Haifa Ungapen, a Safeguarding Manager at Palladium shares her insights from a recent workshop. 

At the fourth annual Safeguarding Leads Network workshop, hosted at the British Expertise International offices in London, I found myself struck by a deceptively simple question: Who decides what the allegation is?

The event on that day focussed on investigation complexities and survivor-centred approaches, through presentations by fellow seasoned safeguarding professionals and a panel I had the honour of joining. It wasn’t the first time I had considered this issue. Not long ago, I handled a case where the survivor framed their experience differently from how I, as a safeguarding professional, would have classified it. Wanting to respect their voice, I let their framing stand, even though it didn’t fully align with the abuse I suspected had occurred.

During the session, I shared this apparent tension with the room. A fellow participant offered a corrective I’ll always carry with me: it is not a survivor’s job to define the nature of the abuse they endured – it is ours. Our role is to listen with empathy and objectivity, using our expertise to determine what policy breach might have taken place. This is the kind of principle you know in theory but need to be reminded of in practice.

The Case for Survivor Erasure

Of all the practices discussed that day, one seemed to me to be a game-changer for creating truly survivor-centred processes: entirely removing survivors’ identities from investigation records.

Far beyond the standard offer of anonymity, this principle challenges the institutional reflex to ask “who is the survivor?” – as if knowing that identity is necessary for justice. This reflects a flawed understanding of the purpose of our investigation. A proper disciplinary process should rest on the facts which in turn are concerned with the substantiation of a breach of policy. No part of that exercise is impacted by whether the survivor is known to management, HR, or even the client. It is the investigation team’s role to handle sensitive details.

Anyone beyond that simply doesn’t need to know.

This model of “erasure” is radical in the best way. It protects survivors from retraumatisation, stigma, and the very real fear for their safety that exposure can bring. It centres the survivor not in name, but in actuality.

Listening as a Metric of Quality

We also grappled with the challenge of defining “quality” in safeguarding in ways that resonate beyond our professional echo chambers. One presenter offered a compelling formulation: safeguarding is the intersection at which compliance meets contextualisation. I loved it, and yet, I couldn’t help but think that, for many outside of our professional circle, this could remain an obscure concept.

Still, the phrase stayed with me, because it captures something essential. Compliance speaks to often standardised rules, frameworks, and accountability structures. Contextualisation reminds us that these standards must be interpreted through the lens of lived experiences, cultural nuances, and very diverse worldviews. Safeguarding can’t be reduced to ticking boxes.

It has to be alive to the environments in which it operates.

So, what then does quality look like in practice? If I had to distil it into a single, accessible metric, I’d ask: Are we listening more than we’re talking? That is the lithmus test. Whether we’re designing reporting mechanisms, training staff, supporting survivors, or conducting investigations – quality is reflected in how often and deeply we listen and act upon what we’ve learned.

Safeguarding Isn’t a Checklist, It’s a Conversation

The workshop offered no easy answers. Rather, it offered something more valuable: a safe space to interrogate our assumptions, refine our methods, and connect across sectors. From insights into interviewing techniques, to frameworks for assessing investigation quality, and the clarity provided by the presentation on debunking legal jargon – each session reinforced a central truth.

Safeguarding isn’t just a function. It’s a daily, evolving commitment to do no further harm, to stand for what’s right, and to keep learning with humility.
As we look to refine our practices at Palladium and beyond, I’m reminded that the most powerful safeguarding tools we have are not forms or policies, but empathy, precision, and the courage to rethink even the most basic questions.