THERE are times when you avoid talking or writing about a subject because of your own contradictory feelings. That’s been my attitude for some time towards the Scottish Government’s named person legislation, part of the Children and Young People (Scotland) Act 2014.

The intentions behind it are admirable. As a society we have failed to protect generations of children. Countless numbers have been exposed to predatory abuse, and countless more have suffered violence and neglect behind closed doors both in the home and in institutions.

And yet I am sceptical – no, stronger than that – as to whether this legislation will achieve its worthy goals. I am also fearful that the cultural shift now under way towards encouraging state agencies to share ever more information about children and families may end up doing more harm than good.

But I’ve been reticent to say that. A right-wing parental lobby who see children as their private property have, unfortunately, hijacked this debate. And, as a result, public discourse around this has become polarised hyperbole.

I’m also aware that some people whose judgment and expertise I trust are vigorous champions of the legislation. So, I’ve been a bit of a coward and kept my toe on very dry sand.

I’ve worked in the voluntary sector providing confidential services to women, children and young people. That confidentiality was always caveated by the responsibility to act, and share information, where there were child protection concerns.

"Risk of significant harm" was the benchmark. The new Act lowers that benchmark to concerns about "wellbeing". This is in turn defined by eight indicators. Children should be “safe, healthy, achieving, nurtured, active, respected, responsible and included”. And the "named person" – generally a health visitor or headteacher – will be a single point of contact for any agency, professional or parent concerned about a child.

The legislation is framed as providing "help" for concerned parents. I’ve no doubt there are many who would like to have an identified person to phone, instead of the myriad agencies they sometimes have to deal with when, for example, their child has learning disabilities. But the Act isn’t just about help; it’s also about intervention.

It’s depressingly true that thousands of children can lead miserable lives without a single adult intervening. When we hear about the catalogue of horror, violence and abuse inflicted on children such as Declan Hainey, or the Rochdale victims, we are all consumed with a visceral resolve to make sure such suffering never happens again.

I share that. The principles underpinning the named person legislation, as set out in Getting it Right for Every Child, are laudable. But there has been inadequate consideration and research into the potentially chilling effect of what is verging on automatic information-sharing whenever children go though some difficulty in their lives.

SO, I’m glad that advocacy and legal service Clan Childlaw has intervened in the legal challenge to the legislation, which was heard last week in the UK Supreme Court and is now awaiting a judgment. Lady Hale, whom I respect enormously, is one of the judges. I am very keen to hear her opinion.

The chilling effect that makes me nervous was evident to me when I worked with women and children who had experienced domestic abuse. Well-meaning but top-down strategies to tackle domestic abuse sometimes substituted one form of patriarchal control with another.

Instead of supporting women to support their children, statutory agencies could at times tip over into policing women and making them feel responsible for the abuse being perpetrated against them. This was especially evident in situations involving some of the poorest women at the margins of society.

Clearly, children are harmed by witnessing and living with domestic abuse. But the impetus to share that information with GPs, schools, health visitors, police and social work can leave women feeling there are no safe, and genuinely confidential, spaces left to turn to. In my experience, women can choose to revert to silence rather than risk being discussed round an official table. And abusers often use the threat of social work involvement to shore up their control.

Handing over responsibility to statutory agencies does not guarantee they will exercise that responsibility wisely. Nor will it necessarily bring about the transformational shift in attitudes and culture that will be needed to safeguard vulnerable children.

I am also concerned that this can be seen as a kind of panacea, deflecting our focus from the catastrophic social chasm that runs like an ugly fault line through our society.

In Scotland today, 210,000 children live in poverty. How can they ever be “safe, healthy, achieving, nurtured, active, respected, responsible and included” when they arrive at school hungry or without a warm coat, or when they go home to households drowning in debt, with the associated stress and mental illness that generates.

In the absence of the power and resources to put more money in that child’s parent’s purse, all a named person can do is call a case conference and send a skint parent to classes on how to budget with nothing.

I am not suggesting that abuse is solely about poverty and class. The middle-class child who comes to school wearing a blazer and with muesli in their belly might well have an abusive, controlling, bullying father back home. But their problems are less likely to be spotted and discussed at a case conference.

There can be a world of difference between those who provide services and those on the receiving end. The head teacher or health visitor, on a continuum of earnings well above the average, will have their own attitudes that derive from their living standards, their environment and their cultural connections.

I’ve known some who are brilliant and who I’d confide in with no hesitation. But I’ve also known some who are snooty and judgmental and lacking in any glimmer of an understanding of the lives of those over whom they wield immense power.

If I were convinced that each and every one of them would have the self awareness and insight to separate their values from their decision-making, I’d probably feel less jittery about the Act. And if the legislation was backed up by the resources to change bleak lives, I might be more confident.

But I worry about legislation on its own and hope that, at the very least, its impact will be thoroughly, and independently, monitored.

Some of the criticism of the Children’s Scotland Act 2014 has been that it doesn’t go far enough to incorporate the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child into domestic law.

They might be right. The Act does dilute the rights of parents, which, in principle, I have no difficulty with. I think we should make everyone realise that children are individual human beings and not appendages of their parents. I am not like Victoria Gillick, who campaigned to ensure that her children could not keep anything private from her. That was wrong.

However, I’m not convinced that the state should have a right to know everything about children either.