There is also a woman with a gag in her mouth standing in front of one of the booths, sunglasses covering her eyes, her hair pulled back under a baseball cap, her legs rigid and her hands on her hips, wearing a T-shirt reading, "Peace begins in the womb, Sarah."

The woman is Marilyn Kopp, 44, and she's here to make her point: She's been gagged by Lilith Fair, the women's music festival/lifestyle celebration that has dominated the past three concert seasons in the media and at the box office (averaging an impressive $670,000 and 17,000 tickets sold per show in 40 cities this summer).

Kopp is the executive director of the Ohio chapter of Feminists for Life of America, a pro-woman, pro-life group that, due to their pro-life views, was rejected from receiving booth space in the Lilith Fair Village, an area where assorted activists and vendors set up tables to inform/enlighten/sell products. In protest, Kopp and two other FFL members took a different approach this day: They bought tickets, put on gags and assumed their position in front of several pro-abortion groups' booths.

In spite of Lilith Fair's lofty goal of wanting to "raise consciousness about issues that affect women's lives," it's apparent not every viewpoint is permitted. The sight of a gagged woman standing in front of a National Organization for Women booth on a day meant to celebrate the female spirit couldn't make this point any clearer.

It also raises some sticky questions. Lilith Fair is much more than a concert. With its implied agenda of speaking for and to all women and its predominantly white, middle-class and straight performers and audience, Lilith is a virtual microcosm of the women's movement.

Kopp's words in the interview are barely audible — she's got a gag in her mouth — but she's trying her hardest to get her message across to everyone who passes by this hot August day. Some stop, perplexed by the muzzled woman. They get a brief run-down of why Kopp's here. Others give her dirty looks. "I'm with them," a woman shouts, pointing to a Planned Parenthood sign. Another walks up to Kopp, bursts into tears and hugs her. Yet another gets the message totally wrong, from FFL's point of view.

"I thought she was saying she had no choice, that she was with them," says Tina Leonard, gesturing towards the Planned Parenthood booth.

The people at Planned Parenthood don't share her confusion. Most don't even notice Kopp.

"I heard those Feminists for Life were actually buying tickets to come in," says one, laughing. "Sarah'll love that. Good. Give her their money."

"Their organization says that women shouldn't be allowed to [choose]," explains Lilith head McLachlan, a platinum-selling singer-songwriter and Grammy winner. "I think that's [expletive]."

Kopp sees things differently.

"Abortion is inconsistent with authentic feminist principles of justice, nonviolence and nondiscrimination," she says. "Abortion is the ultimate exploitation. It's a symptom of women's oppression. It's not a solution. We shouldn't have to fit into the model of males for success. I'm pro-human. That's what a feminist is supposed to be."

This has been FFL's view since its beginning in Columbus in 1974, when founder Pat Goltz was expelled from Ohio NOW because she was pro-life, and was soon followed by fellow NOW pro-lifer Catherine Callaghan. The group has been fighting their birth mothers' battle against pro-abortion feminism ever since.

Discrimination hasn't been limited to just the Lilith Fair concert.

According to Kopp, the organizers of the 1996 Beyond Beijing conference at Cleveland State University weren't so open-minded. She says FFL was initially asked to participate, but she was later told a pro-life side would not be represented. Kopp also claims the group's literature was stolen and their table was trashed at the conference.

It's hard to miss the hypocrisy of feminists censoring other women like this. Not only do such anti-woman actions buy into the idea that all women must think the same to belong to the girl's club. The logic behind them patronizingly assumes women aren't smart enough to hear all sides on an issue and decide for themselves.

This view also fails to take into account recent studies, including one by former Planned Parenthood leader Faye Wattleton's Center for Gender Equity, that have found decreased support for abortion rights among women. Obviously, not all women do think the same, nor should they have to.

Younger women seem to grasp this idea more readily than their older peers.

The organizers of Fem Fest, a Cleveland women's music fest that took place the weekend before Lilith, took such an inclusive approach. They allowed FFL to distribute their literature even though organizer Cathryn Beeks didn't agree with what it said.

The response to Kopp and her crew is the same at Lilith. Many just pass them by; others aim their anger at their silencers.

"We let the Klan come to Cleveland," exclaims Norma Rodriguez. "Why can't this group talk?"

Witness this scene from Lilith fair. As Kopp's friend Denise Mackura stands gagged in front of the NOW booth, a group of teenage girls walk up to her. When they find out what's going on, they're shocked. They see the situation as a violation of civil rights, not a defense of women's rights.

"This is wrong," says Casey Patton, 17.

It's a simple declaration, but like Kopp's willingness to fight for her rights, it's a much more feminist statement than the one made by rocker Sheryl Crow earlier in the day.

"This isn't a democracy. This is a tyranny," said Crow, justifying Lilith's ban on pro-life groups.

But do her words describe only Lilith Fair or the entire women's movement's exclusion of anyone pro-life? They will if women like Kopp and those who speak up for her have their say. Whether or not the women's movement has room for them doesn't matter. They're making their own space. That's empowerment.