A controversial proposal to criminalise the purchase of sex in Scotland has ignited fierce debate, with some sex workers warning the change would leave them far more vulnerable and isolated.
Alice, not her real name, has been in the industry for over a decade. She says the proposed bill from Alba Party MSP Ash Regan, which would make it illegal to pay for sex, has left her “terrified” for her safety. And she’s not alone.
A Proposal That’s Splitting the Room
At the centre of the controversy is Regan’s bid to introduce the so-called “Nordic Model” to Scotland.
This model, already law in countries like Sweden and Norway, criminalises the buyer of sex but not the seller. Supporters claim it helps reduce demand, protects women, and provides exit routes out of prostitution. Regan sees it as a way to challenge “a system of exploitation and violence.”
But critics, especially those with direct experience, argue it does the opposite. Alice believes it could force sex work underground, making the job riskier and making it harder to vet potentially violent clients. “My body would become a crime scene,” she says.
“The Good Clients Will Vanish”
For many full-service sex workers, digital tools have become lifelines.
Alice describes how sex workers increasingly rely on methods like ID checks, social media vetting, or references from others to screen clients. This tech-savvy approach helps flag dodgy punters before meeting them in person.
But the proposed change would likely torpedo that safety net. “If buying sex becomes illegal, then the people who respect boundaries and safety probably won’t show up anymore,” Alice said. “That leaves you with people who don’t care about breaking the law… and probably don’t care about hurting you either.”
That’s the core of her fear. Screening becomes pointless if the clients who remain are unwilling to cooperate.
Data Points or False Comfort?
Regan, meanwhile, insists the model works—and she points to international examples.
In Sweden, where the law’s been in place for over 25 years, Regan claims no women in prostitution have been murdered since it passed. She compares that to Germany, where sex work is decriminalised, citing nearly 100 murders and over 60 attempted murders of sex workers since 2002.
It’s a powerful contrast. But is it the full picture?
A 2019 review of Northern Ireland’s version of the Nordic Model found little evidence that it reduced demand. In fact, online ads went up. Sex workers reported feeling more isolated. Many said they felt “further marginalised and stigmatised,” according to researchers at Queen’s University Belfast.
That’s the part Alice zeroes in on. “If the goal is to make us safer, the law’s doing the opposite in other places,” she says bluntly.
Who Gets to Define Safety?
Alice’s story isn’t just about fear—it’s also about control. She argues that more decriminalisation, not less, would allow sex workers to build relationships with the police, access health services without stigma, and even leave the trade more safely.
Yet Regan’s bill proposes “exit alternatives,” such as employment support and scrubbing past convictions for soliciting. Would Alice take that deal?
She shrugs. “Minimum wage for trauma? That doesn’t solve why people do this job in the first place.”
For her and others, it’s about survival. Independence. Choice.
One sentence sits alone in her response: “It’s easy to talk about saving us when you’ve never had to live like us.”
Women’s Groups Divided
This isn’t a case of politicians versus the streets. The debate has cut across feminist circles too.
Some organisations—like Women’s Support Project—back the Nordic Model, seeing prostitution as inherently exploitative. They argue criminalising buyers disrupts the cycle of abuse.
But other groups say the proposal ignores the realities on the ground. They argue the law could push women into more dangerous situations, make reporting violence harder, and strip them of what little control they have.
Here’s where it gets even messier:
-
The term “sex worker” is itself a lightning rod. Some campaigners reject it, seeing it as a euphemism that sanitises exploitation.
-
Others embrace it, saying it gives agency and dignity to people in the trade.
That linguistic tug-of-war echoes the bigger tension: Is this work, or is it violence? That question doesn’t have one answer.
Not Everyone Agrees on the Exit
Regan’s view is clear: Prostitution is male violence. And she wants Scotland to draw a line.
She’s argued that legalising the sex trade without addressing demand just lets the problem fester. “We need to shift the balance of criminality onto those that are perpetuating this system of inequality and violence,” she said in a BBC interview.
But opposition has been loud, organised, and persistent.
A growing campaign has launched to challenge the bill, driven by sex workers, advocacy groups, and even some former police officers. They argue that criminalisation rarely achieves what it promises. Instead, it pushes things into darker corners.
Parliamentary Cliffhanger
The future of the bill is uncertain.
There’s a Scottish election coming in 2026. If the bill doesn’t make it through before then, it falls.
For now, MSPs are being asked to take sides in one of the most contentious debates Holyrood has faced in years. Some are staying quiet. Others are watching closely to see which way the wind is blowing.
And then there are people like Alice—caught in the middle of a legal tug-of-war that’s more than just politics.
It’s personal. It’s survival.