WHEN my pal Russell Findlay told me he was considering a bid to be leader of the Scottish Conservatives, my reaction wasn’t exactly encouraging.
“Are you sure, mate?” I asked.
2
Clearly, he was undeterred by my sceptical tone. On Friday, he took over from Douglas Ross at a time when support for the Tories in Scotland is at its lowest ebb in many moons.
I’ve known Russell for many years and we sat beside each other when he was investigations editor at The Scottish Sun.
Since then, we’ve become good friends (well, I think so, at least) — though politicians and political journalists as pals can, of course, throw up the odd awkward situation.
I asked Russell whether he was sure, not because I didn’t think he would win — but because I thought he would.
I worried about what would happen if he won, and still do.
Nobody wants to see a pal put through the wringer, and I’ve witnessed how politics can chew you up and spit you out, even at the best of times.
And these are far from the best of times for the Scots Tories. That ‘poisoned chalice’ cliche is made for these moments.
So why is he doing it?
Russell is someone who spent decades trying to keep his face out of the public eye as an investigative crime reporter.
I recall when he was sent to cover Jim Murphy quitting as Scottish Labour leader.
Someone put a snap of the reporters in the room on Facebook. Russell went ballistic.
It was only some years after the notorious 2015 gangland acid attack on Russell — revenge for his crime exposés — that he became less camera shy.
But that reluctance to be recognised continued even after he became an MSP in 2021.
Last winter, the pair of us went for an afternoon stroll (it really wasn’t as romantic as it sounds, I told my wife) and Russell kept his hood up on the off-chance he was clocked.
Now, he’ll be in the spotlight almost daily, doubtless saying controversial stuff. He’s become the personification of a brand that some in politics — who should know better — have encouraged people to despise, not simply to disagree with.
The answer to why he’s taken on this job is undoubtedly related in some way to his sense of defiance.
That awful attack at his home in December 2015 brought about years of turmoil for Russell and his family.
There have been years of getting his life back on track, and a career switch to politics.
All the while, as Russell knows, the kind of criminals who he’s made life awkward for as a journalist don’t just go away.
Recently, he’s been dealing with the issue of his attacker seeking parole, and a warning from police about a fresh death threat. But like all the best journalists, Russell is driven by a moral purpose to right wrongs.
For decades, he had tried to help people who had been trodden on by those in power or cast aside by an often uncaring justice system.
Clearly, he thinks he’s now best able to help as a politician, albeit to make the maximum difference he would need to win power — requiring a remarkable turnaround in his party’s fortunes.
As an MSP, he found time to help a crime victim I knew who was caught in a nightmarish situation which was being enabled by a public body. This was entirely behind the scenes, and time consuming.
But he’d heard of someone struggling, and wanted to help.
Just like when I called him to ask for help lugging a wardrobe upstairs, and he was at my front door in 15 minutes.
Or he enthusiastically answered our daughter’s questions for her Brownies jobs badge. He’s one of life’s good guys.
I’m no psychologist but a big part of the reason he has thrust himself into the limelight after years of laying low likely lies in his response to that attack almost nine years ago.
That ‘f* you I won’t do what you tell me’ factor he’s clearly always had, has been turned up to ten.
The bad guys know who he is, so why not just show his face and shout from the rooftops?
And all of a sudden, he’s the leader of a political party. I must also disclose that the sober, serious chap seen in parliament and TV interviews is actually a bit of a p*taker.
He visited The Scottish Sun offices this month for an interview and gleefully posed for silly photos beside the propped-up costume of our Euro 2024 mascot, Sunny.
Leaving the office, Russell bellowed across the stunned newsroom: “Just remember to vote Tory everyone!”
Back to why on earth he’s taking on this job, at this time.
Russell, as I said, is one of these people that the more he feels thwarted, the harder he pushes back.
My “Are you sure?” remark that day probably egged him on.
I have no doubt that he — like his rival party leaders — is doing this to make a difference. I fear he’s on a hiding to nothing, but he’ll give it his best shot.
And on that awkward journalist-politician friendship . . . if Russell Findlay, Scottish Conservative leader, steps out of line, he should brace himself.
Worryingly for him, I might overcompensate to offset this gushing praise.
Read more on the Scottish Sun
But hopefully he’ll still be up for a pint afterwards. Or, more importantly, shifting those paving slabs I need moved.
Chris Musson is the Scottish Sun’s Associate Editor (Politics)
