In the strange world of competitive debate, real power comes not from the impact of your speeches, but the accomplishments that you claim from them. I assumed this was the goal early in my career and, admittedly, strategized my route to secure my career here.
I figured that the best way to learn debate was to watch a lot of them and take down notes. This isn’t revolutionary in any way, and is common practice for those that begin their navigation of this sport. I decided, however, that to maximize my time, I ought not to just watch rounds, but to judge them too.
You see, in debate, there are two paths you can take. You can be a debater, or you can be the adjudicator that determines which debaters are worth giving awards to. This wasn’t the most glamorous way to start off your career (but I do think we need to give this path more credit, as I might discuss another day). Judging was, however, a great way to make sure you got a lot of information quickly. A bonus here is that adjudicators also get awards. Unlike most other sports, judges are not always just invited to be there, but are sometimes also active competitors in the game. The better you explain your decisions, the better the debaters scored you. The better your score, the higher the quality of rounds you got to judge. If you’re lucky, you got to adjudicate the final rounds composed of the best debaters of that tournament. You might even be part of the Top 10 Best Judges of the event.
Luckily, judging came naturally to me. I liked summarizing discussions that happened in front of me. I had a natural knack for note-taking, and this felt just like that but on steroids. There was also some strange pride in being the one who determined who gets to win and who gets to lose. It’s difficult, though. It’s never easy telling someone they weren’t good enough this time. It’s hard to condense an hour of discussion into a five or ten minute explanation in front of an invested crowd. It’s also much harder to stand your ground when they start questioning that decision. And it’s almost impossible to make everyone happy.
I decided to master this skill, despite those challenges. Eventually, I got the best of both worlds. In my notebooks were the strategies of the best debaters of the nation. Soon after, they started filling up with the strategies of the best debaters outside my country, too. My curriculum vitae also filled up. I started becoming a judge people trusted. When my name showed up as a judge in your room, many would sigh with relief knowing that they were going to be judged somewhat fairly.
It came to people’s surprise, then, when I finally decided to enter tournaments as a debater. With my notebook of arguments in hand, I would walk in and sit in front of the debate room instead of at the back.
“You’re our judge today, Nina?”
“Not this time. I’m trying out debate now.”
I’ll admit I took pleasure in seeing people confused by my shift in debate track. The first few times speaking were harder than I expected, though. Apparently, it wasn’t enough to know what makes a good speech if I couldn’t replicate them myself. I got a hang of it after a while. Eventually, people stopped assuming I was there to judge them. They would just wait to see what chair I would sit on this time. A few tournaments later, people even watched me walk up behind grand finals podiums, too.
At one point, I was known as a debater more than I was known as a judge. This transition was strange to me. Stranger was the fact that my curriculum vitae affirmed the same. Pages were filled with adjudication achievements, and now debate achievements were catching up as well. Eventually, some didn’t even know I started as a judge at all.
Some days, I find myself staring at a document screen summarizing my career in debate. It is impressive by sheer volume. What impresses me most though is how I barely remember specifics of a lot of the tournaments listed. I felt like a fraud.
The act of summarization is of both creation and destruction, I realized. When hard work is condensed into a single bullet point, it becomes easy to forget the many things achieved to get there. It also becomes easy to overlook the many obstacles that almost made that bullet point impossible.
Without planning to, I made a name for myself in my small circuits. I was known by name. I imagined my CV looming above me as I entered rooms, taking up space that it shouldn’t have.
At first, I enjoyed this micro-popularity. Now I’m not sure that I do. Eventually I was neither known as a debater nor judge. I was just known for the myths that surrounded me and my CV. The clout I have built for myself started to suffocate me. Every victory felt like relief. Every loss felt like ruin. I wonder if the myths before me ever felt the same.
Debating and judging started feeling like something to live up to instead of something to enjoy. Competing became less fun the more I did well. It wasn’t how I expected it to go. It’s only natural then, I suppose, that I changed my path to coaching debate instead. I have found this more fulfilling.
Now, I watch others publicize their own accomplishments like I used to. It is only natural. It is a celebration, in its own way. There are scandals here and there in my pocket of the universe, though—people who lie about having accomplishments, people who actively chase these bullet points, people who change a few words here and there to give it more of a pull. I understand the urge to. When your CV determines your worth, you change it in your favor. I can’t wait until they realize there is more to this activity than the potential titles they gain from it. I can’t wait until they realize that one day all those bullet points end up as a footnote somewhere else.
I plan on returning to speaking, though (preferrably with the students I now teach). It’s been a few tournaments since my last major accomplishment (and in debate world, that is a lifetime). My relationship with my skills has also become healthier. No longer do I cling to them like I did at the peak of my career. No longer do I resent them like a birthright I ought to keep affirming. Simply put: It’s fun, and I love what I do.
With Love,
Nina Tomas1
someone who enjoys debating and adjudicating sometimes