More Than a Decade After the Real Life Project X, Merthe Weusthuis (28) Breaks Her Silence On the Night the Internet Hijacked Her Sweet Sixteen
In 2012, the Netherlands and the world watched on as thousands of youngsters descended on the quiet Dutch suburb of Haren to celebrate an unknown girl’s 16th birthday, plunging the town into chaos and riots not even police were prepared for. Today, we watch again as Netflix dissects the event for an episode of their docuseries Trainwreck: The Real Project X.
For the first time, Merthe Weusthuis – now 28 – reflects on the night and its impact with the local journalist who was at the eye of the media storm. ‘If I ever have kids, I want them to know I stood up for myself.’
A Story By Arnoud Bodde
She was characterized as a foolish 16-year old girl whose silly Sweet Sixteen Facebook invite blew up the Internet – and took down half her made-for-magazines hometown with it. As a local journalist, I reported live from the tinderbox scene and spoke to almost everyone involved – except her. But today, we meet for the first time: at the restaurant where more than twelve years ago, on Friday 21 September 2012, the outdoor seating area was engulfed in flames.
She takes off her sunglasses and introduces herself. ‘Hi’, she says. ‘I’m Merthe.’
Merthe. The name ceaselessly chanted by the thousands of youngsters flooding her hometown, wearing t-shirts emblazoned with her face. She had turned sixteen just two weeks before. A teenage internet troll hijacked her Facebook invite, causing it to go viral and spawning a national media frenzy. Police and local government, still naive to the infectious nature of the online space, hugely underestimated the impact and safety risks in the real world.
When fireworks shot up at 8.30 pm and a group of young men in the crowd donned masks and balaclavas to ensure anonymity, the riot squad in attendance amounted to a mere sixteen officers. Hampered by malfunctioning comms, it would take hours for additional police support to arrive to the small village in the North of the Netherlands.
With a population of around 18,000, Haren was known for its wealth, academic residents, and quiet exclusivity — a leafy commuter town often described as a ‘village of villas’, making it an unlikely setting for one of the most surreal youth riots the country had ever seen. That night, fuelled by booze, adolescent abandon and round-the-clock reporting, the staggering turnout culminated in destruction, looting and chaos. Never before had a social media hype burst into real-world chaos to such an extent in the Netherlands.
The Weusthuis family has declined interview requests from the get-go, opting to stay out of the limelight. I reported extensively on the fallout in the years after. Around the tenth anniversary of the riots, I sent Merthe a letter: a quiet attempt to reopen the conversation and suggest an interview. Still, it wasn’t until we were both contacted by British production company RAW – who told her they would make an episode for the new Netflix docuseries, regardless of her involvement – that she agreed to tell her side of the events.
What made you say yes to Netflix?
‘I don’t want to feel like I should hide. This is a part of my life, of me, and I have made my peace with it. It didn’t crush me. I made something of my life. I could still easily list twenty disadvantages of taking part, but I knew in my gut this was something I had to do. If I ever have kids, I want them to know that I stood up for myself.’
How do you feel about the episode?
‘It’s alright. It’s entertainment. I would’ve liked to see more than just the sensational facts – more focus on what drives people to behave like this. On the role of social media, and the impact of the anonymity offered by a large group – or a computer screen. I think many people got swept up in the chaos without thinking about the consequences. Whipped into a frenzy, invisible in the crowd.’
How do you look back on that frenzy?
‘This kind of collective excitement started to spread. Everyone thought it was awesome, and I get that. But our town just felt a growing sense of dread. I do distinguish between the people who joined in from a sense of curiosity and those who deliberately came to cause chaos. I look a lot less kindly on them. But overall, I get it. I expect I would’ve gone to check it out too if it hadn’t been my party that got hijacked. It felt unprecedented.’
