I was born in 1989, so I’d be lying if I said I have formed my opinion of Margaret Thatcher. Any opinion I try to form would be formed through social constructs, hearsay and events I wasn’t there to feel the proper feelings about. She does certainly appear to have left a legacy I don’t approve of, but blah blah blah, and politics I don’t quite follow. I might not like her legacy, but I don’t fully understand her intentions or what she was trying to avoid. So I have no opinion.
But, as today was her funeral, I will say this: anyone who has taken a moment to rejoice in her death, I want you to remember these faces…
These are the faces of her grandson, granddaughter and son. These people are her family. These people are in mourning. Margaret Thatcher was someone’s grandmother. She was someone’s friend. She was someone’s neighbour. You might not have liked her politics, but you are no freer of her now than you were in 1990 when John Major succeeded her. For 23 years the fact of her life hasn’t mattered to you.
Obviously, the £10+ million spent on her funeral is flabbergasting; such a waste of money would have shamed Baroness Thatcher, if she were alive to see it. Obviously the funeral itself was silly. But she was a person. And I’m ashamed to say many people have failed to respect that fact since her death.
As well as being Thatcher’s funeral, today is also the would-be 80th Birthday of my granddad, so I’m off to have a cup of tea and a sandwich (“wad”) in his honour.