On a chilly February afternoon in 2025, the usually quiet pavement outside Glasgow’s Queen Elizabeth University Hospital became the focal point of a national debate. Rose Docherty, a 75-year-old grandmother, stood near the hospital holding a hand-written sign: "Coercion is a crime, here to talk, only if you want." Her presence, and her sign, would soon make her the first person in Scotland to be arrested and charged under the country’s newly enacted Abortion Services (Safe Access Zones) (Scotland) Act 2024.
Police arrived at the scene around 2pm, responding to reports of a protest just outside the hospital’s exclusion zone on Hardgate Road. By the end of the day, Ms Docherty was in custody, facing charges that would place her at the center of a legal and cultural storm. The law, which had come into force only a few months earlier in September 2024, created 200-metre buffer zones around abortion service providers, aiming to shield patients and staff from protests, leafleting, vigils, and graphic displays. Violations could result in fines of up to £10,000, or even more severe penalties if a case went to trial before a judge and jury.
For many, Docherty’s arrest was an inevitable test case for the legislation, which had been passed with overwhelming support in the Scottish Parliament. According to STV News, the Scottish Government defended the law as essential for safeguarding public health and ensuring women’s unimpeded access to healthcare. Gillian Mackay, the Member of Scottish Parliament who introduced the bill, stated that the measure was necessary to protect women from “totally unacceptable abuse and obstruction.”
But not everyone agreed. As news of the arrest spread, so too did the controversy. US Vice President JD Vance, who happened to be holidaying in Scotland at the time, publicly criticized the buffer zone law, accusing the Scottish Government of “attacking free speech.” Vance’s comments, reported by BBC Scotland News, suggested that the legislation was an example of Europe failing to protect fundamental freedoms. He even claimed—incorrectly, according to Scottish officials—that people living within buffer zones had received government warnings about praying in their own homes. The Scottish Government swiftly denied this, clarifying that only “intentional or reckless behaviour” near clinics was covered by the act.
Docherty herself was steadfast in her beliefs, refusing to accept a formal warning issued by the Crown Office and Procurator Fiscal Service (COPFS) as an alternative to prosecution. She told BBC Scotland News that the warning was “unjust,” adding, “I just did what I thought was right. To be warned for having stood on the streets of Glasgow offering to have a conversation if anyone wants to come and speak to you—it just seems preposterous.”
Her refusal to accept the warning was more than a personal stand; it was a broader statement about the nature of protest and civil liberties. “There is nothing intimidatory or harassing about an elderly woman standing by the roadside offering to lend a listening ear,” Docherty said. She argued that existing police powers were sufficient to deal with genuine cases of harassment or intimidation, rendering the new law unnecessary. When asked if she would protest again, Docherty replied, “Life moves on for people and I’ll make decisions as and when I feel like I want to do something but I don’t feel that I’m constrained by being afraid.”
On August 14, 2025, after months of public debate and legal wrangling, the Crown Office announced its decision: no further action would be taken against Docherty at this time. In a statement, a COPFS spokesperson explained, “Professional prosecutors from COPFS considered the report. All Scotland’s prosecutors operate independently of political influence. After careful consideration of the facts and circumstances of the case, including the available admissible evidence, it was decided that there should be no further action taken at this time. The Crown reserves the right to take proceedings in relation to this incident in the future.”
Docherty, supported by the legal advocacy group Alliance Defending Freedom International, welcomed the outcome. Speaking to LBC, she said, “This is a victory not just for me, but for everyone in Scotland who believes we should be free to hold a peaceful conversation. I stood with love and compassion, ready to listen to anyone who wanted to talk. Criminalising kindness has no place in a free society.” Her sign, which had been confiscated during the arrest, was returned to her.
The case prompted a flurry of responses from advocacy groups and politicians. Lorcan Price, legal counsel for Alliance Defending Freedom International, remarked, “No one should fear arrest for offering a consensual conversation. Rose’s case is a stark example of how ‘buffer zone’ laws can be weaponised to silence peaceful expression. We are relieved that common sense has prevailed, but the fact that Rose was arrested and threatened with prosecution shows the urgent need to protect fundamental freedoms in Scotland.”
Yet, for many in the medical community, the law remains an important safeguard. Doctors at the Queen Elizabeth University Hospital, who have witnessed nearly a decade of protests outside their workplace, described the impact on patients and staff as deeply upsetting. Dr. Greg Irwin, interviewed by BBC Scotland News, called the protests “an unbelievably cruel and unkind thing to do,” and characterized the activists’ presence as “bullying” women seeking healthcare.
The legislation itself is clear in its intent: within the 200-metre buffer zones, it is a criminal offence to behave in any way that could influence the decisions of women or staff to access abortion services, or to cause alarm, harassment, or distress. The law was designed to prevent both overt protests and more subtle forms of influence, such as vigils or conversations that could be construed as pressuring.
The debate over buffer zones is far from settled. Supporters argue that the law is a necessary response to years of intimidation and distress caused by anti-abortion protests outside clinics. Critics, meanwhile, see it as a dangerous encroachment on free speech and civil liberties, pointing to Docherty’s arrest as evidence of overreach. The Scottish Government, for its part, maintains that the legislation is narrowly tailored and only targets intentional or reckless behaviour in the immediate vicinity of abortion providers.
As for Rose Docherty, her case may be closed for now, but the questions it raised—about protest, free speech, and the limits of the law—are likely to echo in Scottish society for years to come. The buffer zone law remains in force, and the Crown Office has reserved the right to revisit Docherty’s case in the future. For those on both sides of the debate, the story is a reminder of just how complex—and personal—the intersection of law, health, and liberty can be.
