Being a Brit in Sydney on Australia Day

.So here I stand. On the shores where the First Fleet landed on January 26th 1788 and planted a Union Jack in the soil and claimed Australia as their own. The British government needed somewhere to ship their convicts, wanted a military outpost, and when Captain Cook discovered the east coast of "the great southern land", "terra nullius" was declared and so the invasion began.

"Terra nullius" means "land belonging to no one". Now there is no debate - this land belonged to someone. This great Southern land belonged to it's Aboriginal inhabitants. And the Cadigal people that lived where modern day Sydney stands suddenly found themselves sharing their home with white men.

Governor Arthur Phillip kidnapped Aboriginal men to try and communicate with the community, learning their language, teaching them English so that they might get on. Initially, the British tried to foster positive relations with the Aboriginals. But how positive can relations ever be with a community of people that suddenly had the land they'd lived on for 40,000 (or more) years, that they believe they are part of, taken from them and changed beyond recognition within just a matter of months?

3 years after the First Fleet arrived, the majority of the Cadigal people had died, from smallpox mostly. A death toll only added to over the next 200 years.

This morning I excitedly got out the Australian flag my great uncle had bought me. I put a temporary tattoo of the flag on my arm, and I went out excited to see the city on the biggest day of the year. To see the day when Australians celebrate their country, their traditions, their democratic society in a free land.

And then I read this http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/jan/26/australia-day-is-a-time-for-mourning-not-celebration. And my naivety disappeared and disgust at my own ignorance emerged.

But it's a big day for everybody except this land's original inhabitants. It's a big day for white Australia, and for other non-white Australian citizens and residents whose families have emigrated here, like my great uncle and aunt. But how can we all, in good conscience, celebrate this day in the knowledge of what the coming of white British settlers meant for the Indigenous people? The years of continued systematic oppression. The denial of rights. Generally speaking, the goddamn racism.

So in good faith I wanted to see Sydney celebrate. And instead I was confronted with the truth that no matter what the event was - a Ferrython, a Tinny muster, a concert, a market, a BBQ - this is not a day of celebration. Not for Aboriginal people. And not for anyone that stands with them. Which should be every Australian, and every other person that believes in justice and equality.