In late 2012, a commission helmed by former politician Job Cohen was tasked to look into the Project X Haren incident at a rate of 400,000 euros. The commission combed social media, considered the effects of the prefrontal cortex and amygdala on the pubescent brain and analysed adolescent classics like Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, as well as the main inspiration for all the mayhem: the 2012 cinema release of Project X, which chronicles a fictional high school party as it escalates. The resulting 2013 report – ‘How Dionysus appeared in Haren’ – not only references the Greek god of hedonism, but also included popular phrases like ‘YOLO’ (You Only Live Once) and FOMO ‘(Fear Of Missing Out). Haren Mayor Rob Bats, who staunchly repeated that ‘In principle, there is no party in Haren’ right up until the riots, stepped down before the council could discuss Cohen’s report. Police Chief Oscar Dros, who asserted that the force had anticipated ‘all possible scenarios’, was promoted. The entire police force did make significant changes following the mistakes made in the run-up, and standardly take the online world into account nowadays.
Merthe Weusthuis was raised in a warm home. She was a talented volleyball player and valued her autonomy from a young age. ‘I wanted to make my own decisions, see the world. Haren is very green, very safe – a privileged place to grow up. It’s often referred to as ‘that posh village in the North’. But even then, I knew: this is not the world.’
She’d sailed through her alternative primary school and enrolled in a bilingual secondary school at the highest level. On Thursday 6 September 2012 – she had turned sixteen two days before – she took to Facebook to post an invite for a Sweet Sixteen party at her home. Intended for her volleyball team, her current classmates, kids she knew from primary school and some other friends. Maybe some hangers-on. There’d be drinks and snacks in their garden, a bit of music, and then they might continue the party in Groningen – a nearby city boasting ten times the population of Haren, with a vibrant student community and nightlife. She intentionally checked Public on her invite, to make sure those bringing a friend could easily add them. ‘I thought it’d be handy to get a sense of numbers for the food and drinks shop.’
A day later, during her lunch break at school, one of her friends urged her to come to the smokers’ area outside. A friend of a friend – who hadn’t been invited – had suggested they’d crash her party. ‘The whole group grabbed their phones and forwarded the invite on to their friends. Before I could do anything, the school bell rang and everyone dispersed.’ Within minutes, friends of friends RSVP’d to the invite, then friends of friends of friends. During her last class of the day, she glanced at her phone and noticed there were now 15,000 people invited, with over 3000 RSVPs. Some commenters excitedly mentioned the ‘garden gnome’, referencing the recently released film Project X about a teen party that escalates, which features a garden gnome stuffed with ecstasy pills. ‘That last class we were all frantic, even the teacher was into the Facebook event. All I could think was: should I get the police involved?’
She spoke to her dad and they decided to take the invite page down immediately. The next morning, Saturday 8 September, Merthe found copies of her invite all over Facebook. Put up by various other accounts but with all her personal details included. Her mobile exploded with messages from friends and relatives, and increasingly, total strangers. That evening, while she was out with pals in the nearby city of Groningen, things started getting out of hand. ‘Random people started recognizing me, wanting a selfie or a chat, which just attracted more and more people. We were constantly surrounded. And I went along with it, because I didn’t want to seem stuck-up. Maybe somewhere in the back of my mind I even enjoyed it a bit. I had just turned sixteen and suddenly I found myself at the centre of attention.’
The mounting hubbub prompted Merthe and her parents to act. Most of the Facebook copycat invites had been posted by local teens, and that Sunday, each and every one of them received a phone call from Merthe’s dad, sternly suggesting they take their pages down. All but one complied: The Project X Haren Facebook page. ‘We didn’t have any direct connection to the owner of that event,’ recalls Merthe. Later reconstructions by local media would show that a youngster called Frank from a nearby town (Veendam) started the page, but soon set up fake accounts to hide behind. Merthe: ‘It moved to Peter Peterson and then to Ibe der Führer with Jesse Hobson.’ After meeting on a forum online, New Zealand-based Hobson was passed the admin rights by Frank in an attempt to get out scot-free. Hobson’s only reply when he was asked to take down the page by a concerned Merthe and her dad: ‘Eat Shit’.
Unable to get through to its owner but seeing the page’s engagement increase by the hour, the family contacted the local police. ‘They had no clue what to do’. Weusthuis approached the mayor, several government organisations and even the National Cybercrime Reporting Centre – all to no avail.
