HQN Associate Emma Lindley asks what matters most – the language and terms or the ethos behind them.

Do you call it a roll, breadcake, cob, bap, barm, bun? I never tire of this debate, and it’s as hotly debated as the one about tenants, residents, customers, service users, clients.

Language does matter. No one likes to be labelled – none of us are our housing status. Our identity is more than that.

But sometimes I think there’s something that matters more than language, and that’s your ethics and behaviours.

I’ve often wondered why it’s completely accepted that professions like architects and lawyers use the term client, but it’s almost universally rejected in the social housing world.

Is it because the balance of power isn’t quite as weighted in the architect or lawyer’s favour? Because the client chooses the professional and can choose to end their relationship with them? Because the professional serves the client rather than their organisation?

Another subject of much debate is what professionalism in the housing sector looks and feels like. Unlike the fields of architecture and law, there’s no requirement in housing to be a member of a professional body, to complete a professional qualification or to routinely complete professional development activities. If there were, we might see the same client focus as we do in ‘traditional’ professions.

I’ve often heard that the argument for using the terms tenants and leaseholders is to draw attention to their legal status and therefore their legal rights in the relationship. And this makes sense, doesn’t it, in a world where there isn’t this client focus and you have to take what you’re given (a home without carpets, an all-day repair appointment, on demand inspections, etc) or you have to ask for permission to do something a little different: you want to remind the other party there’s a line that must be observed.

But if ‘customers are at the heart of everything you do’ (that’s everyone’s strapline now, right?), then you should be offering more than the law obliges you to. I’m writing this in the week that the largest social landlord in the country is facing an investigation of systemic failure – meaning far too many tenants aren’t even able to enjoy the basic protection of the law and regulation.

If housing is a profession, one which not just puts customers at the heart of everything, but prioritises their best interests over those of the organisation, then I’d like to think there would be a lot less focus on language, because what matters most is how people are treated. If the balance of power is considered fair by all parties, nouns lose their importance. But from a quick glance at the Housing Ombudsman’s online casefile, that’s not where we are just now and so I wonder to what extent language debates are a despairing attempt to hold on to a slither of power by ensuring that at least your landlord recognises your legal status when they speak to you?

But whilst the Ombudsman is inundated with cases, focusing on using the most supported (least hated?) terminology feels like an extremely poor substitute for acceptable service and a distraction from improving the service.

So this is where ethics comes in. If you get these right (as judged by those on the receiving end of them), everything else will follow.

What does professionalism in housing look like then? This is something the Chartered Institute of Housing has recently put a lot of thought into and has created a set of seven professional standards, providing a framework of behaviours that anyone who considers themselves a professional should adhere to:

There’s still a long way to go before these seven standards are adopted throughout the sector and this is where I think our efforts need to focus. Instead of debating which noun to use, we should be asking to what extent staff within an organisation are operating in line with these behaviours.