Military operations have always unfolded in complex, multicultural environments, yet the Australian Defence Force’s (ADF) ADF-P-0 Culture in the Profession of Arms (Edition 1, 2024) deliberately elevates culture from a peripheral concern to a foundational pillar of Australian military effectiveness. It brings culture from the margins right to the centre of how the ADF understands what makes a force effective. As the last in the Philosophical Ethos of the Profession of Arms series, the doctrine makes a clear stand: culture is not some peripheral “soft skill” but a decisive factor in how modern forces fight, lead, and uphold their ethical integrity.
For readers coming to the doctrine for the first time, it helps to think of it as making a two-part argument. First, culture shapes how people within the ADF, and those they encounter overseas, think, decide, and act. Second, cultural intelligence can be learned, trained, and refined just like marksmanship or navigation. In practical terms, this means cultural understanding is expected to form part of the daily professional practice of every sailor, soldier, aviator, cybersecurity specialist and member of the Space Operations workforce.
To really grasp what the doctrine means by ‘culture’, it helps to unpack its definition. It describes culture as “a set of beliefs, values, and attitudes shared by members of an organisation or group that influence their behaviours and practices”.1 This treats culture as operating at more than one level. We see the symbols, stories and routines of service life on the surface, but beneath them lie shared beliefs and values that shape how people behave and make decisions. The ADF adapts this model for Australia’s serving people and sums it up in the plain phrase ‘what we do around here’.2 That simple line captures how shared beliefs and everyday practices, such as the way we train, speak to each other, mark achievements, shape identity and belonging in every unit, day by day.
The doctrine also emphasises that culture is not something that simply exists around us. It is something ADF members constantly make and remake. “We actively create our cultural norms. We do not passively receive them”.3 In other words, culture is not some fixed inheritance set in stone. It is shaped every single day through training, accountability, and the everyday actions of all members. This idea puts the ability of everyday members, and leaders, to make a difference at the centre of how teams and units actually work. It stresses that the cultures within the ADF, and the way the force works with others, must be deliberately shaped by its members and leaders alike.
This understanding sits comfortably alongside the doctrine’s framing of the ‘profession of arms.’ Military professionalism has traditionally been understood as a combination of expert knowledge and collective identity grounded in social responsibility, anchored in the unique authority to apply lethal force under democratic control. Modern operations in multicultural settings have added new layers of complexity and tested those ideals. The ADF’s doctrine sits squarely in that conversation. It argues that true professionalism includes not only technical mastery but also ethical accountability and cultural literacy. A military professional, in this view, acts with ‘moral authority’, showing respect for their own humanity, that of adversaries, and that of civilians caught in conflict. “When we are culturally prepared for our interactions with affected populations and plan for the effects of war on them,” the doctrine states, “we increase our moral authority”.4 Without that moral grounding, even technical brilliance and human endurance risk ethical drift.
Chapter 2 of the doctrine lays out five key features of culture that make it both powerful and surprisingly malleable: it is learned, shared, interconnected, expressed, and dynamic. Culture is learned through teaching, imitation, and shared experience, which lets people function in all sorts of different contexts. It is shared in that it gives cohesion and predictability to collective behaviour, something vital in military teams where coordination can literally save lives. It is interconnected because a change in one part ripples through the rest, so you need to understand the whole picture as much as is possible. It is expressed through all the visible forms we recognise: uniforms, rituals, slang, symbols, and stories that carry the values. And it is dynamic, always evolving through interaction, a point illustrated in the doctrine through a vignette drawn from Royal Australian Air Force operations over Syria in 2015–2016, where alliances and identities shifted rapidly as coalition partners, regional actors and adversaries operated in the same airspace while pursuing different strategic objectives.5
These five features work together through the dynamics of agency and power within existing structures. Agency simply means the intentional choices people make to shape culture. Power is the way influence gets used, sometimes openly and sometimes more quietly. Structure is the stable patterns that give us predictability and continuity. Together they form the foundation for what the doctrine calls cultural intelligence – the ability to turn cultural awareness into real, practical action.
