Aamer Anwar is relating an unexpected encounter he has just had with a sheriff. “When he approached me, I assumed something was wrong,” he says. “Then he asked me how I was. I said: 'Sorry, what do you mean?' And he said he wondered how I was doing after my court case last week. I was so taken aback that he should take the time to ask me that. I would never have expected it.”

That Anwar, Scotland's most prominent human rights lawyer, should be so astonished by a solicitous inquiry from a senior colleague speaks volumes about his prickly relationship with the legal establishment. An outspoken defender of the underdog, he has made more enemies than friends in his chosen profession, but it's a role he has no plans to relinquish, even as he braces himself for potential ruin.

This week in Edinburgh, three senior judges are expected to deliver their ruling on a contempt charge against Anwar that stems from remarks he delivered after his client, Mohammed Atif Siddique, was jailed for terrorism offences. Anwar said the verdict was “a tragedy for justice and freedom of speech” and claimed the prosecution was “driven by the state” in an “atmosphere of hostility”.

The judge, Lord Carloway, who instigated contempt proceedings, said Anwar's statement amounted to “an unjustified attack on almost every area of the trial process, other than the defence”. If found guilty, Anwar could be struck off, fined or face a prison sentence of up to three years.

The case, the first of its kind in the UK, has generated alarm among civil liberties campaigners. Several high-profile English lawyers, including Gareth Peirce, Imran Khan and Michael Mansfield, have criticised what they describe as a threat to freedom of speech. Anwar has also been backed by Baroness Helena Kennedy, the barrister and broadcaster, who provided a submission to the court, the author Iain Banks and Shami Chakrabarti, director of Liberty.

In Scotland, however, professional support has been virtually nonexistent. “There has been a deafening silence,” admits Anwar, 40. “The people I thought I could rely on have been there for me, but the vast majority, quite honestly, would probably be happy to see me behind bars.

“I have tried to analyse this and I can only think that they say, ‘Oh, it's just Aamer Anwar in trouble again', or they think it's an issue that doesn't concern them or they are quite spineless and don't want to speak out.”

The Law Society of Scotland's official line is that it will study the outcome of the hearing and decide what action, if any, to take. Unofficially, one member of the society said: “If he's found guilty, they'll go after him. He won't get off with a slap on the wrist.”

Another colleague agrees that Anwar can expect a harsh punishment if found guilty: “He's made a career out of bashing the legal system. This is a chance for the legal system to slap him down. It's a test case, but it's hard to imagine that it's not also a bit personal. Aamer's not popular.”

Sitting in his windowless office, Anwar appears tired. The pugnacious arrogance he has displayed in the past has been replaced by a more subdued manner. Is the impending court appearance weighing on his mind?

“It has been incredibly hard to concentrate and think straight,” he says. “Yes, it's always on my mind.”

Why does he think his case has not attracted more support in Scotland? “There is resentment or jealousy towards me,” he says. “And it's unfortunate that colleagues feel they shouldn't speak out about issues that affect their clients. People say, ‘There he goes again, jumping on another bandwagon', but I wish they would join me.”

He is not completely alone, however. “It makes me feel humbled to have people - celebrity names - offering support. In England there is much more experience in dealing with civil liberties cases. People will man the barricades if they feel civil liberties are under attack. If I am looking for advice from another lawyer, I'd go to someone south of the border. There's an extra layer of experience there.

“Lawyers here tend to be more cautious and extremely conservative. There is no concept of radical lawyers in Scotland. If they want to rise up the ranks and get promoted they have to be seen as a safe pair of hands, not a big mouth like me.”

When Anwar complained about the way the Scottish justice system treated the grieving parents of a murdered waiter, Surjit Chhokar, he argued that it amounted to institutional racism. A 2001 inquiry, the Jandoo report, supported his claim. Does he think that is still the case?

“Do I think people are saying, there's that Paki or that black boy with the big mouth? I am sure there are members of my fraternity who believe that.

“I know when you look around you don't see many black faces among the judiciary or sheriffs or advocates. I think there is racism there. I know I have to work 10 times as hard and everything I do is scrutinised.”

The system in England, he says, is more diverse and multicultural. “Scotland is more backward when it comes to a system of justice that is almost unchanged in 300 years. It's all wigs, gowns and vanity protected by a wall of silence,” he says.

A move to London, however, is not on the cards. Anwar says he will “live and die” in Glasgow, which has been his home for more than half his life.

He is at pains to point out he is not “playing the race card” in this or any other case. “As soon as these issues are raised, people say I am playing the race card, but I have never complained that I am a victim of racism as a lawyer within the legal system. It would be suicidal. I would be vilified. It's what people expect me to do.”

Anwar's reputation for bluntness goes back a long way. Born in Manchester to Pakistani parents and brought up in Liverpool, he arrived in Scotland, aged 18, to study engineering at Glasgow University. He was soon exploring left-wing politics.

In his third year, he noticed his flatmates who were Asian students at the university's dental school were doing well in their general studies, but performing badly in clinical assessments. He took a look at the school's past yearbooks and was appalled to see entries referring to “darkies” next to the names of black students.

Anwar began a campaign for anonymous marking. An investigation cleared the lecturers of any wrongdoing, but the university did change its exam marking system. The success of his first campaign led Anwar away from engineering and into a degree in politics and sociology.

In 1991, when he was flyposting for a student demonstration, Anwar was apprehended by police, who slammed his head against the ground until his teeth broke. “One of them said, ‘This is what happens to black boys with big mouths',” he says. Four years later, Anwar successfully sued Strathclyde police, winning £4,200 in Scotland's first civil action alleging a racist attack by police.

The incident marked a turning point. Anwar grew more radical. He became the Scottish organiser of the Anti-Nazi League and his name was reportedly added to a British National party hit list. “I had so much anger and frustration. I was either going to end up in jail or dead,” he says.

Instead he decided to study law. “I needed to do something positive, something more constructive,” he says. But why law when he seemed drawn to politics?

“I have been approached by parties from Labour to the Scottish National party to Solidarity, but I don't want to get involved with one group,” he says. “Toeing the line would be incredibly difficult for me. There's not one party I believe in. I devote my time to being a lawyer and a campaigner - a campaigning lawyer, if you like - and I don't see that as a problem.”

He might not be a party animal, but politics are never far from Anwar's mind. He is a regular fixture at anti-war rallies and was defeated by Charles Kennedy in the race to become rector of Glasgow University. He talks about a climate of fear in the Asian community and compares the experience of young Muslims to that of the Irish community 20 years ago.

His clients, including Tommy Sheridan, who has asked Anwar to represent him in his forthcoming perjury trial, choose him because of his political reputation. “They come to me,” he says. “I don't go ambulance chasing.”

Possibly the only time that Anwar is not in campaigning mode is when he is at home with his wife, Ifet, and their three-month-old son, Qais.

“There is a tendency among my family to say I have a son now so I should shut up and have a quiet life. My response is, yes, I have a son, but what sort of world do I want to bring him up in? I want my kids to be proud of me and know I didn't sell out.”

What he calls selling out, though, some people might call growing up. “I know you're supposed to change with time and become wiser,” he says. “But that doesn't mean I'm going to shut up. At least, I hope not.”

Times Recommends

• Sarah Brown says 'no thanks' to veal at G8 - twice
• Stockton-on-Tees is obesity capital of Britain
• Stores blame poor sales on Murray factor