By Claudia

Why do we evaluate?

It’s a simple question, and yet an uncomfortable one. The answer often depends on who you ask: for some, it’s about accountability; for others, it’s about demonstrating impact, learning, improving, or making decisions… And sometimes, evaluation ends up being all those things at once, and in the process, it becomes confusing, heavy, or even contradictory.

It’s also a question we ask ourselves, not as a theoretical exercise, but as part of a living practice. We evaluate because we believe in the value of learning. Because we think there’s value in stepping back and seeing our work through other eyes, our own, and those of others.

But we also recognise that, many times, we evaluate because we must. Because someone asks for it. Because it’s a requirement. And when that happens, we risk losing the meaning behind it. We end up producing evaluations that no one reads, that change nothing, that are communicated upwards but not inwards, nor with the people who should actually be part of the conversation.

In that loss of purpose, evaluation becomes increasingly technical, abstract, and distant. It’s written in inaccessible language, full of frameworks, theories, and jargon that few people understand. It’s carried out from behind a desk, in a distant city, without stepping into the field or listening to those who live the change day by day.

It’s time to reclaim common sense and deeper meaning. Evaluation shouldn’t happen without people. It should happen with them. Not as subjects to be studied, but as co-creators of the process, as analysts, as narrators of their own experience.

And yes, we understand budgets. We understand time constraints. We understand the principles of value for money. But we also believe that evaluation needs to stop being the appendix that’s always squeezed at the end of the budget. It should be seen as a central part of the work, deserving resources, attention, and real space. If we truly want to learn, reflect, and grow, we need to invest in it, more than 10%, if needed. Because it’s not an add-on, it’s the heart of how we move forward.

And this is where we also must look inward. What are we really saying that’s new? What’s the point of going back to ideas like participation, learning, diverse voices… if we’re not asking how we’re doing it or why?

The truth is, we often repeat the exact words — inclusion, co-creation, equity, learning — while still evaluating from offices, using imposed frameworks, within timelines that leave no room for real listening or reflection. We continue to write reports for funders, but we don’t return what we learn to those who need and deserve it most. Where’s the change if we’re doing the same thing under different names?

Maybe the real innovation isn’t about creating new methodologies. Maybe what’s truly new is being honest about our contradictions, daring to be uncomfortable, slowing down, and working from a different place. Letting go of the illusion of complete control, and accepting that evaluation also means showing up, listening to what we might not want to hear, and letting go of certainties.

What We Must Not Forget

We’ve reflected on new questions, contradictions, and necessary discomforts. But there’s something else we want to say clearly: we still believe in evaluation. Not in just any evaluation, but in one that is deeply human, grounded, and transformative.

Evaluation should be more dialogue than measurement, more listening than verification. A conversation between different forms of knowledge, between stories, between intentions. It should start from a place of trust, recognising that those who live and sustain change are also the ones best placed to understand and analyse it.

We resist thinking of evaluation only as a technical tool. We see it as a romantic idea: grounded in the belief that we can learn, improve, and evolve; that it’s worthwhile to pause and look at what we’re doing, to share it, and to transform it collectively.

And while institutional language sometimes pushes us to speak in terms of efficiency, indicators, and cost-effectiveness, we mustn’t forget that evaluation is also a political act. A space from which we can question, reimagine, and reorganise what matters and how we know it.

Questions We Need to Keep Asking (Even If They Make Us Uncomfortable)

What if we didn’t produce a report? How would we know the evaluation had value? Who are we accountable to, and what kind of knowledge are we producing? Have we confused format with purpose?

We like to talk about “evidence”, but what do we really mean by that? What knowledge gets systematically excluded because it doesn’t fit into a survey or a logical framework? How many voices, observations, insights and lived experiences are we losing along the way?

Why do we keep evaluating from a distance? Why are decisions about what, how and when to evaluate so often made in urban offices, far from where the change is actually happening? What would it look like to evaluate side by side with communities, on the ground?

And perhaps the hardest one: are we really ready to hear what makes us uncomfortable? To change a strategy if the evidence calls for it? To make room for perspectives that challenge our logic, our priorities, or our assumptions?

Evaluation isn’t just about looking back. It’s about imagining what’s possible—and doing so with more humanity, more meaning, and greater intention. Let’s start evaluating as if it truly mattered.

Let’s stop evaluating by default. Let’s do it with purpose, together.