What cultural competence really looks like - it's not just lip service

Cultural competence is a phrase we use often in social work. It appears in training, policies, assessments and conversations about anti-oppressive practice.

But there is a question we perhaps do not ask often enough: what does culturally competent practice actually look like when we are sitting in front of a person whose life is shaped by experiences very different from our own?

It is easy to reduce cultural competence to knowledge. We learn that someone is South Asian. We record their religion. We arrange an interpreter where necessary. We acknowledge religious festivals, dietary requirements or cultural traditions. All of these things can matter. But none of them, alone, tell us that we understand the person in front of us.

Culture can influence how people understand family, marriage, motherhood, responsibility, shame, honour, faith, independence and belonging. Yet two people from the same ethnic or religious community may experience those things completely differently.

That is why cultural competence cannot simply be about knowing more facts about different communities.

It must also be about asking better questions. In my work with South Asian women, particularly within domestic abuse services, I have seen how easily behaviour can be interpreted without fully understanding the context surrounding it.

A professional might ask why a woman has returned to an abusive relationship.

The temptation is to focus on the decision itself. But the decision may sit within a much wider web. Leaving a relationship may also mean losing family relationships, housing, financial security, community, social standing or a support network. There may be concerns about children, stigma around divorce, faith, immigration status, isolation or the consequences of going against family expectations. 

None of these factors should ever be assumed simply because somebody is South Asian. Nor should they be used to explain away abuse. But they should make us curious.

What might this decision cost this particular person?

That question can tell us far more than asking why somebody has not made the choice we believe is safest or most logical.

Imagine a woman who repeatedly returns to an abusive partner after professionals have offered support. It would be easy to describe her as reluctant to engage, ambivalent or unwilling to make changes.

But what if leaving means losing her home?

What if her family have told her they will no longer support her if she divorces?

What if she fears her children being blamed or stigmatised?

What if she believes she will become isolated from the only community she knows?

What if the person using abuse has also controlled her finances, transport, documents or contact with others?

The point is not to assume these things are present. The point is to ask, while recognising that how those questions are approached can make all the difference. A person may still be afraid to speak openly, particularly when family, community or personal safety are involved.

That is where relationship building matters. Silence or hesitation should not automatically be read as unwillingness to engage. Trust may need to develop over time through consistency, listening and giving someone space to speak without feeling judged or pushed towards a particular decision.

Questions such as:

“What are you most worried might happen if you made a different choice?”

“Is there anything about your situation that you feel professionals have not understood?”

can help open the conversation without making assumptions.

Ultimately, we need to understand the pressures surrounding a person’s decision before we judge the decision itself.

This is where culturally competent practice becomes meaningful.

There is also an equally important danger at the other end of the spectrum. In trying to be culturally sensitive, professionals can become reluctant to challenge harmful behaviour. We may hear phrases such as, “That is just how their culture is,” or worry that questioning a family dynamic will appear culturally insensitive.

But cultural competence should never mean cultural acceptance.

Abuse does not become acceptable because it occurs within a particular cultural or religious context. Safeguarding responsibilities do not disappear because a practice is described as traditional. Harm does not become less harmful because a family or community accepts it.

Good practice requires us to hold both things at once: understanding context while remaining professionally curious, ethically grounded and prepared to challenge harm. It also requires us to examine ourselves.

Every practitioner enters a conversation with their own understanding of what is normal.

• What does independence look like to me?
• What does a supportive family look like?
• What do I consider a healthy relationship?
• What assumptions am I making about motherhood, marriage, religion or gender?

We can unintentionally measure another person’s choices against our own worldview and then interpret difference as dysfunction, disengagement or poor decision-making.

For example, a practitioner who strongly values individual independence may struggle to understand why somebody feels unable to make a major decision without involving extended family. Another practitioner may assume that close family involvement is always protective, when in some situations it may contribute to pressure or control.

Neither interpretation should be accepted automatically.

This is why culturally competent practice must include reflection on our own lens as well as curiosity about somebody else’s. We do not need to become experts in every culture we encounter. That would be impossible. 

We do need the confidence to say: I may not fully understand what this means in your life. Help me understand.

We need to ask rather than presume. To explore rather than label. To recognise patterns without turning them into stereotypes. That might mean asking how important family opinion is to the person. It might mean exploring how faith influences their understanding of a situation rather than assuming what their religion means to them. It might mean asking who they trust, what support they would lose if circumstances changed, and what consequences they fear most.

Those questions are often far more useful than relying on generic knowledge about a community.

And we must remember that identity is rarely made up of one thing. Culture interacts with gender, class, faith, disability, age, sexuality, immigration status, family relationships and individual experience.

Perhaps cultural competence is not ultimately about how much we know about somebody else’s culture.

Perhaps it is about how willing we are to recognise the limits of what we know.

Because good social work should not begin with: “I know what people from your community are like.”

It should begin with: “Help me understand what this means for you.”

Because culture should inform our questions.

It should never provide the answers for us.

Marium Ahmed is a social worker with experience across social work and domestic abuse services, including working with South Asian women and families