus. Dharmic tradition is routinely flattened in Western media and academia into “idol worship,” “caste” oppression, and mystical exoticism. Its religious core or philosophical depth goes intentionally ignored or unexamined. Our temples and festivals get cherry-picked for criticism or turned into an aesthetic spectacle, rarely engaged with on their own terms. Just as “Voodoo” was turned into a byword for evil to justify erasing the traditions of an entire people, distorted portrayals of our traditions feed Hinduphobia, invite outside interference, and chip away at our pride in being Hindu, especially in the diaspora.
The core lesson is about who gets to tell our story. Stereotypes rarely correct themselves. On the contrary they get stronger and more entrenched when left unchallenged. They have to be actively countered, through accurate teaching, credible scholarship, and a willingness to engage the media rather than retreat from it. Silence gets read as confirmation, not dignity.
The second is about how much we let our core change in the process of adaptation. Syncretism allowed Vodou to endure centuries of duress, but there’s a point past which adaptation stops being survival and starts being erosion. Hindus in the diaspora face a version of that same balancing act: engaging the wider world without letting traditions, rituals, scripture, and values get hollowed out, even lost along the way.
The third is that colonization doesn’t end when the colonizers stop ruling. We can see colonization’s impact in severed sacred continuities. Those fractures are still visible today in the homeland and across the diaspora alike. By adding pressure on vulnerable communities through popular media and academia, a widening gap arises between generations raised with less and less direct understanding of tradition. Naming that damage is the first step to repairing it. While the media spread and normalized Vodun-phobia without any pushback, Hinduphobia should find a counter.


And the fourth lesson is that decline isn’t the end of the story. African traditional religions are being revived, highlighted by the recent celebration of Vodun days in Benin. This is proof that, even after centuries of suppression, a tradition can reclaim lost ground. This is worth holding onto. It’s a reason to invest seriously in our values and our youth, and to show that Dharma isn’t just an inheritance to defend–it is an active force to positively shape our future.
Vodou’s story is one of survival against sustained Colonial efforts to erase it through direct suppression on African soil, and through slavery, stigma, and sensationalism in the diaspora. Hindus, carrying an unbroken civilizational tradition of our own, would do well to take note.
*Note: Vodun is the ancient West African religion, Vodou (or Voudou, alternative francophone spelling) is a syncretic Haitian tradition descended from it, and Voodoo (an anglophone spelling) is an Americanized term often associated with Hollywood stereotypes. In Louisiana, a distinct set of spiritual practitioners term their traditions as “Voodoo”. These often combine the Vodun religion and folk practices of central African tribes referred to as Hoodoo (Hudu).