The Radical History of the U.K.’s Squat Raves
( Cars My Arse, Zebra crossing dance floor, Kennington, London 1998, Photo Credit : “Out of Order”, Molly Macindoe, 2011 , Vice )
Rave culture has always been more than just music and dancing—it is an act of defiance. From its earliest days, the rave scene has been rooted in resistance, challenging authority, rejecting capitalism, and carving out spaces for freedom in a society that increasingly sought to regulate and control public gathering. Whether in abandoned warehouses, remote fields, or occupied buildings, raves have existed on the fringes, providing a sanctuary for those seeking an alternative to mainstream club culture and the rigid structures of capitalist nightlife.
At the heart of this defiance is the DIY ethos—the belief that spaces for music, art, and community should not be dictated by profit or institutions, but by the people themselves. This spirit connects rave culture to other countercultural movements, from punk’s rejection of corporate music industries to the squatter movements that transformed neglected buildings into thriving hubs of creativity. Free parties and squat raves were not just about hedonism; they were about autonomy, self-organization, and reclaiming space from systems that sought to control it.
The UK, in particular, has a long and unique history of squatting and free party culture. In the 1980s and 1990s, amid rising economic inequality and state repression, nomadic traveler communities, anarchist groups, and sound system collectives pioneered a radical new form of cultural resistance. These weren’t just parties—they were statements. The authorities saw them as a threat, and by the mid-90s, the government responded with the infamous Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994, which specifically targeted raves and squatting. But instead of killing the movement, this repression forced it underground, making it even more radical. The rise of squat raves in the late ’90s and 2000s was a direct response to this crackdown—turning occupied buildings into sites of liberation, rebellion, and resistance against an increasingly authoritarian state.
From its inception, rave culture has represented a refusal to conform. Whether through music, community, or the reclaiming of urban space, it has continuously defied attempts to suppress it. As we explore the history of UK squat raves, it becomes clear that they were not just parties—they were a battle cry for freedom in a world determined to shut them down.
The Influence of Traveler Communities, the Hippie Movement, and Free Festivals
Before the rise of acid house and squat raves, the groundwork for DIY, anti-capitalist party culture was laid by a loose network of travelers, anarchists, and countercultural nomads who rejected mainstream society in favor of autonomous, communal living. This lineage can be traced across continents, from the psychedelic caravan culture of the Grateful Dead tours in the U.S., to the Rainbow Gatherings’ vision of temporary utopian communities, to the European squatter and traveler movements that transformed abandoned spaces into radical social hubs.
At the core of these movements was a rejection of capitalist values—private property, profit-driven entertainment, and the commodification of art and experience—in favor of free expression, communal resource-sharing, and defiance of the state’s authority over space.
( Haight Ashbury Free Clinic, Established Without Permits, Still Operational ::: Photo Credit: Courtesy of Gene Anthony/David Smith Archives )
The Hippie Movement, the Grateful Dead, and American Psychedelic Nomadism
The Grateful Dead’s sprawling, cult-like following of “Deadheads” wasn’t just about music; it was a decentralized, traveling community that blurred the line between audience and performer, consumer and creator. Their DIY economy—where fans bartered goods, followed the band across the country, and lived outside of mainstream capitalist structures—mirrored the same ethos that would later define rave culture. This culture of psychedelic nomadism, fueled by acid, music, and a communal mindset, laid the foundation for the radical free party movement that would emerge in Europe.
Similarly, Rainbow Gatherings, which began in the U.S. in the early 1970s, promoted the idea of temporary autonomous zones—non-commercial, anarchist-inspired gatherings in remote locations, where thousands would camp, share food and music, and practice collective decision-making. These gatherings rejected money and hierarchical structures, relying instead on mutual aid and a belief in self-sufficiency. The ethos of Rainbow Gatherings would later echo in the free party movement and the underground rave scene, where decentralized networks of organizers created ephemeral spaces of resistance and celebration.
( Poster For Stonehenge Free Festival, 1975, Credit : Mary Guyver )
European Traveler Movements and the UK’s Free Festival Scene
In Europe, a parallel movement was growing among squatter communities, anarchist collectives, and groups like the Dutch Provos, who used creative subversion and free spaces to challenge authority. By the 1970s and 80s, this countercultural spirit had merged with Britain’s traveler movement, particularly the Peace Convoy, a nomadic network of people who traveled between squats and free festivals in converted buses, vans, and caravans.
