Every few weeks, the global development calendar seems to pull us into another summit, forum, or conference. Davos. Munich. African Union meetings. Global health assemblies. AI summits. Climate forums. Leadership retreats. The names change, the cities change, but the rhythm remains the same: flights booked, agendas filled, conversations layered on top of conversations.
And increasingly, a quiet question follows many of us into these spaces.
“There is an undeniable tension in flying into expensive cities to discuss poverty, climate vulnerability, or fragile health systems.”
What is the real point of these events?
It is a fair question. Especially now. The global development ecosystem is under pressure, shifting donor priorities, tighter funding cycles, increasing scrutiny on impact, and growing expectations that we do more with less. In this context, gatherings that require significant time, resources, and travel can easily be viewed as symbolic or even excessive.
And yet, the rooms keep filling.
As someone who spends a significant amount of time moving between operational realities and strategic partnerships, I have come to see these events differently, not as destinations, but as inflection points.
The value of these events is rarely what happens on stage. It is what happens around the edges.
The side conversations between partners who had only previously exchanged emails. The moments where an idea that has been stalled for months suddenly finds momentum because the right people are finally in the same space. The quiet alignment conversations that never make it into official communiqués but eventually shape policy, funding, or collaboration.
In-person spaces still matter because human trust still matters.
Virtual meetings are efficient. They keep projects moving. But they rarely create the kind of relational depth that allows people to take significant risks together, the kind required for complex, multi-stakeholder work across governments, donors, private sector actors, and communities.
These events force attention.
They create deadlines that accelerate decisions. They provide moments where development issues compete for visibility alongside finance, technology, and geopolitics, and that visibility matters. When development is absent from global conversations, priorities shift quickly toward profit, innovation, or politics alone. Presence is sometimes a form of advocacy.
But we should also be honest about the discomfort many feel.
There is an undeniable tension in flying into expensive cities to discuss poverty, climate vulnerability, or fragile health systems. The optics can feel uneasy. The contrast between the urgency of the problems and the polish of the environments is hard to ignore.
This tension is significant, and it should keep us grounded.
Because the purpose of showing up cannot simply be to attend. It must be moving something forward.
The most valuable leaders I observe at these gatherings are not the ones collecting panels or visibility moments. They are the ones quietly asking, ‘What decision can we unlock here?’ What partnership can move from concept to action? What obstacle can be removed while we are all in the same room?
Presence without purpose is noise. Purpose without presence, however, often struggles to gain momentum.
And this balance is becoming even more important as global conversations evolve. Recent headlines, from shifts in philanthropic influence to debates around AI governance and changing geopolitical priorities, remind us that global development does not operate in isolation. Reputation, trust, and institutional credibility are becoming as important as technical expertise.
The reality is that people are not only watching what organisations do; they are watching how leaders show up, how they collaborate, and how they navigate complexity with humility.
This is where these events reveal their deeper value.
They are less about speeches and more about signals.
Signals of alignment. Signals of credibility. Signals that we are willing to engage beyond our own organisational boundaries.
And perhaps most importantly, they remind us that progress in development is rarely linear. It is relational. It is built through repeated interactions, shared understanding, and sustained trust over time.
Some of the most meaningful partnerships I have seen did not begin with formal agreements. They began with honest conversations over coffee, a brief exchange after a panel, or a shared reflection about what is not working and what might.
Those moments are hard to replicate virtually.
That said, we also have a responsibility to evolve how we show up. The future of these events cannot simply be more events. It must have better events, be more intentional, be more inclusive, and be more outcomes-focused. Spaces where younger voices, regional leaders, and implementers from the global south are not just participants but contributors, shaping the agenda.
Because ultimately, the point of gathering is not to confirm what we already know.
It is to create the conditions for collective progress.
As leaders, we also need to check our own motivations. Are we attending to see, or to listen? Are we chasing visibility or building relationships that can sustain actual work long after the conference lights go down?
Some of the most powerful leadership lessons I continue to learn happen not on stage but in silent moments, listening, recalibrating, and recognising that sustainable progress often comes from steady, sometimes invisible decisions.
In many ways, this mirrors leadership itself. The visible moments are rarely where the real work happens. The real work is in the choices made behind the scenes: what to move forward with, what to pause, and where to stay focused when everything feels urgent.
These events, at their best, create space for that clarity.
They remind us that while development challenges are complex, none of us is solving them alone.
So perhaps the point of these events is not the event at all.
Perhaps it is the reminder that progress still depends on people coming together, imperfectly, sometimes uncomfortably, but with shared intent, to keep pushing difficult conversations forward. And in a world that increasingly feels fragmented, that collective presence may be more valuable than we realise.
