Race To The Top: Exploiting Stories and Statistics

“Considering that there were more school shootings than days last year, we need to be asking ourselves…” The students, packed like sardines in Lecture Hall C, fell silent with their mouths wide open. The green-suited finalist in Extemporaneous Speaking had just dropped the most devastating, yet also the most impactful statistic during the debate, and the spectators quickly typed their notes into a Google Doc. Among them, the Stuyvesant Extemp team looked around, blown away by the rhetoric and sheer shock-value of the statement. Despite the excitement on our faces, the team and wider Speech and Debate community often grapple with the morality of using dramatic statistics or real-life stories.

As competitors rush to prepare speeches, we are often guilty of trying to research the most gruesome number that will blow away the judge. However, in our blind ambition to find the most impactful figure to achieve the highest rank, we forget that these are real people impacted. Many speakers will contend that using statistics—whether it be that 30,000 people have lost their lives in the Russo-Ukranian War or that by the time a seven-minute speech ends, five people will have died because of climate change—brings attention and awareness to global conflict and strife. By using statistics as a hook, speakers and debaters can reel people in towards thoughtful analysis on issues like Putin’s aggressive new advances into Ukraine and the pernicious effects of global warming.

Some go beyond drastic statistics and share intense anecdotes to support their arguments. The 2023 National Champion in Speech, McKinley Paltzik, claims that using individual people’s stories can be better than “going for shock-value of who can find the biggest number” because using personal stories can uplift voices that are otherwise unheard. However, when Paltzik uses stories like “5-year-old Artur,” who’s “bedridden in a hospital in Brazil,” it still seems unscrupulous. When we dramatize anecdotes for our gain or a higher placement at a tournament, we exploit real tragedy.

This isn’t only apparent in Speech—dramatization occurs in almost every high school academic debate forum. A line in a Lincoln-Douglas debate case—“Racial injustice is inextricably linked to increased criminalization rates for people of color”—was a true reason to affirm that the primary objective of the United States criminal justice system ought to be rehabilitation. Although it cemented a winning ballot from the judge, this strategy of using status-quo criminalization rates as a reason to implement rehabilitation was merely an argument for the debate community, not a representation of pressing issues. In a similar fashion, debaters in Public Forum weaponize structural violence frameworks—the idea of voting for arguments based on who helps those structurally oppressed more—as a path to victory. Whether it’s capitalizing on Indigenous people’s suffering at the hands of military expansion into the Arctic or the staggering poverty that developing countries are kept trapped in at the hands of wealthier nations, structural violence arguments are used as golden tickets to better standings. 

As a Lincoln-Douglas debater at a tournament at the Bronx High School of Science said last year, statistics are “tools in the affirmative toolbox.” Immediately after weaving tales of oppression from other communities, debaters happily accept trophies, medals, and plaques, and think about how nice their rank at a prestigious tournament will look to colleges. The majority don’t actually do anything to solve the issue they pretend to care about passionately. Stories of struggle in a subjectively flawed system are used as tools to craft the strongest case, and in the process, we forget that these struggles are real problems that we can contribute to solving.

Lincoln-Douglas debaters call this issue “charity cannibalism.” The phrase originated in French postmodernist Jean Baudrillard’s book The Illusion of the End. Although Baudrillard’s purpose was to criticize the capitalistic exploitation of people for manual labor, his words are still applicable now. We reuse the minimally reported stories of other groups and constantly recycle them to become tangible lines of text in debate cases and audible rhetoric in speeches. They have become food for what we have twisted ourselves into thinking is necessary for our survival, and when the food runs out we will search for new sources—stories—to feed ourselves. It seems quite apocalyptic, but it is ingrained in our modern lives. Exploitation of suffering is used as a way to make ourselves feel better, not help those whose stories we highlight.

