Pink Penalty
In the heart of Malmö, beneath the watchful gaze of pigeons and passersby, a bronze king sits atop his horse: fat, triumphant, and utterly out of place. For over a century, the equestrian statue of Karl X Gustav, a 17th-century Swedish king, has loomed over Stortorget, a monument not merely to one man’s ego but to an entire epoch of conquest, subjugation, and erasure. Some admire the craftsmanship; others admire the horse. Few admire the man.

This story is not about admiration.

It is about defiance, indignation, and a splash of bright pink paint. It concerns two women, local activists, who, in a display of remarkable courage, refused to wait for permission, and saw in bronze a relic of masculine violence, choosing to reclaim the surface. It is about pigeons, pamphlets, protests, and a city whose soul flickers between Danish longing and Swedish reality. Above all, it is about time — how it loops, lingers, and sometimes allows the dead to be confronted by the living.

What follows is a chronicle of rebellion — one part history, one part fantasy, all of it rooted in the very real struggle for space, for memory, and for justice in the public square. This struggle, which continues to this day, reflects the ongoing debate about the role of historical monuments in shaping public memory and the need for justice in acknowledging the darker aspects of our history. The king may not have foreseen it. The sculptor may not have intended it. But the statue would not remain untouched.

Not after that night, when the unexpected, the unimaginable, happened.

“A Coat of Pink

They came with swords,
with crowns and laws,
and called it peace
when it was paused.

They rode through fire,
they claimed the land,
they carved their names
in blood and sand.

But centuries pass,
and hands grow brave —
not fists, but fingers
that do not crave
to break or burn,
but stroke, restore —
to paint what's hurt
and ask for more.

A pink so bright
it shames the rust
of every statue
raised in trust
to men who took
what wasn’t given —
whose legacies
were far from heaven.

This shade is soft,
but do not mock —
it clings with care
and not with shock.
It signals play,
but knows what's just —
a brush, not a blade,
is how we must.

For unlike rape,
unlike decree,
this pink can run
and still be free.
It stains for now,
but not for always —
it marks the past
and clears new hallways.

So if you ask
why paint with grace
the tyrant’s horse
and his red face —
know this: the colour
says, “we see,”
and dares to dream
what else could be.”
Malmö May 2025

Pink Penalty

You can’t simply go around painting statues randomly. True enough. But no one can stop you from creating an image of what it could look like — as protest, as provocation, as a means of expressing your contempt for oppressors. That’s how well-brought-up people conduct themselves. These activist ladies, however, had more significant tasks at hand. Their unwavering courage and determination, which were truly inspiring, led them to take on this monumental task.

Good girls may go to heaven, but naughty ones can go anywhere — like, say, ensuring this royal eyesore finally vanishes from Stortorget. After all, just as no one in New York wants a bronze Harvey Weinstein in Central Square, no one in Malmö truly desires a horse-mounted symbol of royal misogyny presiding over the city centre.

Initially, the plan was straightforward humiliation in the traditional style. Not unlike in Lucky Luke, they thought — a splash of tar, a disgraceful roll in hen feathers, and a hurried ride into disgrace. But complications arose. Statues are notoriously tricky to roll, tar is messy, and worst of all, it clings to your skin unless you happen to carry industrial solvents in your handbag.

So: water-based pink. Easier to rinse, friendlier to the environment, and above all, so much more... feminine. Because at its core, this was not merely a local protest — it was a collective one, uniting women in a powerful statement. This unity is what lingers heavily in the hearts of many proud Scanians, reminding them of the strength in numbers.

If Scania had the power to turn back time, the violent horseman of Stortorget would be thrown headfirst into the sea, saddle, sword, and all. This was the determination that fueled the activists—no more backseat driving. We’d take the wheel, and Malmö would revert to what it once was: a continental Danish city, proud and unbent. The real issue, once upon a time, was the Sound. And that shiny stretch of water proved just too tempting for the hungry eyes of the neighbour to the north.

These sentiments echoed through the night as a flock of time travellers gathered in Malmö’s Town Hall and quietly took over the City Council chamber. Time, after all, is relative when one no longer has to watch the clock. The room was filled to bursting with lively spirits, newly descended from their stars to reminisce, debate, and express their feelings about the rider in the square below.

That meeting is the subject of another image, so what follows is the story of how the royal statue turned pink. So, now to my story.

Under the Scania red flag with a yellow cross, a symbol of Scanian identity and independence, rides the controversial King Charles X Gustav, who naturally despises the flag above him. The fat King Charles X Gustav, who became king of Sweden in 1654 after Queen Christina abdicated. He was a well-educated professional soldier, regarded as a skilled military leader. Charles had no hereditary right to the Swedish throne; it was Queen Christina who appointed him as her successor. This is something many Scanians and Danes regret, dubbing him Thick Charles.

