“Freedom is a road seldom traveled by the multitudes...[w]e would like to invite each of you to come and go with us, and perhaps, you will see a side of life that you’ve never seen before.”

In 1972, Stax Records sponsored Wattstax, a one-day music festival in Los Angeles marking the seven year anniversary of the 1965 Watts riots (a key moment in the evolution of racism as a divisive issue in America). Prior to performing “Son of Shaft” at the event, Larry Dodson, lead singer of the Bar-Kays, paraphrased 19th century abolitionist Frederick Douglass. As his quote above illustrates, American festival culture has foreshadowed a post-racial (in which racial prejudice and discrimination no longer exist) environment before. Nearly 35 years later, it’s happening once again.

Over the course of more than a year now, America has seen an alarming surge of racially charged violence, exposing society's still deeply entrenched wounds. But, while the country continues to navigate centuries-old racial disharmony, a perfect storm of a different sort has been quietly gathering. As the 21st-century music industry’s financial pillar of record sales has ceded to exceedingly lucrative festival appearances, it has coincided with America's music festival renaissance blossoming into a cultural force of juggernaut proportions. Consequently, the rise of festivals has birthed an unintended yet powerful result: Festivals are where antiquated belief systems are dissolving to give way to possible post-racial solutions for America as a whole.

As we delve into the role of race within festival culture, we thought it best to reveal that both an African-American and Caucasian author collaborated as one voice on this piece. Marcus Dowling is a 37-year-old black festival-goer from Washington, DC who has never attended a camping festival. Matthew Cremer is a 36-year-old Caucasian festival culture devotee from Tulsa, Oklahoma who regularly attends camping festivals. These writers selected three festivals relatively unique to one another while examining the dynamic among black and white festival-goers: Wakarusa Music Festival out of Arkansas, a camping festival with an eclectic music lineup; Trillectro , an urban hip-hop festival located in Washington, DC, and Nevada-based Burning Man , which even with a plenitude of campsites hosting music acts, is first and foremost an arts and cultural celebration. The deeper we looked at how these three fests address the issue of diversity, even with many challenges embedded in the current situation, we still observed color blindness emerging to the forefront of festival culture.

For Wakarusa, a four-day event now in its 12th year, acknowledging a glaring sparsity in black attendance is not directly informing music bookings and bottom-line decisions. However, festival director Brett Mosiman stated that a colorblind mentality still permeates Wakarusa’s business culture. When speaking to Fest300, he admitted that race has never been a factor internally discussed. "I don't personally, in my life, come across many people that see only color. I know it exists. I know it existed. But it's just not my reality. Are there law enforcement people like that? Yes. Are there whites like that? Yes. Are there blacks like that? Yes...The vast majority of humans are that [way]...But at the music festivals...there aren't colors. They aren't races and religions. There is just absolute inclusion.”

Quinn Coleman is one-third of the organizing team behind Trillectro, a four-year-old, one-day event in Washington, D.C. When asked point blank if he’d prefer a balance of races equally represented or to see a sold-out event, he said, “We’d obviously want the sell out. [Then again] we want people at Trillectro who rock with our vision, no matter what race they are.” Given that Trillectro founders Coleman, Modele Oyewole and Marcel Marshall are African-American, it’s certainly an intriguing answer that shows a next-level awareness of racial unity above all else as being ultra-important. 

In the bigger picture, the presence of commonalities between Trillectro and Wakarusa are few and far between – with the latter being a predominantly white event and representative of other American camping festivals (e.g. Summer Camp, Electric Forest, High Sierra and Gathering of the Vibes) in terms of lineup and demographics. However, this year saw Wakarusa break from tradition when it added hip-hop artists such as The Roots, Dilated Peoples and Chali 2na among others, to its traditionally jam-band/electronica laden lineup.

Rakaa, of Dilated Peoples, has been a fixture in the hip-hop scene for nearly 25 years, and provided insight while speaking to us about Wakarusa’s decision-making process. “Something like this was never supposed to be a hip-hop festival. I'm sure 12 years ago, there wasn't a rush to get rappers in here. But as the people talk and as promoters and the talent buyers here start to look at who’s going to bring in people...and really extend the life of it, hip-hop finds a way in…It's a business decision on top of it being a festival culture decision.”

Although there is a distinct contrast between booking hip-hop acts at Wakarusa (appealing to its “bread-and-butter” college demographic) versus Trillectro (drawing on D.C.’s urban black demographic), there is nonetheless a strong thread connecting the two very different festivals. In the case of Wakarusa, a result of including hip-hop was an increase in black festival-goers, thus illustrating how booking acts can potentially serve, even if not deliberately, as an avenue for black youth to be exposed to festival culture. 