Project X Haren had become a trending topic amongst youth, and the buzz from schools, online forums and social media rapidly spread. Still, it would take another full week for it to cross over to traditional media. National newspaper Trouw was first to run with the ’16-year old’s birthday bash in Haren’ on Tuesday 18 September, stating that ‘By now, over 55,000 people have been invited to her home.’ The article failed to mention that the elusive Facebook page was run by Frank and Jesse – and not by Merthe, who’d been fruitlessly trying to take it down. Soon, other media picked up on the news. The Netherlands’ national public broadcaster NOS, as well as Dutch national news agency ANP, embellished the tale by incorrectly reporting that Haren’s mayor had already enacted special temporary legislation. It was the start of a media feeding frenzy, which would create an image of a gormless girl from a posh town who had ‘accidentally’ set her Facebook invite to Public.
What was it like to see yourself represented like that?
‘Journalists just did not have their facts straight. I thought it was unprofessional, and incredibly annoying. Some media couldn’t even be bothered to spell my name properly. I doubt that the narrative they created is the main reason this whole thing blew up, but it was incredibly frustrating to be thought of as some dumb little girl. I was smart and responsible, and those were important parts of my identity to me.’
Kids with cameras had become a familiar sight at the Weusthuis property since Frank’s Project X page – with Merthe’s address front and center – popped up on Facebook. But in the days directly leading up to the event, the online world thrust its way into the family home from all directions. They were inundated with postcards; school kids dropped off drawings; and an elderly woman from the other side of the country sent a three-page handwritten letter of heartfelt encouragement. A fraternity had a box of condoms delivered, and several vibrators showed up addressed to Merthe personally. Her phone blew up, strangers rang her day and night, and a national radio station broadcast a live call without her consent. Friends told her they heard guys claim they’d kissed or slept with her. She was vilified on social media: her appearance rated and slated; an open target for misogyny and abusive slurs.
What was that like?
‘The classic emotional rollercoaster. Fortunately, I’ve always been a secure person, so it didn’t pull the rug out from under me. I knew this wasn’t about me really. How people behave towards you most often tells their story, not yours. So I often wondered what drove people to behave the way they did. Most of the town really empathized with us, which was nice. But some people did judge my parents and how they’d raised me, saying that was the root cause of all of this. Of course none of this was their fault, but they couldn’t help feeling responsible somehow.’
Looking back, Merthe feels there is some stuff she could have done differently. Her self-effacing Twitter updates for example. “Dad suggests I should delete my facebookaccount. Nah don’t think so” She chuckles. ‘Yea. I’m not sure that was smart. I wanted to exude a coolness, a down-to-earth way of dealing with all this. At that age, it was considered social suicide to delete your Twitter or Facebook account, knowing you’d never regain all your accumulated friends. But mostly, I just knew that it wouldn’t make a difference. That Project X page wasn’t even linked to my own account, so deleting my account wouldn’t change a thing. By staying logged on, I could at least keep up with what was happening.’
How did you discuss all of this at home?
‘We’re a family of kitchen table chats; we’re very close. My mum is a psychologist, my dad’s very empathic too. And yet, it was tricky for me to talk to them about the Project X situation. I really valued my independence, and suddenly they started making decisions for me again. And there was a part of me that found all the attention interesting, and exciting. I was afraid to admit that, but I also didn’t know how to hide it from them.’
It’s Friday morning 21 September 2012, almost two weeks since internet trolls avant la lettre hijacked Merthe’s invite, and the initial date of the party loomed. Instead of shopping for drinks and nibbles, Merthe found herself locked in with the curtains shut, staying home from school and from volleyball practice. Local police had urged them to leave their home. The group of strangers emerging on their doorstep started turning into a crowd. ‘By two o’clock, there were so many people outside our house. I no longer felt safe, and told my parents I wanted to leave.’ They phoned the police and asked for help. Temporary barriers were put up on either side of their residential road, and Merthe and her mum drove to their aunt’s house. Dad Weusthuis held the fort. ‘He didn’t want to make the neighbours feel like we all left them behind to deal with the fallout.’
