Glossy Words, Murky Outcomes

How water stewardship got stuck in its own language — and why it matters

Author’s Note: On Where I’m Coming From

Before diving in, I want to acknowledge the lens I bring to this reflection.

I’m a white male professional from the United States, shaped by institutions and systems that often sit at the center of power in the water world. I am not Indigenous, not from a historically marginalized or vulnerable community, and not someone who has had to fight to be heard in professional spaces. That reality matters — especially when writing about who gets to speak, define, and lead.

And yet, I care deeply about those who have had to fight for voice, space, and visibility. I’ve learned — and am still learning — that language matters most when it protects those with the least power to define it.

This piece emerged out of discomfort: the growing disconnect I’ve observed between the language we use in water work and the deeper, place-based, often-unspoken wisdom that actually sustains water stewardship. Buzzwords don’t just obscure meaning — they can erase people.

I was especially moved by the words of Taylor Galvin Ozaawi Mashkode-Bizhiki, a water leader from the Brokenhead Ojibwe Nation in Treaty One Territory, who spoke on the opening day of World Water Week:

“I don’t want to be here and just be a measurable outcome. I’m not an objective, I’m not a box to check. Our knowledge is what’s going to actually protect the water, because we’ve been doing it far longer than these things have ever been in existence.”

She also reminded us that Indigenous science is not less scientific — it is deeply scientific, with one key difference:

“It carries spirituality. It carries the rhythms and the hearts of Mother Earth. We feel what she feels. When she cries, we cry.”

Her voice — and the generations of women and youth behind her — made it clear: if our work in water doesn’t make space for Indigenous leadership, lived experience, and spiritual connection, then we are not just using shallow language — we’re missing the deeper story.

I recognize this isn’t easy ground for me to tread. Writing this feels uncomfortable, and in some ways risky. But it also feels necessary.

I’ve benefitted from systems that reward certain kinds of language and leadership — and I know that calling those systems into question, from within, is part of what that privilege should be used for.

So this piece is a small act of doing just that. Not perfectly — but purposefully.

This article is not meant to speak for anyone. It is a nudge — to those of us who move in relative comfort and authority — to stop hiding behind jargon and start asking better questions. And, where appropriate, to step aside.

If that opens space for others to lead, I’ll count it as progress.

The Jargon We Swim In

Spend a few days at any water-related convening — Stockholm World Water Week, a basin roundtable, a corporate boardroom — and you’ll start hearing the same words on repeat:

Collective action. Collaboration. Acceleration. Innovation.

They sound visionary. Strategic. Urgent.

But listen a little longer, and a question starts to form:

What do these words actually mean — and what, if anything, do they help us do better?

That’s what this piece is about.

Not to dismiss the intent behind these terms, but to ask what happens when we rely on language-as-signal instead of language-as-strategy. What happens when our words outpace our clarity, our structure, or our outcomes?

And too often, that language doesn’t just obscure intent — it excludes wisdom. The more these terms are polished, the more they seem to flatten or overlook the contributions of Indigenous leaders, youth, women, local stewards, and non-technical practitioners. The language of strategy privileges those fluent in the jargon — not those holding the lived experience or cultural knowledge that water work desperately needs.

Collective Action: Everyone, Everywhere, All at Once?

Let’s start with the darling of basin strategies, SDG alignment, and water coalitions everywhere: collective action.

The phrase promises inclusion and scale — “no one can solve this alone” — and gestures toward systems thinking. But in practice, it’s often a placeholder. It masks loose coordination as aligned commitment. It equates attendance with action.

If your “collective action” initiative doesn’t have:

• A backbone organization

• Shared measurement

• Mutually reinforcing roles

• A process for accountability and adaptation

  
  

…then it’s not collective action. It’s a networking event.

The Tamarack Institute’s Collective Impact Framework lays this out clearly — and few water efforts come close. Most skip straight to the convening and call it collaboration. But as Tamarack reminds us:

“Collaboration is not an outcome. It’s a choice.”

And real collective action is not just about scaling up — it’s about broadening power. If local Indigenous governance systems, youth advocacy groups, and women’s cooperatives are treated as “invited guests” rather than co-creators, the collective isn’t very collective.

