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Laurie Penny on Mrs T: unreliable narrator

There are many Maggie Thatchers, and which story we choose to tell says more about us than it does her.

There are many Maggie Thatchers, and which story we choose to tell says more about us than it does about her.

"I really wish," whispers my Northern Friend, watching the Grand Hotel explode into chunks of concrete on screen, "that they would stop making young Denis Thatcher so fanciable". On reflection, it may have been a mistake to go and see The Iron Lady, the ubiquitous Thatcher Biopic, in the company of seven anarchists who have partaken of fortifying cider before venturing into the Tottenham Court Road Odeon, but by the time the soaring theme-music starts to roll it's far, far too late.

The way in which we choose to tell the story of Margaret Thatcher will always be about more than one frail old lady losing her faculties in Belgravia. It's about the ideology that Thatcher represents, the free-market, anti-union, anti-state, pro-business fanaticism that divided the nation in the 1980s and is coming to divide it again. The opening shot, in which Meryl-Streep-as-Thatcher's wizened, liver-spotted paw reaches up to snatch an pint of milk from a shelf along with the inevitable Oscar -- a cheeky reference to the old Left nickname "Thatcher, Milk Snatcher'" for the benefit of those readers who have mentally erased the 1980s -- does not soften the blow of what is to come.

Bouffant battleaxe

Over the next one hundred and three minutes, I watch my friends sink into fetal positions in the snap-up seats as history is reshot with soaring trumpets in the background. In this nostalgic and mostly imaginary recent British past, we are a nation of strong, self-reliant businessfolks who don't believe in welfare. Thatcher was a feminist hero who refused to "die washing up a teacup". Unions are socially irresponsible throwbacks memorable only for allowing the rubbish to pile up in the street in the bad old days of the 1970s, before Maggie took power in an orgy of Union flags descending in slow motion from the ceilings of memory. War and spending cuts can save Britain, and the unemployed and dispossessed are snarling, ungrateful animals, thumping and screaming outside the darkened windows of a ministerial car.

I start peeking through my fingers when Maggie has her Next Top Model-esque makeover montage, transforming from matronly back-bencher to power-dressing, bouffant-haired battleaxe, and being strapped into a peacock-blue gown with a plunging neckline whilst she lectures Geoffrey Howe about the importance of public sector cuts. A couple of what look, from their trendy open-neck shirts and slick hair, to be young Conservatives in front of us are practically wetting themselves with excitement. "Oh god. The gay Tories are going to love this," the friend to my left says, a sentiment that might perhaps have caused the real Thatcher to tighten her grip on her handbag.

To my left, Anarcha-Feminist Friend has stopped rocking in her chair and started scribbling frantically in a notebook. "I've worked out how we can get through this," she says, "It's not a panegyric, it's actually a really clever story with an unreliable narrator, about a dotty old lady editing out all the bad bits of her legacy and remembering herself as a hero." Then we have to sit through the scene where Denis Thatcher literally ascends into heaven, leaving Maggie alone at the top of the stairs. "Jump," she whispers, too loudly. The young Conservatives glare at us.

My Northern Friend is supposed to be quitting smoking. Outside the Odeon, with the patriotic overture still ringing in our ears, he's sucking down his second Pall Mall in a row and shaking with rage. "I don't care if it's a hagiography, you can't make a film about Thatcher without talking about the Miners' Strike," he says. "They hardly even mentioned it." The young Conservatives stumble past us and out into the winter chill with the glazed, slightly sheepish expressions of punters leaving a strip-club. There are many Maggie Thatchers, and which story we choose to tell says more about us than it does about her. Right now, the official story is a nostalgic flag-waver about how war, markets and judiciously chosen twinsets saved Britain- but there are, and will always be, those who remember it differently.

Laurie Penny is a contributing editor to the New Statesman. She is the author of five books, most recently Unspeakable Things.

This article first appeared in the 16 January 2012 issue of the New Statesman, The battle for Britain

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“Stop treating antibiotics like sweets”: the threat we face from antibioitic resistance

Currently, 700,000 people die per year from the resistance of microbes to medicine, and it is predicted that 10 million people will die per year by 2050.