A powerful illustration of this can be seen in the ADF’s leadership of the International Force East Timor (INTERFET) in 1999–2000. In a volatile environment following the independence referendum, Australian forces combined military effectiveness with genuine cultural sensitivity and restraint. By engaging respectfully with local leaders and the Catholic Church, prioritising civilian protection, and demonstrating care for the East Timorese people, the ADF built trust and legitimacy. This approach not only helped restore peace but also enhanced the force’s moral authority in the eyes of both the local population and the international community.6
A naval example illustrates similar dynamics in the maritime domain. During the stabilisation of Timor-Leste after the 1999 independence referendum, Royal Australian Navy ships operating in the Timor Sea supported the INTERFET mission by securing sea lines of communication, transporting personnel and supplies, and assisting with humanitarian tasks. These operations took place in a politically sensitive environment involving displaced civilians, regional partners and local authorities. Boarding vessels, coordinating relief activities and managing maritime traffic required more than technical seamanship. Sailors also had to understand the political tensions and community relationships shaping events on shore. In practice this meant reading situations carefully, communicating respectfully with a wide range of actors and exercising judgement in ambiguous circumstances. Cultural awareness in these encounters helped naval personnel manage interactions calmly while reinforcing the legitimacy of the wider mission.
The doctrine defines cultural intelligence, or CQ, as “the ability to accurately comprehend cultural context, and then act effectively and appropriately”.7 CQ is seen as essential in every type of operation, from everyday cooperation and competition right through to full-scale conflict. It is not reserved for a handful of specialists or liaison officers. It is something every member of the ADF is expected to develop. This approach fits with the way Defence already thinks about cultural intelligence in its joint training and leadership programs.8 To turn the idea into something practical, the doctrine introduces a straightforward but powerful ‘me–us–all’ framework that shows how CQ actually works at three different levels.9
At the personal or ‘me’ level, CQ begins with self-awareness. Drawing on ideas from leadership and organisational psychology, the doctrine breaks it down into four practical elements: curiosity, knowledge, evaluation, and adaptation. Curiosity is the drive that makes you ask questions, really listen, and keep learning when you step into unfamiliar situations. Knowledge means understanding both the broad patterns that shape most cultures - things like power, gender, belief systems, and how economies work - and the specific local details that matter on the ground. Evaluation is the habit of honest self-reflection, spotting the unconscious tendency to judge everything by your own cultural standards.
Of course this is never easy, because we cannot fully step outside our own worldview. Our own cultural assumptions usually feel completely normal to us and remain invisible until something or someone helps us notice them. We improve this awareness by deliberately exposing ourselves to different ways of seeing the world, listening carefully when others challenge our views, and pausing after an interaction to ask ourselves simple questions such as “What am I assuming here that might not be true for everyone?” or “How might this situation look to someone from a completely different background?” Over time these small habits of reflection help us catch more of our unconscious biases before they shape our decisions. Adaptation is where it all comes together: actually changing your behaviour, from the words you use to your body language and tone.
Take David Kilcullen’s account of the 2006–2007 uprising against al-Qaeda in Iraq (AQI). He describes conversations with members of the Shammari tribal confederation in western Iraq.10 Marriage there follows long-established kinship norms: women are usually married within the tribe, or occasionally across the broader confederation. When AQI killed a sheikh who had refused to hand over daughters of his tribe in marriage, it triggered a revenge obligation (tha’r) that pulled in neighbouring clans and spread mobilisation along kinship lines across multiple provinces.
For CQ purposes the story shows how deeply kinship and marriage as well as revenge can drive people to mobilise. In practice the way we choose to frame a situation helps organise our thinking. When we use categories such as tribe and tribal society it tends to place kinship right at the centre of the picture. This brings certain dynamics into clear view. We can see for instance how revenge obligations can spread mobilisation along family lines across whole regions. At the same time it also shapes the questions we ask and the actions we consider next.
In a real operation a team that focuses mainly on these kinship patterns might accurately predict how certain groups will respond. They could then plan their engagement around tribal leaders and family alliances. Other important factors might stay less visible unless someone deliberately steps back to look for them. These could include patronage networks or coercion or generational tensions or the strategic choices made by local leaders.
CQ in this situation is not simply about recognising the local norm. It is also about questioning the very categories we use to explain what is happening. It asks us to stay conscious of how our own language influences what we decide is important. The point is not to throw out the kinship view but to treat it as one useful way of looking at things among several others. That reflective step, the willingness to examine and sometimes adjust our own thinking, is evaluation in action.
Even in high-intensity operations, personal trust and reciprocal gestures could shape outcomes on the ground. After U.S. Marines from Task Force Tripoli moved into Tikrit in mid-April 2003, Arabic-speaking Captain Ben Connable worked directly with Brigadier General John F. Kelly to engage local tribal leaders11. Connable arranged a series of meetings at a farm near Bayji, some of which Kelly attended. One of the elders told them the Iraqi Army had withdrawn from Bayji, that the people had elected a new mayor and police chief, and that they were waiting with a welcoming committee. Kelly took a calculated risk: instead of sending a full battalion of light armored vehicles in a combat probe, he moved forward with only about 100 Marines for security. As promised, the mayor and chief of police greeted them with tea and cake and a large banner welcoming the Marines. Going in person, showing trust, and accepting the hospitality mattered. Kelly had already demonstrated goodwill by ordering Marines to remove body armor and sling their weapons, and by sleeping on the palace porch rather than in the beds inside. These small but deliberate acts helped build early relationships in the power vacuum left by the fallen regime.
