It is time to stop excusing Ned Kelly, writes CHRISTOPHER BANTICK

Yesterday at 5pm, in 1878, Ned Kelly murdered three policemen at Stringybark Creek. Tomorrow, in 1880, Ned Kelly stood trial for his life in the Supreme Court.

To say Ned Kelly was a murderer is a sure-fire way to light the torch-paper of public opinion. Ned Kelly is, after all, a hero.

But was he? Ask any primary-school child and the story goes that Ned Kelly was game and brave. He represented the downtrodden Irish and he killed three policemen in self defence. Ned is Teflon-coated. Blame does not stick.

Think again.

Ned Kelly was a vindictive colonial thug. The enduring vision of game Ned Kelly in armour at Glenrowan is the stuff of folklore and good for tourism. But if you say that Kelly was a mass murderer at Glenrowan, then he is simply a psychopathic terrorist.

This is not the message that brings the punters into Kelly country. Many towns milk the Kelly legend and do very nicely out of it. The Glenrowan economy depends to a large extent on the Kelly tourists. Kelly is a cash cow.

The punters who come in their bus loads get their fake Kelly memorabilia and stories that are embellished with local flavour. You won't hear that Ned Kelly was a savage killer and a thief. No, Glenrowan owns Ned Kelly; he's a favourite son.

It is not just Glenrowan, either, that does well out of the Kelly story. Mansfield and Benalla, Beechworth and Greta massage their association with the Kelly gang. The re-enactments of court-room dramas, festivals and events celebrate Ned and the boys.

Surely it is time Ned Kelly was given a critical makeover. Let's be frank; brutally honest if you like. Kelly is not a hero, but a cop killer. You won't find this on your Kelly-country tea towels.

The new national curriculum for history will make sure Ned stays well and truly alive. According to the leader of the curriculum draft, University of Melbourne history professor Stuart Macintyre, in Year 9 students will "consider colonial settlements, our convict settlers, our gold rush and our democratic experiments". Ned's in there.

The draft says that in primary schools students will learn:

"The traditions, stories, myths, and legends that connect them with the values, beliefs and the socio-cultural elements of past societies." You can be sure that Ned will stride into the state's classrooms, clanking in his armour.

If the truth be known, we just can't get enough of Ned Kelly. How timely it was that in October 2008, the fateful Kelly month, a sword presented to Sgt Arthur Loftus Maule Steele for the police officer's part in the capture of Ned Kelly was auctioned by Sotherby's.

Then, in June this year, State Attorney-General Rob Hulls appealed to the public to help confirm whether a skull handed in last year was Kelly's.

Tourism organisers at the Old Melbourne Gaol are on a nice little earner as the story is told and told again that this is where Kelly died and spoke the reputed immortal words: "Ah well, I suppose it has come to this! . . such is life!" If you recall, the words "Such is Life" were emblazoned on the six-pack of footballer Ben Cousins.

Then there is the revered Kelly tooth. Yes, one was found, supposedly, and taken from a building site next to the Old Melbourne Gaol in 1920.

Or as Rob Hulls put it: "This could be the key that unlocks the mystery. It shows that the tooth fairy does exist."

While country towns continue to earn big bucks from a criminal, they are actually aiding the legend and deepening the myths, some say lies, about Ned Kelly. It is time for a reality check and a lot more honesty.

  • Christopher Bantick is a Melbourne writer who has written extensively on the need to reappraise the Kelly myth. He was formerly head of history at Trinity Grammar School, Melbourne, and participated in the ABC and UK joint documentary, The Last Outlaw.