As a person, Charles was proud, sensitive, hot-tempered, fond of food, and overly sexual. During the periods when he was heir to the throne and had no political or military duties, he often exhibited depressive moods. Due to his education, he possessed a cultural orientation that he sometimes utilised, but he had few primary cultural interests; he was more preoccupied with sex. Both before and during his marriage, he had countless affairs, resulting in numerous illegitimate children. His detractors regard him as a genuine womaniser, not to say a rapist and an oppressor. He even proposed to Queen Christina, who politely declined. It is difficult to determine whether Charles could harbour personal feelings; much suggests his political interests motivated him, and a rendezvous with a queen carries considerable weight.

The two women, representing the collective voice of ordinary people, symbolise their opposition to Charles. Why should a woman abuser, likely to have dethroned Weinstein from his top spot amongst male pigs, be allowed to have his way in the city's largest square? To further illustrate the struggle against him and his persona, here's an excerpt from my novel 'With Tony Blair and Audrey Hepburn in Malmö.'

Niels didn't particularly have anything against kings, whether mounted or seated on a throne adorned with a crown and orb, and sceptre in each hand. He was relatively neutral towards the phenomenon. Nor did Niels harbour any particular animosity towards Charles X Gustav, his gaze fixed in the distance beyond the façade of the Town Hall. Born in Denmark, Niels may have harboured strong feelings towards the Swedish king who had annexed Scania from his homeland. As a naturalised Scanian, Niels had accepted the course of history. They hadn't fantasised counterfactually about the ice breaking under the fat king during the march across the Great and Little Belts in the winter of 1658. Niels was content with his life and felt no longing for the fatherland. There was nothing left there but bitter memories and his mother's grave.

He also didn't care about the variant of Columba livia. This city pigeon divided the people of Malmö roughly in half on the question of whether the king should stay. In a way, it was the opposite. The pigeons finally convinced the authorities to decide to cleanse the old king properly. Without the city council's decision and the notice in the daily Sydsvenskan, Niels would hardly have come up with his brilliant idea. A stroke of genius for which he was grateful to the cooing feathered ones, which had filled his waking hours for sixty-five years, as well as an occasional constructive dream.

The inspiration indeed stemmed from something Niels truly disliked - Nazis and their collaborators. Even seventy-three years after the war, that sort of thing still made itself felt, even if they had changed their spots. In February 2018, Niels was preparing for an event that stirred up memories. It was now, as then, about male egos carved in stone, carved in wood, or cast in bronze, with artists' carefully crafted looks exuding brutality and contempt for humanity.

Like a pandemic, the movement swept across the globe, comprising those who wished to topple statues erected for oppressors, racists, thugs, slave traders, and rapists. An age-old tradition of dismantling disagreeable figures has prevailed throughout humanity’s history. From the Moai statues of Easter Island to those of Stalin and Saddam Hussein, monuments and sculptures have been challenged, despised, and rejected by new generations. In Malmö, an old king sparked some agitation. In England, people sought to erase all traces of colonisers like Cecil Rhodes. In the United States, citizens took direct action against statues honouring men who fought for the preservation of slavery during the Civil War. Justifying the removal of the king in Malmö was the argument that if Charles X Gustav had lived today, he undoubtedly would have faced trial before the war crimes tribunal in The Hague.

"It's time to beautify Stortorget in Malmö, give the square new symbolism, and make it pedestrian-friendly," wrote a citizen in the daily Sydsvenskan. Between the lines, the man aimed more for a king on horseback than for pedestrian access for the people of Malmö. The rotund king had been controversial for over 350 years, especially in Malmö, even among women, as it would later transpire.

The city was once again set ablaze, and Malmö was divided into factions for, against, or somewhere in between. The emotional turmoil was palpable, with some vehemently advocating for stoking the flames, while others called for restraint. Recently, the crowd had expanded to include those seeking a more feminine presence. This latter group had gained momentum, which Nils Nilsson Sten had entirely overlooked, despite newspapers focusing more on this than on the contentious kings over the winter.

The previous year, the letter to the editor had been penned the day after Lucia had sparked the outcry. However, another fire raged concurrently with this local concern. This fire spread globally, and fumes infiltrated the old city theatre's lodges. The dirt hurled had splattered onto the theatre's most esteemed director of all time. And it had indeed splattered. Throughout Christmas, flames had engulfed the area around the tree and at events featuring innocent Lucias and equally innocent maids. Niels thought the star boys had lost their way this winter. Not to mention Santa Claus, who slumped like an unattractive old man in the public square. There was no talk of giving sweets to small children or patting them on the head, especially not their mothers.

