Speaking Out

I toyed with the idea of writing a blog for a few days now. I don’t like speaking ill of the dead but nor do I not want to exercise my right to free speech.

I do not condone the parties that have taken place to celebrate the death of former Prime Minister Thatcher, nor have I bought the protest single, “Ding, Dong, the witch is dead”, but I empathise with some of those who have done those things.

Some are kids, jumping on a band wagon they have no business being on but those who were effected by Thatcher’s rule, those are the people I can understand their levels of anger to spit venom about the “iron lady”.

That is not what I’m going to write about though. My opinions are my own, but much is laid in fact.

I was a child during Thatcher’s reign. Most children of five or six don’t even know who the prime minister is let alone understand their policies. But I knew Thatcher’s name in my house hold at six years of age. It was cursed on and never spoken of with any kind of fondness. The complete opposite in fact. She was less than popular in my house and even I, a six year old child understood the cruelty of Thatcher’s iron fist.

The poll tax was introduced into an already crushing economic lapse. We’d already had Black Wednesday by the time it was 1989 when I was only six years old. My parents both worked, were not scrounging scum and yet they were penalised for their hard work.

The reason I knew who Thatcher was was because when I complained we were having beans again for dinner or chips for the fifth time that week, I was told, it was all we could afford thanks to Maggie Thatcher.

You could say I was raised to hate Margaret Thatcher and I probably was. My family are working class, despise the money grabbing Tory party and so it would be forgiven if you believed it was in bread into me that I grew up to despise the woman they are giving a State funeral to on Wednesday.

The funeral itself bothers me. I will say, I couldn’t care less if she died or not. But it does bother me that this government plead economic stealth and then happily pay out around ten million for a funeral of a woman who caused the people of Great Britain so much pain.

David Cameron stated she saved this country when she died, I say she destroyed it! She took milk from our children in schools, she hiked up council tax beyond most people’s means, she destroyed the trade unions, she took away so much of our industry and privatised the hell out of the UK. How was that saving us?

I’m not even going to go into details about the wars our men had to fight but it seems somewhat insulting to have military presence at her funeral this week.

It is not technically a state funeral, although it is in everything but name. It’s the same level of funeral Winston Churchill received on his death. Unlike Margaret Thatcher though, he did save this country. He united them where she divided and he brought victory where she brought misery. To give her this level of ceremony seems insulting not only to the British tax payer but to every mining community, every person who lost their home or suffered with years of debt and to every person who has to deal with the divided Britain in which we live.

The money sickens me. Ten million could go so far on projects that are really necessary to make Britain great. But now it has been announced that Big Ben will also be silenced during her funeral. She was a politician. A cruel and thoughtless politician and she’s getting better thought of than people who truly deserve that level of recognition.

I shall not be watching, nor shall I say anymore on the subject here.

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