But with hip-hop having been a cultural juggernaut of its own over the last quarter century, what challenges have delayed it from gaining a more powerful seat at the festival table? One explanation could be that the genres of both hip-hop and rap have been known to glorify themes of violence, misogyny and homophobia – and that adding acts spouting such negative imagery might raise concerns within an otherwise vibrant, communal festival setting. 

So, to diffuse the stigma borne out of this uneasiness, booking acts the festival sees as having a more socially redeeming spirit has become imperative. Enter Chance The Rapper, a charismatic 22-year-old performer with a racially transcendent “man of the people” message, whom both Wakarusa and Trillectro shared as a headliner this past summer. “[Chance] comes along at a perfect time when people of all races are becoming more comfortable with rap as a genre and supporting rap acts,” said Trillectro's Marshall. Echoing Marshall’s view, Wakarusa’s Mosiman never shied away from the prospect of booking Chance. “We very carefully select all of our acts, certainly not just the hip-hop acts, but all of them...They aren't talking about ‘cappin' cops’ or ‘ho's and bitches’...Within hip-hop, it has to be a very positive message, which we felt Chance and The Roots were. Those were fabulous bookings for us.”

Regarding the effect these musicians possibly had on diversity, Wakarusa veteran Ariana Higgins from Kansas City, Missouri, brought perspective through her own racial background (African-American, Caucasian, Native American) and experiences at the event, having attended on five occasions. “I think [booking hip-hop] was a large influence on the racial diversity at the festival this year. When you bring in artists from different aspects of the music industry, you’re going to see that reflected in your festival attendees…I was actually very surprised because there was a noticeable difference...Many people who would not have gone to a festival had motivation to go and ended up having a fantastic time...Regular festies got exposed to different genres they may not have otherwise considered. It was a win-win for Wakarusa.”

Whether adding specific hip-hop acts has contributed to an increase to diversity or not, ultimately, gauging those results has been difficult to discern. That is because festival organizers rarely – if ever – track the racial demographics of their attendees. For instance, Wakarusa, even with key marketing indicators and ticket purchaser databases at its disposal, does not include race as a demographic. Looking at one of the largest gatherings in the United States, Bonnaroo conducts a yearly census – yet leaves out race as well. In fact, while researching this article we found only two festivals tracking race as a statistic for their attendees: Burning Man (via its Black Rock Census) and up-and-comer Backwoods Camping & Music Festival out of Oklahoma. Having completed its ninth year, the revamped gathering is akin to the “Where Music Meets Mother Nature” experience that Wakarusa offers. 

Photo by: Backwoods Camping & Music Festival

Although Backwoods’ racial breakdown unintentionally came through a default computation its ticketing outlet generates, the numbers still greatly inform the reality of the situation. With a daily turnout around 10,000 against Wakarusa’s 18,000 or Bonnaroo’s overall draw of 80,000, Backwoods can’t exactly be applied in an apples-to-apples conversation. However, its 74% Caucasian attendance resembles that of a much larger scale event such as Burning Man's 87% in 2014. Looking at both festivals, their numbers are a very telling sign of the current festival landscape as a whole.

Exploring the source of African-Americans’ disconnect with festival culture as reflected in these demographics (even with a variety of circumstances such as marketing, music lineup and location playing a role), Trillectro’s Marcel Marshall addressed a more overarching obstacle facing black participation. “There’s a significant learning curve regarding race, festivals, and festival attendees. A lot of black people are still used to seeing their favorite acts in concert-style environments. Frankly, I don't know a lot of black people that like to go camping. Most black kids still want to go to the club. It’s up to us, and others running festivals, to show them something different.”

It is Marshall’s reference to an aversion to camping that could be one of the biggest challenges strongly influencing an African-American’s decision to attend. In fact, during an interview published by The Guardian in September 2015, Burning Man founder Larry Harvey shared Marshall’s sentiment when saying, “I don’t think black folks like to camp as much as white folks.” Regardless of where this notion resides in the realm of blanket statements, it is not an uncommon idea nor should its validity be overlooked – especially when considering Burning Man, an event that can only speak to 1% of its 2014 population of 66,000 being African-American. 

However, even with such a huge disparity, the festival has been gaining awareness in the black community in part due to blogger Caveat Magister's 2012 Burningman.org blog post entitled “Is Burning Man A ‘White People Thing?'” His piece interviewed black Burning Man attendees and non-attendees, gleaning invaluable insight about their culture's conservative views towards Black Rock City and most likely camping festivals in general. “White people in America have a working assumption that they can go anywhere and be reasonably safe," wrote Magister. "Historically, that has not been a realistic assumption for minorities. For too many of them, for too many generations, it has been essential that they avoid dangerous environments and heed warning signs. ‘White people expect that they’re going to be okay.'" Continuing, Magister wrote, “Black people think that they need to be prepared for something extremely bad to happen...The idea of going out to the middle of the desert and surrounding yourself with naked people playing with fire has plenty of red flags.”

