What Debate Means to Me
As the other students rushed excitedly to the cafeteria, I ducked under the hallway traffic, sprinting towards the counseling office or my art classroom in an attempt to not be seen. I popped open my computer and delved into HeinOnline and LexisNexis to research my thirty-topic docket and began to draft my speeches. On days I wasn’t prepping, I laid out on the floor with my Crayola markers, meticulously crafting anonymous posters showcasing the “new and improving” debate team (emphasis on improving), then staying late after school to deck the halls with the paper announcements. Debate was my refuge–my escape from the cruel battlefield of mean girls.
When I landed at a K-12 international school as the only new girl in my junior class, my unexpected presence and language barrier led to widespread exclusion. Their actions towards me left my happiness as predictable as a coin toss–contingent on whether someone had even acknowledged my presence. But their words pushed me to become a master of mine.
“Popularity” became defined by how consistently I practiced, how hard I worked, and how well I could mirror the persona of a confident, influential member of Congress. No one cared who I was, what I wore, or how much money I had when I stepped into a debate round. As soon as the clock started, I was promised three full minutes of respected speaking time, where I would be listened to and heard. Oddly enough, sequestering myself in debate led me to blossom everywhere else on campus despite the comments and actions of others. With my newfound confidence, I tumbled through the stands as a proud varsity cheerleader, chanting, “Go Big Green, Let’s Go!” I presented in front of the lower school classes, instructing them on how to deliver congressional-style speeches using silly gummy bear models to reenact a congress round. Everywhere I went, I spread the gospel of the confidence that comes with debate. By the end of my junior year, I grew the debate team from a ragtag group of five to a thriving family of twenty-three.
Above all, debate opened the door to an unforgettable destination: Georgetown University. After my third day debating on the Hilltop as a member of the Georgetown Policy Debate Program, I sat in my dorm room, tears falling down my swollen lymph nodes, unable to focus on the case in front of me. All of a sudden, a knock on the door brought me Saltine crackers and my favorite yellow Gatorade. I had only known the Georgetown Residential Assistants for three days, and already they showed me more kindness than any of my peers had in two years. Every person at Georgetown, whether a teacher or student, was not only brilliant and innovative but also inclusive, supportive, and eager to share their knowledge. Debating in the Georgetown community opened my heart, revealing a depth of emotion beyond ambition or accomplishment. Georgetown showed me that my future could include a world where my voice matters before and after the clock starts.
Flor
When this painting is sold a portion of the proceeds will go to the National Speech and Debate Association, learn more about them at https://www.speechanddebate.org/