Why do we have conferences? Are they merely forums to share knowledge or are they designed to spark curiosity and facilitate dialogue? Are they spaces?of a collective journey of reflection and learning?
If so, then why does something feel amiss in how we organize so many of them? Having attended so many conventional conferences, I’ve observed some recurring patterns that leave me wondering if we’re getting it right. These thoughts have been in my head for a while, and while they might sound raw or cynical, I can’t help but ask—am I the only one noticing these ironies? Or do you see them too?
Isn’t it odd that the conferences meant to foster dialogue,
Often become platforms for one-way monologues?
Speakers rush through their presentations,
delivering word salads at 300 words per minute or more.
Meanwhile, the audience scrolls through their phones,
half-engaged, subtly profiling who they can network with later.
And why is it that there’s almost never enough time for questions or genuine interaction?
A room brimming with people, yet fragmented—familiar faces clustered in small circles, while the rest fade into invisibility.
Behind the grand banners and logos, anxious organizers pace back and forth,
waiting for that chief guest to arrive (who is always late).
When they do, panels are disrupted mid-sentence,
and the air shifts to accommodate this person of power—
someone who often knows little, if anything, about the topic at hand.
Their words circle around unrelated ideas,?spinning jargon into endless loops.
Then comes the obligatory applause and felicitation:
shawls draped, mementos exchanged, photos taken.
Where are the young people?
They’re rarely in the room.
And if they are invited,
they’re mostly forgotten—until the end,
when they’re called up to collect certificates,
one by one, with no other introduction other than name.
What is more important here:
the certificate and the staged photo,
or giving them a voice in rooms where decisions are made,
decisions that shape their lives?
Does anyone stop to ask if they even understand the language being spoken?
Then there’s the irony of discussions on “inclusion,”
happening in inaccessible spaces.
No representation of people with disabilities.
Often, I see sign language interpreters sign into empty air,
giving the illusion of inclusion,
while no deaf person was invited there.
Where is the intentionality, I wonder
Do we pause to ask, “Why are we doing this?”
Or are we trapped in the comfort of tradition and conditioned norms?
What can these gatherings offer beyond
a handful of pretty photos for our reports
and a few more networking leads?
Can we break this pattern?
Can we design spaces that truly include,
where we listen with the intent to understand,
and have opportunity to engage with authenticity?
Can we create spaces for real connection?
for unlearning,
for meaningful change?
As I sit still, wondering,
until the noise becomes nothing,
and my mind drifts back to my childhood.
I remember school programs where the elders clutched the mic,
speaking endlessly, loving the sound of their own voices,
while we kids stood in the scorching sun,
silent, fidgeting, unseen, unheard.
And I ask myself - is this just history repeating itself?
A trigger I carry while everyone else is fine?
Maybe this format works for them.
Maybe I’m the one who doesn’t belong.
Maybe I should leave these spaces
where there’s no room for real conversation.
Or maybe—just maybe—
I should stay.
Stay and disrupt.
Ask uncomfortable questions.
Talk to someone.
Change the script in my own way.
Though I share these thoughts on many of the conventional conferences I have attended over the years, I must acknowledge that many spaces are already evolving—investing in true representation, fostering genuine connections, and creating an inclusive journey for everyone. There is a general shift towards ‘unconferencing’, unlearning old habits, and I sincerely hope that this amplifies so that we can have more meaningful conferences in the future.
Change the Script’ was one such transformative experience last year. It filled my heart with immense joy to see young people not merely observing but initiating discussions. The gathering celebrated diverse identities and intersectionalities, nurturing intentional, deep, meaningful connections —both in the formal and the informal sessions. It was a space where the usual power dynamics between panelists and participants seemed to dissolve, replaced by a shared group field. Inclusion was woven into the design, it wasn’t a separate piece and there were moments where we all experienced this shift, this hope for real, lasting change come alive. More about Change the Script can be found here: https://dreamadream.org/change-the-script-2024/
About the Author
Pallavi Kulshrestha, Associate Director – National Partnerships, Dream a Dream, India
Pallavi Kulshrestha works closely with central agencies to drive systemic shifts in education by integrating SEL and life skills education. With nearly 15 years of experience in education, disability inclusion, and advocacy, Pallavi has contributed to diverse initiatives aimed at empowering marginalized communities. Her work spans advocacy, counseling, teacher training, project and policy planning, curriculum development, and inclusion. She has collaborated with organizations across India, working to create holistic, equitable learning environments.
Currently pursuing a PhD in Psychology with a focus on the deaf population in India, Pallavi brings a deep understanding of the intersection between education, mental health, and accessibility. She holds a B.Ed. in Special Education (Hearing Impairment), an M.A. in Psychology, and a Postgraduate Diploma in International Humanitarian Law. Fluent in English, Hindi, and Indian Sign Language (ISL), Pallavi is passionate about reimagining education to ensure every young person—regardless of background—has the opportunity to thrive.
LinkedIn : https://www.linkedin.com/in/pallavi-kulshrestha888/