One of the videos she was sent that night is still clear in her mind. An unstoppable throng of people walking along the 3.5 mile long main road connecting Groningen and Haren. ‘When I saw that, I realised: This is getting out of control. The rest of the night was a daze. We watched the updates roll in on our phones, we didn’t speak much. The television was on, showing my hometown getting trampled.’ One of the persistent rumours swirling in the hours after the riots started: two girls had died in the chaos. A community officer personally confirmed the news to Merthe’s dad. He collapsed: ‘I’m not sure how long he had to sit with that knowledge, it was probably the toughest part of the whole thing for him. It must have been at least half an hour before he learnt it wasn’t true. Fortunately, they didn’t tell me about any of that until well after they knew it wasn’t true. I spent most of the night thinking: if all those people reach our home, there’ll be nothing left of it. And they kept singing: birthday songs, chanting my name. Wearing t-shirts with my name on it, with my face. It felt like they were destroying the town in my name.’
How did you handle that?
‘It was impossible not to feel responsible in some sense. I heard that an elderly man was hit in the head with a brick; that people were barricaded behind their front door clasping a baseball bat; that riot police had feared for their life. It was a mixture of sadness and anger. Ultimately, I tried to rationally disconnect myself from the flood of images and news, but it was tough.’
The morning after, the community came together to start clearing the debris. ‘It really brought the town together, that was encouraging.’ Still, Merthe’s parents stayed in for the first few days: ‘They felt a great sense of discomfort, even embarrassment.’
Merthe’s own discomfort would stay with her weeks, months, even years after the riots. If she’d been out and about, she’d find her name popping up on social media afterwards, listing all the places she’d visited. Hashtag Merthe on the bus, hashtag Merthe at McDonalds, hashtag Merthe at Zara. It seemed like everywhere she went, people were looking at her and talking about her: ‘I became quite paranoid. I could never be sure whether people were actually interested in me, Merthe – or just in Project X Merthe. More than once, DJs at local clubs would put on Kid Cudi’s ‘Pursuit of Happiness,’ from the Project X movie soundtrack. ‘Sometimes, they’d even announce I’d been spotted, and suddenly everyone would turn to look at me and my friends, or would come over to dance and make a fuss. Every single time, I would wish the ground could swallow me whole.’
It wasn’t until she took a semester abroad in the US two years later, when she finally regained her sense of anonymity. Merthe graduated university twice, making sure she always had a pithy Project X joke at the ready. For the last few years, she has worked at an international public policy and AI economics firm. Her network knows about the Netflix doc. Her Facebook account is set to private, her LinkedIn account isn’t: ‘My parents worry whether that’s sensible, but I ask myself – why shouldn’t anyone be able to see who I am?’
She says her husband – they met during her internship in Dubai – considers his wife’s claim to fame mostly ‘a brilliant story’. But it’s one that taught her an important lesson: ‘Don’t let others define who you are. I try to anchor myself in what I know to be true about me. I’m no more or less important than anyone else. And most importantly: don’t take things – or yourself – too seriously. Everything will pass. Keep your friends and family close. Chin up, the only way out is through.’
Talking about Project X with her parents nowadays, the impact is still palpable. ‘We can talk about it superficially and crack jokes, no problem. But if we really get into it, I instantly become that kid again and I’m flushed with shame’. It’s the shame that a small part of her teenage self might have relished the attention, the fifteen minutes of fame, and the attention that came with it, despite it getting out of hand. Two weeks after our interview she messages me. ‘Maybe it’s okay to forgive myself for that now.’
Dutch freelance investigative journalist Arnoud Bodde was reporting for regional broadcaster RTV Noord during the Project X riots. He provided live coverage from the streets, at one point telling a few rioters they’d be better off going home. In the aftermath, he joined forces with RTV Noord-colleague Goos de Boer and fellow journalists Henk Blanken, Bas van Sluis, Mick van Wely and Jantina Russchen of Dagblad van het Noorden to investigate the lead-up to the chaos. Their joint reporting exposed key failures by local authorities and police. In 2013, the investigation was awarded the Tegel, the Netherlands' most prestigious prize for investigative journalism.
This story about Merthe was years in the making, took many, many hours to write and is offered here for free. Copying, quoting or republishing in any form - full or in part - is not allowed without Arnoud's explicit consent.