Thatcher's Child

I was two years old when Margaret Thatcher became Prime Minister. I was thirteen when she was ousted from office. Infancy to teenage years - Maggie was the backdrop to my childhood. And so, my memories are her policies: sitting in the chilly dawn on the Fife coast waiting to welcome our warships home; driving past a forlorn group of miners who had picketed their pit for almost a year; having no homework for the majority of my primary schooling because of on-going industrial disputes between the government and the teachers... I could go on and on.

Thatcher was no feminist, but there was something about growing up in a country where the heads of state, both ceremonial and political, were women, which means I now refuse to accept that limits can or should be placed on women's activity. For that I thank her. I also rejoice that her strident leadership helped bring down the Communist Bloc and end the Cold War. However, I grieve for, not just those in our country whose lives were blighted by her decisions, but also for the millions of lives lost in developing countries as the "free trade" policies Britain and the US forced on those areas destroyed local economies and created crippling debt. This economic humanitarian catastrophe has barely been mentioned in the debates of the past few weeks.

Margaret Thatcher has been labelled a "divisive" woman in the past few weeks, with people either eulogising or demonising the longest serving prime minister of the twentieth century.  I, however, refuse to sit in either camp. There is something in the nature of these responses which reminds me too much of the extreme Madonna/Whore stereotypes which our society still subconsciously ascribes to any woman of power or influence. "Ding dong the WITCH is dead" - light-hearted protest or a return to language long used to drown women who didn't fit acceptable stereotypes?

So how will I remember her? Ambivalently. But for me that is not the key question. My generation are known as "Thatcher's Children", and so we have a complicated relationship with the Mother of our era. However, years of counselling people who have issues related to their childhood has taught me that in many cases there comes a point when you need to stop blaming your parents for all life's problems, and take responsibility for setting your own course in life. Likewise for Thatcher's children, the real question is what we will do with her legacy? What good can we draw from her example? What wrongs will we right in recognition of her failings? Will we do any better?