Rave as resistance: how the club community is mobilising for Palestine

It’s January 14 and De School, the renowned Amsterdam club, is having its final party after years of threatened closure. With more than 80 acts playing over the course of the closing weekend, hundreds of people are dancing deliriously to the persistent sounds of techno, bouncing between the venue’s sprawling network of rooms. In the early hours of the morning, as the daylight begins to illuminate the dancefloor, an anonymous group of ravers hold up a banner to the fogged-up windows of Het Muzieklokaal. “TO RAVE IS TO RESIST. MOBILISE FOR PALESTINE.” The club erupts into cheers. The following day, the group shares a statement on the Instagram page Ravers For Palestine. “We are a group of ravers, most of us active in Amsterdam, concerned about the club community’s lack of engagement on Palestine,” it reads. “It is a direct call to action for our community, as well as a critique of cultural institutions like De School.”

The dancefloor has always been a space of liberation and resistance. From the beginnings of techno as Black music from Detroit to the UK acid house explosion that came out of 1980s England – a direct response to the economic hardship brought about by the politics of free-market Thatcherism – rave culture has always been about resisting societal norms and oppression. And yet in the months following October 7, there’s been a growing disparity between the DJs, producers and ravers coming out in solidarity with Palestinians and the spaces – from clubs to radio stations and collectives – that claim to represent them. 

The banner was taken down by De School staff within half an hour, though this is hardly surprising when you consider the wider cultural industry’s anti-Palestinian crackdown across the UK and Europe. Back in November, Berlin-based radio station HÖR halted two performances for the artists wearing pro-Palestine clothing, while historic institutions like Berghain came under fire after cancelling a gig by French-Lebanese DJ Arabian Panther when he expressed solidarity with Palestine, which eventually led to the collective withdrawal of international DJs and musicians at this year’s CTM festival. Last week, Yuval Hen, the founder of London’s E1 nightclub, was revealed to have travelled to Israel to serve for the Israeli Defence Force (IDF) in Gaza. Shortly after, Ravers For Palestine called for artists, promoters and club-goers to boycott the east London nightclub, writing: ”No one wants to lose another rave venue in London. But there can be no place in our culture for actors engaged in colonial violence – especially those in places of power and ownership.“

For many of us who’ve grown up in the electronic music community, where clubbing is a space for radical acceptance, the censorship and repression upheld by these spaces have been particularly jarring to watch, and reflect the wider dysphoria we see unfolding across our screens and IRL: namely the ongoing tension between those calling for a ceasefire and the cultural institutions in power choosing to remain silent. “Many ravers, including in this collective, have had formative and spiritual experiences partying in Berghain. But these experiences were premised on a feeling of freedom and safety,” says a representative for Ravers for Palestine. “How can we feel free or safe in a club that deplatformed an Arab DJ for expressing solidarity with Palestine? Or in a venue founded by someone who served in the IDF during its current genocide?”

“By fostering mutual aid, we also want to show that there are alternatives to the prevailing economy of clout and influence, which often works to discipline and depoliticise artists” – Ravers For Palestine

Of all the ways to place pressure on cultural institutions, one of the most effective is through boycotts – look at how quickly the Berlin Senate dropped its proposed IHRA clause after international DJs withdrew from CTM Festival as per Strike Germany. But not everyone can afford to turn down a paid gig, especially amid rising living costs, and this can result in some artists choosing to remain silent out of fear of losing jobs. This has led to cultural workers looking for new ways to sustain the community, while still maintaining pressure on the institutions silencing pro-Palestine support. “Our hope is that through collective actions, institutions will shift, policies will change, and the genocide will end – but in the meantime, we might need to find other ways to sustain our communities outside of the institutions we’ve been reliant on in the past,” say the organisers of Strike Germany.

One example is the Strike Fund, an initiative launched earlier this month that aims to provide an alternative to institution-led funding. “Our strike fund is there to ensure that precarious DJs and musicians are able to withdraw their labour in solidarity with Palestine,” explain the Ravers for Palestine organisers. “By fostering mutual aid, we also want to show that there are alternatives to the prevailing economy of clout and influence, which often works to discipline and depoliticise artists.”

Another organisation taking a stance against Israel’s occupation of Palestine is the New York-based collective Palestine Forever. The group is behind the recent DJs Against Apartheid campaign, which includes a statement signed by more than 500 DJs, including Logic1000, Nene H, AceMo, Aurora Halal, DJ Haram, and more. “We join in solidarity as artists and workers within this line of work and recognise that while our work is often celebratory and joyous, there can be no celebration or festivities during a genocide,” the statement reads. “We understand the radical history and legacy of dance music and the power we and other cultural workers have in shaping public opinion, fighting for liberation, and resisting oppressive forces.”

This international solidarity is particularly moving when you consider that Israel has, for decades, used techno and pinkwashing as tools to bolster its progressive public image and normalise the occupation (Tel Aviv has often been referred to as a gay and techno capital in the region). “Israel has, for many years, used techno and queerness as a tool to normalise the occupation. We‘re reclaiming these spaces as our own,” says Nour Khalil, cofounder of Palestine Forever and one of the organisers of DJs Against Apartheid, in a recent interview.

In the months since October 7, the Israeli clubbing community has been met with increasing scrutiny, while reports of Israel‘s “slowly returning“ nightlife conveniently gloss over the tragedies taking place in Gaza. A piece in Israeli newspaper Haaretz titled ‘Shut Up and Dance‘ reflects on the blasé attitudes within Israel’s own electronic music scene, which says: “We turned up the volume, shared another round of drinks and upped the dosages in order to forget the fact that mere kilometres from us is an apartheid regime – another word that has been emptied of content – and south of us the world’s most crowded favela.” Turns out that not even the State of Israel’s propaganda machine can tune out the violence at its feet.

Of course, some have questioned the effectiveness of cultural boycotts, especially their impact on young Israelis who don’t necessarily support their government. But given the rising death tolls (the current Gaza invasion, lasting just over five months, has killed more children than four years of global conflict), this latest boycotting initiative feels both urgent and important – it puts pressure on the Israeli government to deescalate the violence, while potentially incentivising left-leaning Israeli’s to mobilise for change. “Many are now questioning the entire system of rewards that underpins electronic music culture, as well as our broader social existence within a capitalist system premised on colonialism and mass death,” say Ravers Against Palestine, finally. “This is an unprecedented moment of anticolonial solidarity and mobilisation among ravers and DJs. We are laying the groundwork for a future rave scene based on solidarity, resistance and mutual aid.”