We can see the four elements of CQ (curiosity, knowledge, evaluation, and adaptation) in action, in this Tikrit account. Curiosity here means asking what the elder’s invitation really meant beyond the obvious tactical problem of securing Bayji. It was not just about whether the Iraqi Army was still there. It was about whether the people of the town were ready to accept the Marines as something other than another occupying force. Knowledge recognises that the farm meeting near Bayji, like other community gatherings, was a hub where trust could be built or broken in a single encounter. Evaluation invites the deeper question of how the Marines were being seen as potential partners or as the next wave of outsiders who would impose their will. Adaptation showed in deliberate choices; Kelly accepting the risk of moving forward with only about 100 Marines instead of a full battalion in tactical formation. He had already ordered his troops to remove body armor and sling their weapons; and, once there, he and Connable accepted the offered tea and cake from the newly elected mayor and police chief. In moments like these, legitimacy grows not just from formal military authority but from the ability to read and respond to the human meaning woven into ordinary acts of hospitality and reciprocity
At the team or ‘us’ level CQ turns to the small-group cultures that really are the heartbeat of the ADF. Think of platoons, squadrons and ships. Each service and environment creates its own version of teamwork. Navy crews in the tight confines of a ship at sea build dense, interdependent trust. Here technical skill and personal reliability cannot be separated. Army units spread across vast terrain lean more on initiative and adaptive judgment. Small teams often have to read intent and act decisively even when the situation is unclear. In the Royal Australian Air Force teams work inside tightly coupled systems. Aircrew, controllers, intelligence specialists and maintainers rely on one another in real time. High tempo and technical complexity make trust and timing essential along with shared understanding. Success comes less from individual heroics and more from precise coordination across the whole team.12
Shared hardship and collective pride build cohesion. Yet every micro-culture carries risks. The doctrine is frank about toxic subcultures that can normalise deviance or silence dissent.13 Those lessons were written in blood during the Brereton Inquiry into alleged misconduct in Afghanistan.
The ‘us’ level also connects directly to the wider reforms Defence has been undertaking since the Brereton Inquiry.14 The Inquiry revealed how the same strong bonds that make military teams feel like a family could sometimes make accountability much harder under pressure. Informal authority, operational standing and peer loyalty carried enormous weight within small special forces patrols during Australian operations in Afghanistan between 2009 and 2013 under patrol commanders. Standards were usually understood. Yet they often became tangled up in the everyday realities of patrol life. Patrol members constantly had to balance loyalty to their mates, their personal reputation and their sense of belonging to the patrol.
Over time those environments shape what feels reasonable to question and which concerns actually get heard. Problems are not always deliberately hidden. Sometimes they just fail to surface in ways that carry real influence. This does not mean leadership does not matter. But it does mean culture change cannot simply be declared from above. Norms are sustained or challenged right there in the everyday interactions. That is why clear communication and genuine accountability are so important. They make it far more likely that concerns are raised early and taken seriously instead of fading into the background of operational life.
Culture is never separate from authority. It is expressed through it, especially when stress, ambiguity and moral strain are high. Leaders are therefore expected to foster transparency and ethical storytelling along with genuine mutual care. In that sense team culture becomes an ongoing test of moral leadership.
At the broadest ‘all’ level, CQ reaches far beyond the ADF itself. It brings partners, allies, adversaries and civilian populations into one shared field of understanding. Chapter 5 breaks this down by offering six practical cultural domains that help people make sense of unfamiliar environments. Human ecology looks at how geography and the natural world set both the opportunities and the limits for how communities live and act. Social organisation explores how people actually arrange life together, who relies on whom, who speaks for whom and how obligations are honoured. Political systems trace governance at every level, how different authorities overlap and how decisions really emerge from contest and compromise. Economic systems examine how people secure and distribute what they need, how work and exchange are organised, and how material life shapes relationships, pressure points and possibilities for action. Beliefs reveal the values and moral commitments that actually move people to act. Media shows how information is produced, shared and contested.
