“Localisation Isn’t a Mantra: Reflections from Practice”

We’ve all heard it: localisation is the future of humanitarian action. It is presented as a solution, a shift toward something more just, more effective, and more sustainable. Yet beneath this hopeful assertion lies a complexity that is rarely fully articulated. The call for localisation is easy to repeat, but what does it actually mean in practice? Is it truly the better option in every context?

Humanitarian aid remains, at its core, an act of charity. Whether this charity comes from donor countries, individual contributions, or the solidarity of communities helping their own, it is predicated on the idea of giving a portion of what we have to those less fortunate. Over the decades, this charity has been shaped and professionalised. Standards such as Sphere and coordination models like the clusters were designed to improve the quality, fairness, and effectiveness of assistance. But with every effort to professionalise, we have also introduced layers of regulation, proliferated technical guidance and roles for every cross-cutting issue. There are now so many procedures, good practices and standards for every corner of our work, that at times they seem so intricate - even the most advanced AI would struggle to synthesise them all.

The drive toward localisation emerges in part as a reaction to this system: a call to return power, ownership and decision-making to those closest to the crisis. Yet even as we embrace this shift, we need to be clear-eyed about what localisation is and what it is not. Localisation does not imply that every desire voiced at the community level can or should be met. It does not eliminate the need for technical expertise, nor does it absolve us from setting parameters within which humanitarian action must operate. Localisation cannot be a replacement of one administrative system with another, nor an unquestioning deference to proximity over professionalism. Rather, it should be a pathway toward a system that enables more self-determination, ensures decisions are made closer to affected populations and balances inclusion with technical integrity and accountability.

Part of the challenge lies in defining “local.” It is a term used freely in global policy spaces but with little precision. In practice, “local” spans a broad spectrum of actors: national governments, municipal authorities, civil society organisations, community leaders, faith-based groups, and informal networks. Each holds different mandates, capacities, and accountabilities. When I reflect on my time working on the Emergency Social Safety Net (ESSN) in Türkiye, the complexity of “local” was laid bare. In this programme, the European Commission (ECHO) served as the donor and the International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies (IFRC) as the contract holder, partnering with the Turkish Red Crescent (TRC) to deliver the assistance. The TRC, with its auxiliary role to the Turkish government and adherence to Red Cross principles, is undeniably a local actor. Yet alongside TRC stood state institutions responsible for social welfare, governorate structures controlling budget allocations, local NGOs engaged in case management, and informal leaders such as religious figures or teachers who advocated on behalf of their communities. Each occupied a space within the local landscape, but each also faced constraints - political, procedural, or structural - that limited unilateral action.

Even in a programme celebrated for its localisation approach, no single actor could operate independently. Feedback from communities flowed through multiple channels: satisfaction surveys, outreach visits, social media interactions, call centres. Yet any proposed change, such as an adjustment to the transfer amount, required consensus across TRC, government ministries, donors and contractual frameworks. Local actors were present and powerful, but they operated within a web of dependencies, approvals, and regulations. To speak of localisation as simply “shifting power to the local” overlooks these dynamics. Localisation, in this case, was a collective endeavour mediated by existing systems, not a wholesale transfer of decision-making authority.

In other settings, localisation has been both a strength and a cautionary tale. After the Indian Ocean tsunami, I was involved in expanding a cash-for-work programme to Calang, Indonesia. We flew local village leaders by helicopter from our operations in neighbouring Lamno to speak to leaders in Calang about activities, where similar activities were underway. Within days, hundreds of community members mobilised to participate. This rapid uptake bypassed lengthy assessments and formal coordination processes, prompting complaints from agencies invested in protracted planning. Yet it was the community’s own leaders who carried the message, legitimised the approach, and catalysed participation. The programme was community-led in the truest sense, but only because the community saw value in it and chose to own it.

Contrast this with my experience in Ukraine, where efforts to distribute cash assistance faced resistance from local partners who viewed mobile money solutions as risky or impractical. Negotiating with banks and post offices to deliver cash was an achievement in itself, but the insistence on familiar channels reflected a hesitation to embrace new modalities. Similarly, in Ethiopia, feedback from women highlighted that despite technical assessments favouring cash transfers, the absence of nearby functioning markets rendered cash less practical. These women wanted food delivered, not out of passivity, but out of pragmatism. In each case, the tension between technical recommendations and local realities was palpable. Listening to communities was essential, but it could not negate logistical constraints, market failures, or the broader systemic limitations shaping what was possible.

This raises a critical point: localisation does not eliminate trade-offs. It does not create a system where all preferences can be accommodated or where technical standards become optional. Even the notion of “choice” - so often championed as an intrinsic good exists within boundaries. Whether in the form of unconditional cash transfers, targeted in-kind aid, or voucher systems, humanitarian action inevitably constrains choice to what can be feasibly, safely, and equitably provided. To imply otherwise is to set unrealistic expectations, both for communities and for the agencies that serve them.

At the heart of localisation lies an aspiration to rebalance power. Yet we must also acknowledge that power, once decentralised, is not immune to new forms of capture. Local leaders, like their international counterparts, are not without bias, self-interest, or institutional inertia. In many contexts, I have witnessed a brief window during crisis when collective need trumped personal gain, only to see familiar patterns of patronage and inequality resurface as the emergency phase waned. Supporting local leadership must therefore go hand-in-hand with strengthening accountability mechanisms, ensuring transparency, and protecting against elite capture. Localisation cannot mean abandoning oversight; it must mean rethinking who holds accountability and how it is exercised.

If localisation is to be more than a rhetorical commitment, it must be grounded in clear parameters. It must recognise that technical expertise remains vital, that proximity does not always equal legitimacy and that inclusion must be accompanied by systems capable of managing risk and maintaining standards. Reporting, transparency and shared accountability are not relics of an outdated international system - they are safeguards necessary in any model, whether local or global.

The future of humanitarian action must indeed be closer to those affected. It must enable local organisations to access funding on fair terms, to retain a greater share of indirect costs and to set priorities aligned with their contexts. International actors must adopt a lighter footprint, offering technical support, capacity strengthening and surge capacity on the terms of local actors rather than imposing external agendas. Partnerships must be balanced, with responsibilities and risks shared equitably. But localisation cannot mean replacing one rigid system with another or valorising proximity at the expense of professionalism. It must build on existing capacities, welcome external expertise where it adds value and maintain a commitment to outcomes that demonstrably improve people’s lives.

Localisation, then, is not a silver bullet. It is not an ideology to be adopted wholesale, nor a slogan to discredit the contributions of international practitioners. It is a necessary evolution of humanitarian practice, but one that requires clarity, realism, and humility. We cannot afford to romanticise localisation any more than we could afford to romanticise internationalism. Both approaches have strengths and limitations. Both deserve scrutiny, adaptation, and balance.

In the end, localisation must be about what works, what delivers assistance more efficiently, more appropriately, and more sustainably to those who need it most. It must centre affected communities without absolving systems from their responsibility to protect, to ensure quality, and to uphold standards. It must be a path toward better humanitarian action, not just different humanitarian action. And above all, it must resist the temptation to become just another mantra in a sector already crowded with slogans.