Called the Statement Festival, the event began Friday and runs through Sunday, and it has the unequivocal goal of creating a safe space for women.
That is the aim of what is being called the world’s first music festival exclusively for women and transgender and nonbinary people in Gothenburg, Sweden.
Called the Statement Festival, the event began Friday and runs through Sunday, and it has the unequivocal goal of creating a safe space for women.
That means, in the eyes of the organizers, no cisgender men are allowed. (Cisgender people identify with the sex they were assigned at birth. Nonbinary people say their gender cannot be defined as “man” or “woman” and may fluctuate between the two.)
The festival is occurring after a wave of episodes of sexual harassment at other events in Sweden, including allegations of rape and 23 sexual assaults at the country’s biggest music festival, Bravalla, which was canceled this year because organizers could not guarantee a safe environment.
The concept sprang from a tweet by Swedish comedian and radio host Emma Knyckare that ricocheted around Sweden. “What do you think about us putting together a very cool festival where only non-men are welcome and that we host until ALL men have learned how to behave themselves?” Knyckare posted on Twitter in July 2017.
Her rallying cry struck a chord with artists and festivalgoers who said that they had experienced sexual harassment at festivals and concerts and that it was time to stand up against the vile behavior.
Tami T, a 32-year-old electropop musician from Gothenburg who is transgender, said she was one of the first acts booked. “I was really happy when they asked,” she said in a phone interview Saturday morning. “It was a good way to bring up the debate about what happens in other festivals.”
She said that she used to go to festivals when she was 16 and 17, and that a lot of unpleasant “sexual things” happened.
Stina Velocette, 35, another musician scheduled to perform, said, “All of the girls that I play with have experienced different kinds of negative stuff at clubs and festivals.”
“You cannot relax; you don’t feel safe,” she added. “You have to hold your keys in your hand like a weapon. You have to hold your cellphone in your hand ready to call the police.”
She said she expected the Statement festival to feel like a “safe zone” where she wouldn’t have to worry about facing sexism because all the technicians would be women.
On Saturday at the Banana Pier, where the event was held (so named because decades ago it was where the fruit arrived by boat), guests made their way past a bar and a tattoo stand. Peals of laughter could be heard from women bouncing on an inflatable jumping castle.
Clusters of festivalgoers lounged in a pink carpeted seating area. Giant pillows were seen in several spots, as people sat around, laughing, drinking and listening to music emanating from one of the two stages.
Saga Becker, a 29-year-old transgender actress wearing a baseball cap and two nose rings, waxed lyrical about the atmosphere, waving an arm for emphasis.
“There are no men screaming or threatening me as a trans person,” she said. “There’s no violence here. No fights. That is so revolutionary in so many ways.”
Asked what she thought about the many heterosexual and gay cisgender men who wanted to attend but felt discriminated against, Becker thought for a moment and said, “Actually, I don’t care at all, because I have been so afraid all of my life that I don’t care about their disappointment.”
Several men and at least one woman have complained about the exclusionary aspect of the festival to the Swedish Equality Ombudsman, prompting an investigation into whether prohibiting men violated the country’s Discrimination Act. Clas Lundstedt, a spokesman for the ombudsman, said the investigation was continuing.
Women at the festival seemed to revel in the freedom of a newfound safe zone.
Sara Alsen, 38, who was waiting to get through security, which was handled by all female guards, said, “I came here to hang out with my friends and not have to be sexually harassed.”
Asked whether she didn’t miss the male energy around when listening to the music, she added: “Not at all. It’s actually quite liberating.”
Lisen Andreasson Florman, who was in charge of security, said that 4,500 people were at the festival Saturday evening.
Louise Withalisson, a 24-year-old student who was waiting in front of a small vintage camper with colored lights that was offering to tell fortunes, said, “This is not what society really looks like, but it’s fun to experience it for 12 hours.” She added, “I think it’s perfectly reasonable to have separatist spaces.”
Her friend Malin Marklund, a 26-year-old high school teacher, said: “I have experienced an unpleasant situation with a group of men once so as soon as I’m in a situation that reminds me of that, I feel unsafe. I haven’t felt unsafe here once.”
Matilda Hedelin, 24, who said she was there to see the singer-songwriter Frida Hyvonen, chimed in. “I think a lot of women make room for men without thinking about it, stepping aside,” she said. “Here, no one does that.”
Linda Jensen, wearing a white silk unicorn headband and T-shirt that read, “'Til all men have learned,” stood in line at the tattoo parlor. This was her first festival. “It had felt unsafe to go before,” she said.
Festival organizers were vague about how they were monitoring the festival to make sure the audience they wanted was the audience they got.
“We have a different security plan that is a little different than other festivals. It’s a little tricky,” Knyckare said, adding, “I can’t say.”
But she stressed: “Everybody is taking care of each other here. There is something special that happens when there are not cis men around. I think it’s a powerful thing that can lead to something good in the end.”
The festival booked female headliners and nonbinary artists, but at least one cisgender man was in a band, organizers said.
Among the crowd was Charlie Sjogren, 32, a priest with the Swedish Church. Asked why he was at the festival, he replied: “Safety. Freedom. Unity.”
Sjogren said that he transitioned almost two years ago and that the difference in how he is treated as a male priest was stunning.
“People listen to me so much more,” he said. “When I was perceived as a female, they were judging me and offering me advice. I can see the change of power. But it is false privilege.”
Members of the Swedish pop rock band Dolores Haze (the name is taken from Nabokov’s novel “Lolita”) lounged on pillows in the media tent. One member, Lucky Lollo, said that while she was glad that the abuses rampant at festivals like Bravalla had come to light, the debate was skewed — and late.
“As if it was some new thing — it’s been around for a long time,” she said, referring to the lack of safety.
Another member, Foxy Sagz, 22, recalled an earlier effort by police to get men to stop the harassment by putting wrist bands on girls that said #TafsaInte (Don’t Grope). It didn’t get a lot of results. The Statement Festival, on the other, helped start a conversation, Lucky Lollo said.
“It’s awesome — calm and safe. I couldn’t have imagined this five, six years ago. There’s a very good atmosphere,” said Groovy Nicks.
“You don’t hear a lot of bellowing and feel the alpha-male atmosphere that takes so much space,” she added.
On Saturday, members of the band were to perform a new single, “Banana,” about receiving unwanted photos of male genitalia on their phones. “We just got tired of trying to date or trying to have a conversation and all of a sudden there’s a banana there,” said Foxy Sagz.
“I don’t want to see your banana,” the other two chimed in.
This article originally appeared in The New York Times.