Why Universities Keep Saying “We Hear You”

A field guide to strategic listening, ceremonial empathy, and the quiet art of ignoring people politely

“We hear you” sounds warm, responsive, and caring.

• It’s used in emails, town halls, and press releases.
• It’s the go-to line during strikes, protests, and student grief.
• It implies action without committing to any.

It’s not a response. It’s a deflection.
A way to acknowledge noise without changing rhythm.

Universities are complex machines:

• Funding is precarious.
• Staff are overworked.
• Students are demanding.
• Government policy is chaotic.

So, when students ask for better mental health support, or staff ask for fair pay, or communities ask for accountability, the institution listens.
But then it calculates:

• Will this cost money?
• Will this upset donors?
• Will this trigger legal risk?
• Will this require a structural change?

If yes? The listening ends there.

Universities are trained in ceremonial empathy.

• “We value your voice.”
• “We’re committed to inclusion.”
• “We take these concerns seriously.”

These phrases appear in:

• Strategic plans.
• Diversity statements.
• Crisis communications.

But they’re often copy-pasted.
And they rarely come with timelines, budgets, or accountability.
It’s not care. It’s choreography.

Here’s the twist:

• Lecturers, support staff, and admin teams do hear you.
• They care deeply.
• They’re often the ones raising the same concerns.

But they’re stuck inside the same system.

• Told to deliver excellence with shrinking resources.
• Asked to support students while being unsupported themselves.
• Expected to smile through restructures, redundancies, and rising workloads.

They’re not the problem. They’re holding the line.

Because it:

• Buys time.
• Deflects criticism.
• Sounds good in public.
• Avoids legal commitment.

It’s the perfect phrase for institutions that want to appear responsive without being responsible.
Its strategic ambiguity dressed as care.

• Transparent timelines for action.
• Co-designed solutions with staff and students.
• Public accountability for promises made.
• Funding attached to feedback, not just surveys.
• Leadership that says, “We hear you and here’s what we’re doing.”

Because listening without action isn’t caring. It’s containment.

But the people inside staff, students, and communities deserve more than ceremonial empathy.
They deserve change.
They deserve honesty.
They deserve leadership that listens with its budget, not just its inbox.

If a university says “We hear you”, but nothing changes, it’s not listening. It’s stalling. Real care requires risk, resources, and repair. And until those arrive, the phrase is just noise echoing through corridors built to absorb it.

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