The Gordon Riots: J-6’ers Before It Was Fashionable

Some events in history feel oddly familiar, as if they’ve been taken from the same screenplay, just with different costumes and a fresh coat of varnish. Case in point: the Gordon Riots of 1780 and the January 6 Capitol Attack. If history were a high school drama, these two events would be the overachieving twins competing to see who can create the bigger headline—one armed with powdered wigs and religious fervor, the other with social media memes.

Both incidents began as protests, fueled by grievances that were equal parts ideological and combustible. But while January 6 gave us the sight of a man dressed as a buffalo storming the seat of democracy, the Gordon Riots brought us an angry mob setting fire to half of London over a parliamentary law they didn’t like. It’s as though they skipped right over “peaceful assembly” and went straight to “arson and mayhem” on the checklist.

What were the Gordon Riots and how did a man like Lord George Gordon end up with his name attached to one of the most destructive riots in British history? Buckle up, because this story has everything: political intrigue, mob violence, a midlife religious conversion, courtroom drama, and even bagpipes.

If there’s one thing we can say about Lord George Gordon, it’s that he didn’t do anything halfway. His story unfolds like a fireworks display: dazzling, dramatic, and ending in complete disarray. From a promising politician to the unlikely leader of one of London’s most destructive riots, Gordon’s life is a case study in how charisma, eccentricity, and a touch of mania can propel someone into the annals of history—for better or worse.

George Gordon: Beginnings of a Political Firework

Born in December 1750 as the third son of the Duke of Gordon, young George’s life started on a high note. His godfather was none other than King George II, which is about as good as it gets when it comes to name-dropping at baby showers. Despite this promising start, his childhood and education remain murky—a curious blank slate for someone whose future antics would ensure he’d be anything but forgettable.

After a stint in the navy, where he rose to the rank of lieutenant, Gordon decided that politics offered more opportunities for mischief. In 1772, he set his sights on representing Inverness-shire in Parliament. Gordon charmed his way through the constituency like a politician in a rom-com montage: speaking Gaelic, playing bagpipes, wearing kilts, and hosting a ball so extravagant that he shipped 15 young women from the Isle of Skye to boost the party’s glamour factor. Unsurprisingly, he won over the voters. Unfortunately, an elder brother and a backroom deal shuffled Gordon off to an English borough instead, and he entered Parliament as the representative for Ludgershall in 1774.

Independent to a Fault

Once in Parliament, Gordon quickly made it clear that he wasn’t there to make friends. Initially aligning with the Ministry, he soon switched sides, apparently at the urging of his sister-in-law, the formidable Duchess of Gordon. By 1776, Gordon had become a political free agent, carving out a unique niche for himself. As one observer put it, there were three parties in Parliament: the Ministry, the Opposition, and Lord George Gordon.

While his independence earned him some admirers, it also made him a lightning rod for controversy. He railed against the government’s policies toward America, accused ministers of bribery, and declined a cushy sinecure worth £1,000 a year, preferring to maintain his (somewhat performative) integrity. Gordon’s theatrical speeches and wit made him a memorable figure, but his erratic behavior began to raise eyebrows. What nobody could predict, however, was how far he was willing to go to defend his principles—or at least his interpretation of them.

The Gordon Riots: Mob Rule and Mayhem

Gordon’s defining moment came in 1780, with the infamous Gordon Riots. The spark? Sir George Savile’s bill to reduce penalties against Catholics under the Test Acts. The legislation had already caused riots in Scotland, and when similar measures were proposed for England, Gordon found his cause. He became the leader of the Protestant Association, railing against “Papist encroachments” and whipping up public fervor.

On June 2, 1780, Gordon presented a petition to Parliament, allegedly signed by 44,000 Protestants. In what would turn out to be a peculiar foretaste of the January 6 Capitol Attack and the 1858 wig-pulling brawl on the floor of Congress, Gordon arrived accompanied by what might generously be called a “spirited crowd,” numbering anywhere from 40,000 to 100,000. To call the situation tense would be an understatement. Parliament’s deliberations were drowned out by the mob’s roar, and members were harassed—one unlucky lord barely escaped with his wig intact. Gordon himself alternated between stoking the crowd and claiming he was merely relaying parliamentary updates.

When Parliament declined to act on the petition, the mob’s simmering anger boiled over. What began as a protest became a full-blown uprising. Catholic chapels were ransacked and burned, homes were looted, and prisons were stormed—including the infamous Newgate Prison, whose inmates joined the rioters in their rampage. For several days, London was in chaos, with simultaneous fires blazing across the city. The authorities, caught unprepared, dithered while the capital descended into anarchy.

Trial and (Temporary) Triumph

After the riots were quelled by the military, Gordon found himself arrested and charged with high treason. The trial in 1781 was a national sensation. Represented by the brilliant lawyer Thomas Erskine, Gordon’s defense hinged on the argument that he had no intention of inciting violence and that the riots were an unfortunate byproduct of legitimate protest. Erskine’s speech was a masterclass in courtroom drama, complete with the declaration: “By God, that man is a ruffian who will dare to build upon such honest, artless conduct as an evidence of guilt!”

To the astonishment of many, Gordon was acquitted. Public opinion was sharply divided: some saw him as a patriot standing up for Protestant liberties, while others viewed him as a reckless demagogue whose actions had nearly burned London to the ground. Regardless, his political career was effectively over. His fellow MPs shunned him, and even King George III turned his back on him at court.

The Decline of Lord George Gordon

Following his acquittal, Gordon’s life took a series of bizarre turns. In 1787, he converted to Judaism, adopting the faith with fervent orthodoxy. He grew a long beard, donned traditional Jewish garb, and became a highly visible—and controversial—figure in London. This eccentric transformation baffled his contemporaries, who had trouble reconciling the fiery Protestant leader of the Gordon Riots with his new identity.

Meanwhile, Gordon’s behavior grew increasingly erratic. He was convicted on charges of libeling the Queen of France and presenting a farcical petition from prisoners in Newgate. When sentenced to prison, he fled to the Netherlands but was soon extradited. By the time he re-entered Newgate, he was a shadow of his former self: penniless, ostracized, and possibly suffering from mental illness.

Gordon spent his final years in prison, writing rambling petitions and attempting to negotiate with French revolutionaries. He died in 1793 at the age of 43, delirious from fever and confined to the same institution he had once helped set ablaze.

Legacy: A Catalyst, Not a Hero

Lord George Gordon remains a polarizing figure. Was he a principled agitator, a misguided zealot, or simply a man undone by his own eccentricity? His life serves as a cautionary tale about the dangers of charisma unmoored from stability. The Gordon Riots, while ostensibly about religious grievances, revealed deeper societal tensions: class divides, anti-authoritarian sentiment, and the volatility of mob politics.

For all his flaws, Gordon’s story offers a fascinating glimpse into 18th-century Britain, a society grappling with change and resistance in equal measure. His rise and fall remind us that history’s fireworks are as illuminating as they are explosive—and sometimes, the embers smolder long after the spectacle has ended.

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