I AFFIRM THE RESOLUTION

BY SRINIVAS BALAGOPAL, 11

A common ending for an affirmative speech in a debate round is “Thus I am proud to affirm the resolution.” Although this is only regarded as a formality, I had the opportunity to discover my own meaning for this phrase during one of my very first debate rounds, two years ago.

My opponent walked inside. He was extremely tall, well past six feet, with muscles that stretched the sleeves of his neat, ironed shirt. He had short, bristly, black hair and a scowl attached to his face.

My first thought was “What is he doing in the Novice division?” I made a small noise inside my throat, which sounded like a parrot’s caw.

My opponent intently surveyed the room, regarding the lights, thermostat, and the arrangement of desks, which were haphazardly strewn everywhere. Had it not been for his professional debate attire, I might have mistaken this Goliath of a student to be the school’s custodian. As it was, I was hoping against hope that this would be the case.

Finally, the Goliath fixed his bulging eyes upon me. I stood, frozen. I kept telling myself that I would only be debating the Goliath, not wrestling him. Then, his scowl suddenly broke into a grin. I was not expecting it - but the smile did seem, if not genuine, at least courteous in this setting.

“Hi, I’m Jaiveer,” said Goliath. He had the deepest, most powerful voice I had ever heard. I was strongly reminded of Barack Obama.

“I’m Sr—Srinivas,” I replied, my voice quaking slightly.

“That’s a cool name,” Jaiveer remarked.

I wondered if that was his standard response to every debater he had encountered. Nonetheless, I replied, “Thanks,” a bit shortly.

Then Jaiveer began setting up his materials. The scowl had returned to his face. He pulled out his MacBook Air and the largest briefcase of papers I had ever seen in my life. That briefcase obviously contained the evidence he would use to barrage me (hopefully not literally).

The door opened, and three people walked in. They were obviously parents. Jaiveer and I went to shake hands with the judges. The parents shook hands with plastered smiles, gleaming in sharp contrast to their half-open, bagged eyes. Jaiveer was engaging the judges in some polite, small talk, trying to display an aura of warmth before a hairy debate round.

I tried forcing myself to dislike Jaiveer. After all, I was debating him! I needed to attack him, sink my teeth into his argument, and shut him down.

A few minutes later, we were ready to go. I was the first speaker, affirming the resolution; I would be supporting the designated topic for the tournament. I stood up.

“Everyone ready?” I asked. Everyone nodded.

I started my speech. “I affirm the resolution, ‘In the United States, national service ought to be compulsory.’ Here are my definitions . . .”

Six minutes later, my speech was done. I was feeling good: I had eloquently enunciated every syllable of my speech effectively; I had made excellent eye contact with each of my judges; I had varied my tone inflections as I spoke. It was now time for cross-examination, in which Jaiveer would ask me tough questions to poke holes into my argument. The allotted time was set at three minutes. Jaiveer started the timer.

“So,” he began brazenly in his deep, Obama baritone, “I don’t see a plan in your case. Why should our judges” — at this, he gestured at our seated spectators — “even consider voting for you, if you can’t even give them a plan?”

That question completely threw me off. I was expecting something simpler, like “what is your first contention?” Quick, just say something

“I don’t — I don’t need a plan,” I managed to utter.

“What?!” Jaiveer exclaimed dramatically. “Why on earth would you not need a plan? Are you asking our judges to believe your hypothesis” — he emphasized these words — “about national service?” Not too aggressive, not too soft, just right. The Goldilocks principle for asking questions — just be firm and in control.

“First of - First of all, it’s not a hypothesis. Also, I don’t need to give you a plan. I read so many cards to you. Take the Penn State card, for exa—”

“Can you please —” Jaiveer paused, “answer my question?”

Dead silence.

I tried to find some choice words in my brain to get out. All I got out were a few stammers: “Look, um — I don’t — you’re missing my point . . .”

Not only had I lost my train of thought, I had also lost saliva. My mouth was completely dry, my tongue flailing madly inside that desertified cave, in search of moisture. By contrast, my palms and upper lip were damp, beaded with droplets of sweat.