The most famous expression of this movement was the Stonehenge Free Festival, which ran from the 1970s until its violent suppression in 1985. At its peak, it was a month-long anarchic gathering of punks, hippies, and travelers, featuring DIY music, psychedelic experiences, and an explicit rejection of capitalist control over culture. The festival was a space where money had little meaning, mainstream society’s expectations dissolved, and people built temporary, self-sustaining communities outside of state control.
However, this defiance of private property and authority led to increasing hostility from the government. In 1985, the Battle of the Beanfield saw riot police ambush a convoy of travelers attempting to set up that year’s Stonehenge Free Festival. Cars and homes were smashed, people were beaten and arrested, and the UK government sent a clear message: autonomous gatherings, squatting, and anti-capitalist spaces would not be tolerated.
From Free Festivals to Raves: The Evolution of Resistance
While the state may have crushed the free festival movement, it did not kill the spirit of DIY, autonomous gatherings. Instead, it forced the movement to evolve. As the 1980s gave way to the 1990s, free festivals merged with the emerging acid house explosion, and the ethos of traveler culture was reborn in the underground rave scene. What began as psychedelic folk music and jam bands in the fields of Stonehenge and Rainbow Gatherings transformed into the pounding basslines and hypnotic beats of free parties and squat raves.
The next phase of this resistance—illegal raves and the state’s war against them—was about to begin.
Acid House Explosion and Its Clash with the State
By the late 1980s, a new underground movement was emerging in the UK—one that fused the DIY, anti-capitalist ethos of the free festival scene with a radically different sonic landscape. Acid house was more than just a new genre of electronic music; it was a cultural revolution. With its repetitive, hypnotic beats, psychedelic energy, and unifying atmosphere, acid house provided the perfect soundtrack for a generation disillusioned by Thatcher-era neoliberalism, mass unemployment, and the increasing commercialization of public life.
What made acid house truly dangerous in the eyes of the state, however, wasn’t just the music—it was the way it operated outside of capitalist structures. Unlike mainstream clubs, which were heavily policed, licensed, and profit-driven, acid house thrived in abandoned warehouses, remote fields, and other temporary autonomous zones, where organizers bypassed government control, avoiding permits, security, and taxes. Entry fees, if charged at all, were often minimal, designed to cover costs rather than generate profit. Raves were a direct rejection of corporate control over nightlife, proving that people could organize massive, joyful events without police oversight, overpriced drinks, or rigid opening hours.
The 1989 Crackdown: When the State Declared War on Rave Culture
As raves spread across the UK in the late 1980s, the government, media, and police launched a full-scale moral panic. The mainstream press, led by right-wing tabloids like The Sun and The Daily Mail, painted acid house parties as lawless, drug-fueled orgies threatening “British values.” The police responded with increasingly aggressive tactics, raiding warehouses, blocking roads to outdoor parties, and arresting organizers under vague public order laws.
The tipping point came in 1989, when the government ramped up its efforts to crush the movement. Following a series of high-profile parties attracting thousands, authorities pressured landowners to deny access to party organizers, increased surveillance on sound systems, and introduced new legal measures to make unlicensed events impossible to sustain. Police forces, frustrated by their inability to stop raves from spreading, resorted to violent tactics, shutting down events with riot squads and seizing equipment.
Despite this repression, acid house continued to evolve. Organizers became more adept at evading police, using pirate radio stations and word-of-mouth networks to coordinate events in secret. The constant cat-and-mouse game between ravers and the state radicalized the movement, solidifying its position as a direct challenge to capitalist control over public space and leisure.
However, this escalating battle between free party culture and the state was far from over. By the early 1990s, the government was preparing a more severe and far-reaching response—one that would change the landscape of UK rave culture forever.