In the New Year, they began as the old one ended, with fights. However, the question of a particular statue's existence or non-existence seemed like a negligible brushfire compared to the global impact of #MeToo. The protest movement had erupted under Hollywood producer Harvey Weinstein's scandal, dragging a host of wrongdoers down with him. Unfortunately, many others too. Suddenly, it seemed as though the cultural world was mainly composed of male oppressors and their victims. Shakespeare's portrayal of women was scrutinised, and a movement arose to remove his works from city libraries. Statues of the great playwright required police protection here and there. Since he wasn't a Scanian, Shakespeare would have drowned in the sea of local candidates, and the books would remain in place for the time being. A theatre manager had committed suicide, and Ingmar Bergman couldn't defend himself as he had departed the earthly realm. "May he burn in hell," chanted militant feminists. Considering how he behaved among the city's women, the demon director had been in a precarious position. If one became pregnant, there was always someone else. The official history only speaks of his strong women; the weaker ones had fallen silent but suffered terribly. Niels had insider information from the theatre, not gossip, but memories from a couple of friends. They weren't pretty.

One woman after another came forward to share their experiences. Like an uncontrollable grass fire, the reaction spread across the globe. A dammed-up realisation. Who cared about an old king then? Well, quite a few. There were plenty of points of contact.

February 26, 2018, marked exactly 360 years since the Peace of Roskilde, when Denmark lost Scania. Of more local significance was a famous meeting in Malmö one hundred and fifty years earlier, when Chief Equerry Tornérhielm and Professor Weibull initiated a fundraising campaign to erect a statue. In truth, neither that meeting nor the gathering at the Town Hall Cellar that evening had anything to do with #MeToo. It just happened that way. That was where Niels was heading, through a drizzle, to express his thoughts in Skåne about the too-common southern Swedish winter weather. Niels liked to walk, rain or shine, and enjoyed the thoughts that flowed through him as he passed places that had played a role in his life before he moved to Italy in the late 1970s. That time had its problems, but few cared about a fat relic on horseback when the world risked going under in a nuclear war.

John Börjesson's equestrian statue in Stortorget had been the subject of animated debate since its unveiling in 1896. The polemics divided families and held the power to sever friendships. Like other civil wars, people became lifelong enemies. Some criticised the artistic qualities of the work, while others regarded it as one of the finest in its genre worldwide. Regardless, many questioned the appropriateness of permitting Charles X Gustav to ride on his bronze horse in the centre of Malmö—the heart of Scania, which the same king wrested from Denmark. He even claimed to have despised Scania and taken the province merely to subdue it. Niels undoubtedly sat on two horses as a half-Dane but thought it was akin to having the traitor Struensee riding outside the queen's office at Amalienborg in Copenhagen. Or if Stalin had been allowed to remain as a statue in Hungary's capital. The Russian dictator had indeed stood, not ridden, eight metres tall in the middle of Budapest, but was torn down by enraged Hungarians during the 1956 uprising. The uprising was crushed, but Khrushchev was wise enough not to let his old boss rise again. "If the Hungarians could, why not we?" thought many Malmö residents. It was because of Charles X that Niels was on his way. He had just passed Ohlsson's corner, which hadn't been Ohlsson's for decades. He felt a pang of longing.

Shipbroker Nils Nilsson Sten was a prominent figure in shipping circles. He was named Nils after his grandfather and Sten after his mother, who descended from an odalman who fought at Poltava in 1709. His daily interactions with pirates—as the shipbroker referred to his customers—and the ancestor's warlike past made Nilsson Sten well-suited to handle the battle over the fat king's existence or non-existence—at least that's what he believed.

A few days into the new year, the shipbroker published a twelve-page pamphlet and was called to a meeting for the good of Skåne. The sender was KMFF - the Committee for the Beautification and Skåne-ifying of Malmö. Behind the acronym stood significant resources. The pamphlet was printed on thick, glossy paper and in four colours. Following the business, the committee reserved the entire Town Hall Cellar and enticed attendees with a well-stocked buffet, a lure as good as any. The pamphlet allowed for different opinions to be voiced for appearance's sake, but there was no doubt about the committee's proper stance. And the committee's chairman, Nils Nilsson Sten, held well-known opinions. Nevertheless, Niels had decided to attend.

A picture occupied an entire page in the brochure, so softened that it was impossible to determine what it depicted other than someone riding a white horse. Below, it stated that a finished proposal would be presented at the Town Hall Cellar. Driven by sheer curiosity, people would be drawn to the meeting. Niels felt the same way.

