In the land renamed Airstrip One in George Orwell’s 1984, British socialists and labor leaders have engaged in a festive Hate Week with much glee and enthusiasm to mark the demise of former prime minister Margaret Thatcher.

It’s been difficult to differentiate the angry froth from the celebratory bubbly that they have uncorked to commemorate Thatcher’s death.

So why has there been so much ugly vitriol directed by millennials who weren’t even born when the object of their scorn held office?

Probably because these young people were looking for an excuse to rage about in general and the death of Thatcher gave political legitimacy and sense of purpose for their bad behavior. Are these students truly familiar with her legacy as prime minister? Probably not since thinking people generally don’t dance on the graves of politicians.

Along her funeral route Thatcher’s coffin was greeted by turned backs and catcalls from protestors who apparently felt a moral compunction to go out of their way to be rude instead of doing something productive that day. So much for making a difference.

Some even had the temerity to masquerade as fiscal conservatives arguing against the financial cost of public funeral of the greatest democratically elected female political figure in history, mourning that the pounds and pence spent didn’t get dumped into one of the UK’s innumerable social programs.

If you’re looking to see respectful and courteous dissent, don’t bother seeking out the ex-mayor of London “Red” Ken Livingstone, who declared moments after the announcement of her death that everything that was currently wrong with Britain was Thatcher’s fault.

The only country that got ruined under Thatcher’s watch was the Soviet Union though it might be fair to say that some of her fiercest British critics probably think the wrong side won the Cold War.

For a reasonable response about the Iron Lady’s passing and the “hate fest” that has erupted in corners of the UK, one might follow the Yellow Brick Road to query the thoughts of the last surviving member of the Lollipop Guild.

In an obnoxious gesture spread via social media, Thatcherphobes concocted a ludicrous plot for their fellow travelers to download the song “Ding Dong the Witch Is Dead” from the movie the Wizard of Oz in order to shoot the song to the top of the music charts prior to Thatcher’s funeral.

Jerry Maren, who was a munchkin in the film, condemned the campaign, as did fellow munchkin Ruth Ducinni, who remarked in astonishment “I thought British people were better than that.”

John Lydon, better known by his stage name Johnny Rotten as the lead singer of the Sex Pistols, is no fan of Thatcher but took issue with the Left’s Danse Macabre, calling their behavior “loathsome”.

The British Left hates Thatcher not because she was brutal to the people (who re-elected to her twice) but because she was victorious over their politicians and their failed policies.

You can bet John Major’s final sendoff won’t be marred with a similar carnival of fury though not because he was a moderate but because he was politically ineffective and thus insignificant.

Eternal scorn and demonization from the Left is the price one must be willing pay to advance free market principles, loosen the binds of the state on the people and boldly standing by western allies against the red tide of Marxism.

And one also has to wonder how much more it hurt the leading men of the Labour Party and the male union bosses that a woman (!) had smote them thrice in the field of political battle while sporting her trademark double-strand of pearls.

Conservatives in America should pay attention to the Orwellesque tableau of hate in the British Isles so they can better understand and appreciate the irrational minds and black hearts that beat beneath the Left’s façade of tolerance and compassion.

Can anyone who mocks the dead be considered in any way compassionate?

At the numerous Thatcher “death parties” held around Britain, the Left took their masks off so the world could see exactly what they truly are.

And perhaps Baroness Thatcher, with a wry smile, was staring down at the classless excesses of her tormentors and erased the “3” on her political scorecard and wrote a “4”, for in death she once again proved to her countrymen that her opponents are as unfit now as they were at her peak to be entrusted with leading Britain.