( Protests Against 1994 Criminal Justice and Public Order Act : Image Credit : Past Tense )
The Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994: Why the Government Declared War on Raves
By the early 1990s, acid house and the free party movement had evolved into a full-scale cultural insurrection. What had begun as a loose network of DIY events had grown into a national phenomenon, drawing tens of thousands of people to illegal raves across the UK. These weren’t just parties—they were acts of defiance, direct challenges to capitalist control over nightlife, property, and public space. In a Britain increasingly dominated by neoliberal policies—privatization, the destruction of unions, the erosion of social safety nets—the rave scene provided an alternative vision: one of self-organization, community, and temporary liberation from a system built on profit and control.
The government saw this as a threat—not just to law and order, but to the fundamental structures of capitalism itself. If people could create their own entertainment, without paying entry fees to corporate clubs, without obeying licensing laws, without the state dictating the terms of their joy, what else might they start doing outside the system?
The Criminal Justice and Public Order Act: A Direct Attack on Autonomy
In response, the Conservative government under John Major introduced one of the most explicitly authoritarian pieces of legislation in modern British history: the Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994. Disguised as a broad crime bill, this law was a surgical strike against the rave movement, designed to criminalize the very conditions that made free parties possible.
Key provisions of the act included:
Banning Gatherings with “Repetitive Beats”: The law specifically targeted events playing music “wholly or predominantly characterized by the emission of a succession of repetitive beats.” This was a blatant attempt to outlaw electronic dance music and prevent the organization of raves. It remains one of the most absurd examples of the state attempting to legislate against a sound.
Expanding Police Powers to Stop Raves Before They Even Started: Officers were now able to seize sound systems, shut down parties preemptively, and arrest organizers without warrants. This effectively made it impossible to plan large-scale underground events without immediate police intervention.
Criminalizing Trespass on Private and Public Land: This was a direct attack on traveler communities, squatters, and free party organizers, making it easier for police to evict them and harder for them to establish new spaces for raves.
Curfews and Restrictions on Protest: Beyond raves, the act also cracked down on demonstrations, public assembly, and travelers’ rights, linking rave culture with broader radical movements and ensuring that any challenge to state power—whether through music, protest, or alternative living—was met with repression.
This was not simply about noise complaints or public safety. The Criminal Justice Act was an open declaration of war against counterculture, an attempt to destroy the radical, non-commercial spaces that had flourished in opposition to capitalist club culture, property laws, and state control.
(Mill Mead Road, London, 1998 Photo Credit : “Out of Order”, Molly Macindoe, 2011 , Vice)
The Rise of Squat Raves as a Radical Left Tactic
With the UK government’s all-out assault on free parties through the Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994, the rave scene was forced to adapt. Outdoor raves, once sprawling expressions of countercultural defiance, became increasingly difficult to sustain. Police cracked down on gatherings before they even began, and landowners were pressured to deny access to organizers. But the movement wasn’t going to disappear—it simply shifted its battleground from the open fields to the concrete ruins of the city.
Squatting, already deeply embedded in European anarchist traditions, became the new frontier for rave culture. Abandoned warehouses, disused factories, derelict office buildings—spaces deemed worthless under capitalism—were transformed into radical sites of resistance, community, and autonomy. The squat rave was born.
Squatting Laws and Their Connection to Anarchist Movements
Squatting had long been a tool of anarchists, housing activists, and anti-capitalist movements in Europe. In the UK, squatting in residential buildings was technically legal until 2012, and in commercial properties, it remains a legal grey area. For decades, anarchist collectives, housing activists, and punks had been reclaiming abandoned spaces, turning them into temporary autonomous zones—social centers, housing co-ops, and hubs of radical political activity.
The DIY ethos of squatting meshed seamlessly with rave culture. Organizing a squat rave was an inherently anti-capitalist act:
It rejected the commodification of nightlife—no overpriced drinks, no club promoters, no security profiting off the experience.
It challenged property laws and land ownership—Why should buildings sit empty while people struggled to find spaces to live and create?
It blurred the lines between protest and celebration—Every squat rave was an act of defiance, a temporary liberation of space from the grips of landlords, corporations, and the state.
Many of these spaces weren’t just party venues; they were self-organized communities, often doubling as social centers that provided shelter, food, and resources for marginalized people. The same networks that organized squat raves were also deeply involved in anti-globalization protests, anti-fascist activism, and resistance to police violence.