A photoshopped proposal stirred controversy, advocating for Charles X Gustav to be replaced by a snapphane, a member of the pro-Danish guerrilla organisation, even though such individuals had never been active this far south. The king himself never set foot in Malmö. When the people of Malmö collectively pledged their allegiance to the Swedish king, they had to do so to an empty chair just outside where people were now gathering in the town hall cellar. This controversial proposal, seemingly out of place and time, sparked a heated debate, adding an element of intrigue to the unfolding events.

The city was once again set ablaze, and Malmö was divided into factions—those for, against, or a bit of both. Some fervently advocated for pouring more gasoline on the fire, while others urged restraint. Recently, the crowd had expanded to include those wishing for something more feminine instead. The latter group had gained momentum, which Nils Nilsson Sten had missed entirely, despite the newspapers covering this more than the controversial kings this winter.

The previous year, the letter to the editor had been written the day after Lucia had sparked the event. But another fire raged concurrently with this local concern. This fire spread globally, with smoke penetrating the old city theatre's lodges. The dirt thrown had splattered on, among others, the theatre's greatest director of all time. And it had indeed splattered. Throughout Christmas, there had been burning in and around the tree and at events featuring innocent Lucias and equally innocent maids. Niels thought the star boys had fallen out of line this winter. Don't mention Santa Claus, who hunched over like an ugly old man in the public square. There was no talk of giving sweets to small children or patting them on the head, especially not their mothers.

In the New Year, they had begun as the old one ended, with fights. However, the question of a particular statue's existence or non-existence seemed like a negligible brushfire compared to #MeToo. The protest movement had exploded under Hollywood producer Harvey Weinstein's scandal, dragging a host of wrongdoers down with him. Unfortunately, many others, too. Suddenly, it seemed as though the cultural world mainly consisted of male oppressors and their victims. Shakespeare's portrayal of women was questioned, leading to a movement to remove his works from city libraries. Statues of the great playwright received police protection here and there. Since he wasn't a Scanian, Shakespeare would have drowned in the sea of local candidates, and the books would remain for the time being. A theatre manager had committed suicide, and Ingmar Bergman couldn't defend himself since he had departed this earthly realm. "May he burn in hell," chanted militant feminists. Considering his behaviour among the city's women, the demon director had found himself in a precarious position. If a woman became pregnant, there was always someone else. The official history speaks only of his strong women; the weaker ones had fallen silent but suffered terribly. Niels had insider information from the theatre, not gossip but the memories of a couple of friends. They weren't pretty.

One woman after another joined in, sharing their experiences. Like an uncontrollable grass fire, the reaction spread across the world. A dammed-up realisation. Who cared about an old king then? Well, quite a few. There were plenty of points of contact. The global resonance of the #MeToo movement not only brought attention to the plight of women but also created a sense of shared experience among people from different parts of the world.

February 26, 2018, marked exactly 360 years since the Peace of Roskilde, when Denmark lost Scania. Of more local significance was a famous meeting in Malmö one hundred and fifty years earlier, when Chief Equerry Tornérhielm and Professor Weibull started a fundraising campaign to erect a statue. In truth, neither that meeting nor the evening's gathering at the Town Hall Cellar had anything to do with #MeToo; it just happened that way. That was where Niels was headed, in a drizzle, to express his thoughts in Skåne about the all-too-common southern Swedish winter weather. Niels liked to walk, rain or shine, and enjoyed the thoughts that lined up inside him as he passed places that had played a role before he moved to Italy in the late 70s. That time had its problems, but few cared about a fat relic on horseback when the world risked being consumed by a nuclear war.

John Börjesson's equestrian statue in Stortorget had been the subject of animated debate since its unveiling in 1896. The polemics divided families and had the power to split friends. Like other civil wars, people became enemies for life. Some criticised the artistic qualities of the work, while others regarded it as one of the world's finest in its genre. Regardless, many questioned the appropriateness of allowing Charles X Gustav to ride on his bronze horse in the middle of Malmö - the centre of Scania, which that same king snatched from Denmark. He even claimed to have hated Scania and taken the province solely to suppress it. Niels undoubtedly sat on two horses as a half-Dane but thought it was about the same as if Copenhagen had the traitor Struensee riding outside the queen's office at Amalienborg. Or if Stalin had been permitted to remain as a statue in Hungary's capital. The Russian dictator had indeed stood, not ridden, eight metres tall in the middle of Budapest, but was torn down by enraged Hungarians during the 1956 uprising. The uprising was crushed, but Khrushchev was astute enough not to allow his old boss to rise again. "If the Hungarians could, why not we?" thought many Malmö residents. It was because of Charles X that Niels was on his way. He had just passed Ohlsson's corner, which hadn't been Ohlsson's for decades. He felt a pang of longing, a deep personal connection to the statue and its history, evoking a sense of nostalgia in the audience.