I stared at the timer. Two minutes left. How is that possible? I thought. It’s been, like, ten minutes already. I glanced at Jaiveer. His eyes flashed like a bull’s, as if to say, Noooo, I’m not done with you yet.

His questions rained down on me like a whip.

“That card about the net benefits of national service. Was that empirically proven, or is that just another guess?”

Crack!

“How feasible is a nationwide service program, anyway?”

Crack!

“In that case, why should the judges even vote for you in this debate?”

Crack!

“Can you please answer my question?”

Crack—Crack—CRACK!

Japanese School

BY MICHELLE CHEN, 9

I was writhing in pain. My captor was unrelenting, yelling a war-like cry. Goliath was massive, cunning, and knew all of my weak points. I screamed in despair as my arguments kept dropping like dead birds all around me.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

That was the timer. The torture was over. Jaiveer said, “Thank you” calmly and sat back down. My knees shaking, I unsteadily took my seat. As the feeling started to return to my face, my nose began to smell the sweat beading on my upper lip. My hands felt very cold against the desk, offset by the burning red sensation in my face. My armpits were drenched. I took a sip of water, but the cool moisture did not soothe the bitter realization of imminent defeat on my tongue.

Music

BY CECILE SMITH, 12

I stared at the three judges. The middle judge, a bespectacled man probably in his fifties, looked straight back at me. His bulging eyes, which were further dilated by the lenses he wore, seemed to be clawing at my saturated brain, trying to figure out where I was going with this debate. I would have loved to have known that as well.

OBAMA AND GOLIATH HAD MORPHED INTO A SINGLE BEING, A DEMON WITH INCREDIBLE SKILL AND CONTROL OVER THE SUBJECT

It was Jaiveer’s turn.

He drew himself to his fullest height, towering above six feet, and commenced his speech, opposing the resolution.

“I negate the resolution. For the educational value of today’s debate, I would like to clarify some key terms. . .”

I stared in awe. Just as Goliath had reigned supreme during cross-ex, now Obama was at the podium. Slow, clear, articulate, composed, the Commander-in-Chief was in control of the debate, and we were his constituents.

“Turning to the affirmative case,” Obama enunciated, “we can clearly see that his case is not backed with a substantial plan. Let’s look at the first contention . . .”

Obama and Goliath had morphed into a single being, a demon with incredible skill and control over the subject. Every word hit me like a powerful storm, every fact was thrown at me like a boulder, every bit of rational thought consolidated into a mountain of logic and reason, and the demon stood at the top, cool and collected, as he displaced every pebble of my sanity.

Cold fear and hot anger toppled over one another in my brain.

Anger screamed, I worked hard prepping for this argument — how dare this giant crush it like a fly?!

But Fear whimpered, I worked hard prepping for this argument — how is this giant able to crush it like a fly?!

And so it went on.

I remember, during my final speech (which paled by comparison to Jaiveer’s well-executed rebuttal), babbling something like, “So, we should — we should look at the status quo. The — the status quo is majorly flawed! You shouldn’t — shouldn’t vote for Neg because he isn’t giving you any — any substantial, concrete evidence. He isn’t giving you any empirical evidence!”

I was aware that I was repeating myself throughout the speech, but I couldn’t go back in time to change it. I kept staggering forward — staggering and staggering up the mountain.

“Thus, I am proud to affirm the resolution,” I finished lamely.

I don’t remember much of the judges’ feedback. The decision was, to no one’s surprise, 3-0 for Jaiveer. Compared to his targeted choice of words, the judges’ banal comments, peppered with pitying platitudes, simply bounced off me.

“You spoke very well; maybe you could try to work on beefing up your rebuttals. Other than that, great job,” said Judge #1.

“Your delivery was good; maybe you could try to work on attacking your opponent’s contentions. Otherwise, I thought it was a good round,” said Judge #2.

“Your speech was very nice; maybe you could try to work on finding more loopholes in your opponent’s arguments. That aside, I liked this debate,” said Judge #3.