CoolTan Arts formed in June 1991, named after the disused CoolTan Suntan Lotion factory they first squatted on Effra Road, Brixton. After their eviction in February 1992, the building was demolished and left vacant for a decade. The collective moved above Brixton Cycles, then squatted the old Unemployment Benefit Office on Coldharbour Lane in September 1992. Known locally as the ‘Old Dolehouse,’ it became a vital community hub, hosting a café with music at night and providing space for groups like Reclaim The Streets, Freedom Network, Earth First!, the Green Party, and London Friends and Families of Travellers. (Source : https://www.brixtonbuzz.com/2021/02/brixton-archives-cooltan-squat-moving-house-party-sat-23rd-sept-1995/ )
The Necessity-Driven Shift from Free Parties to Urban Squats
As outdoor raving became nearly impossible due to increased police repression, the move to squats wasn’t just ideological—it was necessary for survival. The 1990s and early 2000s saw a wave of large-scale urban squat parties, particularly in cities like London, Bristol, and Brighton, where entire buildings were taken over, sound systems installed, and multi-day raves held without any corporate oversight.
These spaces provided a level of security and secrecy that open-air raves could no longer offer. Organizers developed tight-knit networks, using word-of-mouth, pirate radio, and underground forums to coordinate events. The police, unfamiliar with this new urban battleground, often struggled to shut down raves quickly—squatters knew the laws well and used legal loopholes to delay eviction.
Some of the most infamous squat raves of the era include:
The Wapping Autonomy Centre (London) – A squat and DIY venue heavily associated with anarcho-punk and early rave culture.
The 121 Centre (Brixton) – A legendary squatted social center that hosted countless raves and radical political events before being evicted in 1999.
Various warehouse raves in Hackney, Tottenham, and Bristol – Entire city blocks transformed into free-party zones, often hosting thousands of people before police could react.
The state, of course, fought back. In the 2000s, new anti-squatting laws and increased police surveillance made urban squat raves more precarious. Yet, the spirit of DIY resistance endured. Many of today’s underground electronic music movements—illegal forest raves, warehouse parties, and autonomous techno collectives—trace their lineage directly back to the radical left tactics of the squat rave era.
Squat Raves as a Continuing Act of Resistance
Squat raves were never just about the music. They were about challenging the very foundations of capitalism—who owns space, who controls culture, and who has the right to gather and celebrate without corporate interference. As the state cracked down, ravers and squatters didn’t just resist; they adapted, innovated, and continued to carve out new spaces of autonomy in an increasingly privatized world.
The fight wasn’t over—it had simply gone deeper underground.
Squat Raves, Anarchism, and Anti-Capitalism
Squat raves weren’t just parties—they were acts of defiance, functioning as hubs for radical left activism, direct action, and anti-capitalist organizing. As the UK government intensified its war on raves in the 1990s and 2000s, squat culture became a crucial battleground, not only for reclaiming physical spaces but for fostering a broader resistance to neoliberalism, surveillance, and the commodification of public life.
Squatters and ravers were not just fighting for the right to dance—they were challenging the fundamental idea that property should exist as a tool for profit rather than communal use. This positioned them in direct opposition to capitalism, a system that thrives on the privatization of space, the restriction of movement, and the control of leisure and culture through profit-driven models.
(Source : https://www.brixtonbuzz.com/2021/02/brixton-archives-cooltan-squat-moving-house-party-sat-23rd-sept-1995/ )
Squat Raves as Hubs for Radical Left Activism
Because squat raves existed outside of state control, they became natural gathering points for activists of all kinds. These spaces provided more than just music—they offered:
Free spaces for organizing protests and meetings – Many squat raves doubled as social centers where activists planned direct actions, from anti-globalization protests to anti-fascist mobilizations.
Shelter and resources for marginalized people – Squatted buildings often housed the homeless, migrants, and those fleeing state persecution, reinforcing the connection between squatters’ rights and radical mutual aid efforts.
Education and skill-sharing – Workshops on police evasion, counter-surveillance, first aid for protests, and legal rights were common, ensuring that ravers weren’t just partying—they were preparing for resistance.
