It was the perfect storm.

A man and his daughter, alone and confused, find themselves wandering into a park filled with hundreds of strangers. In Stockholm. On May Day. It turns out to be a political rally. For the newly-formed party, The Feminist Initiative. It’s not often you find yourself in the belly of the beast and live to tell the tale. But that’s exactly what happened to me today.

Of course, we all know that Sweden is the home of man-haters and ball-breakers. Where, after long days of making dinner and watching the kids, underpaid and overworked dudes wander the streets in a desperate search for cheap televised sports and doctors to reverse compulsory state vasectomies. So, when I saw where I was today, I expected the worst: aggression, hatred and knees to the groin.

But these people were good with their act. Really good.

To start, the organizers had obviously bussed in men who appeared to be there of their own volition. They smiled, they talked to their fake “wives,” “girlfriends,” “boyfriends” and “children.” Ingeniously, not all of the men appeared to be obvious supporters of the Feminist Initiative, yet they put on a brilliant act of “listening” to the talks, creating the pretense of tolerance and respect for the vile stream of hate spewing from the mouths of the speakers. It was pure hegemony.

Then came the volunteers handing out party propaganda. Engaged, courteous and cult-like. I was scared at first, lest my daughter and I be confronted with images of severed Nordic genitalia. But I decided to take a leaflet. Clearly, the pamphlets — discussing seemingly rational issues such as opposing the privatization of daycare and increased military spending—contained coded messages from the S.C.U.M. Manifesto that I, as a man, was simply unable to recognize. It was pure genius.

But the coup de grâce came with the speeches. One-by-one they came to the podium, and one-by-one they discussed the rise of the far-right in Sweden, racism, the perils of capitalism, economic inequality and social justice. For those who cared to listen, however, there were hints of the real agenda. Tellingly, one speaker addressed the need to end both male violence against women and wage inequality. It was a brief reference, placed into an intellectually relevant context, but those of us with misandry radar in working order could figure out what she was saying. It was as clear as it was horrific.

I’ve heard the arguments. That the presence of parties like The Feminist Initiative inject a much-needed discussion of gender into national political discourse. That truly progressive societies need to accept structural inequality as as a fact before real solutions can be realized. That Feminism needs to be discussed in an adult manner. But what I was seeing in Stockholm was pure Machiavelli.

The speeches went on…and on. Then, what I had feared the most happened. My daughter, exposed to the raw discourse of Gender Studies, requested to sit on my shoulders because she was “tired.” After a few minutes she began to applaud the speakers when the crowd applauded. She cheered when the crowd cheered. Logic would dictate that, as a 4-year-old, she was simply mimicking the crowd, unaware of what was actually being said.

But I knew better.

Slowly but surely I began to feel the full force of her oppression upon my shoulders. Crushing me. Dominating me. I had no option but to leave. My daughter protested, claiming that she liked the flowers in the park.

Sure, the flowers. I knew better. Much better.