By mapping these interlocking systems, commanders can avoid costly misjudgements. The doctrine echoes Sun Tzu’s ancient call to know yourself, your enemy and your environment. Yet it adds something important: understanding others is not only smart strategy but also a safeguard against misjudgement, excess and dehumanisation.15
One example of how this works at the strategic level can be seen in Australia’s leadership of the Regional Assistance Mission to Solomon Islands, known as RAMSI, which began in 2003. Rather than rushing in with assumptions based on Western models of governance, planners took time to map the local cultural landscape. They examined human ecology, how the scattered islands and difficult terrain shaped daily life and movement. They studied social organisation, particularly the powerful wantok system of kinship and reciprocal obligations that often mattered more than formal institutions. They traced political systems built around big-man leadership and competing authorities. They paid attention to deeply held beliefs and the way information moved through communities. By understanding these interlocking domains, commanders were able to design an approach that respected local realities instead of imposing outside solutions. This careful mapping helped prevent many costly misjudgements and contributed to the mission’s long-term legitimacy and success.16
This outward-looking approach fits naturally inside the ADF. The ‘me–us–all’ model ties personal reflection to team practice and then to this broader engagement.
Cultural intelligence shapes operations in very concrete ways. It influences judgment, pace and trust rather than producing only abstract outcomes. Units with stronger cultural competence read ambiguity better. They spot friction earlier and keep relationships alive even when things get tough. When CQ is weak, small misunderstandings pile up. Partnerships fray and moral clarity can slip under pressure. Those effects build over time. They touch everything from force protection decisions to the quality of intelligence and the credibility of local engagements. Cultural failures rarely explode in one dramatic moment. They usually appear as a slow series of missteps.
The Broderick Review, the independent inquiry led by Sex Discrimination Commissioner Elizabeth Broderick (Australian Human Rights Commission) into the treatment of women at the Australian Defence Force Academy, showed exactly how these issues can build up through a series of small missteps. The report details how small instances of unacceptable behaviour, sexual harassment and bullying were repeatedly downplayed or left unaddressed. Over time these individual missteps became normalised within parts of the academy environment. Warnings and complaints were often not taken seriously enough, and a pattern of tolerance gradually took hold. It was only when a major incident brought the issue into public view that the full extent of the cultural problem became clear. The Review demonstrated how these accumulated small failures had created a much deeper systemic cultural issue.17
The doctrine also reminds us that the ADF itself is not one single culture. Army, Navy, Air Force, Space and Cyber elements each carry their own assumptions about pace, authority, risk and how decisions should be made. These differences can directly affect how intent is interpreted and how coordination actually happens in joint operations. Joint structures do not magically erase those gaps. They have to be actively understood. Otherwise procedures take over and discussions about authority and risk end up talking past each other.
This same cultural intelligence also has significant ethical implications. Military culture shapes what looks normal or acceptable in moral choices. Greater awareness sharpens judgment but also reveals blind spots in one’s own perspective. In today’s information environment, ADF actions can rapidly come under intense scrutiny by the media and public opinion. Legitimacy is fragile. The doctrine’s emphasis on making sure ADF conduct matches Defence Values is therefore not abstract. It is deeply practical. Reputational damage is not some vague worry. It directly limits operational freedom by eroding partner trust and political support.
ADF-P-0 Culture in the Profession of Arms does not pretend culture is a magic solution for every operational challenge. Instead it positions culture as the very backdrop against which every military action plays out. Technical prowess without the ability to read the human context invites mistakes. Good intentions without cultural insight can easily create unintended harm. Cultural intelligence reduces those risks by shaping how situations are assessed and how force is used. It influences not only the decisions themselves but how those decisions are understood inside the force and seen from outside. Over time those everyday choices build the organisation’s reputation. Culture does not determine every outcome, but it powerfully tilts whether a force moves toward success, slips into failure, or ends up trapped in an ethical tangle that is hard to escape.
Australian Defence Force. Culture in the Profession of Arms (ADF-P-0). 1st ed. Canberra: Department of Defence, 2024.
Australian Defence Force. ADF–I–3 ADF Air Power. Canberra: Australian Defence Force, 2023.
Australian National Audit Office. Management of Australian Defence Force Deployments to East Timor. Audit Report No. 38, 2001–02. Canberra: ANAO, 2002.
Brereton, Paul. Afghanistan Inquiry Report: Public Release Version. Canberra: Australian Department of Defence, 2020.
Broderick, Elizabeth. Review into the Treatment of Women at the Australian Defence Force Academy. Sydney: Australian Human Rights Commission, 2011.
Dinnen, Sinclair, and Stewart Firth, eds. Politics and State Building in Solomon Islands. Canberra: ANU E Press, 2008.
Fowler, Andrew H. “Stability Operations in East Timor 1999–2000: A Case Study.” Carlisle Barracks, PA: U.S. Army War College, 2016.
Huntington, Samuel P. The Soldier and the State: The Theory and Politics of Civil–Military Relations. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1957.
