Cultural Practices and Their Societal Impacts: A Global Perspective

From lantern festivals in Asia to neighborhood street fairs in the Americas, cultural practices serve as powerful reflections of human identity, history, and shared values. These traditions do more than fill calendars—they reinforce collective memory, shape moral frameworks, and influence how societies evolve over time.

In Taiwan, for example, daily routines include a long-standing national tradition of charitable lottery participation. Known as 539, this government-regulated lottery publishes winning numbers daily and channels a portion of its revenue into public welfare programs. While seemingly modest in form, practices like these illustrate the deeper roles culture plays in unifying people and funding public good—without necessarily promoting commercial gambling.

This article takes a panoramic view of cultural practices across continents, exploring their functions, challenges, and implications for global society. From rites of passage to civic rituals and popular pastimes, we’ll examine how culture serves as both a mirror and a mold for the communities it touches.

Culture, broadly defined, encompasses the beliefs, norms, values, languages, symbols, and rituals that characterize a group of people. Anthropologists have long argued that cultural practices help people make sense of the world around them. These practices provide structure during chaos, cohesion during fragmentation, and moral guidance in ethically gray areas.

For instance, consider how religious fasting rituals—like Ramadan in Islam or Yom Kippur in Judaism—function not just as expressions of faith but as acts of collective self-discipline and introspection. Similarly, wedding traditions often symbolize transitions into adulthood and signal new alliances between families, not just individuals.

In every society, culture serves both private and public roles, linking the individual to the broader community and providing mechanisms to celebrate, mourn, hope, and remember.

One of the most vital functions of cultural practice is the preservation of identity. In Indigenous communities from the Arctic to Australia, oral storytelling, music, and dance serve as tools to transmit history in the absence of written records. Each generation is entrusted with the sacred duty of safeguarding ancestral knowledge—not for nostalgia’s sake, but for survival.

Diaspora populations also lean heavily on cultural practices to maintain a sense of origin. For Jewish communities worldwide, celebrating Shabbat or Passover isn’t simply about religion—it’s about affirming identity in lands far from historical homelands. The same holds true for African diasporic traditions such as Kwanzaa, which was created in the U.S. in the 1960s as a cultural—not religious—anchor for Black identity.

These rituals are often resistant to global homogenization. Even in hyper-connected cities, cultural heritage festivals—such as Lunar New Year parades in San Francisco or Greek Easter in Melbourne—help preserve local nuance and ancestral memory.

Perhaps one of the most underrated functions of cultural practices is their ability to unify diverse populations. Public events—like Japan’s Obon Festival or Brazil’s Carnival—bring together individuals across income levels, political beliefs, and religious affiliations. In these moments, collective identity momentarily supersedes personal divisions.

In modern nation-states, governments often fund or organize such events to reinforce national unity. This is evident in how India promotes Diwali through public lighting initiatives, or how the United States designates holidays like Thanksgiving as moments of national reflection and togetherness.

In this way, culture is not just passively inherited; it’s actively constructed and maintained, often with state support. Events like 539 in Taiwan function not only as a lottery system but as a form of civic ritual, with broad participation and predictable rhythms that bind people together—even in the most routine of ways.

Cultural practices are not only socially meaningful but also economically significant. Tourism-driven economies, such as Morocco’s or Thailand’s, rely heavily on the monetization of tradition. From textile weaving in the Atlas Mountains to Muay Thai performances in Bangkok, centuries-old customs are now central to national GDPs.

However, this comes with tension. The commercialization of culture can result in distortion or exploitation. For instance, the Maasai people of Kenya and Tanzania have expressed concerns over how tourism commodifies their rituals without fair compensation or contextual understanding.

At the same time, culture can be an economic equalizer. In regions facing unemployment or rural decline, crafts, festivals, and regional foods have sparked revival. The slow food movement in Italy or the resurgence of folk music in Appalachia are examples of culture generating not just social pride but jobs and investment.

In the digital age, cultural practices are not only preserved but transformed. YouTube channels have become repositories for traditional dances. Instagram stories bring local ceremonies into global view. Virtual reality allows people to “attend” events like Japan’s cherry blossom season or India’s Holi from afar.

