O.K., so Margaret Thatcher is dead. She passed away couple of days ago and my Facebook wall is still full of her. As my friends are mostly left wing intellectuals (am I bragging?), my wall looks like a competition on who can say worse things about the “Iron Lady”. Yes, she was a horrible neoliberal who, together with her buddy Ronald Reagan, helped to create this mess we are living in. But I got so tired of reading bad things about her. It’s old. We know it. Leave it alone. Let’s invest our energy to find the way out of this mess rather than bash a long forgotten corpse.
I felt the urge to write a note on Margaret Thatcher’s death because I feel weirdly connected to her. I do. In a very bizarre way. Since I had a back surgery at age of 15 in which my spine got supported with this long metal rod (called “Harrington”), my friends often referred to me as Iron Lady. I always liked it. For one, I literally do consist of a big amount of metal. But I always considered myself to be some kind of Iron Lady in other ways: I am strong, brave, ambitious. Indestructible. And this is where Margaret Thatcher is important. Whatever her political views were, she did do something good. She became the only female Prime Minister in the history of the UK. She fought for her position in the time and society in which parents still forbade their daughters to attend university believing there is no other position for them in this world then that of a housewife. Thanks to her, I grew up taking for granted that one of the world’s most important political personae is a woman. (On top of it all, she was also feminine – as far as her position would allow. And she was a mother.) Unfortunately, since she left politics, girls haven’t had a picture of a leading female politician to look up to, or simply take for granted.
Hopefully Hillary will change that in a few years.
Till then: Bye-bye Margaret!