The Shrinking of the Scottish Lion

“Now is not the time.”

With those five words, Theresa May caught the Scottish independence movement mid-leap and froze it in place. It has never quite moved since.

There was a time — in the wake of the 2014 referendum and again after the Brexit vote — when Westminster feared the Scots might actually do it. That the lion of Scotland, once awakened, might prove too fierce to contain. That fear shaped the behaviour of British politicians across the spectrum. They muttered platitudes about the “family of nations”, hastily cobbled together devolution reforms and made solemn vows they had no real intention of honouring. But the great irony — and perhaps the tragedy — is that when the Scottish lion did stir, it turned out to have shrunk in its sleep. No longer a roaring force of nature but a cautious, domesticated creature, purring for approval and permission.

Since then, Scotland has been circling the same spot, stuck in a time warp. A country repeating the moves of a dance it once learned by heart, waiting for music that no longer plays.

The case for independence has been made. Repeatedly. Clearly. With rigour, vision and emotional force. What’s missing isn’t the argument. It’s the action. Scotland acts like a country rehearsing independence, not pursuing it. Mock-fighting. Pantomiming resolve. And it’s time — long past time — to ask: do we really want this?

For generations, Scots believed that the UK was a union of equals. That Scotland retained, by virtue of its nationhood, the right to leave. Even Margaret Thatcher once affirmed it:

“As a nation, [Scotland has] an undoubted right to national self-determination. Should they determine on independence no English party or politician would stand in their way, however much we might regret their departure.”
— The Downing Street Years

She could afford to say that. In the 1980s, independence was a curiosity. The SNP were a fringe. Her words were cost-free theatre. And then 2014 came — and the bluff was called.

The referendum nearly ended the Union. And the British state responded not with negotiation, but with containment. Section 30 was buried. The Supreme Court ruled that Holyrood could not even ask its people about their future. Sovereignty, once imagined as shared, was now declared indivisible — and firmly held by Westminster.

From that moment on, one truth became clear: the UK government would never willingly allow another referendum. Not because it would be unfair. But because it might be lost.

And yet much of the independence movement continues to behave as though the 2014 UK still exists — a polity that would, when the time is right, respectfully permit Scotland to try again. That belief underlies every polite request, every call for clarity, every appeal to democratic norms. But the rules have changed. The gate is locked. And Scotland is still knocking on a door that will not open.

If Westminster plays wrestling — all elbows, holds and brute force — Holyrood is still performing gymnastics. Clean routines. Perfect form. No dismount. One side is exercising power; the other is waiting for marks. The result is paralysis.

Meanwhile, the world outside has changed. We no longer live in the gentle post-war consensus where small democracies thrived under the protection of larger ones. The new geopolitical age is one of pressure, polarity and power blocs. In this world, independence is not merely about flags and pride — it is about security, resilience, economic alliances and energy infrastructure. Independence is now harder, not easier. And yet, paradoxically, that may make it more necessary.

If independence is still the goal, it must be approached seriously — not as an aspiration, but as a process. That means accepting that it will not be neat or cost-free. That a transition would likely be turbulent. That institutions will need to be created, citizens persuaded and international allies won — before the fact, not after. The example of Ireland remains relevant: it took them decades to thrive post-independence. Scotland will be no different.

And if it turns out that only a minority is willing to accept the disruption that independence entails, then that too must be acknowledged — not as defeat, but as an honest diagnosis.

The alternative — remaining in the union — must then be treated as more than the default. For most of the twentieth century, Scotland punched above its weight in British politics. Scottish MPs served as chancellors, party leaders and policy innovators. That era is over. Today, Scotland sends 59 MPs to Westminster, most of whom are ignored. This is not merely a numbers game; it is the result of political disengagement from the UK-level arena.

If Scotland is to remain part of the UK for the foreseeable future, it must do so deliberately — and strategically. That means re-engaging in Westminster politics not as spectators, but as participants with ambition. It means demanding influence, shaping agendas and fielding candidates who seek to govern, not merely oppose.

There is no shame in either future — but shame lies in refusing to choose.

What links both futures — independence or influence — is the need for political capacity. For institutional memory. For policy depth. For public trust. You cannot build a state overnight. Nor can you reform a union without leverage. Strength must be developed before it is needed — and that means starting now.

Too much of Scottish politics currently resembles performance. Ritual. The repetition of familiar gestures, disconnected from tangible outcomes. But while the choice about Scotland’s constitutional future may not yet have been made, the need to train for either outcome is urgent.

You don’t wait to lift weights until the fight has been scheduled. You build strength regardless — because strength is always useful.

And here is the most painful truth of all: no other country will act until Scotland does. Brussels will not intervene. Washington will not recognise a hypothetical. Even sympathetic neighbours will wait. Recognition follows action. Legitimacy follows resolve. The world is watching, but it will not move first.

What now? It may be that the nation is still weighing its options, still unsure whether to risk the storm of independence or instead seek a renewed role within the UK. But while that collective decision unfolds, the time cannot be squandered. Whether the end result is departure or deeper engagement, it will require political strength — and that strength must be developed before any decision can be implemented.

Now is the time to start building, strengthening and planning. Invest in institutions. Build civic resilience. Foster a political culture capable of shaping its own destiny. None of this requires a final decision today, but all of it will be necessary whichever path is taken.

A decision deferred is still a decision. And political weakness, once entrenched, is difficult to reverse. Scotland must begin to act like a country preparing for the future — whether that future lies in independence or in renewed influence. Standing still is no longer an option. The world has moved on. And Scotland, lion or not, must decide whether to rise or continue dreaming.