The day an Aboriginal man claimed England.

The day an Aboriginal man claimed England. And did it with more manners than the British ever showed us.

Picture the scene. 26 January 1988. Exactly 200 years to the day since the First Fleet sailed into Warrane, Sydney Cove and planted a flag on land that was already home to hundreds of nations.

Across Australia, the government was throwing a giant birthday party for itself. The Bicentenary. Two hundred years of "settlement," celebrated with fireworks and tall ships, while First Nations people quite rightly asked...exactly what are we celebrating here?

And on that very same day, on the other side of the world, one man decided to make a point that no fireworks display could ever match.

His name was Burnum Burnum, meaning "Great Warrior." A Woiworrung and Yorta Yorta man, born Harry Penrith, taken from his family at just three months old as a child of the Stolen Generations, and raised to believe he was white. In the 1960s he found his way back to his identity and became a fierce, brilliant voice for Aboriginal rights.

On Bicentenary Day, Burnum Burnum made the reverse journey of Captain Arthur Phillip. He travelled to England and beneath the famous white cliffs of Dover, thrust an Aboriginal flag into English soil and claimed the entire country on behalf of Aboriginal Australia.

And here's where it becomes an absolute masterpiece.

He read out a formal declaration, turning two centuries of colonial arrogance straight back on the coloniser. It's worth savouring.

He began by declaring himself an aristocratic nobleman of ancient Australia, taking possession of England on behalf of the Aboriginal Crown.

He reassured the natives of England that he wished them no harm, he was merely there to bring them good manners, refinement, and a chance at a fresh start.

He announced that his face would now appear on their coins and stamps, to signify Aboriginal sovereignty over the land. (A pointed jab...remember Gwoja Tjungurrayi's face was put on Australian stamps and coins without his consent.)

He generously offered to teach the English the complex Pitjantjatjara language, show them how to have a spiritual relationship with the Earth, and teach them how to find food in the bush.

And then the knockout blow. He solemnly pledged not to sterilise their women. Not to steal their children from their families. And promised they would not be reduced to living on government handouts but would instead enjoy the full benefits of Aboriginal equality.

Every single line was a mirror. Everything the British had done to Aboriginal people, delivered back to them in the polite, patronising language of empire. No anger. No shouting. Just a scalpel dipped in irony.

It wasn't a real invasion, obviously. Burnum Burnum wasn't about to enslave Dover. It was political theatre of the very highest order, using Britain's own colonial logic to expose just how absurd, and how brutal, that logic had always been. If planting a flag was enough to claim a whole continent full of people in 1788... then fair's fair. Dover's ours now.

More than thirty years later, it remains one of the sharpest, funniest and most powerful acts of protest in this country's history. One man, one flag and a declaration that said more about colonisation than a hundred history books.