Got a cold? Take some antibiotics. Feeling under the weather? Penicillin will patch you up. Or so the common advice goes. However, unless we start to rethink our dependency on antibiotics, a death every three seconds is the threat we potentially face from evolving resistance by microorganisms to the drugs. The stark warning was issued following a review which analysed the consequences we could face from needless administering of antibiotics.

The antimicrobial resistance (AMR) review was led by economist Jim O’Neill, who was tasked by the prime minister in 2014 with investigating the impact of growing resistance. Currently, 700,000 people die per year from the resistance of microbes to medicine, and the report predicts that 10 million people will die per year by 2050. An overwhelming global expense of $100trn will be the price to pay unless incisive, collaborative action is taken.

Antimicrobial resistance (as referred to in the title of the report) is an umbrella term for the resistance developed by microorganisms to drugs specifically designed to combat the infections they cause. Microorganisms include things such as bacteria, fungi, viruses and parasites. The report especially focused on the ramifications of increased resistance of microorganisms to anitbiotics.

Many medical procedures are dependent on the effectiveness of drugs such as antibiotics: treatments for cancer patients and antibiotic prophylaxis during surgeries, for example. All could be under threat by increased resistance. The continuing rise of resistant superbugs and the impotence of antibiotics would pose “as big a risk as terrorism”. A post-antibiotic world would spell dystopia.

Bacterial microbes develop resistance through evolutionary-based natural selection. Mutations to their genetic makeup are passed on to other bacteria through an exchange of plasmid DNA. Unnecessary prescriptions by doctors and inappropriate antibiotic usage by patients (such as half-finishing a course) also contribute. Over the years, a number of bacteria and viruses have found a way to counteract antibiotics used against them: E. Coli, malaria, tuberculosis and Staphylococcus aureus, to name a few.

The report employed the consultancy firms KPMG and Rand to undertake the analyses, and O’Neill outlines 10 different measures to tackle the issue. Key areas of focus include: global campaigns to expand public awareness, the upholding of financial and economic measures by pharmaceutical companies in the development of new medicines and vaccines as alternatives, greater sanitation to prevent infections spreading, and the creation of a Global Innovation Fund which will enable collective research.

O’Neill told the BBC:

“We need to inform in different ways, all over the world, why it’s crucial we stop treating our antibiotics like sweets. If we don’t solve the problem we are heading to the dark ages; we will have a lot of people dying. We have made some pretty challenging recommendations which require everybody to get out of the comfort zone, because if we don’t then we aren’t going to be able to solve this problem.”

In the foreword of the report, O’Neill states that over 1 million people have died from developing resistance since 2014. The urgency in tackling this issue is clear, which is why he has offered an incentive to companies to develop new treatments - a reward of more than $1 billion will be given to those who bring a successful new treatment to the market.

According to the report, the cost of successful global action would equate to $40bn over the next decade, which could result in the development of 15 new antibiotics. Small cuts to health budgets and a tax on antibiotics have been proposed as ways of achieving the financial quota for drug research.

Though the report has highlighted the severity of antibiotic resistance, some believe that the full extent of the matter isn’t sufficiently explored. O’Neill mentions that there are some secondary effects which haven’t been taken into account “such as the risks in carrying out caesarean sections, hip replacements, or gut surgery”. This suggests that alternative remedies should be found for non-surgical procedures, so that antibiotics aren’t made redundant in environments where they are most needed.

Since the analysis began in 2014, new types of resistance have surfaced, including a resistance to colistin, a drug which is currently used as a last-resort. Its affordability resulted in increased use, particularly as a component of animal feed, meaning greater opportunity for superbugs to develop resistance to even our most dependable of antibiotics.

Widespread drug resistance would prove to be a big issue for many charities tackling infections around the world. Dr Grania Bridgen from Médecins Sans Frontières told the BBC that the report addresses a “broad market failure”, which is important but isn’t enough.

Despite the mixed response to the report, it has had a seal of approval from the Wellcome Trust and the Department of Health. Speaking earlier this year, Chancellor George Osborne stated this issue “is not just a health problem but an economic one, too. The cost of doing nothing, both in terms of lives lost and money wasted, is too great, and the world needs to come together to agree a common approach.”

If antibiotics are to remain potent antidotes to infectious diseases in the future, we need to put a plan in motion now.