KEY POINTS:
There's a particular political cartoon that is ingrained into Australian folklore. William Bligh, Governor of New South Wales in 1808, is being dragged from under his bed at Government House by mutinous soldiers of the British Army's 102nd Regiment, otherwise called the NSW Corps or, more infamously, the
Rum Corps.
It's a great cartoon but the story is myth. Yes, the Governor was in concealment, hoping to escape to the Hawkesbury River where loyalist settlers would almost have certainly offered him shelter. This was not to be, but nor was Bligh cowering under his vice-regal bed.
Unfortunately, his personal guard detail was just as disloyal. The Royal Navy, which usually had two ships on station in Sydney Harbour, was otherwise detailed; the Navy was under Bligh's command and could have been expected to obey orders during the rebellion. But it was his habit of giving orders in the roughest language possible that almost certainly was his undoing.
For the Rum Rebellion was certainly not about rum. It was about something less liquid and more permanent.
Australia has been celebrating the Australia Day public holiday, commemorating the foundation of European settlement on January 26, 1788. But Sydney has also been celebrating the rebellion, which by coincidence occurred on the afternoon of January 26, some 200 years ago.
The definitive statement on the rebellion was made by the Chief Justice of NSW, James Spigelman, in an insightful and witty address to commemorate Australia Day. He came to a conclusion that was vintage Sydney 2008: "The coup of 1808 was the result of a range of factors including various aspects of commercial self-interest. The traffic in rum was of little, if any, significance, except to some of the non-commissioned officers. Much more important was the conflict between real estate developers and the public interest over the exploitation of prime urban land near the water. Nothing could be more 'Sydney' than this."
The Chief Justice's reference to the rebellion being "very Sydney" in its context is a tongue-in-cheek observation about Greater Sydney's obsession with property values, which have soared over much of the past half-century, especially on the harbour bays and riversides. While part of the property market, mostly in the western suburbs, has slumped recently, real estate values have been the stuff of dinner party conversations for decades. What the Chief Justice has done is demonstrate that the so-called Rum Rebellion was, in reality, the first major dispute over waterfront land that spilled into politics.
In Sydney's first 20 years, early town planning under Governor Arthur Phillip endeavoured to reserve harbourside land for public recreation. From the water's edge to what is now Hunter St was not to be developed.
This early vision, however, fell into disrepair after Phillip had departed and, by the time of the settlement's third Governor, Phillip King, several leases had been granted for dwellings closer to the waterfront. Bligh tried to restore Phillip's vision by cancelling leases and demolishing illegal structures.
This brought him into open conflict with powerful people in the colony. At the time, Sydney was more like a village of some 7000 souls. Major landholders like John Macarthur resented Bligh's exercise of executive authority. Bligh seemed to be a power unto himself. What's more, Bligh treated the officers of the NSW Corps with thinly veiled contempt. Spigelman quotes Australian historian Manning Clark with approval: "If anyone dared to object or remonstrate with him, he lost his senses and his speech, his features became distorted, he foamed at the mouth, stamped on the ground, shook his fist in the face of the person so presuming, and uttered a torrent of abuse in language disgraceful to him as a governor, an officer and a man."
Perhaps more important, therefore, than Bligh's decisions, was the manner in which he delivered his judgments. His failure to observe the courtesies of a gentleman, arbitrary manner, pursuit of political opponents and disregard of colonial politics and the views of London made a clash of wills inevitable.
Just before sunset on January 26, 1808, Major Johnston - who had fallen drunk from his carriage earlier that week in what the Chief Justice described as perhaps Australia's first drink-driving incident - led 200 troops of his regiment to Government House, where the Museum of Sydney now stands in Bridge St. Bligh was arrested and duly constituted legal authority overthrown. It was fitting, therefore, that the re-enactment on Australia Day, narrated by author Tom Kenneally and accompanied by a speech from Governor Marie Bashir, finished at the site of old Government House.
The re-enactment was accurately portrayed but lighthearted in sentiment. However, the Chief Justice had a serious argument to make in his address.
After Bligh was sent home in humiliation, the colony was ruled by the military. A coup had been staged and the NSW Corps, either directly or indirectly, made the laws. Political opponents were sentenced to penal terms in exile in the Newcastle coalmines, dissent was ruthlessly quashed and a climate of fear and unease enveloped colony affairs. It was not unlike Britain under the capricious military dictatorship of Oliver Cromwell.
It was the arrival of Lachlan Macquarie and a new regiment that ultimately restored not only a sense of order but of justice. One exile in the coalmines actually sued successfully for false arrest.
The Chief Justice's point was that it was the breach of colonial laws and customs during the rebellion, and the abuses of military government, that ensured the foundations of the present legal system were laid deeply.
Early Sydney had some two years absent from the rule of law. From Macquarie's time, however, no one again doubted the power of the executive, the authority of courts to review, the free expression of views and opinions, the right to petition for redress and the foundational significance of the laws enacted by the British Parliament. It's an important point and well worth making.
That struggle has long been won. But the struggle over who controls prime Sydney waterfront property continues apace. It remains a symbol of status and success. Bligh and Macarthur may be memories, but the determination to secure harbour views has outlived them by two centuries and shows no sign of abating. Just look at the real estate classifieds every Saturday.
* Stephen Loosley, a former federal president of the Labor Party and a senator, chairs business advocacy group Committee for Sydney
