Contrary to the notion that incidents of harassment at live music events are isolated or the result of occasional misjudgement, the data from Finnish music festivals and venues tell a more troubling story: 30% of all respondents reported experiencing inappropriate behaviour in the past five years. That number rises dramatically for certain groups—33% of women, 64% of nonbinary attendees, and disproportionately high percentages of disabled and sexual minority individuals. These are not one-off occurrences. They are indicative of a patterned form of social exclusion and power imbalance playing out in public leisure spaces. The survey's 19,452 responses confirm that such experiences are recurring, not exceptional. They take place in consistent spaces—crowds, bars, and viewing areas—and follow familiar dynamics, with perpetrators overwhelmingly being unknown members of the audience, often under the influence of alcohol. A culture of normalised misconduct, especially when it is met with silence, insufficient intervention, or disbelief, allows inappropriate behaviour to persist. This entrenched pattern demands that we stop viewing harassment as a by-product of bad luck or poor individual choices and start treating it as a systemic issue that reflects broader social norms and failures in event governance.

Live music events often cultivate liminal spaces—temporary zones where the rules of everyday life are suspended in favour of celebration, excess, and social experimentation. While this can be liberating, it can also provide cover for harmful behaviour. Finnish festivals and music venues are prime examples of how physical design and cultural norms converge to create environments where misconduct can flourish. Crowded mosh pits, poorly lit bars, congested queueing areas, and loud music all combine to inhibit situational awareness and reduce the likelihood of bystander intervention. Alcohol consumption exacerbates these issues: it lowers inhibitions, weakens social accountability, and is frequently used as both a justification and a shield for inappropriate behaviour (Fileborn et al., 2020). For event organisers, this becomes a structural challenge. Intoxicated crowds and dense physical spaces are not merely neutral features—they actively shape behaviour and risk. Moreover, when events prioritise alcohol sales for economic survival, as many Finnish festivals and venues do, they unwittingly entrench these dynamics. The consequence is a permissive environment where perpetrators feel emboldened and victims feel unsupported or ignored. The organisational failure to monitor these settings with appropriate care—especially when security staff themselves are sometimes implicated in misconduct—turns space into a site of risk rather than refuge.

The Finnish study adds significant empirical weight to the claim that belonging to one or more minority groups dramatically increases the risk—and complexity—of experiencing harassment at events. Nonbinary participants, for example, reported the highest rates of all forms of inappropriate behaviour: 46% experienced harassment due to gender, 43% faced sexual harassment, and 30% had physically threatening encounters. But it is not just the frequency—it is the compounded nature of the experiences. Intersectionality matters: those who belonged to multiple minority groups (e.g. disabled and queer; racialised and gender-diverse) faced significantly greater risks. In these cases, inappropriate behaviour was often layered and personalised, targeting different aspects of identity simultaneously. Harassment for being in a wheelchair wasn’t just about access—it came laced with ableist assumptions about who "belongs" in a leisure space (Kinnunen & Honkanen, in press). Verbal attacks on LGBTQ+ individuals often included slurs, mocking of gender expression, or being physically jostled in queues. These experiences are not only harmful in the moment but leave lasting emotional damage and alter how individuals engage with public space. The study's robust statistical analysis moves beyond anecdote: it documents a troubling pattern of social marginalisation playing out in environments that claim to be inclusive and fun. Failing to address this systematically is not just an ethical lapse—it is a denial of full cultural participation.

Even when attendees do speak up, their complaints are frequently dismissed, ignored, or mishandled (Graham et al., 2017). The Finnish research shows that 94% of perpetrators were fellow audience members, but 5% were event staff—especially security personnel, whose job is ostensibly to protect the crowd. One young woman reported that after being sexually harassed, she was met with minimisation by a female security guard who simply told her to "move to the back" as if proximity, not behaviour, was the issue. Another was groped during a bag check. These failures create a chilling effect: people who experience inappropriate behaviour are discouraged from reporting it, knowing it may lead nowhere or further distress. This breakdown in trust damages the psychological contract between eventgoers and organisers. When festivals or venues lack clearly communicated safer space policies, trained harassment contacts, or visible response protocols, they send a signal—intentional or not—that safety is not a priority. In the long term, this erodes reputational capital and can deter whole demographic groups from attending events. Organisers cannot afford to view reporting mechanisms as legal formalities. They are crucial elements of the attendee experience and must be designed with accessibility, empathy, and accountability in mind.

Festivals and live music events often brand themselves as inclusive, liberating spaces—a celebration of diversity, unity, and self-expression. But for large segments of the population, especially those belonging to minority communities, this promise rings hollow. When harassment is pervasive, reporting is inadequate, and accountability is weak, marginalised individuals are pushed out of shared cultural space. This exclusion is not only unfair—it’s unsustainable. The events industry depends on broad participation, growing ticket sales, and audience trust. If marginalised groups stop attending—or simply never feel welcome—organisers risk shrinking markets and diminished legitimacy. Moreover, event organisers miss the opportunity to lead societal change. Events are not just mirrors of social norms; they are also laboratories for new ways of relating, celebrating, and coexisting. By investing in safety, accessibility, representation, and robust policy, events can become powerful sites of inclusion and transformation. However, this requires moving beyond reactive crisis management towards proactive structural reform. It means treating diversity and safety as strategic priorities rather than optional values. Without this shift, the events sector will remain complicit in the very inequalities it purports to challenge.