By Marykatherine Woodson and Molly Schaller
Language is a fundamental part of who we are as humans and how we engage in the world around us. The words we choose convey information as well as emotion. They can inspire, or they can sting. And, as the culture and language evolve, they can carry meanings both literal and implied. All that said, words carry a lot of weight. As campus housing professionals dedicated to nurturing inclusive communities where all students and staff feel they belong, it is important for individuals and departments to consider how language is used in policies, practices, marketing, and communication and how it may affect others.
While much of the current public discourse around higher education has focused on the larger issues of free speech or racial bias, there are untold instances where common, everyday communication could be improved. Consider the case of a housing professional who prides herself on learning the names of all 140 resident assistants in the program so that she can greet them by name and not just an enthusiastic “Hey, you!” Then, one day, this exchange occurs.
“Hello R****!” The student turns and looks back as though they didn't know someone was speaking to them. The staffer, thinking that perhaps she hadn’t been heard, stands up and says a little louder, “Hey R****! How are you? How are classes going?” This time, the student walks into the staff person’s office and calmly and gently says, “I go by RG now. R**** is my dead name.”
An interaction like this can cause a myriad of feelings to surface for the staff member who learns they had misnamed a student – but when working toward an inclusive community, the feelings of the student should be at the center. The language used caused harm, inadvertently or not, and potentially isolated a student. Most importantly, though, individual cases like this should serve as teaching moments that will inform future interactions with this individual and also increase awareness of larger issues.
In this scenario, it is staggering to think about the many sources across campus that utilize the student’s given name. Even beyond interactions with friends, faculty, and staff, it is at the top of housing contracts, academic records, financial aid claims, and more. To update one’s name across those systems could quickly become a bureaucratic nightmare. In recent years, some housing software and other systems have been updated to be more inclusive of students’ demographic data, including fields for preferred names, pronouns, and gender. Still, even if attempts to ease the process were hindered by a technological limitation, staff can at least approach the situation and related processes with greater empathy and understanding.
Similarly, there are cases in higher education where terms are used to group people together without regard to their individual identities. It’s a natural approach, as the human brain is hardwired to observe patterns and make judgments instantaneously. Known as heuristics, these are strategies that the mind utilizes as it quickly breaks down the wave of information it absorbs into smaller pieces. This natural inclination to group and label similar elements is what allows people to take in so much information at once. However, it can also create limitations. For example, when reviewing the demographic makeup of a residence hall community, there may be a segment of students labeled “Asian.” Using this as a generic term often evokes the imagery of Eastern Asia – countries like China, Japan, North Korea, and South Korea – but what about Asian students from India, Bangladesh, and Vietnam? Just because a label may simplify things in practice does not mean that it is more helpful. When the goal is belonging, it is detrimental to erase a student’s experience and group them into a generic category.
Recognizing the rapidly changing nature of language and the expansive number of individual variances, organizations should adopt a communications style guide to ensure consistency as well as reflect their desire for equitable language. There are several established guides that can be utilized as they are written or used as a blueprint for creating a guide of one’s own. For example, journalists adhere to The Associated Press Stylebook, while academic writing may follow guidelines from The Chicago Manual of Style or the Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association. While these guides address rules for punctuation, capitalization, formatting, and the like, they also include directions on using inclusive language. Sources such as these are constantly scanning their environments and considering cultural changes to determine if updates are necessary for subsequent editions. For example, it was national news in 2017 when, during a panel at the American Copy Editors Society convention, it was announced that the AP Stylebook would offer guidance on the use of “they” as a singular pronoun.
As campus housing professionals dedicated to nurturing inclusive communities where all students and staff feel they belong, it is important for individuals and departments to consider how language is used in policies, practices, marketing, and communication, and how it may affect others.
In addition, a number of advocacy groups have published guides of their own that they utilize internally and also leverage to inform external audiences. The LGBTQ advocacy organization GLAAD offers an extensive media reference guide that provides a glossary of LGBTQ terms as well as articles that provide background and context for various LGBTQ topics. The National Center on Disability and Journalism provides a style guide that includes clarification on using terms like handicapped, deaf, blind, and many others. The Diversity Style Guide pulls entries from a host of organizations. Finally, most colleges and universities offer their own style guide, often created by the campus’s communication office, and many – such as those at Northwestern University, The University of Kansas, and Dickinson University – include sections on inclusive language.
While a style guide provides information on specific use cases, it is also important to understand the ethos that underlies the style decisions and how, along with clarity and consistency, equity can be integrated into the process. One way this can be done is by recognizing requests from students who feel marginalized or unsafe. This includes calling students by their desired names. Similarly, those with disabilities may prefer being identified by person-first language – for example, a student with dyslexia versus a dyslexic student – while others may prefer to be identified by a label: I am dyslexic. While person-first language is often recommended for general communication in such areas as marketing, policies, and procedures, one should still be aware of personal preferences and potential issues. For example, a person wants to communicate support but may err by using a term out of context with a situation or one’s identity. Some groups have reclaimed words that traditionally were considered derogatory or oppressive, such as when people with disabilities use the terms crip or cripple. This would not be appropriate on a campus website denoting housing accommodations, but it is perfectly acceptable in the title of the Crip Camp documentary.
As campuses and housing departments define their style, they should share early drafts with stakeholders and users to receive feedback and identify areas that may have been overlooked. Once the guide is established, it should then be used to audit existing materials for compliance. This means reviewing policies, practices, and marketing materials such as the website. This is only the first step, though, as the document will be revised (perhaps as part of an annual review) as stakeholders take note of how language is being used on campus, empathize with the needs of members of the community, and consider how people want to be talked about, referred to, or included in communications.
Being open to change in professional interactions and interpersonal communications is key to inclusive communities. Language is a living entity that often evolves with little or no notification to the masses. Consider again, a staff member, this time communicating with a queer colleague using American Sign Language: She makes the sign for gay — a forefinger and thumb placed on the chin — that she learned from a professor (who, coincidentally, was gay herself) in 2010. This time, however, the colleague corrects her, explaining that the sign used had become in-group language that she, as a straight woman, should not use. There was no particular reason she should have known about this change, but now, having been educated, she has the responsibility to re-learn the sign and educate others where applicable.
People are unlikely to use the right word every time as there isn’t a repository of language updates that one can download and access. People and organizations, however, can be expected to be open to the fluid nature of language, recognize when changes occur, accept accountability if mistakes are made, and work to correct them in the future. Educating staff on the differences in terms, no matter how subtle, and implementing resources and processes to operationalize that consideration can make a dramatic difference. The language that is used lives at the intersection of a housing department’s work and care, and word choice can make a difference between a student feeling they belong or feeling forgotten.
Marykatherine Woodson is the associate director of residence life at the Rochester Institute of Technology. She is also the Inclusion and Equity Director for the 2024 ACUHO-I Executive Board. Molly Schaller is a professor and associate dean of the Saint Louis University School of Education. Both are members of the Future of the Profession initiative, focusing on how to create inclusive communities on campuses.