This democratization of culture has many upsides—it allows diasporas to stay connected and younger generations to explore their roots. But it also introduces new risks: misinformation, oversimplification, and cultural appropriation.

According to Smithsonian Magazine, social media is now one of the most powerful forces shaping global cultural behavior. While it can preserve vanishing traditions, it can also erode nuance by flattening complex practices into bite-sized content designed for clicks rather than context.

Governments and educators are increasingly recognizing the need for digital literacy as part of cultural education—ensuring that engagement with culture online remains respectful, accurate, and enriching.

Culture, while often celebrated, can also become a point of friction. Throughout history, differing practices around gender roles, religious observance, or communal hierarchy have led to conflict—both within and between societies.

Take, for instance, debates around head coverings in Europe, or bans on Indigenous languages in schools throughout the Americas. These acts are not just policy decisions—they are cultural confrontations with deep psychological and historical implications.

Even well-intended policies can clash with culture. Environmental campaigns, for example, sometimes run afoul of Indigenous hunting practices or traditional land use. The question becomes: how can modern societies embrace progress without bulldozing cultural nuance?

The answer, many argue, lies in inclusive policymaking—engaging cultural stewards in discussions about law, ethics, and sustainability, rather than imposing top-down frameworks.

No culture exists in isolation. Migration, trade, and intermarriage have always led to hybrid forms of expression. The Japanese bento box now coexists with Korean tacos in Los Angeles. Hip-hop, born in the Bronx, now echoes in every language from Mandarin to Arabic.

Cross-cultural exchange can be a source of innovation. But it also raises questions about authenticity, ownership, and respect. Is it possible to borrow without stealing? Can cultural fusion avoid becoming cultural confusion?

Many communities navigate this tension through attribution and education. Festivals now often include informational booths, and musicians increasingly collaborate across cultures in ways that honor each other’s heritage.

In Taiwan, for example, modern music festivals now feature both Indigenous Amis singers and contemporary electronic artists—demonstrating that honoring tradition doesn't mean rejecting evolution.

What makes some cultural practices endure more than others? One answer is purpose. Practices that serve a social or charitable function tend to persist because they meet real human needs.

This is particularly evident in government-supported systems, which blend entertainment with public good. By redirecting lottery proceeds into charity, the system adds moral weight to what might otherwise be seen as chance-driven leisure.

Other examples include Mexico’s Día de los Muertos, where families come together not just to celebrate the deceased but to support local artisans and preserve indigenous knowledge. In the U.K., Remembrance Day ceremonies blend ritual with fundraising for veteran services.

When cultural practices meet tangible needs—emotional, social, economic—they transcend nostalgia. They become necessary.

Looking forward, the preservation of cultural heritage faces both threats and opportunities. Climate change endangers sacred sites. Globalization dilutes linguistic diversity. And political instability can disrupt centuries of continuity.

Yet, there are also reasons for hope. UNESCO’s “Intangible Cultural Heritage” program continues to catalog and protect practices ranging from Turkish oil wrestling to Indian yoga. Universities are partnering with local elders to record oral traditions before they vanish. Museums are decolonizing exhibits and returning artifacts to rightful owners.

Meanwhile, everyday citizens are uploading recipes, poems, and rituals to the cloud—creating a grassroots archive of humanity’s diversity.

The challenge, and the opportunity, lies in balancing preservation with adaptation—ensuring that traditions are not fossilized, but allowed to grow alongside us.

Cultural practices, whether global in scope or specific to a town square, are more than tradition. They are frameworks for meaning, vehicles for unity, and sometimes, platforms for social change. From the community-centered impact of Taiwan’s 539 to the global blending of food, music, and fashion, culture continues to shape our identities in real time.

In a world of increasing technological integration and geopolitical complexity, the role of culture remains fundamental. It offers continuity in an age of disruption, and clarity in moments of uncertainty.

As we look to the future, investing in cultural understanding may be one of the most human—and most necessary—acts of all.

This article was written in cooperation with Mark Wilson