The easiest explanation for this flagrant neglect is that debaters simply don’t think about the people they use. Debaters are in a bubble of privilege—blissfully ignorant to the problems of the world at hand. High school debate has historically been one of the most, if not the most, exclusive and expensive activities to participate in. Even now, the majority of people who compete on a national level have had the privilege of private coaches, multi-thousand dollar tuition summer camps and prep groups only for debate. The mounds of research these programs can have mass access to intrinsically shuts out debaters in less well-funded speech and debate programs, such as Stuyvesant’s team, who don’t have the money to hire private coaches to spend hours gathering evidence, from the most prestigious levels of the activity. Passionate individuals without adequate access to necessary resources become disinterested and unmotivated as a result of constantly losing to mounds of abused statistics and anecdotes. An activity that aims to nurture high schoolers’ voices shouldn’t be exclusionary—accessibility is essential. Debate as an activity has always been a space for us to advocate for causes we truly care about, but competitive pressure and ignorance have distorted the presentation of critical issues in this activity. Change is possible—perpetuating this at a larger level requires us to interrogate privilege in debate and truly become conscious of the reductive lens we debate or speak through. 

One way to improve accessibility is through partnership or mentorship opportunities. One such example is Wake Forest University’s “Dream Team” program with the New York City Urban Debate League (NYCUDL). As a prestigious institution for college policy debate, Wake Forest has the privilege of experienced coaches and debaters who were top-tier talent in high school. They coach underprivileged students selected by the NYCUDL, hoping to make debate more inclusionary and passing on valuable debate skills, such as organizing a case and thinking of rebuttals in limited time. This not only elevates student voices, who have unique opinions regarding issues of oppression and how to solve them, but also provides underprivileged students with a chance to reap the benefits from high school debate. Student-run organizations such as Outreach Debate, Equality in Forensics, PepTalk Debate, and Women in Debate all contribute to creating a larger debate community that helps each other out, regardless of socioeconomic differences. Our privilege is a powerful tool that can be used to open discussions to a more diverse audience. The line between advocacy for exploitation and change is fine and often blurred, but it is a critical one nonetheless. 

At the surface level, advocacy, even if exploitative, can be beneficial to a degree. Awareness is significant in the early stages of crises, and having massive groups of people help uplift hidden voices is important. However, the problem lies in the over-commodification of activism; when advocacy comes from a selfish place, it triggers a diluting effect on powerful movements. Even if not outwardly stated, privileged society adopts a dangerous lens on taking action; it is only worth doing if it can be praised by an audience, and in many cases, effective forms of change like lifestyle shifts are simply not as effective for garnering that attention. This ignorant way of viewing advocacy also creates opportunities for genuine harm through the careless spread of misinformation or fake charities, especially on social media platforms where posts can become viral overnight. The Instagram stories that have become the poster child of social media activism have often been flooded with misinformation or “fundraisers” used as fronts to fraudulent charities. Thus, the only way for advocacy to flourish is for it to be approached from a genuine and thorough place; mass media and activities like debate harness massive potential for societal impact, but only if done with care.

On a larger scale, the first step to genuine advocacy is being willing to push out of your comfort zone for change—to be complacent and comfortable is to silence yourself. Taking time to inform yourself, not through the reels and picture carousels that appear on your For You Page, but rather through reliable sources which act as a foundation. Based on your individual circumstances, there are a plethora of paths you can take to making a difference. For example, having financial resources may enable you to more directly connect with victims by funding larger aid projects or even donating to specific families/individuals in need. Even if you don’t have those resources, attending or organizing peaceful protests, creating media to combat harmful information or rhetoric hurting a movement, or reaching out to local legislators are all effective means for making change. 

We hold the future in our hands—whether it crumbles or endures depends on whether we step up to the plate and shift how we approach fixing the systemic mistakes of the present. Whether it’s letting youth voices shine through the powerful platform of the debate activity, or powering mass-scale societal movements for good, the tools for change are right in front of us.   At the end of the day, we are faced with one critical choice that will define us: do we want to cannibalize every situation for personal gain or are we willing to make a necessary sacrifice?