Shipbroker Nils Nilsson Sten was a notable figure in shipping circles. He was named Nils after his grandfather and Sten after his mother, who descended from an odalman who fought at Poltava in 1709. The shipbroker's daily interactions with pirates—as his ancestor called his customers—and his ancestor's warlike past made Nilsson Sten well-suited to handle the battle over the fat king's existence or non-existence—at least that was his belief.

A few days into the new year, the shipbroker had published a twelve-page pamphlet and was called to a meeting for the good of Skåne. The sender was KMFF - the Committee for the Beautification and Skåne-ifying of Malmö. Behind the acronym lay resources. The pamphlet was printed on thick, glossy paper and in four colours. After the business, the committee had reserved the entire Town Hall Cellar and enticed attendees with a well-stocked buffet, a lure as good as any. The pamphlet allowed for differing opinions to be voiced for appearance's sake, but there was little doubt about what the committee stood for. And the committee's chairman, Nils Nilsson Sten, had well-known opinions. Despite this, Nils had decided to attend.

A picture occupied an entire page in the brochure, so softened that it was impossible to determine what it depicted other than someone riding a white horse. Below, it stated that a finished proposal would be presented at the Town Hall Cellar. Out of sheer curiosity, people would be drawn to the meeting. Nils felt the same way.

A photoshopped proposal advocated replacing Charles X Gustav with a snapphane (a member of the pro-Danish guerrilla organisation), even though such individuals had never operated this far south. The king himself never set foot in Malmö. When the people of Malmö collectively pledged their allegiance to the Swedish king, they had to do so to an empty chair just outside where people were now gathering in the Town Hall Cellar.

Another patriot suggested that Tubby-Karl – as the Swedish king was mockingly called - should be replaced with less provocative artwork. For instance, the city could honour Frans Suell on a horse instead, considering that he had toiled in the harbour for centuries. Nils couldn't help but smirk at the jest. However, he found the idea of a German being honoured in the city's foremost spot hard to swallow.

An economically minded citizen proposed selling the statue to Karlshamn, the city that bore Tubby-Karl's name. "They can have a discount," the citizen emphasised. He had no opinion on what should replace it, but suggested that the profit go towards preserving the Skåne dialect.

The signature 'Angry Kirseberg Resident' wanted the statue removed because it attracted all sorts of non-Skåne elements. It wasn't clear who was being referred to. Nils sensed that as a half-Dane, he was in a difficult position, along with other ethnic curiosities. If one were to lump him and all other minorities together, logically, it would be the angry Kirseberg resident who would have to make room. Kirseberg, the old haunt of thieves and bandits, was now the flashiest place to live in Malmö. There, the Sweden Democrats are the second-largest party, with over a fifth of the votes. "Perhaps it would be a better place for the statue," Nils thought as he passed the old pharmacy Lejonet (The Lion).

For appearances' sake, the committee permitted a pale counterproposal to be expressed. 'Care and Activate' was the headline. The text argued for alternative use, preserving history, and revitalising the Scandinavianism that once led to the statue's creation. For example, many appreciate the statue as a convenient spot for a quick lunch from the nearby hamburger restaurant. The statue could be lightened up, becoming an installation. A picture montage showed the statue with the king draped in a Skåne flag; the hat painted red, the plume golden yellow, and in his hand, a graceful bouquet of daisies, Skåne's provincial flower. Tubby-Karl's horse Hannibal had been disguised as a deer, and the magnificent crown painted yellow like blooming rapeseed. It was difficult for Nils to decide whether to laugh or cry. He did neither, instead pushing open the heavy door to the tavern and leaving the raw air behind.

February darkness had draped the old town hall in a blanket of mist, the temperature outside barely any lower than last year's Midsummer. The subject of the evening's urgent debate, the controversial figure of King Karl X Gustav, could scarcely be discerned out there, and it was just as well. A group of revolutionaries, counter-revolutionaries, and revisionists had begun to gather at the Town Hall Tavern, where Niels felt drawn. The tavern's kitchen was decent, but this evening, it was indecently grand. A Skåne buffet is always a Skåne buffet, even if the invitation suggested 'a different' one.

"Welcome, dear friends, patriots, and guardians of culture. We back into the future, with Skåne's hindquarters in front of us - the fat arses of a king and his horse," began Nilsson Sten, coarse-mouthed like the dockworkers of yesteryear. The chairman, being a trained marketer, ought to know how to express himself effectively. "It can hardly be considered a crime of majesty to claim that Karl X Gustav was a real scoundrel and dirtbag." Just over half of the audience hummed in agreement, and the Pageboy at Niels' side nodded. Others shifted uncomfortably. Nilsson Sten poked at his computer and lit a picture on the wall behind him. A portrait of the evening's main character materialised.

