Alex Salmond once ripped my head off but he stood up for free Press
Titan, colossus, giant… no superlative has been overlooked in the many tributes to Alex Salmond, a man so ingrained on Scottish life for over 30 years that the Crown Office granted an extremely rare exemption to the ban on publishing pictures of accused people facing trial.
Like his protégé, and alleged nemesis Nicola Sturgeon, everyone has an opinion about him, the de facto King of Scotland in his pomp between 2007 and 2014 in which he led the country to the brink of independence.
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Hide AdLike his hero, 19th-century Irish nationalist Charles Stewart Parnell, his reputation was wrecked by scandal and he did not live to see his dream of home rule fulfilled. But, like Parnell, he managed to scare the bejesus out of London, the 2012-14 referendum campaign turning from a foregone conclusion into a 21st-century version of Prince Charlie’s march to Derby.
Pro-growth, low-tax capitalism
While many of the reflections acknowledge he scared the bejesus out of most people he came across at one time or another, including me, at the peak of his powers his approach was based on pragmatism and realpolitik. He understood the SNP would get nowhere until it appealed to the West of Scotland’s Labour-supporting, working-class masses, while embracing pro-growth, low-tax capitalism to keep right-of-centre nationalists on board.
The trick he pulled off was to deny the contradictions, something with which Sir Keir Starmer is wrestling now with somewhat less success. Nicola Sturgeon’s answer was to not bother trying. It’s unthinkable that a Salmond-led SNP would have gone into a formal coalition with the Green extremists because he would have backed himself to strike deals as necessary, not back himself into a corner with a hard-left ideology at odds with the majority.


It also meant persuading SNP purists that devolution was not a unionist trap but an opportunity for a platform, and eventually accepting that prioritising independence prematurely would only put off persuadable voters. While independence was always part of the programme, in 2007 and 2011, it was well down the SNP’s priorities, and his 2007-11 minority administration demonstrated competence and a willingness to listen, plus some quick populist giveaways it was hard to oppose against a backdrop of the booming pre-bank crash economy. It led to a majority victory Holyrood’s proportionate system was supposed to prevent.
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Hide AdReputation for competence
The independence gloves only came off once his absolute majority forced David Cameron to call his bluff on the referendum. When voters accepted it was off the agenda altogether after the 2014 defeat, lo and behold they flocked to the SNP in 2015 because the reputation for competence was enhanced by effectiveness of the Yes campaign, while the SNP message was refreshed under Nicola Sturgeon whose priority was, apparently, education. It helped that Labour had become unelectable under Ed Miliband, and the Lib Dems were destroyed by coalition with the Conservatives, but the work had been done over the previous eight years.
I had few dealings with him, all memorable, the first in 1997 when he ripped my head off when I approached him after The Scotsman’s independence debate in which he was the stand-out performer. As the recently appointed editor of the Edinburgh Evening News, I thought I should introduce myself, only to be treated to a tirade about a column by our Westminster editor Bill Jacobs which had, correctly, pointed out he had broken the suspension of political campaigning after the death of Princess Diana because of the devolution referendum.
The next time was when I was editing Scotland on Sunday, during his 2000-04 interregnum when John Swinney was SNP leader. He rang to persuade me to drop an exclusive about how Sir Sean Connery’s party donations could only be spent with his approval, effectively a vote of no confidence in John Swinney’s leadership by its most prominent supporter. He denied the story was true, even though we had the minute of an SNP meeting at which it was discussed. At our next meeting, when he was back in charge and I was back at the Evening News, he freely admitted it was accurate. “It was very damaging for John,” he said.
Misjudgment over Russia Today shows
My next significant encounter was in 2012, by which time I was working for Ruth Davidson and was brought into the cross-party leadership discussions about the Scottish Government’s response to the Leveson report into Press standards, and it was agreed to set up a Scottish expert panel to make recommendations. Appointing retired judge Lord McCluskey to chair the group, a man with a long association with the Scottish Press, it looked like he was anticipating a soft outcome, allowing him to position himself as a defender of freedom of expression. But what came back was effectively political control of the Press and he left it on the shelf.
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Hide AdThe following year, by which time I’d taken over as director of the Scottish Newspaper Society trade association, he was happy to speak at a conference I’d organised and say all the right things about Press freedom. After his resignation he was a regular at our Holyrood and Westminster receptions, ever the pragmatist making sure his connections were maintained.
After losing his seat in 2017, his desire for relevance led to the misjudgment of his Russia Today talk shows, not just proving association with Kremlin black propaganda was a bad look, but also that being an impressive political performer didn’t automatically translate into TV presenting. And although his Fringe shows were well attended, it just looked desperate.
When the ultimately quashed sexual assault allegations against him were made, admitting he was “no saint” confirmed what was common knowledge in political and media circles for years and his public reputation has only recovered in death. But for the SNP, he remained a glowering, growling reminder of the glory days, and with the legal actions arising from the failed prosecution still very much alive ─ and receiving significant financial backing ─ we’ve no heard the last o’ his bonnets and him.
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