Logic vs. Debate, Part 4: A Strange and Limited World
It’s extremely difficult to convey how bizarre the world of competitive homeschool debate was, but I only know this in hindsight. At the time, I thought it was deeply important. I worked hard at it, and I was emotionally invested in whether I did well at each tournament. More than that, it was a huge part of my world at the time. The best parts of my teen years were getting to see my friends at tournaments. They were a break from home life. This was my idea of a good time.
Homeschooled kids from ages 12 to 18 would dress up in professional attire, and we’d carry around big bags or boxes full of “evidence.” There was no division between ages, and my dad was especially proud of this fact, because it was impressive when the younger ones out-debated the older kids. This rarely happened, however.
Our tournaments were usually held at church or college campuses. Each debate round was ideally set up with a table for each team and another table for the judge and timer, with a lectern in the middle of the room to speak at. In reality, we had to set up enough space to hold up to dozens of debate rounds at the same time, so we managed with whatever space we could. I ended up debating in closets, church nurseries, and even our family’s bus. We mostly used music stands for portable lecterns.
Tournament days were long and demanding. Each day involved about 10 to 12 hours of active competition, not including the process of getting ready. Because it was a Christian event, it was common to start with a worship service. Then we’d have 4-6 rounds of competition, each of which took about two hours. There were about twice as many debate rounds and speech rounds, and we had ten different speech categories (I’m not going to address all those here). We also had two or three types of debate, but I’ve been describing policy debate, which involved teams of two.
Most tournaments were what we called “qualifiers.” These were 3- to 4-day events that offered competitors the chance to qualify to the regional or national championships. Those who did well in the preliminary rounds would “break” to “out-rounds,” up to a final round where the top two teams would debate.
Tabulation took a long time. Everything was rushed. Within the time constraints, we would perform, then the judges had to make their decisions and fill out the ballots, then the people in the tab room entered all the information into spreadsheets and calculate the scores before the results could be delivered for the next out-round.
As a result, tournaments were usually way behind schedule by the end. Sometimes we’d wait around for hours before they’d announce who made it to the next round of competition. Our only options for social interaction were the same kids we were competing against, so we formed odd friendships. During these long indefinite periods of waiting, we were also incredibly bored. Some people brought guitars and other musical instruments, decks of cards for playing games or practicing tricks, or we’d sit around and argue theology.
Again, this was my idea of a good time.
My point in describing all this is to compare this to a logic class, but the setting and culture matters here. In an academic setting, you can expect to have your work checked for plagiarism. There is a general expectation of integrity and intellectual rigor. There were several things in our debate competitions that went against this.
1. Conservative sources were considered top-notch evidence. It was common, for instance, to quote the Heritage Foundation (now famous for sponsoring Project 2025), in our debate rounds.
2. The entire culture was full of Christian conservative people who would not tolerate hearing outside perspectives. Bringing up a talking point that involved a controversy within conservativism was not just in bad taste, but could result in a double loss or expulsion from the tournament itself.
3. The vast majority of the judges at our tournaments were the parents. There were rules against parents judging their own kids or the students they’d coached, but even so, the community was small enough that it was a struggle to find enough judges. It was a point of pride for some reason that our judges were volunteers, not paid for their time. Apparently, as students, we had a right to request a different judge, but this was not honored. I once asked for a different judge, was told no, and then that judge voted against me anyway.
4. Our tournaments were tabulated/calculated by parents of the competitors. There were rules that the parents who worked in the “tab room” were sworn to secrecy about their own kids. Worse than the conflict of interest, though, was the possibility that it took a long time for another reason: these were homeschool parents. Few of them could teach high school math, so it’s no surprise that they struggled to calculate the competition results in a timely manner.
5. There was no fact-checking, and winning a debate was up to the sole discretion of the judges. This meant that bias was rampant. Judges had to write on our ballots what their reasons for decisions were, but it was often unclear or simply bizarre. Once I lost a key debate round, and the deciding factor was a judge who just left tally marks.
In describing the limited world I grew up in, I hope to convey the imagery of how weird it was. These competitions were everything to us at the time, but ultimately, nobody on the outside would understand what we were describing. These were our main social interactions, too. Even today, my socialization skills are poor because of the isolation combined with “befriending” other competitors in a fiercely competitive environment. We weren’t really friends, and I am still in touch with very few people from those days anymore.
Basically, it was very weird, and probably weirder than I will ever understand, because it was once normal for me.