RAVE-RELATED DEATHS, PROPERTY DAMAGE DRAW FIRE IN FRANCE

Political Battle Brews Over Freedom To Party At Will

PAULE, France -- To the young, they are free-for-alls of drug-induced
revelry and thumping techno beats in the bucolic French countryside. To
President Jacques Chirac, they are a growing problem.

Rave parties, Dionysian fests involving abundant marijuana, heroin, cocaine
and especially the designer drug Ecstasy, have been around for about a
decade in Europe. But now, with five rave-related deaths reported in a year
and increasing property damage, they are drawing the attention of France's
political establishment.

Some of the secretly organized parties draw tens of thousands from across
Europe. Others are small regional affairs. But they all feature drugs,
techno music and the open air.

Elsewhere in Europe, there are larger, much more organized and urban rave
parties, such as Berlin's Love Parade, which drew at least 800,000 last
month, and Zurich's Lake Parade, which drew 750,000. In France, typical
raves take place in rural areas. News travels by word of mouth, and
authorities are almost never forewarned.

Since July 2000, at least five people have died in connection with rave
parties in France -- two of drug overdoses, one who fell off a roof, one
who fell into frigid water and one in a drug-related shooting. Last month,
two women were raped at a rave in eastern France.

The political battle over the raves began in April when conservative
lawmaker Thierry Mariani introduced a bill requiring organizers to give
notice to authorities. Many ravers protested, saying spontaneity is an
essential element.

Socialist Prime Minister Lionel Jospin was unable to persuade the leftist
majority in the National Assembly to back the bill, which died last month.

But Chirac revived the issue, using his traditional July 14 television
interview to say a new law might be needed -- although he hoped it wouldn't
be necessary.

Last month, some 30,000 people, mostly in their 20s, traveled by car,
camper, van or hitchhiking to a grass field near this Breton village. Many
came from hundreds of miles away, including some from Britain.

The aim, said many, was to reaffirm their freedom, escape a world gone too
commercial and flee a nightclub scene that has become stale or too expensive.

The Paule rave drew people from a large nearby music festival and
snowballed into a four-day, round-the-clock affair in a mud-covered pasture.

Attendees, many with pierced noses and trendy hooded jackets, found out
where to go by word of mouth. Many were angry that the government would
consider clamping down on them.

"What makes them flip out is that they don't control us," said Fleur
Dupleich, 23, a film student in Paris.