Free There is No Alternative by Claire Berlinski Page B

peek?” I ask.
    Whoosh-whoosh, the shelves glide shut . “Nope! Not for you.”
    â€œOh, come on. I won’t tell anyone. It will be our little secret.”
    â€œNo, no, no! But come on, I have something even better to show you, “ he says cheerfully, ushering me along. I leave the forbidden section, looking reluctantly over my shoulder. The stacks go on for rows and rows; the archive contains over a million documents, 2,500 boxes, 300 meters of shelves, tens of thousands of photographs, a vast collection of press cuttings, audio tapes, video tapes. Andrew shows me what I’m allowed to look at, explains how the catalog system works, then, spinning smartly, beckons me to the back of the room. “Look!” he says, bouncing on his heels with excitement, pointing to a gunmetal-grey box on a raised platform.
    The box appears to be made of something bombproof.

    â€œWhat is it?” I ask.
    â€œCome closer!”
    I approach. The strange vessel appears to be emitting an aura. Andrew leans over, shielding from my glance the trick he uses to open it. It flips open noiselessly. He stands aside. “ Ta-da!”
    There it is: her handbag.
    The thing is almost alive and pulsating. I half expect it to whiz up and begin soaring about the room. Thatcher famously opened a ministerial meeting by thumping that handbag on the table and announcing, “I haven’t much time today, only enough time to explode and have my way.”
    â€œSmell it,” says Andrew. He is flushed with sly delight.
    â€œCan I? Really?”
    â€œGo on.”
    I lean over and sniff, gingerly. There is a faint odor of talcum and lily. I look at him, surprised. “It smells—”
    â€œMy grandmother wore a perfume that smelled just like that.”
    He’s right. The handbag smells like a nice old lady.
    I’m taken aback. I had been expecting it to smell like napalm and gunpowder.

    Now we’ll look at the documents. Have you washed your hands? Stored your belongings in the locker? You must place each paper flat on the table. Only one file at a time. Use a pencil to take notes, absolutely not a pen, and for God’s sake, don’t get the papers out of order.
    Many of the documents are useless and mind-numbingly boring. “Tourism is an important growth industry in Wales,” that sort of thing. We’ll skip those. The good stuff is in the pre-election strategy documents, the documents that show us just what Thatcher and those around her proposed to do and how their minds worked. This one, for example:
    Britain under Jim Callaghan is far from an ideal society. Yet already the normal rosy hues that proceed [sic] an election are being painted by the Labour Government. Even the IMF are springing to their aid. We must counteract this propaganda. We shall do this by painting what we believe to be the true picture of “Jim’s Britain.” This is a very ugly society and we believe the following words characterize it: selfish, cruel, irresponsible, evil, unjust, unfair, dishonest, secret, frightened, cowardly, lacking nerve, stupid, illogical, dull, unthinking, unreasonable, erratic, simplistic, hostile, hateful, ignorant, confused, poor, hesitant, short-sighted, blind, apathetic, bored, tired, pessimistic, unfulfilled. In other words we have an immature society where individuals deny responsibility to each other. Both they and their country seem to have lost faith in themselves. There is no appearance of personal growth, no fulfillment of satisfaction for self, children or indeed the whole family. No sense of pride, no sense of patriotism.
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    Thatcher was particularly gifted at spotting opportunities subliminally and overtly to convey that she was above all a thrifty housewife who did the family shopping, knew how much groceries cost, and understood how deeply rising prices affected the ordinary British family. (Contrast this with the elder George Bush, who was reportedly