When you don't want to betray her trust

You work as a client services worker at a community organisation supporting women from refugee backgrounds. You have been working with Amara for about four months. She fled a situation of serious domestic violence in her home country and arrived in Australia/New Zealand with her two children, aged five and eight. The journey here was dangerous, and Amara still carries visible signs of trauma — she is hypervigilant, easily startled, and describes ongoing nightmares. Despite this, she has been making real progress: attending English classes, getting the children enrolled in school, and slowly beginning to trust your organisation.

During a routine home visit today, you witness something that stops you. Amara becomes frustrated when her eight-year-old, Kofi, refuses to put his shoes on before school. She calls out sharply, then grabs his arm and smacks him twice on the back of his legs. Kofi cries briefly. Amara looks at you immediately after, her face a mixture of shame and defiance. She says quietly, "That is how we do it. He needs to learn."

You know from Amara's file that physical discipline was normalised in her upbringing and in the community she came from. You also know that she herself was subjected to serious physical violence — by a partner, by border officials — and that her children witnessed much of it. The organisation's safeguarding policy is clear that physical punishment of children by caregivers is a child protection concern that must be documented and assessed. You are aware that mandatory reporting thresholds differ by jurisdiction, but that repeated physical discipline, combined with a household history of violence exposure, is a pattern that warrants action.

You are now sitting across from Amara in her living room. Kofi has gone to get his school bag. You have about ten minutes before the school run. You need to decide what to do right now — and then what to do next.