The political potential of these spaces did not go unnoticed. The state understood that where people gathered autonomously, they built power, and where music brought people together, movements could form. This is why the police didn’t just raid squat raves to stop the music—they saw them as sites of radicalization.
Rave Culture, Anti-Globalization, and Direct Action
Squat raves weren’t just about resisting local landlords and the criminalization of nightlife. They were also deeply intertwined with the larger anti-globalization movement, which exploded in the late 1990s and early 2000s as activists targeted institutions like the IMF, World Bank, and WTO. Many of the same people who organized raves were also at the frontlines of protests in Seattle (1999), Genoa (2001), and Prague (2000), where direct action tactics were used to physically disrupt neoliberal institutions.
The connection between rave culture and anti-globalization activism was clear:
Both challenged capitalism’s control over public space and resources. Squatters took over buildings left empty by property speculation; anti-globalization activists targeted corporations and financial institutions that controlled global wealth.
Both used decentralized, network-based organizing. Just as ravers used pirate radio and word-of-mouth to coordinate events, anti-globalization activists relied on independent media collectives, secure communication channels, and autonomous affinity groups to evade police surveillance.
Both embraced Temporary Autonomous Zones (TAZ). The concept of the TAZ, popularized by anarchist writer Hakim Bey, was central to both movements: the idea that, by reclaiming space, people could create temporary pockets of liberation outside state control—whether in the form of a warehouse party or a protest encampment.
Rave culture also played a direct role in protest tactics. The Reclaim the Streets (RTS) movement, for example, fused rave, direct action, and environmental activism to take over roads, highways, and public squares, turning them into massive dance-fueled protests against corporate development, fossil fuel dependency, and police repression.
A flyer seeking help resisting an eviction at The 121 Centre, a squatted social center that became a hub for countercultural movements in Brixton
Tactics: Building Takeovers, Counter-Surveillance, and Resisting Evictions
Surviving in a system designed to erase squat rave culture required tactical innovation. Organizers developed sophisticated methods to outmaneuver police, resist eviction, and keep spaces autonomous for as long as possible. Some of the most common tactics included:
Building Takeovers: Squatters and ravers scouted out abandoned buildings owned by banks, corporations, or absentee landlords, often researching legal loopholes to delay eviction once occupied. Some collectives even fabricated fake leases or set up shell organizations to obscure their presence.
Counter-Surveillance: Activists became experts in evading police infiltration, using encrypted communication, burner phones, and coded language to coordinate. Lookouts were often posted at entrances to warn of incoming raids, and groups moved quickly to relocate before police could mobilize.
Resisting Evictions: When police inevitably attempted to clear out a squat, ravers and squatters used barricades, lock-ins, and legal stalling tactics to prolong the occupation. Some buildings were fortified with makeshift defenses, while others saw activists chaining themselves inside or occupying rooftops to delay police intervention.
Pirate Infrastructure: Ravers built off-grid electrical systems, DIY sound rigs, and makeshift plumbing to keep squatted spaces functioning, creating self-sufficient spaces that operated entirely outside capitalist structures.
These tactics weren’t just about keeping the party going—they were about demonstrating that a different way of living was possible, one that didn’t require rent, didn’t require bosses, and didn’t require permission from the state.
Squat Raves as an Ongoing Threat to Capitalism
Despite repeated waves of repression—from the Criminal Justice Act of 1994 to the anti-squatting laws of 2012—squat raves continued to exist because they represented something far more powerful than just a party. They were proof that people could take space back, could organize outside the logic of profit, and could reject the state’s attempts to control leisure, culture, and movement.
This is why squat raves remain a target. They are a direct contradiction to the logic of capitalism, which demands that every square inch of space be bought, sold, or policed. The existence of squat raves proves that joy, community, and resistance can exist without a price tag, and that, perhaps most dangerously, people don’t need the system nearly as much as it needs them.
IMG SRC : Good Trouble : https://www.goodtroublemag.com/home/rave-resist-the-british-90s-youth-protest-underground
Repression and Resistance: Police Crackdowns and Legal Shifts
As squat raves solidified their place in the underground, the UK government escalated its efforts to eradicate them. What began as a countercultural nuisance to the state was soon viewed as a direct challenge to capitalist property laws and law enforcement authority. From the mid-1990s onward, squatters and sound system crews faced increasing police aggression, new legal restrictions, and specialized eviction squads tasked with dismantling their spaces.
