Rethinking Aid: We Need Accountability, Not Just Compassion

In today’s global aid landscape, well-meaning efforts to support those in need often dominate the narrative. However, these efforts frequently overlook critical issues such as accountability, integrity, and the long-term sustainability of the systems they aim to support. While compassion remains a powerful driver, I believe it is time we ask ourselves some difficult but essential questions about the future of humanitarian aid.

Having worked in conflict-affected settings, I’ve seen firsthand how the gap between humanitarian intentions and political realities can be painfully wide. Over time, I came to realize that good intentions alone are not enough. Without critical reflection and responsible action, aid risks perpetuating broken systems rather than transforming them.

This realization became even clearer during a debate at the Institute of Tropical Medicine (ITM) in Belgium, where I was selected to join a group of young public health professionals for a course on strengthening health systems. One of the most thought-provoking sessions, a dynamic “fishbowl discussion,” challenged us to represent various stakeholders from grassroots communities to international institutions. In stepping into the perspectives of others, I truly began to reflect on the complexities and contradictions embedded within the current aid model.

That day, the conversation took a decisive turn when we were asked a hard question:
Should NGOs and international actors work with corrupt and unaccountable governments, and if so, where do we draw the line?

This wasn’t a theoretical issue. For many of us in the room, professionals who had worked in places marked by weak governance, protracted crises, and long-term aid dependency, it was a real and familiar dilemma.

While most participants, myself included, initially argued that aid must be delivered to those in need regardless of political conditions, one colleague challenged that view. He emphasized that engaging with corrupt governments, even with good intentions, can legitimize harmful power structures and entrench injustice.

At first, I disagreed. Like many in the humanitarian and development field, I believed our moral duty to help those in need should take precedence over politics. But his words stayed with me. Long after the session ended, I found myself reflecting on his argument, especially as I revisited my experiences in Somalia and other crisis-affected countries.

Gradually, I began to acknowledge an uncomfortable truth: many of the persistent crises and failed reforms we face are not solely due to a lack of aid, but rather to how that aid is delivered and the systems it ultimately supports.

As I continued to reflect, deeper questions emerged. Questions that continue to shape my thinking as an aid worker, policy advocate, and global citizen:

• How much of the aid we provide truly reaches the people it’s meant for?
• Do our interventions create lasting, meaningful change, or are they just temporary relief that disappears once the funding ends?
• And perhaps most troubling of all: Are we truly empowering communities, or are we perhaps unintentionally reinforcing corrupt systems, widening inequalities, and eroding the very public trust we aim to build?

These are not easy questions. But they are necessary ones.

I’ve witnessed well-funded programs fall short, not due to a lack of expertise or goodwill, but because of the structural barriers surrounding them. When aid is delivered through unaccountable systems, projects are often delayed, mismanaged, or manipulated for political gain. Sometimes, funds are depleted before reaching those most in need. Other times, communities grow disillusioned by a cycle of interventions that arrive with big promises but leave little behind.

In Somalia, aid has been present for decades. International agencies have provided food, water, health services, and education. Yet core systems remain fragile, reforms are painfully slow, and trust in institutions remains alarmingly low. This is not a reflection of a lack of commitment among aid workers. It reveals a deeper issue: a system that too often prioritizes visibility and short-term results over long-term transformation.

Events over the past year have only sharpened this reality. Sudden shifts in donor funding exposed the ongoing dependence of many systems on external support. As priorities shifted and resources dwindled, it became evident how little had been done to build local capacity and resilience. The global aid architecture, meant to uphold human dignity and justice, has in some cases become reactive, fragmented, and susceptible to political influence.

This does not mean we should stop delivering aid. But it does mean we must rethink how we deliver it. We need systemic change, and that change must focus not only on how much we give, but on how we give it, who we partner with, and the principles we uphold.

The path ahead will not be easy, but it is necessary. We can no longer hide behind technical neutrality or the comfort of good intentions. If we want aid to be truly transformative, it must be grounded in justice, transparency, and accountability.

That means listening actively to the communities we serve, building authentic partnerships with local actors, and advocating for oversight and integrity at every level. It also requires the courage to challenge practices that do more harm than good, even when doing so is politically inconvenient.

We must also reimagine the global frameworks that guide aid. Too often, they reflect the interests of powerful donors rather than the priorities of affected communities. A focus on short-term gains, limited investment in local organizations, and the marginalization of community voices all underscore the urgent need for reform.

At this critical moment, compassion is no longer enough. We need clarity to recognize where current approaches fall short, courage to challenge the status quo, and a shared sense of accountability that crosses borders and institutions. We must measure success not just by numbers reached, but by trust rebuilt, systems strengthened, and power shared more equitably.

That debate at ITM was more than an academic exercise. It marked a turning point in my thinking about the ethics of aid. It reminded me that doing good is not always the same as doing right. It challenged me to reexamine how we help, and who ultimately benefits from our efforts.

As aid workers, our responsibility is not just to deliver aid. It is to deliver justice. That begins by asking the hard questions, holding ourselves to higher standards, and never settling for anything less than meaningful, lasting change.