By: Maree Bashir

In a world growing increasingly fragile, and at a time when grand narratives are breaking down, the word “development” carries a weight it can no longer bear. We hear it in speeches, we see it in projects, but it rarely resembles the life we know — a life built daily under cracked roofs, in neighbourhoods without running water, by hands that have learned to make much out of very little.

Possible development did not arrive as a ready-made solution. It emerged as an urgent inner question: What makes life worth living, even in such times?

We are not chasing classic notions of “progress,” nor are we promising miraculous exits from poverty. Rather, we look into the eyes of those living the daily struggle and ask: How do we build something from here — from this reality, from this enduring will that refuses to collapse?

This is where we write from: not about alternatives as escape routes, but about a path more humble, more grounded, and — above all — more honest.

A path not measured solely in indicators, but in the lingering impact left in the heart, in the soil, and in the relationships between people.

Development That Doesn’t Resemble Us

For decades, development has been directed at our communities from outside them — plans, funds, frameworks, foreign terms — yet the reality remains unchanged, sometimes worsened.

In his seminal work “The Illusion of Development,” Khalil Nakhleh warns us of this painful paradox: development offered as salvation, while acting as a subtle form of control.

Top-down development imposes ideals that don’t align with people’s lived experiences. It uproots traditional forms of resilience and floods communities with solutions that don’t match their contexts.

Nakhleh’s critique was not a rejection of development itself, but of how it becomes a system that distances people from their roots.

And so, we are called not to reject development but to reimagine it — to rebuild it not over people’s heads, but through their voices and hands.

Development Through Simplicity: Wisdom in Everyday Life

At a time when development discourse has become cluttered with jargon and detached from everyday life, I was drawn to the idea of “development through simplicity” as expressed by writer Widad Barghouti — not as a theoretical model, but as a life lived.

This is not nostalgia for the past, but a recognition of a dignified simplicity that still holds power:

A shared meal, a cooperative soap-making project, a garden tended by neighbours, a moment of laughter under dim candlelight.

Simplicity not as poverty, but as a life economy, built not on extraction but on relationship — with land, with others, with meaning.

In times of crisis, this kind of simplicity offers itself as a path. It doesn’t promise miracles, but it redefines sufficiency, and with it, reclaims a form of quiet abundance.

It reminds us that dignity isn’t reserved for those who consume the most, but for those who live with intention, connection, and care.

How We Think About Development at Mujawarah

When we began Mujawarah for Life and Development, we weren’t aiming to import solutions, but to uncover what already exists — the local, the small, the wise.

We believe development doesn’t begin with a plan — it begins with a question.

The question we asked was:

“What makes life livable, even now?”

From this emerged our vision: development not as repetition of models, but as the recognition of local possibility, of social energy, and of relationships that carry hope.

Development, for us, is about tending to what grows between people — not just what gets built around them.

Possible, Not Perfect

We are not chasing fast results or flashy metrics.

We are seeking the kinds of shifts that may not appear in reports:

A safe space for conversation.

A child’s garden in a crowded camp.

A moment of recognition in someone’s story.

This is what makes development possible — it emerges when people are the ones shaping it, not waiting for it to be handed down.

Between Illusion and Possibility

Perhaps our greatest task today is to distinguish between development as illusion — a polished promise with little substance — and development as possibility, slow but real.

Possible development may not be grand. It may not be quick. But it holds.

A Final Note: In the Possible, There Is Light

Possible development is not a project, or a funding cycle, or a report.

It is a relationship — an invitation to listen to people’s questions, not impose expert answers.

It is about returning agency, hope, and movement — even in the tightest corners of life.

At Mujawarah for Life and Development, we are not building solutions.

We are creating space for people to rediscover what they already carry, and to grow something honest from it.

We see it in the shared bread, the impromptu circles of storytelling, the joy sparked in spite of power cuts.

In these moments, development becomes something else — not an external goal, but a collective rhythm of surviving, relating, and reimagining together.

Possible development does not require us to be more than we are.

It only asks that we begin where we are — with what we have — and with the belief that this, too, is enough to build a life.