How Swarm started

The very first public Swarm Rehearsal took place during the Covid-19 pandemic in Westerpark, Amsterdam. At that time, people were forbidden to gather in groups larger than two outdoors, while it was still legal for hundreds to shop side by side.

On 6 August 2020, Prime Minister Rutte warned: “If too many of you flout the rules, we'll all be back inside soon, and you'll be a danger to your parents, grandparents, and everyone around you whose health is vulnerable.”

This “there is no alternative” framing, supported by nearly all politicians, left little room for critique. Concerns about policing, isolation, inequality, housing, or domestic violence were often dismissed, and social alternatives — like smaller class sizes — were brushed aside. Those questioning the measures were quickly branded conspiracy theorists or aligned with the far right.

As Naomi Klein later noted, the left did little to challenge this narrowing of debate or to press for more humane solutions rather than policing. Instead, many important struggles — from protecting frontline workers to demanding vaccine equity — fell by the wayside.

The Swarm Rehearsal chose a different path: instead of social distancing, we explored physical distancing, creating new forms of social proximity. At the time, calling it a “rehearsal” gave us legal ground, since rehearsals were allowed for up to 100 people outdoors. We collected letters from cultural institutions confirming this, though most police officers we encountered neither knew nor cared about the exception.

From there we began experimenting with how to move and gather in public space without being stopped. At the first rehearsal, swarmers moved five meters apart — far more than the official 1.5 meters. By exaggerating the distance, we made our health precautions visible “from miles away,” including to the police.

From the early rehearsals, new collaborations emerged. Failed Architecture invited the Swarm to stage two “Situations” in Amsterdam’s Red Light District — one of the most heavily controlled areas of the city. The second rehearsal there was shut down by police within ten minutes. These interventions sparked debate about control and public space (FA podcast), later echoed in René Boer’s writings in Smooth City.

New voices joined the swarm team: dancer Simomo Boujarra, social designer Ro Perez Gayo, and visual artist Tools for Action. Movement became dance, and rehearsals transformed into a mobile rave weaving through the streets.

Our first raev rehearsal was in Tussendijken. From there, we danced twice a week for six weeks, each time in a new part of the city: core rehearsals on Wednesdays, open swarms on Fridays.

What we learned

- As a swarm, we learned how to prolong our stay in public space.

- We keep moving — gone before a nuisance call brings the police.

- We adapt the volume — lowering the music for instance in a neighborhood at night, when we pass streetmusicians or places of worship.

We make space for passersby, to join or move through.

The Red Light District shutdown taught us something else: the need for clear strategies with police. Surrounded by officers, the situation escalated until we de-escalated by leaving. From then on, we added instructions to the introduction text:

- If police approach you, only say: “I’m participating in a rehearsal. For more information, talk to Floor.”

- A signal when police are nearby.

- Let the liaison speak — never participants.

The liaison role developed as part strategy, part performance — sometimes keeping officers in conversation long enough for the swarm to continue moving elsewhere.

Then came Reda, DJ Cheb Runner, with music that transformed the swarm. He played for the street, and shifted the technology: from a playlist on our phones to a seamless flow with tablet and Traktor app.

Over time, Swarm and Tools for Action went separate ways. Their inflatable lights gave way to new inventions — speaker bags, crowns, flags, and bubbles — a changing toolkit for collective dancing in public space.

Swarm and Raev Rehearsal created an “in-between” space: a temporary gathering where people could come together and dance. The core group was young, mostly queer people and often new to the city. The project broke through the isolation that many felt at the time, offering both participants and passersby a chance to experience shared presence in the streets.

During the process, some chose not to be vaccinated (for varied reasons), while others chose to get vaccinations. Raev Rehearsal offered a space where such divisions did not matter. Where other spaces became battlegrounds of pro- and anti-vaccine arguments, our rehearsals fostered connection through shared movement. Conversations afterwards were softer, shaped by having danced together in the streets for hours—sweaty, open, and ready to listen.