Managing Change: Why We Start With What We Assume, Not What We Plan

We talk about "managing change" as though change were a machine — switch it on, steer the wheel, and it goes where we want. After more than two decades in the field, from the villages of Upper Egypt to the tables of African and global networks, I have learned a lesson that contradicts that illusion. Change is not managed by control. It is managed by being honest with ourselves about what we assume.

Every programme we launch is loaded with silent assumptions about how change happens. We assume training produces confidence, that confidence produces opportunity, that a family will support its daughter once it sees the effect of her participation. These assumptions feel so obvious that we stop seeing them — the way a fish never talks about the water it swims in. And that is precisely the danger. When an assumption stays hidden, it cannot be tested; and when it goes untested, we build our programmes on sand.

This is the heart of a Theory of Change: it is not a plan, it is a hypothesis. It is our own narrative of how we *think* change will unfold, written plainly enough to be debated, reviewed, and revised. The difference between a theory of change and a conventional logframe is not technical — it is a difference in posture toward reality. A logframe draws a straight line from activity to impact and so simplifies a complexity that refuses to be simplified. A theory of change opens the harder question: why do we think this leads to that? On what basis? And under which conditions?

In our Wosool (Access) work in Upper Egypt, I came to see that the hardest moment is not designing activities — it is naming the assumption we would rather not admit. We had assumed that delivering a service was enough to produce inclusion. Then I watched, up close, services arrive while community attitudes stayed exactly where they were. The assumption we had never named — that physical access equals social acceptance — turned out to be the weakest link in our chain. Naming it out loud changed our entire design.

Because social change is complex, a theory of change forces us to choose. We cannot change everything, so we identify three to five domains of change — broad arenas where reality must shift for the desired change to become possible: the behaviour of service providers, the attitudes of families, local policy, the awareness among persons with disabilities of their own rights. Choosing these domains is a deeply strategic act. It says, explicitly: here is where we are placing our bet, and here is where we put our energy.

A simple but profound distinction helps: change happens across four interwoven dimensions. Personal change in an individual's awareness and confidence; change in the relationship between people; change in collective patterns, culture, and shared values; and change in structures — laws, policies, procedures. Most of us instinctively favour one dimension. Some always reach for legislation; others always begin with awareness and the individual. But real change rarely settles for a single dimension. When I review a programme, I ask: which dimension are we actually working in? And which one are we ignoring because it sits outside our comfort zone?

And then the principle I will not compromise: a theory of change is not designed in a closed room of experts — it is built with the people we serve. "Nothing About Us Without Us" is not a slogan to decorate a report; it is a methodological requirement. When persons with disabilities and their families help shape the hypothesis, the hypothesis matches reality rather than imagination. Often the most dangerous assumptions are the ones the expert holds alone, and the community does not share.

So how does a reader — a manager, a practitioner, an advocate — begin applying this to themselves and their organisation? Start with a single session, no more. Gather your team and ask one question about your current initiative: what are we quietly assuming has to be true for this to work? Write down every assumption, however obvious, then mark the ones whose collapse would bring the whole programme down. Those are your critical assumptions — and they are exactly what you should be monitoring throughout. You do not need a consultant or an elaborate model. You need the courage to name what you have been avoiding.

Managing change, in the end, is not the art of controlling the future. It is the art of staying honest before it. We do not manage change by mastering it; we manage it by saying our bets out loud and daring to test them. So ask your organization today: what is the one assumption we have built everything on — and have not yet dared to bring into the light?