Thatch dying is like a leech or a late-night-Edinburgh-festival bar: it’s bringing out the worst in everyone. Don’t get me wrong, there have been some proper funny, original jokes, and rightly so but they’re drowning on public forums in floods of bandwagon-flavoured shit. Oafs, everywhere, who might as well just scream “I’M JOINING IN TOO” and leave it there.
In terms of tidying up before I mess all over this blog, conceptually – you ought know that I loathed her politics, her behaviour and her entire belief system jars with everything I stand for and think I know about fairness, goodness and rightness. I’m still not glad she’s dead. I’m not upset, but I’m not cheerful, and I think anyone who is needs help (is a dick).
I’m not even spouting the ‘be respectful for the sake of her children’ because her children are racists and arms dealers. I’m disrespectful enough to post this on the day of her funeral FFS. I don’t care about upsetting people who thought she was incredible, I think they’re wrong. Also it’s not because she’s old or was weak, that’s the sort of patronising yack that comically, she would have hated. But ultimately I don’t understand why anyone would jump up and down, or even smile, when someone dies. It’s not about respect, it’s about not being a psychopath.
Even if someone still perpetuating their particular brand of evil is killed in their tracks – there’s something sickening in the idea of that actually warming someone’s cockles. I don’t care who they were. The way some Americans celebrated when Bin Laden was smithereened was unpleasant, I think. Singing and dancing and waving your scantily clad toddlers in the air is a really weird way to react to anyone’s death. Not being even slightly upset is as big a two-fingers up as it’s healthy to give, surely. And Bin Laden was perceived as a live and current threat. Thatch hadn’t been for decades.
The night she hoofed it, someone invited me to a disco in Brixton, saying they wouldn’t miss it for the world because it’s like being part of history happening. The person said anyone unwilling to share an opinion or a reaction to Thatcher’s death was somehow wrong, somehow not involved enough with the world around them. For not going to a disco?
I couldn’t agree less. Why force yourself to pipe up if you don’t want to? Does everyone have to be an athiest or a person of faith with nothing inbetween? It’s not an acceptable way of looking at life, post-puberty. When someone, anyone, dies, is the perfect example of when to just not feel glee, but perhaps consider your thoughts and feelings a bit more carefully.
There should be jokes, there should always be jokes. There should be big noisy voices. There should be indifference. There should be renewed interest in party-politics. There should be arguments. There should be history lessons. There should be some tears (from people who believe in inequality). There should still be some anger too, if that’s what people feel. There shouldn’t be discos.
Actually, let’s be honest, there should never be discos.