More Than Words
Insufferable know-it-alls. Pretentious bastards who won’t hesitate to unravel the loose ends of your stitched-together arguments. Nerds who walk around with their faces glued to books, politics always on their mind and words never far behind.
The public perception of debaters is hardly flattering. Those who aren’t “in-the-know” view debate as nothing more than one of a myriad of extracurricular activities, each advertising “perks” to dress up a typical college resume. Sure, it might be slightly more esoteric and obnoxious than most, but it’s just another club. Who cares?
As for speech? Don’t even think about it. The typical response to an offhand comment regarding it is a glaring misconception. “So you guys give, like, speeches and stuff right? Like politicians?”
I used to think the same way. Debate was a fun little club for people who enjoyed arguing. Speech was the excruciatingly boring public speaking class I’d been forced into in elementary school, manifested in a slightly more legitimate form.
Had you spoken to the me of several years ago, trapped in a haze of apathy and melancholy, I wouldn’t have cared less.
Little did I know, my opinion of speech and debate was about to change dramatically.
I lost my childhood to a world of black and white. There were no shades of gray, no details or nuances, only the striking disparity between the thrill of a wave and the burn in my lungs as I ached to breathe, having been inevitably forced under.
Survival was the goal. Everything else came second.
Clinically depressed, alienated from my peers, and trapped in an abusive household, I had nowhere to escape.
Then I joined the debate team.
The moment I gave my first speech, legs trembling — whether from the adrenaline or the fear, I couldn’t tell — as I made my way towards the podium, something clicked. The anger I’d repressed, that molotov cocktail contained in my mind, channeled itself into words. Words that were loud, coherent, and passionate.
I had achieved something greater than myself.
The moment passed as quickly as it arrived. I was left a trembling husk, stumbling as I slowly made my way back to my seat. That didn’t matter. I had been changed permanently. The memory of that first speech lingers in my mind even today — I don’t remember what exactly I said, nor do I remember the debate topic. That doesn’t matter. What I remember is the atmosphere, the vivid intensity that I lost myself in. It was a wildfire and I was the phoenix. In that moment, the world came to life.
Speech and debate gave me a reason to live.
In debate rounds, I lost myself in the heat of the moment, aware of nothing more than the arguments we had crafted into swords. It was an intricate dance, a war of words and minds, and I loved nothing more. I strived to excel, dedicating myself to countless hours of research and practice. Whatever it took to be the very best I could be.
I measured time by tournaments. The days racing past were merely the span of time between one tournament and next. In my state of mind, I was allowed to forget and let go. The storm abated, the memories dissipated, the litany of self-reproachment ceased. I could have peace.
Through speech and debate, I escaped the confines of my own personal hell. Before, all I had known was in black and white, trapped behind steel bars of the pain that consumed me. After I joined the debate team, these bars fell away. In their place appeared the world, vast and immeasurable, intoxicating me with its sheer beauty and mystery. There was so much more out there. Countries I had previously been ignorant of, thoughts I’d never entertained before, questions I was just now learning to ask, painted a vivid map in my mind.
There was so much more to discover — issues and causes that I would take up arms for, questions that begged to be answered, nuances that lay beneath the surface of seemingly uncontroversial issues.
Through my passion for speech and debate, I developed a passion for life.
There is one last thing I must thank the activity for.
Through it, I discovered a family. The speech and debate community is not without its problems, but fundamentally, we take care of our own. I was taken in and embraced by the community. Suddenly, I had friends who understood and accepted me, friends who were willing to debate politics simply for the sake of it. They didn’t only put up with my lengthy polemics — they contributed their own arguments and broadened my views in the process. I had mentors who would sit down and listen to me when things went on in my life. For the first time in my life, people listened and cared.
I was no longer alone.
Speech and debate may seem like just another extracurricular activity, but it’s so much more than that. Given the opportunity, a successful team empowers its members and introduces them to the world, giving them reasons to care about the international community. But perhaps more importantly, speech and debate saves lives. I should know.
Before I joined the debate team, I had spent countless hours writing in a battered notebook, coming up with a foolproof plan. I was ready to fall. All I needed was a push.
Thanks to speech and debate, I never received that push.
But there are countless kids throughout the country and the world, kids just like I used to be, simply begging for a reason — just one reason — to hold on.
Why are we not giving them one?
The wonder of speech and debate lies in the fact that it allows it participants to become part of something greater than themselves. It doesn’t merely save lives — it transforms them. I can confidently say that I would not be who I am today if I had never stepped foot in the debate meeting freshman year.
We need to encourage support and funding for programs, particularly fledgling ones struggling to survive. There are ample funds available; they simply need to be donated and distributed. With money and support, we can empower youth to find their voices before they are permanently silenced.
This is my story. Please, help many others to tell their own.