"A repulsive man," the Pageboy, a young man with a confident demeanour and a striking appearance, remarked. His comment, so shockingly direct, caught Niels off guard. "So disgustingly ugly!" Niels agreed, for the Palatine count honestly looked ghastly. The Pageboy's observation led Niels to consider societal double standards. He wondered if he could pose the question to his new acquaintance. It probably wasn't necessary, as both he and the Pageboy knew the answer. The statue was an excellent example of the hypothesis. Besides, the Pageboy looked good and exuded confidence. "Some sort of boss," thought Niels.

"In just under six years on the throne, the king caused nothing but misery," continued Nilsson Sten, his voice an octave higher. "Two wars against Denmark, and one each against Russia and Poland. The Poles still call the incident – 'the Swedish deluge' – and they're not referring to Skåne men's whoring and drinking trips in the 70s." The chairman blinked with his whole face. "Instead, the term refers to the worst disaster that befell their country, and one must know that the competition is tough. Nearly a third of the population perished when the Swedes ravaged and raped."

"With the king at the helm," clarified the Pageboy sharply.

"For our beloved Skåne, things didn't get much better. Not the war itself, as it happened on the other side of the Sound. However, the brutal Swedification meant a monumental catastrophe on par with the Black Death." Nilsson Sten's voice approached falsetto, and the chairman had to take a sip of water before continuing:

"Tubby-Karl had horrendous consequences for our city. In the early 1500s, Malmö and Stockholm were roughly the same size. Fifty years of Swedish rule left the city barely one-third of its original size. War, tariffs, confiscations, and other legal abuses, along with elements of serfdom, characterised Skåne for a long time. Those with dissenting views were imprisoned or killed," the chairman almost shouted. Niels heard the Pageboy sigh. "It wasn't until the late 1700s that the city began to recover," continued Nilsson Sten in a slightly lower voice. "Then came the debacle with the Bank Discount, and the city was once again impoverished, but that's another story. No, my dear..." Nilsson Sten stopped when he realised the audience composition hadn't been as expected.

"Ladies and gentlemen. It's time for a change. The invitation contains some examples of possible solutions. Perhaps one of you has further opinions or suggestions." It was evident that the chairman immediately regretted the last sentence. The backs of the women to the right of the podium straightened, necks were craned, the rosettes of the tie blouses fluttered, and sensible shoes scraped against the floor. The collective inhale could be heard. Niels saw from the corner of his eye that the Pageboy at his right side smirked.

"Mr. Chairman," called a determined voice from a woman in a suit. "Enough talk. The old man must go, and the horse too. Many other elderly men as well. And we won't wait any longer!" Her words were a call to action, not a mere suggestion. It was clear from her entire demeanour that she meant business. From the woman in the suit, no troublemaker could expect mercy. Her resolute tone and unwavering stance left no room for doubt about her intentions.

”The whole town is full of guys who should never have had a statue erected over them,” interrupted a trouser suit with a short-waisted jacket. Her voice carried a sense of indignation, a feeling shared by many in the room. Her words resonated with the audience, stirring up a collective sense of injustice.

"It should be toppled over them instead," shouted one in sensible shoes, receiving spontaneous applause from the nearby crowd. Her words were a rallying cry, igniting a sense of empowerment in the audience.

"Thugs and womanisers," hissed a third woman dressed in the same collarless power jacket as the former German Chancellor. One of the waiters standing nearby, prepared with a carafe of premixed Kir, cautiously withdrew.

"Isn't it strange that you have to be a bastard, a man, or a naked woman to have a statue erected? It's unimaginative to the extreme," roared a practically dressed woman in her thirties. For that, she received sparse applause. Niels joined in the applause, receiving an approving look from the Pageboy. He had read somewhere that less than five per cent of artists were women, whereas nudity in art was attributed to almost ninety per cent of them. On the other hand, Niels found it hard to imagine any woman who, even in his prime, would have wanted to paint him naked. "One must be realistic when it comes to aesthetics," he thought, assuming the Pageboy would agree.

"What the imagination is full of, colours the canvas," Niels muttered aloud, and the Pageboy smiled.

"Violence shouldn't be associated with public ornamentation! So why this fat bandit?" rang out a new voice, a woman with a swelling bosom and the text 'STUNNING' printed across her chest. "As usual, male inconsistency. Do you remember the uproar surrounding a proposed statue with a handbag as a weapon? It certainly wasn't allowed to be erected." Her indignation was palpable, but Niels looked like a question mark.

