Three years ago, he was Scotland’s most unpopular politician. More unpopular even than Boris Johnson. And north of the border, that’s really saying something.
Three months ago, his Alba party lost both MPs in the UK general election – unsurprising since they were first elected under a Scottish National party flag, but marking the end of Alba’s brief presence at Westminster. The party also lost its deposit in every one of the 19 seats it contested.
Yet despite this, the party’s leader, Alex Salmond, remained optimistic. In truth, he had no other setting. An opinion poll in June for the Holyrood elections had given his party 5% of the vote – a pitiful showing compared with those heady days as SNP leader. But enough, in Scotland’s proportional voting system, to elect three Alba MSPs in the 2026 Scottish parliament elections. And one was bound to be Alex Salmond.
No longer. His unexpected death in North Macedonia this weekend has created shock waves in Scotland, out of all proportion to Alba’s popularity or Salmond’s current clout.
He was a man so habitually described as Marmite, so often labelled divisive, so nearly written off after a court case for sexual assault (in which he was acquitted), and so determined to have his day in court against the party and government he once led for its handling of the complaints against him – how can such a man’s death stir an entire nation?
Mostly because his actions and personality changed the course of Scottish political life – leading the SNP to a 2011 landslide victory in Holyrood elections designed to make majority government next to impossible. The scale of that win prompted David Cameron to concede the independence referendum three years later. The rest, as they say, is history.
But that pivotal moment in 2011 was carefully built over long decades – not snatched. When Salmond first became leader in 1990, the SNP were portrayed as “tartan Tories” – suspicious of the EU, wary of devolution and standing huffily outside the process that would eventually create the Scottish parliament. Salmond changed all that, made the SNP a credible opposition to Labour at Holyrood but stood down as leader in 2000 to “pass the baton” on to a new generation. SNP support was at a healthy 30%. He was just 45.
Yet the man who lived for politics couldn’t stay away. He clinched the party leadership again in 2004 on a joint ticket with Nicola Sturgeon as his deputy and won the 2007 Scottish elections by a single seat. Amid predictions his minority government wouldn’t last a month, Salmond thrived. He had the sign on the civil service HQ changed from Scottish Executive to Scottish Government overnight. He abolished bridge tolls, did away with university tuition fees and scrapped prescription charges, arguing that means testing cost almost the same as free, universal provision.
Energy is reserved to Westminster, but Salmond used devolved planning powers to veto new nuclear plants and approve a big expansion of onshore wind – in effect banned for almost a decade in England by the Tories. In January 2024, more than 100% of Scottish electricity demand was met by renewable energy for the first time. An impressive domestic legacy – overshadowed by the campaign that took independence from 37% support a year before the IndyRef to 45% on the day. Many academics suggest Salmond lost the vote in 2014 but won the argument with younger voters.
None of that would have happened without confidence, vision and personality.
When I think of Alex Salmond, a kaleidoscope of moments come to mind. A friend told me his independence-supporting dad was keen to meet the new first minister, who was on a trip to their remote island home. But after a stroke, the older man found he couldn’t stand. Salmond sat down on the kitchen floor beside his chair and chatted for half an hour, holding his hand. Personal stories like this are legion.
Alex Salmond enjoyed craic, conversation and meeting people. He took time with them. He enjoyed horse racing and betting, golf, pints and curries – perhaps too much. And he relished a good argument.
In 2008 I visited the newish first minister at Holyrood and asked if he regretted describing Iceland, Ireland and Norway as the arc of prosperity since two were almost bankrupt after the financial crash. We had an animated discussion.
At the end of our time, Salmond asked if I could wait while he met an ambassador – “I’ll be straight back.” And so he was. This happened four times, with an interrupted but fascinating, quick-witted discussion about the real underpinnings of success for the Nordic countries and the different path Salmond was planning for Scotland. I didn’t pull my punches – he didn’t pull his. And three hours later I left, impressed by his cheek, curiosity and willingness to listen.
Alex Salmond may be remembered most by commentators for his epic schism with the SNP and Nicola Sturgeon. But if there’s a funeral or memorial service in Edinburgh, I predict the streets will be thronged in tribute to an eternal optimist, a politician who chose Edinburgh over London and the man who put independence firmly and for ever on the map.
But also, that rarest of things – a politician who loved life.
Lesley Riddoch is a writer, journalist, campaigner and podcaster
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