I forced myself to smile at the end of the round.

Outside the room, I began walking silently to tell my parents that I had lost the round. But then, Jaiveer called out to me.

“Hey Srinivas! Dude, that was a sick round.”

“Oh thanks. Congratulations. You really are an experienced debater — I was honestly helpless,” I added with a wry chuckle.

Jaiveer looked pleased but also a little confused. “You practically ripped through my case. Your evidence was so solid. I had to keep faking it for the judges, but I was stunned. I really was.”

I was astonished. I studied his face for any signs of flattery or consolation. All I saw was honesty and, to more surprise, a bit of admiration.

Jaiveer extended his hand. “Honestly, thank you for a great debate round. I definitely learned a lot. Hope to see you at some more tournaments! I’ll have

HAMMERED BY KILEY HABERKORN, 11

high expectations.”

My perspective on Jaiveer had changed. I shook hands, not with Goliath, not with Obama, but with a friend.

The mistake in my debating boiled down to one idea. I had done what I despise about American politics today: I had made the debate personal. Rather than arguing in favor of national service, I had forced my mind to slam the person, not the idea.

Jaiveer had done the opposite. Rather than entangling his emotions, he had debated in an objectively balanced fashion. He had risen above the psychological chaos and had instead chosen to engage in a constructive dialogue. I had shaped Jaiveer as a demon, as Goliath, who was dismantling all of my hard work like pebbles. I had not realized that he was, in fact, just another human being who was advocating for an ideology.

What I needed to win was not more evidence or more attack lines. What I needed to win was to separate the person from the argument. What I needed to win was to have an open mind.

Before that debate round took place, whenever I would listen to others state viewpoints that differed from mine, my first thought would be “No! That’s not right. You’re wrong.”

After that pivotal round, I have strived to never become prey to my emotions, both inside and outside the debate context. Now, when faced with different ideologies, my first thought is “Why? Why do you think in that sense? I would like to understand where you’re coming from.”

I have learned that I should be confident when stating my perspectives; but it is equally, if not more, important to acknowledge the other side of the debate and to have respect for its proponents. That is a higher level of maturity. That is what a democracy needs. That is how we become more educated in a debate.

That is why I should have been proud to affirm the resolution.

The Effects Of Time

BY REILLY BRADY, 11

Remnants

BY HAILEY ALEXANDER, 9

As the sun sinks below the distant horizon, the sky comes to life. Full of oranges, pinks, yellows, and blues, the colors swirl together like a flame igniting the sky. The warm water runs between my toes as I wander further into the grand waters. Other tourists are far behind me now. I continue to take in the layered and extraordinary view. I watch transfixed as the painted sky reflects down and dances in the water below. Engrossed in the remnants of this magical sunset, I realize how it translates to life. Every day is like a sunset, full of different colors that are emotions and moods. Full of thoughts coming and going like clouds passing by. Then there are the remnants, the parts of our days that might not be as bold and prominent as its ending, but those parts––those memories––could be what we remember forever.

INSPIRED BY “SUNSET at WELLINGTON

POINT” BY BEN

BY EMILY TAKARA, 9

MULDER

Two nearly identical worlds chase each other to the horizon, racing to the thin hazy distance. The two endless, mirroring realities, one in the sky above and one in the sparkling water, disappear into a gray streak, lining the rim of the earth. Fiery clouds burn across the sky and ripple through the water, their glowing embers spreading through the deep blue above and below. The pure blue sky mixes and swirls with the burning clouds, creating emerald green, glowing in the distance. The blazing bonfire in the sky reaches its charred fingers towards the shore and its trees cut from shadow. The vibrant blue sky shines through the gaps of the clouds, like a waterfall quenching a forest fire, slashing through smoke and ashes. Meanwhile, the same battle clashes below, distorted on rippling glass that folds the reality above. The golden stained water draped across the sand illustrates every vibrant scene above. Night approaches and the two worlds, sky and land, and the two elements, water and fire, fight on as shadows, gray as smoke, begin to sneak across the sky.