"You might have missed the incident," said the Pageboy, understanding that Niels had lived in Italy for many years. "Miss Stunning refers to the Småland heroine who bashed her handbag over a Nazi's head in Växjö in the 80s. It was the predecessor of the Sweden Democrats, the Nordic Reich Party, that was parading. However, the municipality declined the statue as a donation, even though the artist wished to remind us that the fight never ends."

"That was commendable," said Niels, who had no objections to what one hit a Nazi over the head with.

"One might think so, but the city authorities considered the artwork to be perceived as endorsing violence," the Pageboy smirked.

"What happened to the statue?"

"She, with the handbag, actually ended up in Alingsås. The statue was inaugurated as recently as mid-June last year to symbolise Swedish auntie's courage."

"Hope the auntie had lead in her handbag," Niels laughed and turned his attention to a man who had risen.

"I think there's a lot of talk and little action. In Skåne, there are Scanians, and it is they who we should praise. Moreover, I believe the old statue should symbolically be dumped in the canal," growled a man in a brown corduroy suit with an academic Lund accent in his voice.

"I agree with the previous speaker. There's a classic story about Timoclea who pushes her rapist into a well," said a woman in a tailored suit, her dialect revealing that she, too, had studied in Lund.

"I can't think of anyone in Nordic history who has been as violent as Charles X Gustav. Not only on the battlefield but also towards women," snarled a fashionable woman introducing herself as Dorothea Kaiser Nilsson (MP). "It's an insult to Malmö's women that such a man dominates the city's largest square. Our contempt should also be directed at those who erected the statue. Those men, for it must be men, should end up in the same historical rubbish heap as their king."

"Like father, like daughter," the Pageboy sneered. "DKN, the chairman's child, is a perfect example. Despite their differing ideologies, she's following in his footsteps, aiming to abolish and prohibit most things." DKN's voice rose in anger. "Where are the public works honouring women? If they exist, they don't depict individuals but rather associations, such as fisherwomen, Madonna, or non-figurative expressions of maternal joy. Why don't we see women who have made significant contributions to Malmö? For example, the philanthropist Citze Kortsdotter, overshadowed by her husband, Mayor Kock; the author Alice Lyttkens with her excellent historical novels; the politician and innovator Anna Stenberg, who did much more than get men public toilets - yes, why not Anita Ekberg, who put our city on the world map? Where is she, for example? Buried in Skanör, of all places. The only trace of the film star left in her hometown of Malmö is a pair of bronze shoes on Davidshallsbron. Imagine. Exactly what one thinks of when it comes to La Ekberg, her feet." The room erupted in laughter, except for those who saw the injustice in Anita Ekberg's representation. The need for recognition of women's contributions was palpable in DKN's impassioned plea.

"I knew her," Niels whispered to the Pageboy, who wasn't impressed. He, who had met Anita with Aniiita, who taught her how to put on make-up, wouldn't have minded a statue of the famous movie star. Niels thought it was paltry, considering the casting of her high-heeled shoes, which were within walking distance of Ebba Lindqvist, Malmö's first female film director, and more sensible boots. The ladies never met despite being in the same industry. Ebba passed away before Anita was discovered. No, Anita truly deserved her statue. Why not in Kungsparken's fountain, where she practised her skills as a bathing nymph? In solemn grandeur and not squeezed among Lasse Holmqvist's and Kal P Dahl's worn-out shoes. There was a clatter as a lady pushed back her chair and quickly stood up.

"We don't need historical precedents. I say MeToo," a stately middle-aged woman declared, her voice vibrating with emotion. "In October, another kind of oppressor ran amok worldwide: men who couldn't keep their hands to themselves but groped women. Even more severe assaults often went unnoticed. The list of victims already exceeds sixty thousand. Just the tip of the iceberg. And the perpetrators, many of them still alive and, in many cases, still active. If we were to extend the list to include historical figures like Fat-Karl, one book wouldn't suffice; it would require an entire library of posthumous signatures." Unified applause from the female part, more sporadic from the rest. Though some men looked ashamed. Not Niels, for he had no reason to be. However, he applauded because, fundamentally, the movement was on the right track. Niels whispered to the Pageboy that what the public had forgotten was that the same sort of men didn't just disdain women - their oppression was directed at everyone, women and men alike. "We're talking about predators, a wolverine that kills if there's something else to kill. The difference is that sexual harassment occurs for men, who are also violated just as much. Rarely physically, but mentally." The Pageboy nodded in agreement.

"I don't think even cyberspace is enough," the stately woman continued. "The worst part is that many of these historical rapists are immortalised in central squares worldwide. Like here in Malmö," she concluded her tirade with a careless gesture upwards towards the square on the other side of a metre-thick wall. New applause faded, and a light voice chirped through the room.

