The Machinery of Male Guilt: Scotland’s Drift from Justice

When Law Becomes Ideology

The collapse of a civilised society does not always arrive through riot or revolution. Sometimes, it creeps in quietly. Through policies dressed as progress. Through laws sold as compassion. Through the slow substitution of principle with narrative.

And in Scotland, we are witnessing such a drift.

Our legal institutions, particularly in the handling of sexual and domestic allegations, appear to be moving away from the moral foundation of justice. The presumption of innocence, the idea that an individual stands protected against the overwhelming power of the state, is being compromised. Laws that claim to protect victims can, in practice, restrict the ability of the accused to mount a full defence.

This shift may not be deliberate. It may be the result of cultural fear, political momentum, or institutional inertia. But its impact is unmistakable.

Three mechanisms illustrate this drift: Sections 274 and 275 of the Criminal Procedure (Scotland) Act 1995, the Moorov doctrine, and Claire’s Law. Together, these tools do more than influence the legal process, they risk restructuring it in ways that make accusation more powerful than defence.

Silencing the Defence

Sections 274 and 275 regulate what evidence may be introduced in cases involving sexual allegations. Their intent is to protect the dignity and privacy of the complainer. This goal is understandable and morally grounded. No one wants to see a justice system that retraumatises individuals.

But protection must not come at the expense of context.

These provisions can prevent the accused from introducing evidence that might explain the nature of the relationship, suggest consent, or reveal motive. This could include text messages, inconsistencies in previous statements, or relevant past behaviour, all crucial in assessing credibility and establishing reasonable doubt.

Yet under the current framework, this kind of evidence may be ruled inadmissible.

The accused may sit in court, hearing a version of events that omits critical details, unable to share what he knows could change the narrative. The law, in such cases, limits what the jury is permitted to hear.

This is not the silence of guilt. It is the silence of legal exclusion.

When Pattern Becomes Proof

The Moorov doctrine allows separate, uncorroborated allegations to support each other when they appear similar in nature and timing. The idea is that a consistent pattern can point to a common perpetrator.

But patterns are not always proof.

In a world where stories travel quickly, through social media, private conversations, or advocacy networks, it is possible for narratives to form around similarity rather than independent truth. False or distorted claims can echo each other, not because they are accurate, but because they serve a shared purpose or emerge from a shared grievance.

This doctrine can effectively allow guilt to be constructed not from hard evidence, but from repetition. And under current rules, the accused may be restricted from presenting information that challenges the alleged pattern, such as evidence of communication between accusers or alternative explanations for their similarity.

This turns the courtroom away from forensic truth-seeking, toward something that can resemble symbolic judgment.

A Permanent Stain

Claire’s Law was introduced to protect individuals from potentially dangerous partners by allowing police to disclose past allegations of abuse.

But in practice, the standard for what can be disclosed is not always tied to convictions or proven misconduct. Allegations — even those untested in court, unproven, or withdrawn, can be passed on to third parties.

This means that an individual may live under a permanent shadow based not on guilt, but on suspicion.

There is no formal mechanism to appeal, remove, or correct what has been shared. A man cleared of wrongdoing, or never formally charged, may still find his reputation compromised. Employment, relationships, and community standing can all be affected.

In such cases, the presumption of innocence does not just erode — it disappears.

What Are We Building?

Taken together, these elements create a system in which the balance has tipped too far.

A system that can prevent the accused from presenting relevant evidence.

A doctrine that allows multiple untested allegations to stand as mutual support.

A disclosure policy that leaves no room for rehabilitation or redemption.

This raises a serious concern. Are we upholding justice, or constructing a mechanism that places narrative above evidence?

These changes may have been made with good intentions. But the outcome is a legal culture in which doubt is suppressed, defence is constrained, and mere accusation can trigger lasting personal consequences.

And yet, few in power are willing to raise these questions.

Why?

Because speaking up carries risk. Lawyers may fear reputational backlash. Journalists may worry about being accused of undermining victims. Politicians may hesitate, unwilling to challenge powerful advocacy narratives.

The result is a quiet consensus, not because everyone agrees, but because few dare to disagree.

Why This Matters

These policies and doctrines affect real lives.

Real sons. Real fathers. Real families.

When an innocent person is accused and restricted from defending himself fully, the consequences are lasting. Even if acquitted, the mark remains. His future may be shaped not by what he did, but by what was said about him.

This is not theoretical. It is happening now, quietly, and with little opposition.

And those who see it most clearly are often the most constrained. Judges, defence lawyers, legal scholars, many understand the risks, but say nothing. Because silence is safer.

But silence is how systems lose their moral direction.

The Road Ahead

We must decide, as a society, whether our justice system is still anchored in fairness, or whether it is becoming an instrument of belief.

To restore balance, we must be willing to ask hard questions:

* Should Moorov be reformed so that similarity of accusation does not override the need for independent proof?
* Should Sections 274 and 275 be adjusted to allow for fair contextual evidence, while still respecting dignity?
* Should Claire’s Law be brought under independent oversight to prevent lifelong reputational harm from unproven claims?

Most importantly, we must reaffirm that the presumption of innocence is not a slogan, but a cornerstone.

Without it, we are not defending victims, we are replacing justice with ideology.

And ideologies, when left unchecked, consume individuals.

Who Will Speak?

So the question is this: who will speak for those who have no voice in this system?

Not the politicians, they fear the headlines.

Not the advocacy groups, they are too embedded in the machinery.

Not the media, nuance does not sell.

Even among legal professionals, few are willing to raise the alarm.

So who remains?

If we want to preserve a justice system that is truly just, then someone must be willing to challenge the direction we are heading.

Someone must stand up and say that fairness matters. That truth matters. That guilt must still be proven, and that accusations, no matter how serious, must not override the fundamental rights of the accused.

Because if no one speaks, the silence will speak for us.

And silence, in the face of injustice, is complicity.