HOT TAKE : Partying is for everyone. Running a party is not.

It has never been easier to organise a party.
A few friends, a small venue, an online ticket link, a lineup found in DMs, two LED spots bought second-hand, and suddenly we’re talking about a “collective”, a “project”, a “vision”. And honestly, there is something genuinely beautiful in that impulse. Nightlife becomes a popular bricolage again, an act of reclaiming, far from overpriced clubs and locked-in programmings. A return to spontaneity, DIY spirit, and the desire to create spaces no one else creates for us.

But, because there is always a but, one we all prefer to avoid because it kills the vibe.
Organising a party means taking people’s lives under your responsibility.
And a large part of the scene acts as if that wasn’t true.

The night is not just a backdrop.
It is a place where substances circulate, where emotions are unstable, where fatigue hits, bodies are vulnerable, desires flow, violence sometimes too. A place where a medical emergency can escalate in two minutes, where an assault can happen in a dark corner, where an overdose can look like someone “just tired”. When you invite people into a space you control, you become responsible for what may happen to them, whether you intend it or not.

The problem is not the party itself.
The problem is the lack of competence.

Many organisers start with no harm reduction training, no emergency plan, no protocol in case of assault, no knowledge of substance interactions, no ability to identify physical or psychological distress. And again, this is not a moral accusation.
It is a tragically common reality.

DIY partying was never meant to be a place where safety gets improvised.

And yet, that’s what we see. Collectives who don’t know what to do when someone collapses. Staff unable to deal with an aggressor in the crowd. Racist physios. Parties where nobody knows where the emergency exits are, where nobody monitors capacity, where nobody checks if volunteers themselves aren’t consuming. Freedom without responsibility becomes a collective risk.

This situation is reinforced by a general atmosphere where partying is valued above everything else.
We want to have fun, we want to dance, we want things to flow.
But nightlife has never been “smooth”. Nightlife is messy, intense, sometimes dangerous. It requires preparation, not just intuition.

We choose not to dive into the free party scene here, a world we no longer fully understand in 2025 and which must evolve outside the perimeter of our current scene.

What complicates everything is this romantic idea that “the party belongs to the people, therefore it must remain completely free”.
That is true. But freedom has never meant the absence of responsibility.

What we cannot defend is unconsciousness.

We are in a world where substances circulate faster and stronger, where younger crowds arrive earlier and more vulnerable, where the far right infiltrates dancefloors, where gender-based violence does not decrease. In this context, being untrained becomes dangerous. Not only for others, but for yourself.

Models do exist. Collectives who train in harm reduction, who work with associations, who create protocols, who assign clear roles. Parties that display their rules at the entrance. Teams who learn how to intervene. Venues that refuse to let a volunteer handle situations requiring a professional.

This is not about making nightlife bureaucratic. It is about making it durable and… safer.

Because if we don’t take care of our spaces, others will do it for us.
The police.
City councils.
Insurance companies.
Multinationals.
The corporate groups already buying clubs and festivals.

Free nightlife disappears when poorly managed nightlife puts people at risk.

We need to stop opposing responsibility and freedom. Responsibility is the price that allows freedom to exist.

The solution is not to stop people from organising parties.
The solution is to remember a few simple truths.
When you organise a party, you need to know how to protect people.
When you invite people, you must know what to do when things fall apart.
When you call yourself a “collective”, you become an actor and a guardian, sometimes in spite of yourself.

Partying is for everyone, but safety is not optional.
And if we want nightlife to remain ours, we need to learn how to take care of it.