Tentativeness from black youth toward attending festivals may make the idea of considering festivals a post-racial space a hasty notion. With that said, should anything be done on an organizer’s behalf to encourage black participation?

According to Burning Man founder Larry Harvey, no. During his interview with The Guardian, he expressed disapproval for setting “racial quotas” in any form. “I think it’s a little much to expect the organisation to solve the problem of racial parity…We see culture as a self-organising thing. And we’re unwilling to impose and mandate behavior from the outside, we want to generate change from the inside.” 

When looking at Burning Man and Wakarusa, even with inclusion being a principle, organizers still have chosen to take a more hands-off approach, avoiding direct action in the name of stimulating racial diversity, á la affirmative action. Wakarusa's Mosiman believes any efforts on behalf of an organizer would be in vain. In particular, the discussion would only fall on deaf ears within such a jubilant setting as a festival. “Heavy cultural debate does not really have a place at these festivals because they are ‘fun engines’…These are escapist weekends, if you will, whether it's Burning Man or Wakarusa…And anything that kind of strikes too much [against] our normal 500 emails a day and our stress and our differences, those things fall flat in this environment.”

When it comes to participating in an “escapist weekend,” even with racial diversity being an issue of which many are well aware, the argument Mosiman makes is that there are plenty who instead use festivals as a means to temporarily remove themselves from the struggles of society. As this attitude certainly holds water, it should not be considered an impediment to the existence of a colorblind, post-racial environment. For, even if partying obliviously has become the prevailing form of escapism, it goes hand-in-hand with festivals being a refuge of another kind – safe containers for free expression. Before elaborating, we revisit Magister’s blog post to understand the historical roots of self-expression with regards to racial diversity.

“To me, Burning Man is a flower-power thing,” Magister was told by a minority non-Burner who has avoided the event. “That comes from white history. In the 60s, blacks did civil rights, whites did flower power. So Burning Man seems like freedom to you, but nothing about Burning Man seems like freedom to us.” Another minority non-Burner stated, “Minority rebellion in the 60s saw itself as engaged in a project of claiming and reclaiming recognition as persons and as a people...White rebellion didn’t need to do that: Whites already had that recognition. They were concerned with expressing their individuality. It’s completely different.”

Looking at present day America, the struggle between recognition as a race versus individual self-expression has made progress but can still be seen in varying degrees. However, it is when observing this dynamic within the festival scene that we see it as existing less as an obstacle to racial harmony, and more of something that's fading away little by little. Festivals should not just be viewed as vehicles for escapism, but also temporary autonomous zones, which foster uninhibited self-expression and promote inclusion – no matter one's race. 

In speaking to Jonathan Williams of Houston, Texas, an African-American attending his very first Wakarusa, this feeling of freedom and inclusivity resonated on just the second day of the festival this year. “You can literally look however you want. Be whoever you want. For the most part, do whatever you want. And everybody just congratulates you on it. I feel no hate out here whatsoever. Whatsoever.” For Ariana Higgins, who has participated in over 20 festivals across the country, the dissolution of racial boundaries through these values has time and again been life affirming. “Even if the crowd is predominantly white, I always feel at home. I know that the people who attend festivals are a certain caliber of people and with that comes a community of love and a celebration of our differences…There have been several times where my faith in humanity has been restored at a festival.”

From Black Rock City to Arkansas and beyond, this colorblind celebration of authenticity is ubiquitous within festival culture. In speaking to Jonathan Williams of Houston, Texas, an African-American attending his very first Wakarusa, this feeling of freedom and inclusivity resonated on just the second day of the festival this year. “You can literally look however you want. Be whoever you want. For the most part, do whatever you want. And everybody just congratulates you on it. I feel no hate out here whatsoever. Whatsoever.”

As we stare into a future where post-racialism can develop beyond mere concept into actuality, the inroads to such a reality may appear to be hopelessly tangled inside a labyrinth of historically exclusionary racial strife. However, even as flash points from Ferguson to Baltimore to Chicago boil over and #BlackLivesMatter organizers interrupt presidential campaigns, the festival circuit is taking the lead in addressing post-racial solutions. When looking to festivals as a compass, although certainly not a utopian cure-all, it is both the respect for individuality and a strongly inclusive ethos that festival culture not only exemplifies, but reveres as sacred. These can be keys to further cultivating a post-racial America. In seeing black attendance beginning to rise at festivals, perhaps, we’ll see all sides of life embraced and shared by the multitudes. It is a unity in dire need of arrival.