First Minister John Swinney recently warned that Holyrood’s “days are numbered” if Nigel Farage ever becomes Prime Minister. On the surface, it is an extraordinary claim that is dramatic, politically loaded, and almost certainly exaggerated. But dismissing it outright would overlook the genuine anxiety toward the future of Scottish politics and the political consensus that has defined Scotland since devolution.
Swinney’s warning stems from Farage’s long-standing vocal hostility toward devolution, with the First Minister arguing that the Reform UK leader holds the Scottish Parliament “in total contempt.” However, the constitutional reality is far more complicated. Devolution is deeply embedded in modern Scotland, politically, culturally, and socially. There is probably more chance of the Tartan Army deliberately throwing a World Cup match than Scots voluntarily allowing Holyrood to cease to exist.
But the uncomfortable question Swinney raises is arguably the one that matters: what if the Scotland that Holyrood was designed to represent is beginning to change?
Historically, Scotland has cultivated and upheld an image of openness, multiculturalism, and relative social progression compared with parts of England. Since devolution in 1999, Scotland has never elected a Conservative government at Holyrood; the SNP and Labour have dominated the contest for leadership. For instance, when England has taken a more hostile stance on issues such as immigration, Scotland has traditionally positioned itself as the progressive counterweight within the UK. That is why Reform’s rise is so politically significant.
Reform is no longer a fringe force. Polling suggests the party could seriously challenge for second place behind the SNP in the 2026 Holyrood election, and its first Scottish by-election victory in December demonstrated that this support is translating into real votes. Scottish politics is entering a fragmented and volatile phase wherein traditional party loyalties seem increasingly fragile.
What makes this shift particularly striking is Scotland’s history with Nigel Farage. As leader of UKIP and later the Brexit Party, Farage repeatedly failed to gain meaningful political traction in Scotland. The nation rejected Brexit in 2016 and largely resisted the right-wing populist politics that succeeded elsewhere in the UK. For several years, Farage’s politics gaining legitimate support in Scotland seemed politically impossible. That is no longer the case.
Central to Reform’s rise is its unapologetically hardline stance on immigration. The party frames migration as a national emergency and links it directly to pressure on public services and national identity. For decades, Scotland has created a narrative of being more pro-immigration and outward-looking than Westminster. Swinney himself is a vocal supporter of the Scottish Refugee Council. But narratives are fragile, particularly during periods of economic strain and political disaffection.
Reform’s appeal is rooted less in ideology than in grievances toward immigration, political elites, and rapid social change. Rising living costs, strained public services, and declining trust in government has created opportunity for protest politics to take over. Reform offers the electorate an outlet for anger, and anger is often a powerful political force even when not driven by policy.
There are also growing signs that immigration is becoming an increasingly divisive issue within Scotland itself. Anti-immigration protests across cities including Aberdeen, Dundee, Edinburgh, and Glasgow would have been unthinkable even a decade ago. Whether protests represent a lasting shift in attitude, or a temporary expression of frustration, remains unclear, but their existence alone signals the national conversation has changed.
Ultimately, the real danger is not Reform forming a Scottish government anytime soon. The danger is normalisation. Treating Reform as just another mainstream political party risks embedding a style of politics built on grievance, blame, and cultural division rather than long-term solutions. Scotland will gain little from getting entangled in the culture-war politics that dominate elsewhere in the UK.
Holyrood itself is unlikely to disappear, but the political settlement it is established upon is under strain. The idea of Scotland as politically distinct from the rest of the UK is being tested, not by constitutional change, but by voter behaviour.
Maybe the real question facing Scotland is if voters are turning to a party promising disruption, are they rejecting Scottish values, or rejecting the parties that claim to represent them?
Holyrood will almost certainly survive. The question is what kind of Scotland it will be governing a decade from now.
Photo by Ulia Makoveeva for The Student.
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Holyrood isn’t dying – but Scottish politics as we know it might be
First Minister John Swinney recently warned that Holyrood’s “days are numbered” if Nigel Farage ever becomes Prime Minister. On the surface, it is an extraordinary claim that is dramatic, politically loaded, and almost certainly exaggerated. But dismissing it outright would overlook the genuine anxiety toward the future of Scottish politics and the political consensus that has defined Scotland since devolution.
Swinney’s warning stems from Farage’s long-standing vocal hostility toward devolution, with the First Minister arguing that the Reform UK leader holds the Scottish Parliament “in total contempt.” However, the constitutional reality is far more complicated. Devolution is deeply embedded in modern Scotland, politically, culturally, and socially. There is probably more chance of the Tartan Army deliberately throwing a World Cup match than Scots voluntarily allowing Holyrood to cease to exist.
But the uncomfortable question Swinney raises is arguably the one that matters: what if the Scotland that Holyrood was designed to represent is beginning to change?
Historically, Scotland has cultivated and upheld an image of openness, multiculturalism, and relative social progression compared with parts of England. Since devolution in 1999, Scotland has never elected a Conservative government at Holyrood; the SNP and Labour have dominated the contest for leadership. For instance, when England has taken a more hostile stance on issues such as immigration, Scotland has traditionally positioned itself as the progressive counterweight within the UK. That is why Reform’s rise is so politically significant.
Reform is no longer a fringe force. Polling suggests the party could seriously challenge for second place behind the SNP in the 2026 Holyrood election, and its first Scottish by-election victory in December demonstrated that this support is translating into real votes. Scottish politics is entering a fragmented and volatile phase wherein traditional party loyalties seem increasingly fragile.
What makes this shift particularly striking is Scotland’s history with Nigel Farage. As leader of UKIP and later the Brexit Party, Farage repeatedly failed to gain meaningful political traction in Scotland. The nation rejected Brexit in 2016 and largely resisted the right-wing populist politics that succeeded elsewhere in the UK. For several years, Farage’s politics gaining legitimate support in Scotland seemed politically impossible. That is no longer the case.
Central to Reform’s rise is its unapologetically hardline stance on immigration. The party frames migration as a national emergency and links it directly to pressure on public services and national identity. For decades, Scotland has created a narrative of being more pro-immigration and outward-looking than Westminster. Swinney himself is a vocal supporter of the Scottish Refugee Council. But narratives are fragile, particularly during periods of economic strain and political disaffection.
Reform’s appeal is rooted less in ideology than in grievances toward immigration, political elites, and rapid social change. Rising living costs, strained public services, and declining trust in government has created opportunity for protest politics to take over. Reform offers the electorate an outlet for anger, and anger is often a powerful political force even when not driven by policy.
There are also growing signs that immigration is becoming an increasingly divisive issue within Scotland itself. Anti-immigration protests across cities including Aberdeen, Dundee, Edinburgh, and Glasgow would have been unthinkable even a decade ago. Whether protests represent a lasting shift in attitude, or a temporary expression of frustration, remains unclear, but their existence alone signals the national conversation has changed.
Ultimately, the real danger is not Reform forming a Scottish government anytime soon. The danger is normalisation. Treating Reform as just another mainstream political party risks embedding a style of politics built on grievance, blame, and cultural division rather than long-term solutions. Scotland will gain little from getting entangled in the culture-war politics that dominate elsewhere in the UK.
Holyrood itself is unlikely to disappear, but the political settlement it is established upon is under strain. The idea of Scotland as politically distinct from the rest of the UK is being tested, not by constitutional change, but by voter behaviour.
Maybe the real question facing Scotland is if voters are turning to a party promising disruption, are they rejecting Scottish values, or rejecting the parties that claim to represent them?
Holyrood will almost certainly survive. The question is what kind of Scotland it will be governing a decade from now.
Photo by Ulia Makoveeva for The Student.
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