"For those who don't know me, my name is Peder Rask." Helan, who was neither Helan nor Sam, didn't ask for the floor or even attempt to rise but opened his mouth nonetheless. His belly rested on his knees, and he was stuck behind the table like a vice. "I don't speak as a monarchist since I'm a republican. Yet, I think the previous speaker forgets one thing."

Although the song ‘Helan’ started level with the chairs' plank, his voice didn't resemble, as Niels expected, the thundering principal voice of Petrikyrkan's organ but rather its bright treble flute. His chins trembled with anger, and the effect was downright comical. Yet Niels thought they were wise words worth considering.

"Done is done, and the truth is hidden, to paraphrase the great author Fritiof Nilsson Piraten. Karl X was indeed violent in most aspects, but he upheld the table's manners. I don't think we should turn back the clock. No one can carve, paint, or rewrite the past. It exists until the end of time." ‘Helan’ had to take a breath after the flute's tone became too squeaky. "The king's actions, like his statue, belong to history. If we were to remove all statues, monuments, paintings, and images of anyone objectionable, the streets and squares would be empty, and so would our museums. It's the same with literature. Written is written and can't be rejected. The libraries would be emptied, and the book pyres would burn like hell. If one were to dive into the past, it's no wiser than fighting windmills. Moreover, conversations cease, and existence fades." ‘Helan’ took another breath. "Perhaps it would be better to, like advertisements for wine and spirits, put a warning text underneath the artwork. Whoever looks at this statue and remembers the king's history is cautioned about strong internal images," Helan chirped and grabbed the glass before him. More than half of the congregation laughed self-critically. The realisation was probably painful that history isn't rewritten by either toppling, melting down, or drowning a dead king. While Helan cooled off from the inside with a few glasses of Kir, the discussions gained momentum.

Nilsson Sten fiddled with his computer and changed the image on the projector. On the washed

The wall now flashed a photoshopped image of Stortorget without the robber king. Instead, Edvard Persson was there on horseback. The chairman had done an excellent job. The famous actor, in his soft felt hat, slouched over curly hair and dressed in a stylish, wide-striped jacket, wide trousers, and sturdy boots, sat astride a sturdy white steed. Safe and secure in the saddle befitting a true king. Nilsson Sten declared the actor the first true king Skåne had had since Ragnar Lodbrok.

"My ancestor," Niels proudly told his dining companion, who mainly looked puzzled.

"A Skåne native must handle all situations, at sea and on land, on foot and horseback, behind the plough and at the mitten. Once, Skåne Vikings ruled the entire known world. From Greenland and America in the west, Russia and Ukraine in the east, to Normandy and England in the south. They even reached Byzantium and Sicily. The Christians' god feared Odin; everyone trembled, from Saracens to Franks and Germans. It's time to remember our heyday," the chairman declaimed solemnly.

"Excuse me, Mr. Chairman, but what does Edvard Persson have to do with a horse? I remember him mostly singing with Ingeborg Nyberg," protested a woman insignificantly younger than Niels.

"Let me tell you. Edvard's adventures on horseback and the hunt are among his funniest exploits. The lady can see them in the film A Sailor on Horseback. That's the image I've used as inspiration for the statue idea. The character wasn't a sailor but a chef and sprang from Skåne soil," Nilsson Sten corrected. The woman looked satisfied.

"Ah, ‘Kräng en beda’," came an anonymous voice that the chairman ignored. It means you should press a full-size sugar beet into your mouth. It's not a friendly request!

"It's not a cinematic or literary masterpiece, but Skåne's King Edward the Great on horseback. A sturdy white Skåne Ardennes is more muscular than its predecessor.

"Why let a poor horse suffer from another fat man?" protested one of the animal activists. Virtually everyone ignored the contribution.

"A fund for the creation of the artwork has already been started, and there's already half a million in the pot. If we're terrific, King Edward the Great can rise above the square's stones just in time for the thousandth anniversary of his namesake King Canute the Great's ascension to the throne in 1018. Never has a Skåne king ruled over more land: King of Skåne and Denmark, King of England and Norway, and ruler of Schleswig and Pomerania. And my friends, we're close to where it all began. Not many spear throws, just seventy kilometres. King Canute the Great is directly descended from Foteviken and the ancestor Ragnar Lodbrok in the 9th century." It fell utterly silent in the hall.

Niels felt his Viking roots surging in his thoughts. It was actually about his family. Perhaps the idea of replacing the robber king with a Viking wasn't so bad. On the other hand, none of Niels's ancient relatives had been particularly kind either.

Even though the novella contains much more, the statue still stands for the pigeons' enjoyment.