Collaboration: The Myth of Harmony

“Collaboration” is everywhere — in MOUs, funding decks, and panel introductions. But what does it promise?

Here’s where the IAP2 Spectrum of Public Participation is helpful. The word “collaborate” sits near the top of the spectrum — right alongside “empower.” It implies shared decision-making and meaningful power redistribution.

But what most water orgs actually do is consult or inform. They seek feedback. They hold stakeholder sessions. They run co-branded webinars.

The implied promise of “collaboration” is participation in decisions.

The delivered reality is usually performance without influence.

This disconnect isn’t just semantic — it’s dangerous. When words overpromise, they erode trust. Communities and partners start to feel like props in someone else’s impact narrative.

Acceleration: But Toward What?

“Acceleration” has a compelling rhythm. It feels urgent, modern, optimistic.

But here’s the trap: speed is not strategy.

“Accelerating water resilience” might mean scaling what works. But too often it means launching more pilots, building more dashboards, hosting more events.

Acceleration becomes activity — not results.

Acceleration is only meaningful if we’re clear about what’s not working now, and what better looks like.

Otherwise, we’re just spinning the flywheel faster without knowing where we’re going.

And from the perspective of vulnerable communities, speed can feel extractive. Accelerated processes often mean limited consultation, faster timelines, and fewer chances for marginalized voices to influence the agenda. What looks efficient to institutions may feel like erasure to those at the edge.

Innovation: Shiny but Shallow

“Innovation” is perhaps the buzziest of all. It conjures images of AI dashboards, smart sensors, or blockchain on the blockchain. But in water work — especially stewardship and equity — innovation can also become a trap.

We forget that innovation isn’t just new — it’s new and useful. It doesn’t have to be tech. It can be Indigenous governance systems, adaptive finance models, or relationship-centered facilitation.

Some of the most transformative innovations in water stewardship don’t come from labs or startups — they come from land-based knowledge, cultural resilience, and relational accountability. These are often overlooked because they don’t fit the visual of “innovation” we’ve been sold — but they may hold the most enduring answers.

The Next 10 Words

There’s an old line from The West Wing that captures the problem perfectly:

“The ten-word answer is easy. The next ten words are harder. They’re important. They matter.”

Water stewardship is full of ten-word answers.

But rarely do we hear the next ten.

What’s broken?

What’s changing?

Who decides?

How is success measured?

We don’t need more words. We need more accountability behind the words we already use.

What We Lose When Language Drifts

When our language becomes a shield instead of a tool, we lose clarity.

We lose credibility.

We lose connection to the communities of practice that know what these words once meant.

These terms — when untethered from outcomes — drift toward abstraction. They allow us to signal progress without defining it. They make us sound aligned without being aligned.

They hide dysfunction behind good intent.

And critically — they marginalize people who have always worked outside those frameworks. If our language excludes, so does our strategy. And then our solutions will too.

Reclaiming Meaning (or Retiring the Terms)

This isn’t a call for new jargon. It’s a call to slow down and reclaim meaning.

Before we say:

• “We’re launching a collective action initiative…”

  
  

• “We’re accelerating innovation…”

  
  

• “We’re building a collaborative network…”

  
  

…we should ask:

• What, exactly, is broken in the current system?

  
  

• Are we doing more, or are we doing it better?

  
  

• Who’s accountable for results?

  
  

• How will we know when it’s working?

  
  

And maybe most importantly: Who is shaping the answer?

If the response doesn’t include Indigenous leaders, youth movements, women-led groups, and historically excluded communities — then we’re not just misusing the language.

We’re reproducing the problem.

Let’s not let language become a stand-in for impact.

Let’s do the work to define what we mean — and then prove it.

This reflection is shared in the hope that it invites more listening, more dialogue, and more leadership from those whose voices have long been overlooked — including my own willingness to learn and unlearn.

Join the Conversation

I’m continuing to explore these questions through Connecting for Change, where we’re learning alongside partners how to slow down, look closer, and build strategies that are as relational as they are rigorous — more about people than process, and more about trust than terminology.

And if you’re at Stockholm World Water Week, find me. Let’s talk about the next ten words.