Walk into most care environments, and you will notice how much of the work is guided by structure.
There are protocols to follow, forms to complete, and checks to carry out. None of it is unnecessary. In fact, much of it exists to protect both the person receiving care and the people delivering it. But over time, that structure can start to take on a life of its own.
Toba Ogunremi has seen this shift up close.
“Compliance is important,” he says. “But it was never meant to be the defining feature of care.”
For Toba, the problem is not the regulation itself. It is what happens when it becomes the primary focus. When the system begins to reward completion over connection, and consistency in paperwork over consistency in human experience.
That is where, in his view, something essential begins to fade.
“Compassion without structure doesn’t work,” he explains. “But structure without compassion just becomes routine.”
It is a balance he returns to often. Not as a theory, but as something that shows up in everyday decisions. Who gets hired? How teams are managed. How issues are handled when something goes wrong.
At Samorem Care, where he leads operations, this balance is approached in practical ways rather than abstract principles.
Recruitment, for example, is not only about qualifications or experience. It is about understanding how someone thinks, how they respond under pressure, and whether they can engage with people beyond task-based interactions.
“You can train skills,” Toba says. “But values are much harder to shape later.”
Once people are in the system, consistency becomes just as important. In many care settings, individuals are supported by a rotating set of staff. While this may work operationally, it can create a sense of instability for the person receiving care.
“Imagine having different people support you every week,” he says. “It changes how comfortable you feel, how much you share, how much you trust.”
So the focus shifts to keeping teams stable, communication clear, and expectations aligned. Not as an ideal, but as a baseline.
Another area where this balance becomes visible is in how information is recorded.
Care plans are often written to meet regulatory standards, which can make them feel formal, technical, and detached. Toba questions whether that approach always serves the person they are meant to represent.
“A care plan should tell you who someone is,” he says. “Not just what needs to be done for them.”
It is a subtle difference, but one that changes how care is delivered. When teams understand preferences, routines, and personality, interactions become more natural. Less transactional.
Then there is the question of accountability.
In any care environment, things can and do go wrong. How organisations respond in those moments often reveals more than how they operate when everything is running smoothly.
For Toba, accountability is not about assigning blame quickly. It is about responding honestly and acting with urgency.
“If something goes wrong, the focus should be on fixing it and learning from it,” he says. “Not protecting the system.”
That mindset, he believes, is what allows both compassion and structure to exist together without one undermining the other.
The challenge is that this kind of balance cannot be enforced through policy alone. It depends on leadership, on culture, and on the everyday decisions made across teams.
It also requires a shift in how success is measured.
Meeting compliance standards is necessary, but it does not always reflect the full experience of the person receiving care. The way they are spoken to, the continuity they experience, the sense of dignity they feel, these are harder to measure, but no less important.
For Toba, the goal is not to remove structure from care systems. It is to ensure that the structure does not become the point of care itself.
“Compliance should be the foundation,” he says. “Not the outcome.”
It is a perspective that does not reject the system, but asks more from it.