{"id":69908,"date":"2026-02-12T11:30:00","date_gmt":"2026-02-12T06:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/idronline.org\/?post_type=article&p=69908"},"modified":"2026-07-30T13:54:33","modified_gmt":"2026-07-30T08:24:33","slug":"confessions-of-a-professional-panellist","status":"publish","type":"article","link":"https:\/\/idronline.org\/gu-in\/article\/perspectives\/confessions-of-a-professional-panellist\/","title":{"rendered":"Confessions of a professional panellist"},"content":{"rendered":"

The development sector loves panels. If there’s a problem, we panel it. If the problem persists, we panel it again—this time with a different moderator. If there is still no improvement, we add another panellist and call it ‘multi-stakeholder’.<\/p>

Panels have become our default response to complexity. They are everywhere: conferences, donor consultations, launch events, ‘listening sessions’. It is a format we use obsessively, often without asking a basic question: What exactly are panels meant to accomplish?<\/p>

A confession from the stage<\/h3>

This is not an external critique. I have been on many panels. I have helped organise them. I have nodded along as familiar points were made in different words, while glancing at the clock and hoping someone would say something genuinely new.<\/p>

\"What<\/a><\/div>

The realisation crept up slowly. At one conference (the name doesn’t matter), the panel was meant to tackle a hard question about implementation failures. The panellists were smart, experienced, and well intentioned. And yet, as the session unfolded, no one actually responded to anyone else. No assumptions were challenged. No trade-offs were surfaced. We ran out of time just as the discussion began to warm up.<\/p>

People left saying it was a ‘good panel’. I left wondering what, exactly, had happened.<\/p>

Panels are a safe space, which they aren’t meant to be<\/h3>

Most panels in the development sector are not designed to produce insight or disagreement or decisions. They are designed to make everyone feel safe, with similar speakers and similar questions, which ultimately lead to no solutions.<\/p>

They follow the same format:<\/p>

    \n
  1. A moderator reads impressive bios.<\/li>\n\n\n\n
  2. Each panellist restates what everyone already agrees on.<\/li>\n\n\n\n
  3. Time runs out just as things get interesting.<\/li>\n\n\n\n
  4. An audience question begins with “This is more of a comment…”<\/li>\n<\/ol>

    At no point does anyone give real answers.<\/p>

    \"donate<\/a><\/div>

    Panels reward fluency, not thinking. They favour people who sound good in short bursts, not those wrestling with uncertainty. And because panels are public, recorded, and sometimes tweeted, they encourage performance rather than honesty.<\/p>

    \"minimalist<\/source><\/source><\/source><\/picture><\/a>
    Panels have become our default response to complexity. | Picture courtesy: Rawpixel<\/a><\/figcaption><\/figure>

    Why we keep doing them anyway<\/h3>

    Panels survive because they solve multiple institutional problems at once. They look inclusive, are easy to organise, are comfortable, and produce photographs to highlight ‘impact’. Most importantly, panels create the appearance of action without requiring any decisions.<\/p>

    The deepest flaw is not the format itself, but what it allows us to avoid. Panels allow us to talk around hard questions instead of through them.<\/p>

    They are especially attractive in the development sector because they let us demonstrate seriousness without exposing disagreement, which can complicate partnerships, upset funders, or reveal that we are trying to figure out what works.<\/p>

    What would actually be transformative<\/h3>

    If we’re serious about change, the fix isn’t ‘better panels’. It’s fewer panels and more courage.<\/p>

    Here are some swaps that can make a difference:<\/p>