A Politician Dies: Feeding Time for the Press

I found out that Margaret Thatcher, once Prime Minister of the UK, had died through Facebook.

Normally, I'm a bit of a news fanatic. I wake up to the sound of Radio 4 on my radio alarm clock. I read the Guardian and the BBC websites most days, buy the Guardian occasionally, and read Independent, Guardian and HuffPost articles through social media. (Although I have to admit to the odd glance at the Mail Online... c'mon, who doesn't?) Usually when something big happens, I see it trending on Twitter, and the first posts are usually links to breaking news articles, followed by the first few caustic comments, then the babble of opinions, jokes and arguments as the world wakes up to the news

Social media is a cruel world. On Facebook and Twitter, the words 'Margaret Thatcher has died...' are not followed by '...of a stroke at the age of 87' or '...in her bed at the Ritz, after a long struggle with dementia.' Aiming to impress our friends or followers, people rush to make idealogical statements. I think the first comment I saw on her passing was a Facebook status celebrating it, followed by one calling her a witch. News has never been just news, of course, and people have always and will always comment on it - as is only right - but this wasn't news. This was a death.

When a child is murdered, or a soldier dies in Afghanistan, the 'British public' falls silent. Twitter silences are grandiosely upheld, trolls spam the hundreds of 'RIP' pages, and the online community competes to offer its unwanted sympathy. Tributes to the innocent, respectable dead overflow into anger at their killers, grotesque expressions of violence and disgust, a pantomime of grief.

But when someone like Margaret Thatcher dies, the same people are celebrating. 'Ding dong, the witch is dead!' has been one particularly popular reference. 

If you've read anything on this blog before, it's a safe bet that you can guess I'm not a fan of conservative politics, Thatcher included. But as much as I disliked all she and her party stood for and did, I don't want to be one of those people gloating because, like all of us, Margaret Thatcher is mortal.

And fair enough, I'm not an expert on the eighties. I'm not old enough to remember her whilst she was still a powerful political figure in this country, and I don't have any personal or family grudges against her. To be honest, my political knowledge is self-taught, and although I'm not quite naive enough to think the 80's was all Billy Elliot, perhaps I would have stronger feelings if she'd been my prime minister. 

Yet even if she had been, or if it was someone like David Cameron - who I do know about and whose policies I dislike - who had died, I still wouldn't be celebrating. 

And it's not about the taboo of speaking ill of the dead which some journalists (especially on the left wing) seem to be using to justify their attacks on Margaret Thatcher. She has a family, who need time to grieve. No matter how much you dislike someone on a personal or political level, using their death for political leverage is, frankly, disgusting. If there's one reason for leaving well alone at this point, it should be consideration for her family and friends. But that's not something the British press are good at; they barge in on the families of murdered children, press their cameras and opinions into people's faces, invading privacy under the excuse of freedom of information. If the press was a person, they would be a hated social outsider, but there's nothing we, the public, seem to like better than our intrusive window into other people's lives, a window protected by Cameron's poor response to the results of the Leverson inquiry. 

And behind the hundreds of news articles, the press coverage, the disgust, outrage, genuine morning, ambitious political mourning, the recalling of parliament, the state funeral, is the ending of our human life. The loss of a mother, of a friend, of an ill, elderly woman. 

Forget the taboo of 'speaking ill of the dead'. What about speaking ill of the living? Broadchurch last week featured a storyline about a man hounded to his suicide by the press, but most importantly, the people around him. When difficult issues come up, responding is difficult, and so people throw insults. Of course we need to argue, to criticise, and to debate, but then it seems to slide downhill into personal insults and aggression.

I went to a left wing political rally at my university a few weeks ago. Owen Jones was the key speaker, as well as Natalie Bennet of the Green Party, and I'm afraid I went on the strength of their names and the slogan 'Against Austerity' rather than any really knowledge of what the rally was about. It was  interesting, and made me think. But one thing made me uncomfortable. Whilst making their points, speakers - both from the audience and the invited speakers - frequently made derogatory, even near-abusive remarks about their political opponents. Bennet slagged off the Labour party - prompting an angry response from a Labour party member present - the Socialist Workers were as aggressive as normal, and David Cameron was denounced with some pretty graphic language, to which the general response was 'Hear, hear' and banging on the lecture theatre desks. The only positive speaker of the night was Jones, who didn't descend to that level, and instead talked about hope for the future, and for that I respect him. 

I'm not writing this to criticise left wing politicians in particular - the right is just as bad. As it happens, I sympathised with most of the sentiments expressed that night, just not in the way they were expressed. Sometimes hard times call for hard words, but I refuse to accept abusive words, abusive actions. I think David Cameron's welfare plans are cruel, class-biased and uninformed, and I think my argument is stronger for saying that instead of just tweeting 'Cameron is a tosser'. He's not; he's a human, as fallible as the rest of us, with feelings, with a family. God cares about him, no matter what us left wing-loonies call him at rallies. 

How can we make the world better by celebrating someone's death? How can we possibly have an effective political system based on politicians belittling their opponents in the houses of Parliament, or a reliable press based on selling controversy? 

Writing this, I have the feeling that I'm not saying anything new. We've probably all had these kind of thoughts. But this kind of vile stuff is still out there. If I log onto Facebook now, I'll see pictures of shared images, telling me 'If U get offended by our flag, get the F*** out of our country!'. Or maybe this time it'll be a status telling me that the Pope is a homophobe who should be burnt alive. I've seen some stuff that is so vile, so logically inexplicable, so nasty, that it has made me laugh with shock. And this often comes from people I know, even people I consider to be friends. I won't like your status saying paedophiles should be tortured, that immigrants should be booted out, that somalians are ugly kmt, because you are better than that. Because I believe in more than just the fundamentality of human rights for everyone, deserving or not (although who are we to judge?) - I believe that every person is special, unique, wonderful, and yes, made by God. 

Perhaps sometimes we celebrate the death of someone we disliked because it feels like life has got its revenge on them, like we've won. In some cases, like when Osama bin Laden was killed, it is a genuine breath of relief for the world. But no matter how understandable dislike of a person is, no matter what political or social or other reasons make their death desirable, revelling in someone else's pain is inhuman. We have to be better then that. 

So on the day they bury Margaret Thatcher, no matter what my views on her as a person, or even on the public expense incurred by her burial, I, for one, will keep silent. 


J.R.