Yet, rather than backing down, the movement fought back. Through mass occupations, legal loopholes, and direct action, squatters and ravers developed new ways to resist, proving that even as laws tightened, the fight for free spaces and autonomous culture would not be easily crushed.
Police Aggression Post-1994: The Rise of Eviction Squads
The passage of the Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994 gave police unprecedented powers to disperse gatherings, arrest organizers, and shut down squatted venues. In response, law enforcement formed specialized eviction squads—riot police trained specifically to storm occupied buildings and remove squatters by force.
Common police tactics included:
Preemptive Raids – Police infiltrated underground networks and monitored pirate radio stations, allowing them to shut down parties before they began. Ravers arriving at planned locations would find riot vans waiting.
Paramilitary-Style Evictions – SWAT-like eviction squads equipped with battering rams, shields, and tear gas stormed squats in early morning raids, dragging occupants out and destroying sound systems.
Surveillance & Harassment – Authorities targeted organizers with intelligence-gathering operations, phone tapping, and physical surveillance. Prominent DJs, activists, and sound system operators often found themselves harassed, arrested, or blacklisted.
Violence & Intimidation – Footage from police raids frequently showed officers beating squatters, unleashing dogs, tasers, and batons on unarmed ravers. Reports of unlawful force skyrocketed during this era.
These increasingly aggressive tactics were meant to deter new occupations and scare off potential supporters, but they often had the opposite effect.
How Sound Systems and Squatters Fought Back
Rather than surrendering, squatters and sound systems developed counter-tactics to resist eviction, evade police, and keep the movement alive. Some of their most effective methods included:
Mass Occupations & Swarm Tactics – Instead of taking over one building at a time, squatters began coordinated mass takeovers, where multiple buildings in a single area were occupied at once. This overwhelmed police resources, forcing them to choose which locations to raid first.
Legal Loopholes & Delay Tactics – Many squatters became well-versed in property law, using bureaucratic loopholes to delay evictions. Some filed last-minute injunctions against landlords, while others falsified tenancy agreements to stall police action.
Barricading & Lock-Ins – When evictions became inevitable, squatters fortified buildings with steel doors, concrete blocks, and booby-trapped entrances to slow down police raids. Some chained themselves inside, forcing authorities into lengthy stand-offs.
Counter-Surveillance & Misinformation – Organizers deliberately spread false locations for planned raves, sending police on wild goose chases while the real event took place elsewhere. Lookouts were placed near venues to warn of approaching police.
Guerilla Raving – When squats were no longer viable, ravers returned to mobile sound system tactics, throwing flash raves in underground tunnels, abandoned car parks, and remote forests—staying one step ahead of the authorities.
Every police crackdown was met with new forms of resistance. The battle over squat raves was not just about music; it was a struggle over the right to space, autonomy, and community beyond the reach of capitalism.
The Impact of the Criminal Justice Bill & Later Anti-Squatting Laws
The Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994 was only the beginning. Over the next two decades, the government introduced even more draconian measures to suppress the scene:
2003 Anti-Social Behaviour Act – Expanded police powers to evict squatters and criminalized many forms of direct action associated with anti-capitalist movements.
2012 Squatting Ban – Made it a criminal offense to squat in residential buildings, leading to mass evictions and arrests. Though the law did not initially apply to commercial properties, it made squatting significantly riskier.
2017 Crackdowns on “Illegal Raves” – A new wave of zero-tolerance policies saw increased police surveillance, drone monitoring of rave locations, and harsher sentences for organizers.
Each new law chipped away at the once-thriving infrastructure of free parties and squats, but the spirit of resistance never fully disappeared. Instead, it forced the movement deeper underground, where new generations of ravers continue to adapt, evolve, and reclaim space in defiance of state control.
The Legacy and the Future: Where Are We Now?
