Trigger Words in Academia: How We Got Here and How to Navigate Them

It’s Monday morning, and I’m bracing myself for a week-long marathon of program board meetings. If you’ve ever attended one, you know the drill: academics gather with binders of student feedback, ready to dissect every program and course offering. The goal, ostensibly, is to assess where we stand halfway through the semester or academic year. But what unfolds is often an exercise in endurance, as we sit through hours of people unleashing the dreaded academic buzzwords.

You know the ones. Someone drops a term like “engagement,” and the room collectively stiffens. Next comes “innovation,” followed by “transformation,” and suddenly, what could’ve been a productive conversation becomes a chaotic dance of jargon, vague promises, and the occasional passive-aggressive comment. By Friday, you’re debating whether to bring a bingo card or a stiff drink to these sessions.

So, in honour of this soul-sucking yet institutionally necessary ritual, let’s unpack some of academia’s favourite trigger words and figure out how to navigate them. Because, if nothing else, maybe we can reclaim some sanity before the week is out.

?"Innovation"

Ah, “innovation.” If I had a euro for every time this word is uttered during a program board, I could retire early and fund a truly innovative research project. “Innovation” is the banner under which all strategic plans march, the shiny label slapped onto everything from new teaching methods to rebranded old ones. It’s a word that promises so much but often delivers so little.

Take, for instance, on of the last sessions I attended. One academic enthusiastically spoke about our “innovative approach” to curriculum development. The reality? It was a slightly altered schedule of courses with new titles. Revolutionary, right? Apparently, the true innovation was in their ability to make it sound fresh, like marketing a stale loaf of bread as “artisanal.”

Getting around it:?When the term “innovation” rears its shiny head, don’t bolt for the nearest exit. Instead, throw down a challenge. Ask, “What do we mean by innovation in this context?” or “Can we see concrete examples of these innovative practices?” This not only brings some much-needed specificity but may also reveal whether we’re genuinely onto something or just putting lipstick on a pedagogical pig.

?"Engagement"

If innovation is the crown jewel, then “engagement” is the workhorse of academic jargon. During these program board meetings, “engagement” is invoked with a fervour usually reserved for religious revivals. Student engagement, community engagement, faculty engagement—if it exists, we’re told it needs more engagement. But no one ever really explains what this elusive engagement should look like.

The worst part? We’re often told to “improve engagement” without any guidance on how to accomplish this Herculean task. Are we talking about more interactive lectures, or are we supposed to lead interpretive dance sessions on Plato’s?Republic? The ambiguity is endless, and so is the frustration.

Getting around it:?Channel your inner Socrates and ask for definitions. Is engagement about getting butts in seats or about genuine intellectual exchange? Does it mean more students filling out online polls, or does it require real, meaningful dialogue? Demanding specifics can cut through the fog and, hopefully, lead to discussions that don’t just add to our collective academic headache.

"Inclusivity"

Inclusivity. There it is, looming large like a moral lighthouse. During this week, it’s a term everyone wants to use, but few want to interrogate deeply. And let me be clear: Inclusivity is essential. When it’s practiced thoughtfully, it fosters environments where everyone can thrive. But in these board meetings, inclusivity is too often reduced to a checkbox exercise. We pat ourselves on the back for using diverse case studies or adding a token guest lecture from a minority scholar, without questioning the underlying structures that need change.

When someone mentions our “inclusive practices” during these meetings, I’m always tempted to ask, “And what are those, exactly?” But I’ve learned that question is like throwing a Molotov cocktail into the room. Everyone wants to talk about being inclusive, but no one wants to face the uncomfortable reality that true inclusivity demands more than a few cosmetic tweaks.

Getting around it:?If you’re feeling brave—and perhaps a little masochistic—ask for concrete examples. “What steps are we actively taking to foster inclusivity?” or “How are we measuring our impact?” Watch as the room collectively holds its breath, because when you demand real answers, you shift the focus from empty rhetoric to actionable change.

?"Resilience"

Ah, resilience—the darling of every university administrator looking to dodge accountability. Halfway through this week, when faculty are on the brink of exhaustion, someone inevitably praises the resilience of our students or staff. It sounds noble, but it’s usually a thinly veiled excuse for why systemic issues are not being addressed. Punishing course loads? Gruelling tenure requirements? Crushing student debt? “Just be more resilient!” they say, as if we’re all contestants on a sadistic game show.

Every time I hear resilience mentioned, I want to stand up and shout, “Maybe instead of asking everyone to be resilient, we should fix the systems that are breaking them in the first place!” But, alas, I’ve found that questioning the cult of resilience doesn’t win you friends—or promotions.

Getting around it:?Shift the narrative. Ask, “Why is resilience necessary in this context?” or “Are we using the term ‘resilience’ to deflect from systemic problems?” It’s a risky move, but one that might make people pause and think. Or, at the very least, it’ll make your presence in the room memorable.

?"Leadership"

And then there’s “leadership,” a word that flies around these boards like confetti at a victory parade. Everyone wants to cultivate it, reward it, or be it. We discuss leadership development for students and “transformational leadership” among faculty as if it’s the holy grail of academia. But leadership, like many of these trigger words, has become so overused that it means whatever people want it to mean. Leading can be anything from sending a mass email with vague instructions to dominating a committee discussion with your “vision.”

Getting around it:?Insist on clarity. Ask, “What kind of leadership are we actually promoting?” or “How do we measure leadership success?” This can stop the leadership love-fest in its tracks and hopefully lead to a more meaningful discussion about the real needs of our academic community.

"Transformation"

Finally, we arrive at “transformation.” Universities love to claim they’re undergoing transformative change. Whether it’s curriculum transformation, research transformation, or administrative transformation, it sounds monumental, doesn’t it? The reality? Most of the time, “transformation” means minor changes dressed up in fancy language. Think of it as slapping a new coat of paint on a crumbling building and calling it architectural innovation.

Getting around it:?When you hear the word “transformation,” pause. Ask, “What’s actually transforming here?” or “How do we know this transformation will have a real impact?” If you’re lucky, this will expose whether we’re talking about meaningful change or just another round of academic smoke and mirrors.

?Less Jargon, More Substance

Trigger words in academia have a way of derailing conversations and adding to the endless cycle of vague ideas and exhausted academics. But instead of getting caught in this buzzword bonanza, let’s push for clarity. Ask the hard questions. Demand specificity. Who knows? Maybe we’ll actually walk out of these meetings having made some genuine progress—or at least having survived without succumbing to buzzword-induced migraines.

So, as we endure yet another week of program boards, let’s commit to cutting through the jargon. Let’s get back to what academia is supposed to be about: meaningful inquiry, tangible improvements, and—dare we hope—fewer meetings.