LAWMAKERS TARGETING THE ECSTASY OF RAVES

NEW ORLEANS -- Dawn was approaching when the underground wizard
stepped center stage at the State Palace Theatre to survey his
electronic wonderland. Laser lights strafed the grand old chandeliers
overhead, and deafening machine music rattled the opera boxes. The
floor was packed with young, sweaty dancers.

"Great crowd," J. Donnie Estopinal said. And then, with a boyish
smile, he added: "I wonder which ones are the cops."

The gangly 32-year-old hefted a chugging smoke machine and aimed it
toward the audience of more than 3,300. If there were any undercover
drug agents in the Canal Street theater--and there almost certainly
were--Estopinal was suddenly gone before their eyes, vanished in a
billowing white cloud. It was a rare moment of low visibility for the
promoter whose parties have been ground zero for a federal excursion
into the rave world.

The newest front in that campaign is a U.S. Senate bill that has wide
support on Capitol Hill. The legislation has a catchy name--the RAVE
Act, which stands for "Reducing America's Vulnerability to Ecstasy."

The act would tweak a 16-year-old federal drug law, originally crafted
to prosecute owners of crack houses, by expanding its definition of a
site devoted to drug enterprise to include one-time events and outdoor
gatherings. The law would make it a felony to house events that
knowingly profit from a drug culture. Its clear model has been last
year's case, brought here, of the United States of America vs. Estopinal.

"I still can't believe it sometimes, when I think of what's happened,"
Estopinal said. "They told me these federal drug laws were going to
put me in prison for 20 years. But not for buying drugs, not for
selling drugs, not for using drugs. They never said I did any of that.
They said I put on raves. They looked around for somebody to pound,
and I was the lucky guy."

Estopinal said his only knowledge of drugs at his raves is the "same
common-sense knowledge that tells me there's drugs at concerts and
clubs everywhere." The government case against Estopinal fizzled, and
charges against him were eventually dropped, but that has not deterred
authorities from using the New Orleans case as a template. The
campaign has sent a chill not only through the electronic dance world,
but also the ranks of civil liberty advocates.

"The State Palace case was the opening battle, and it's absolutely
critical in understanding the RAVE Act, which now appears to be a
priority in the Senate with a very frightening prospect of passing,"
said Graham Boyd, an attorney with the ACLU Drug Policy Litigation
Project. "What's extraordinary here is the government recasting of the
drug laws to take an activity that has never been considered criminal
before and then criminalize it. And it's an activity very intertwined
with free expression.

"Basically," the attorney said, "we're talking about putting on a
party."

Not so, says Sen. Joseph R. Biden Jr. (D-Del.), who introduced the
RAVE Act and has taken a prominent role in Senate hearings over the
last two years regarding Ecstasy and other club drugs.

"Despite what opponents of the bill would have you believe, promoters
who sponsor events where people can dance in a safe, drug-free
environment have nothing to fear from my bill," Biden said. "My
legislation is aimed at the promoters who seek to profit from
knowingly putting their customers at risk.... Next week the problem
may be country music bars or hip-hop clubs. Quite frankly, I don't
care what type of music is playing or what the venue is. What I do
care about is the behavior of promoters who turn their events into
drug dens."

Generational Conflict

While the RAVE Act and the prosecution of Estopinal are matters of
law, a core question of the great debate is cultural and generational:
Are raves about music or drugs.

Opponents of the RAVE Act say the law could be stretched to go after
concert promoters who book reggae artists and sell marijuana-themed
T-shirts, or venues that host jam bands in the Grateful Dead tradition
and sell black-light posters.

The legal saga of the State Palace is a jumbled tale of British dance
party traditions, Beltway politicking and a law originally written to
nail shut the doors of urban drug havens.

In 1986, the "crack house" laws were created to help police fight the
anonymous churn of cocaine houses. Dealers arrested in the morning
were replaced by afternoon, so the law presented a more practical
target in the property owners. The law made it a felony to knowingly
house and profit from a drug enterprise.

In New Orleans in January 2001, a federal grand jury was asked: Are
rave promoters really all that different from the property owners who
collect cash for letting drug dealers set up shop under their roofs.
The answer came in a sealed indictment against Estopinal and the
owners of the State Palace.

The rave parties at this venue, which sits in a gritty commercial
district on the fringe of the French Quarter, follow the familiar
beats of those set up in clubs, outdoor fields and warehouses in Los
Angeles, Miami, Berlin, Tokyo and beyond. The throbbing electronic
music and pulsing psychedelic lights create sensory overload, and a
crowd vibe prevails that could be viewed as neo-hippie. And, of
course, there are drugs.

The effects of Ecstasy include euphoria, increased sensuality and a
buzzing intensification of the senses--all of which are stoked by the
rave atmosphere. But Ecstasy and other club drugs such as ketamine and
GHB can also be hazardous for ravers who dance in crowded, broiling
rooms for marathon parties. Body temperatures soar, hydration dips,
kidneys can fail and seizures can set in.

When authorities came after Estopinal and the owners of the venue,
Robert and Brian Brunet, they pointed to a parade of limp youngsters
taken to hospitals. When he introduced the legislation, Biden cited
Drug Enforcement Administration estimates that 400 teens attending
State Palace raves had overdosed over a two-year period, a total hotly
contested by Estopinal. There is no debate, however, that in 1998 the
drug-related death of a 17-year-old girl who had been at a State
Palace rave shifted the venue from local irritant to formal target.