Janowitz, Morris. The Professional Soldier: A Social and Political Portrait. New York: Free Press, 1960.
Kilcullen, David. The Accidental Guerrilla: Fighting Small Wars in the Midst of a Big One. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009.
Skousgaard, Heather. “Cultural Intelligence (CQ) and Joint Professional Military Education (JPME) – What’s the Story?” The Forge. December 28, 2018. https://theforge.defence.gov.au/article/cultural-intelligence-cq-and-joint-professional-military-education-jpme-whats-story.
West, Bing, and Ray L. Smith. The March Up: Taking Baghdad with the 1st Marine Division. New York: Bantam, 2003.
Williams, Paul D. “Paradoxes of Professionalism: Rethinking Civil–Military Relations.” International Security 45, no. 1 (2020): 48–83.
1Australian Defence Force, Culture in the Profession of Arms (ADF-P-0), 1st ed. (Canberra: Department of Defence, 2024), 3.
2Australian Defence Force, Culture in the Profession of Arms (ADF-P-0), 1st ed. (Canberra: Department of Defence, 2024), 3.
3Australian Defence Force, Culture in the Profession of Arms (ADF-P-0), 1st ed. (Canberra: Department of Defence, 2024), 3.
4Australian Defence Force, Culture in the Profession of Arms (ADF-P-0), 1st ed. (Canberra: Department of Defence, 2024), 2. For military professionalism see also Samuel P. Huntington, The Soldier and the State: The Theory and Politics of Civil–Military Relations (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1957); Morris Janowitz, The Professional Soldier: A Social and Political Portrait (New York: Free Press, 1960); Paul D. Williams, “Paradoxes of Professionalism: Rethinking Civil–Military Relations,” International Security 45, no. 1 (2020): 48–83.
5Australian Defence Force, Culture in the Profession of Arms (ADF-P-0), 1st ed. (Canberra: Department of Defence, 2024), 8–9.
6Australian National Audit Office, Management of Australian Defence Force Deployments to East Timor, Audit Report No. 38, 2001–02 (Canberra: ANAO, 2002); Andrew H. Fowler, “Stability Operations in East Timor 1999–2000: A Case Study” (Carlisle Barracks, PA: U.S. Army War College, 2016).
7Australian Defence Force, Culture in the Profession of Arms (ADF-P-0), 1st ed. (Canberra: Department of Defence, 2024), 1.
8Heather Skousgaard, “Cultural Intelligence (CQ) and Joint Professional Military Education (JPME) – What’s the Story?,” The Forge, December 28, 2018, https://theforge.defence.gov.au/article/cultural-intelligence-cq-and-joint-professional-military-education-jpme-whats-story.
9Australian Defence Force, Culture in the Profession of Arms (ADF-P-0), 1st ed. (Canberra: Department of Defence, 2024), 5–6.
10David Kilcullen, The Accidental Guerrilla: Fighting Small Wars in the Midst of a Big One (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 171–73.
11Connable, B 2021, ‘Big Battles, Small Victories: Personal Experience in Culture Wars, 2003–9’, in KB Fosher & L Mackenzie (eds), The Rise and Decline of U.S. Military Culture Programs, 2004–20, Marine Corps University Press, Quantico, VA, pp. 19–39.
12Australian Defence Force, ADF–I–3 ADF Air Power (Canberra: Australian Defence Force, 2023), 21–22, 40–41.
13Australian Defence Force, Culture in the Profession of Arms (ADF-P-0), 1st ed. (Canberra: Department of Defence, 2024), 33.
14Paul Brereton, Afghanistan Inquiry Report: Public Release Version (Canberra: Australian Department of Defence, 2020).
15Australian Defence Force, Culture in the Profession of Arms (ADF-P-0), 1st ed. (Canberra: Department of Defence, 2024), 53.
16Sinclair Dinnen and Stewart Firth, eds., Politics and State Building in Solomon Islands (Canberra: ANU E Press, 2008).
17Elizabeth Broderick, Review into the Treatment of Women at the Australian Defence Force Academy (Sydney: Australian Human Rights Commission, 2011).
Defence Mastery
Social Mastery
Dr Richard Davis has over three decades of experience as an anthropologist and is currently working in the Centre for Defence Leadership & Ethics to integrate and enhance cross-cultural capability across Defence. His major research areas have included Indigenous Australian societies, gender (with a focus on masculinity), frontier theory, construction of knowledge, non-western concepts of war and more recently, military anthropology.
Culture in the Profession of Arms: Understanding the Australian Defence Force’s New Doctrine © 2026 by . This work is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND
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