The mismatched Vocabulary Problem
New and exciting learning organizations rarely struggle with ideas. They struggle with the language needed to communicate them. The moment a school or Edtech starts designing something new — a fresh learning model, a different assessment approach, a shift in pedagogy- the first thing to break is the shared vocabulary. Everyone is excited, everyone is aligned in spirit, and yet no one is quite saying the same thing. And that gap in language becomes a gap in understanding, which quickly becomes a gap in practice.
I once sat in a meeting that was supposed to be a quick alignment session on assessment. Ninety minutes later, we were still trying to agree on what “formative,” “summative,” and “performance‑based” actually meant in the context of that school’s model. Every time we thought we’d landed on a definition, someone would offer a perfectly reasonable example that didn’t fit the definition we’d just agreed on. A formative task that counted toward a grade. A summative task that didn’t. A performance‑based assessment that was technically summative but used formatively. The more examples we surfaced, the more obvious it became: the problem wasn’t the assessment model — it was the vocabulary.
And this is incredibly common. Educators use the same words, but they don’t mean the same things. Or they use different words for the same thing. Or they adopt a term from another framework without adopting the logic behind it. The result is that teachers, leaders, students, and families are all speaking slightly different dialects of the same language, and no one realises it until something breaks.
The challenge becomes even more pronounced in non-traditional learning institutes- the ones intentionally designing something new. These schools often create new vocabulary to better reflect their vision, which can be powerful and necessary. But it also means that families, teachers, and even internal teams need a translation layer. Some schools, like Design39, have even published vocabulary lists for parents so the community can understand the model. That’s not a failure; it’s a sign of how ambitious the work is. When you’re building something that doesn’t fit neatly into existing categories, you inevitably need new language to describe it.
The real issue isn’t the vocabulary itself, it’s the lack of shared meaning. Without a common language, teams can’t make coherent decisions. Teachers can’t align their practice. Leaders can’t communicate the model. Families can’t understand what their children are experiencing. And the school ends up with a brilliant vision wrapped in confusing terminology.
Clear language is not a cosmetic detail; it’s the infrastructure that builds shared understanding. When a school gets the words right, everything else becomes more coherent— communication, decision‑making, and ultimately, the learning experience itself.
