One of the defining features of Brisbane used to be that it wasn’t Sydney.

For all the things we had in common – convict history, corrupt police/premiers, rugby league, pointless 19th century forts – there were key differences.

Most of these were based in geography – Brisbane has a river not a harbour, mangroves rather than beaches, floods rather than frost.

Yet this, in turn, meant Brisbane developed a culture very different to Sydney. More small town … less things to show tourists. Less aggro (the emotion) and more Agro (the puppet).

Now it’s changing. Brisbane is becoming more and more like Sydney, for good and ill – and it’s affecting our arts scene.

The “ill” is, I believe, manifested in two major ways. The first are property prices, aka the cancer of the Australian economy. This disease, long the curse of Sydney, has now spread north (indeed, throughout the whole nation) with a seismic impact on our way of life.

Rents and mortgages have skyrocketed, hoovering up income that could be spent on proper industries like, well, basic goods and services, thus creating a powerful aristocracy of unmortgaged property owners who mostly got their wealth through being born.

Brisbane, which used to be affordable, is now heading full throttle into being a city for the rich, like Sydney. And when you can double your income merely by hanging on to a house for two years, as opposed to, you know, working, or making something, it totally distorts the economy and changes the tenor of a city.

David Williamson recently wondered why younger playwrights were so obsessed with identity politics as a theme rather than economic inequality; I think it’s because they feel they might win the odd culture war but don’t have a chance in the economic ones.

And this affects the arts because while most artists don’t have money, they used to be able to at least live relatively cheaply in Brisbane, and hire inexpensive spaces to put on shows, exhibitions and concerts. Now that’s gone.

You can still make stuff, but soon the only people who will really be able to participate fulltime in homegrown arts will be nepo (tism) babies.

The second big symptom of Brisbane’s Sydney-fication is what I call Global City Syndrome. That is when cities start to become obsessed with being a “world city”, like New York, London or Paris.

Sydney is always going on about its supposed world city status – “We’re a hub! Close to Asia!” – which no one who works in global finance seriously believes ( “Close to Asia” isn’t much of a pitch when you can just go to Asia.)

Still, you’re going to be hearing a lot of Brisbane convincing itself that it’s a “global city” too (“We’re also a hub!” “Even closer to Asia!”), especially with the Olympics coming up in 2032.

This is mostly because it gives politicians and business lobbyists an excuse to go on junkets and executives can use “Global City” to wrangle pay rises for themselves while simultaneously arguing to keep the basic wage down (a wage that most artists rely on to survive) to remain “globally competitive”.

“Global City Syndrome” means public funds that might have gone on the arts instead go on “global” things like stadiums, light shows, fireworks and shopfront culture. Art is imported from elsewhere, not created by local artist (who can’t afford to live there anymore).

And if you think that’s silly, well, it’s what happened in Sydney around the 2000 Olympics.

I recently wrote a play, All My Friends are Returning to Brisbane, based on my experiences returning home after 15 years away. The biggest thing I noticed, coming home, aside from all the Botox clinics, was the growing gap between rich and poor, and how much harder it is for the have-nots to survive.

Sydney-fication isn’t all bad, but it sure as hell is not all good either, and maybe we should be talking about it more. And start looking to Adelaide for inspiration.

Stephen Vagg is a Brisbane screenwriter

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