In the months leading up to the grand jury, DEA undercover agents
reported that they bought 13 grams of Ecstasy at eight State Palace
raves. The government would argue that Estopinal and the Brunet
brothers knew dealers were active at the raves.

The government also said the attributes of the State Palace raves
pointed to complicity by Estopinal and the Brunets in a drug
enterprise. Prosecutors argued that the venue sold items--such as glow
sticks, baby pacifiers and mentholated inhalers--that are associated
with club drug culture. Defense attorneys told Estopinal and the
Brunets the case was an ominous one, and the defendants agreed
tentatively to a plea bargain that would land them in prison for terms
of one to two years. The American Civil Liberties Union, however,
persuaded the men to fight the case.

ACLU attorney Boyd said this week that his organization's efforts and
negative media coverage sapped the government's momentum in a case it
hoped to close with a quick and precedent-setting plea.

The government did win a plea bargain, but it was a muted victory. All
charges against Estopinal and the Brunets as individuals were dropped.
Instead, the corporation that owned the State Palace entered a guilty
plea on the crack house laws, accepted a $100,000 fine and agreed to a
ban on items such as glow sticks.

A Political Victory

The victory was undermined in several ways. In the days after the
plea, a new corporation was created by the Brunets to secure their
liquor license. The $100,000 fine has never been collected, Boyd said,
and an ACLU civil suit on behalf of State Palace patrons and artists
negated the ban on rave items. "It was a completely empty, face-saving
victory that meant nothing legally," he said. "But it did have meaning
politically."

Assistant U.S. Atty. Al Winters, who handled the State Palace case,
said Thursday he could not comment on the case, and he cited a pending
government appeal to reinstate the rave items ban. He did offer one
insight: "Once we executed search warrants at the State Palace
Theatre, the overdoses in the local hospitals went from 12 every time
they had a rave to none. None. That's why we got into the case. It was
to try to stop the overdoses, and so far we're successful."

DEA Director Asa Hutchinson this week said the New Orleans case was a
worthwhile prosecution, but he said the "important tool" of the Crack
House Law would be more potent in cases in which promoters actually
deal drugs or have more traceable ties to dealers.

"We're not trying to shut down raves, but we will, and we should, put
on notice any rave promoter who is going to facilitate, encourage or
engage in Ecstasy distribution that we're coming after them,"
Hutchinson said. "They're taking advantage of parents, taking
advantage of teenagers and doing a disservice to the music they
purport to love."

Security searches at the State Palace are more intense these days, and
the wait in line can stretch to two hours. But few searches can stop
smuggling completely. In a rear row of seats, three ravers who
appeared to be in their early 20s huddled together as a fourth used a
credit card to sort white powder on a small pane of glass illuminated
by a glow stick.

That scene may be part of the ritual for some ravers, but Robert
Brunet said the event is truly defined by the stage where, last
weekend, DJs making as much as $3,000 an hour and flown in from as far
away as Europe created sonic collages.

"If this were about drugs, we would get local [DJs], anybody, and just
put them up there," Brunet said. "That would be a lot easier. Kids
wouldn't drive 10 hours to get here, either. Those are stars up there."

Edgy music scenes and drug culture have danced together for years, of
course, from the smoky clubs of the Jazz Age to the tie-dyed trails of
Woodstock and the bathroom lines of Studio 54. But Biden says that, no
matter the name of the bill, this is legislation about drugs, not
music events.

The RAVE Act, introduced in mid-June, has raced through the Senate
process. Though ACLU attorney Boyd says he once viewed the bill as a
political flare--shot up for attention but without real lasting
heat--it now sits on the Senate's consent calendar, meaning it could
pass after the summer recess without debate. (There is no House
version of the bill.)

The RAVE Act is given good odds by Hutchinson. "It's a little bit
early to predict, but it has a tremendous amount of support in
Congress because of the concern about club drugs. And that concern
will grow. We haven't seen all the dimensions of this problem yet....
I think there's very little public awareness of the problems of
Ecstasy, and the education curve is enormous."

A Clouded Picture

Education is foiled by misinformation, however, and good data are hard
to find in the swirl of raves. Drug use is the subject of wildly
divergent estimates (from 10% of ravers to 90%, depending on whom you
ask), and pegging the complicity of promoters in the drug trade may be
a slippery matter.

Even the authorities have some fogginess about their own efforts. In a
phone interview this week, Hutchinson said the New Orleans case was a
success because, at least, the State Palace "no longer has raves, it's
been shut down." When corrected, he asked, "Well, it's not the same
promoter, though, right."

Last Saturday, getting ready to stage his latest rave amid the faded
majesty of the State Palace, Estopinal flopped in a chair backstage
and said that after his strange odyssey he is now embracing
misinformation and trying to dance unnoticed in the shadows.

"I don't use the D-word," he said. "Look, I used to say, 'Yes, to be
honest, there is drug use at raves just like there is at the bars on
Bourbon Street and at rock concerts and sporting events.' And then
[the prosecutors] pulled out the old interviews and said that showed I
was aware of the drug dealers and was creating a place for them. It
was crazy. So now. Well, now there are no drugs at raves."