Nicola Sturgeon must be over the endless tributes to her career at this point. Since announcing last Wednesday that she won’t be running for re-election as a Member of the Scottish Parliament at the upcoming Holyrood elections, effectively concluding a 27-year tenure in frontline politics, the Scottish media has been awash with retrospectives on the country’s first female and longest-serving first minister.
Though her stepping back wasn’t a shock, considering her dwindling appearances at the parliament, it’s an apt moment to reflect on her contributions and the mark she’s left on the recent and future course of her nation.
Having covered Sturgeon’s career for over a decade, I vividly recall the roaring applauses from the crowd at Glasgow’s Hydro arena—which seats 12,000—right after she became SNP leader in 2014. Selling out the venue, on par with stars like Lady Gaga and Beyoncé, was just the start. I remember discussions on energy policy where she made a point of ensuring the only young woman present was heard. And last year’s UK Covid-19 inquiry, where she visibly struggled to hold back emotions during questioning, remains a stark memory.
Despite her introverted nature, Sturgeon remains adored by many within the SNP and the broader Scottish public, bringing an approachable authenticity both privately and publicly. Her greatest asset lies in her ability to communicate genuinely in a world where many are merely campaigning for votes.
At 54—eight years younger than our current prime minister—discussions of her legacy might seem premature. Her legacy remains dynamic, especially with the ongoing Branchform inquiry into SNP finances, which saw her detained shortly after resigning as first minister in 2023, and her soon-to-be ex-husband, Peter Murrell, facing embezzlement charges.
In the wake of her departure announcement, shared via Instagram, Holyrood’s opposition has seized the moment to portray her legacy as fraught with division and shortcomings. Yet, that’s not even half the story.
Sturgeon indeed gained electoral strength from the division post-2014’s Yes/No referendum, rallying independence supporters under the SNP banner, while those supporting the union found themselves split across various parties. It took another decade before the ties between constitutional preferences and voting habits loosened, culminating in the SNP’s devastating loss at last July’s general election against a revitalized Scottish Labour. (Since that shake-up, Labour has squandered its advantage, and SNP once again leads the polling for Holyrood.)
However, the same divides that bolstered her political fortune also trapped it—admirers often overlooked holding her accountable, while critics refused to recognize her positive contributions.
Acknowledging the polarization she caused, Sturgeon cited this as a reason for her departure as first minister. She also seemed worn out by relentless challenges, including managing the Covid pandemic, handling the Holyrood inquiry into sexual assault allegations against predecessor Alex Salmond, and dealing with the controversy surrounding her leading gender recognition reforms.
Throughout the pandemic, her clear and comforting communication earned her admiration across the UK. Yet, the UK Covid inquiry revealed a significant lack of transparency, highlighting her hyper-controlled, presidential leadership approach and its severe toll, showing her unable to let herself take even a single day off.
With the Salmond inquiry, as well as concerning Murrell, some perceived that a woman faced disproportionate blame for a man’s alleged misconduct. However, it’s undeniable that she was central to government and party decision-making for decades. Similarly, both she and Murrell overlooked the potential conflicts their roles posed as a married couple leading the party.
Her gender recognition reforms left her vulnerable to accusations of betraying feminism, something she likely couldn’t have anticipated as she initially framed them as a natural progression from legalizing equal marriage. But by not addressing the concerns about self-identification from even within her party, she exposed herself to criticism.
Sturgeon herself has cited the introduction of the Scottish child payment, expanded free childcare, and support for care-experienced youth as particular points of pride. Critics, however, highlight shortcomings in closing the educational attainment gap, addressing drug deaths, tackling vested interests over NHS reform, and her reluctance to build on the diverse coalition the Yes movement had offered post-referendum.
Even her staunchest supporters have faced the disparity between her rhetoric and the real execution of SNP policies. As one anti-poverty advocate put it, “Does it matter that witches have been pardoned if you don’t know what you’re going to feed your child tomorrow?” Despite progress on issues like violence against women and child poverty, third sector leaders often point to inadequate implementation: consider how extended childcare morphed into a postcode lottery with inconvenient hours for working parents.
For younger activists, the sheer symbolism of Sturgeon’s leadership leaves a lasting influence, much of her legacy tied to what she made possible and visible. She governed with a distinct tone against Westminster’s usual bravado, openly criticized Trump, proudly labeled herself a feminist, and extolled the transformative power of literature. She also discussed personal topics like miscarriage, menopause, and fostering, demonstrating that while such discussions on platforms like Loose Women aren’t panaceas to systemic inequality, they carry importance.
Perhaps it was destined that someone pioneering at her level wouldn’t be able to shoulder all the expectations placed upon them. Additionally, it’s crucial to remember that the party she headed is primarily united by an independence agenda, rather than a focus on center-left social policies.
For the time being, Sturgeon’s Instagram followers can observe her embracing the “ordinary stuff that most people take for granted,” as she mentioned in her resignation speech—though her version includes mingling with the tartan elite, DJing with Alan Cumming, and hosting book events with crime author Val McDermid.
Meanwhile, those writing her obituaries—myself included—eagerly await her forthcoming “deeply personal” memoir, curious about the insights it might offer. Nevertheless, these aren’t likely to be the final words written about a figure who continues to fascinate, provoke, motivate, and challenge even as she retreats—albeit temporarily—from the spotlight.
Libby Brooks is The Guardian’s Scotland correspondent.
Do you have an opinion on the issues raised in this article? If you would like to submit a response of up to 300 words by email for potential publication in our letters section, please click here.