While the golden era of squat raves may have faded, its legacy lives on in underground music, direct action, and the ongoing struggle for autonomous spaces. The UK’s squatting scene has suffered major blows, but the DIY ethos and anti-capitalist spirit of the movement continue to find new expressions—from warehouse raves to community-led social centers and resistance against housing precarity.
As governments crack down harder on unregulated nightlife, and as the housing crisis deepens, the need for radical, self-organized spaces is as urgent as ever. What can today’s underground learn from the past? And how do we keep the spirit of the squat rave alive?
Abandoned Warehouse Rave Site – Liverpool at Factory Project Liverpool – L20 8EA, Liverpool on 17th Sep 2022 | Fatsoma
The Decline of Squatting and the Shift to Warehouse Raves
With the introduction of harsher anti-squatting laws, particularly the 2012 criminalization of squatting in residential properties, the traditional squatting scene was largely dismantled. By the late 2010s, evictions became quicker, punishments harsher, and squatted social centers far less common.
This forced a shift in tactics. Warehouse raves became the new frontier—organized in abandoned commercial spaces, temporary industrial buildings, and hidden countryside locations. Unlike squats, these raves operated on rapid setup and teardown, ensuring they could disappear before authorities arrived.
Key differences between squat raves and modern warehouse parties:
Shorter Lifespans – Squats could last weeks, months, or even years; warehouse raves are often one-night-only due to rapid police response.
Less Political Infrastructure – Squat raves often housed libraries, communal kitchens, and activist hubs, while warehouse parties tend to focus purely on music and escapism.
More Commercialization – Many modern warehouse raves charge entry fees, book big-name DJs, and resemble for-profit events, though DIY crews still exist.
The radical potential of raving is still present, but without stable squats, the sense of long-term community and political organization has suffered.
Modern Parallels: Illegal Raves, Lockdowns, and the Housing Crisis
The COVID-19 pandemic exposed many of the same contradictions that fueled the squat rave movement decades earlier—widespread empty buildings, a worsening housing crisis, and heavy-handed state repression. While nightclubs shuttered under government orders, DIY rave crews filled the gap, hosting massive illegal parties in forests, abandoned factories, and disused rail tunnels.
2020’s Lockdown Raves – With legal venues closed, thousands turned to underground free parties, despite police repression. These raves, from London to Manchester, echoed the 90s in their defiance of state control over public space.
The Housing Crisis & New Occupations – As rent prices soared and homelessness spiked, squatting resurfaced in new ways. Groups like the London Renters Union and social housing activists have occupied empty buildings to demand tenant rights and resist gentrification.
DIY Spaces & Autonomous Zones – In response to the closure of grassroots venues, new community-run music spaces and art collectives have emerged, creating legal-but-precarious hubs for underground culture.
Though the opportunities for long-term squats have diminished, the desire for non-commercial, anti-capitalist spaces remains as strong as ever.
Lessons from the Radical History of Squat Raves
The history of squat raves isn’t just about parties—it’s about self-determination, resistance, and the reclaiming of space from capitalism. Today’s underground can still draw key lessons from the movement’s past:
Direct Action Works – The squat rave scene proved that if you take space, you can create new worlds—without asking for permission.
Community is Key – Squat raves weren’t just one-offs; they built long-term networks of support, activism, and mutual aid.
Capitalism Will Always Try to Co-opt & Repress – The crackdown on squats shows how capitalism absorbs or destroys movements that threaten private property and profit.
Adaptation is Survival – When laws changed, ravers shifted tactics, from free festivals to squat raves to warehouses. Today’s underground must do the same.
The Struggle Isn’t Over – As long as housing remains a commodity and public space is privatized, the fight for autonomous, non-commercial spaces will continue.
Squat raves may not exist as they once did, but their radical energy still fuels today’s underground movements. The lesson is clear: if you want freedom, you have to take it.
Reclaiming Space in the Present & Future
The crackdown on squatting and raving has not killed the desire for communal, non-commercial spaces—it has simply pushed it into new forms. From anti-gentrification occupations to secret warehouse parties, the struggle continues in new, evolving ways.
For those who dream of a world beyond police-enforced property laws, privatized culture, and corporate-controlled nightlife, the spirit of the squat rave remains a guiding light. The question is: How will the next generation demand their space?
