The day Margaret Thatcher died, my Facebook feed unfurled itself in a strange slurry of hateful glee. Post after post celebrating the passing of the former PM projectiled out of my friends’ fingers and, while I understood the possible reasons one might have for loathing Maggie, I began to feel increasingly uneasy. However you dress it up, I just can’t get on board with rejoicing a human being’s death – however shite that human may be.
Or, as a friend more eloquently put it; “you don’t have to have any respect for a person to abhor the celebration of that person’s death”. Continue reading