This article is playful look at the origin, etymology, and psychology, of the word ‘tenure’. The article is intended to be a humorous and poetic dig at the word that has become central to our discussions, and as a historical reference to deepen our understanding. Of course, one of the underlying primary goals we work towards on a daily basis is increasing your equity, reducing your loan in the lowest possible time, and building wealth through your various property strategies, and our debt reduction methods are central to this end.
The word “tenure” carries an air of authority. It evokes the image of holding land or property, perhaps as a monarch over their kingdom or a ruler over their domain. It conjures a sense of security, permanence, and control — a position that grants you the right to occupy, to use, to enjoy, and to shape the property that lies within your grasp. And yet, beneath the veneer of sovereignty, tenure is, in truth, a mirage — a fragile, temporary claim to something that is never really yours. This concept of temporary sovereignty exposes the illusion of control and ownership inherent in the idea of tenure, revealing that no matter how firm your grip on land or property may seem, it is always subject to forces far beyond your reach.
At its simplest, tenure refers to the condition or right of holding property, particularly land. In the context of homeownership, it refers to the arrangement by which you hold the legal right to occupy and use the property for a certain period, often until the debt is paid or the conditions of the loan are met. In a more formal sense, tenure also describes the legal and contractual terms under which property is held, whether through freehold, leasehold, or other arrangements. But for all its technicalities, tenure carries a fundamental implication: the land you occupy, no matter how securely you hold it, is always under the shadow of one thing — impermanence.
The word itself traces its roots to the Latin tenere, meaning “to hold.” To hold is an act of control, yet it is, paradoxically, also an act of submission. In the feudal system of medieval Europe, tenure was often granted by a lord to a vassal, who in turn owed certain duties — whether in the form of military service, labor, or tribute. Even though the vassal technically “held” the land, their sovereignty over it was limited and conditional. In other words, their tenure was always subject to the whims of the lord and the social structure that dictated their existence. The relationship between the vassal and the lord encapsulated the very essence of tenure: the land was held in trust, subject to rules that could change, and the vassal was merely a steward, never truly an owner.
This historical context adds a layer of depth to our understanding of tenure. Today, we may not be bound by feudal allegiances, but the fundamental principle remains: the idea of holding property — of having tenure over land — has always been conditional. Whether you own property outright or hold it through a mortgage, the reality is that your tenure is always subject to external forces. In the case of mortgages, this external force is the lender — the institution that, although invisible in the day-to-day lives of homeowners, always looms in the background, holding the ultimate claim to the property should you fail to meet the terms of your loan. In other words, the security of tenure, whether in the form of ownership or tenancy, is never absolute.
In many ways, tenure embodies the illusion of ownership. Homeownership is often celebrated as the ultimate achievement, the point at which one finally reaches a state of permanence, of control. You can paint the walls, renovate the kitchen, and build a garden — this, it seems, is the freedom and power of owning property. But this perceived sovereignty is undermined by the reality of the financial obligations tied to the property. No matter how secure your grip on the land may seem, it is only as permanent as your ability to meet the terms of your mortgage or loan. Miss a payment, and your tenure can be revoked. Fail to comply with tax laws or zoning regulations, and your sovereignty is once again called into question.
The idea of “freehold” tenure — where one technically owns both the land and the property built upon it — may seem to promise absolute ownership. Yet even freehold tenure is not without conditions. In many countries, homeownership through freehold still comes with obligations to pay taxes and comply with local regulations. The very notion of “owning” the land is conditional upon these duties, and failure to meet them can result in the loss of your property. Your home is yours — until it’s not.
In addition to these external forces, tenure also implies a more subtle form of impermanence: the passage of time. Even if you are fortunate enough to purchase a property outright, your tenure is not forever. It is finite by nature. The house you purchase today will eventually be passed down or sold, either as a result of personal choice or due to death or incapacity. And even if you retain the property for your entire lifetime, your tenure will end with your passing. The house that you “owned” will ultimately be inherited, sold, or redistributed, depending on your estate planning.
Perhaps most poignantly, tenure reflects the overarching condition of human life: the fact that nothing is truly permanent. Even if you hold your property for decades, even if you think you’ve reached the pinnacle of stability, tenure reminds you that everything is in flux. The land is never truly yours — it is merely held for a time, a period during which you are granted temporary sovereignty. It is a form of stewardship, not ownership, and like all stewards, you are bound by rules and limits beyond your control.
This understanding of tenure as temporary sovereignty also carries with it a moral dimension. Our cultural obsession with owning property, with securing tenure over land, has led to a distorted sense of permanence. The idea that we can truly “own” anything is an illusion. Ownership, as we have defined it, is conditional upon societal constructs such as laws, taxes, and markets. The very concept of homeownership becomes a precarious balancing act, with the weight of financial responsibility often tipping the scales toward vulnerability.
In the end, tenure teaches us an uncomfortable truth: no matter how secure or settled we feel in our homes, our hold on them is always temporary. Property is always subject to external forces, to shifting markets, to changing regulations, and to the impermanence of time itself. We are, in a sense, just passing through — a fleeting moment in the long and complex history of land and property. Tenure is a reminder that, in the grand scheme of things, our claims to land and property are but temporary dominions.
And so, the myth of ownership persists: a myth that encourages us to believe that we can escape the inevitability of change, that our tenure can be forever, that we can truly “own” a piece of this earth. But tenure reveals the fragility of this myth, showing us that sovereignty over land, while cherished, is always subject to forces beyond our control.
