FOR many years, my father and I have shared a deep interest in our family history, delving into the lives of our ancestors spanning back hundreds of years.

For anyone who has ever been captivated by genealogy, you’ll understand how compelling and addictive the journey of discovery can become. It’s not just about finding names and dates, it’s about connecting with the past in a way that feels deeply personal, grounding us in the history that has shaped who we are today.

Growing up, I often heard stories from my late grandfather about his time at war – tales of the positions he served in, the places he was stationed and even how he met my grandmother. These stories sparked my life-long love of history.

For me, history is a great educator, offering lessons on human behaviour and society. It’s through these stories and experiences that I’ve come to appreciate the importance of learning from the past. They remind us the freedoms we enjoy today were hard-won and that we must be vigilant in safeguarding them.

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One of my sons has also caught the genealogy bug, particularly when it comes to learning about the family’s involvement in the wars. This shared passion for history led the three of us – my father, my son and me – to take a trip to the Somme in France.

Our goal was to trace the footsteps of three men from our family who fought and died there, my father’s great-uncles. We travelled with photos of these men and took them to their resting places. These were not just names on a family tree, they were young men with hopes, dreams and lives cut tragically short by the horrors of war.

I thought I was prepared for the experience but nothing could have made me ready for the depth of emotion that overwhelmed me at that first cemetery. As I wrote a message on the back of one of the photos, expressing our gratitude for his sacrifice and our promise never to forget him, tears began to flow uncontrollably.

These were young men, just the age of my sons, who had been sent into battle under the most horrendous conditions during the First World War.

Walking into the cemetery, I was struck by an immense sense of loss. The rows upon rows of gravestones told the story of countless lives cut short, of families forever changed.

The weight of their sacrifice was almost too much to bear. Standing there, I couldn’t help but think of what their final thoughts might have been, and how many knew they would never return home.

It is in moments like these that we are reminded of the true cost of conflict and how crucial it is to work towards peace.

Such a trip makes you contemplate a world where we find ourselves in such tumultuous times. We witness the horrors of war unfold on tiny screens in our hands and, as a politician, I feel the responsibility that comes with the power of words and our actions. What we say and do matters. It can influence actions and, in the hands of the media, can be a driver for whatever narrative sells the best story.

As we drove through the peaceful countryside of France, visiting beautiful locations now so serene, but often broken up by grave sites and hundreds of white headstones, I couldn’t help but imagine the tranquillity being shattered by the sounds of battle and the cries of war.

Today, these places hold a reverent atmosphere, a quiet acknowledgment of the sacrifices made. The contrast between the peace of the present and the violence of the past was stark and thought provoking. It underscored the importance of working towards a future where such conflicts are a thing of history.

As I look ahead to returning to the Scottish Parliament next week and the SNP conference this weekend, I am acutely aware of how politics shapes a nation. It can bring about peace or disturbance, calm or fear.

I truly believe that the pen is mightier than the sword and when we gather this weekend, I will do so with a deep appreciation for the freedoms we have been gifted – the freedom to come together, to discuss our democracy, to shape our vision for Scotland’s future.

But I do not take these freedoms for granted. I am aware of the fragility of what we have gained and how we must not only strive for more but also protect what we already have. The freedom to choose how a country should be run should be decided by those who live in it. That is a simple undeniable fact that I do not doubt.

As we move forward, I am more resolute than ever in my belief that Scotland’s independence must be front and centre in our discussions, to ensure the future we build is one where our values are fully realised.

We cannot forget the lessons of history but we must also not shy away from the opportunities of the future. It is those opportunities that are the gifts our ancestors left us.

In the political arena, it’s easy to get distracted by the culture wars and divisive tactics employed by those who aim to destabilise our movement.

These strategies are far from new. They’ve been used throughout history to weaken efforts that seek to bring about positive change.

While visiting museums in France, I found the war propaganda particularly striking – it was like the early 20th-century equivalent of today’s viral social media posts, designed to shape narratives and influence public opinion. These tools were used to manipulate, instil fear, and disrupt the unity of causes that sought to do good.

We have been through a lot as a movement but I know that when the momentum is in swing, just like in 2014, we will again gather in one voice to seize the opportunities of the future gifted to us.