On Sunday night, with the deadline for this column fast approaching, I watched a debate round to procrastinate.
I had the “Self Control” application on, blacklisting every enjoyable website (BuzzFeed, Twitter, etc.), so the pickings were slim. I briefly considered addressing the final English paper I had due today, but that would have been too rational. The final round of a recent debate tournament, “Whilst accepting that life begins at conception, this House still supports a woman’s right to abortion,” would be productive procrastination.
I was never required to debate an abortion-related topic in high school. Indeed, when someone would ask, “Is there a topic that a tournament would never do?” I’d identify it as an example of a taboo-motion. The only time I ever saw an abortion debate play out was at the final of the 2007 World Universities Debating Championships, hosted at the University of British Columbia when I was 16. My own worldview was shaped listening to those arguments in support of allowing it at all stages of conception.
The personal essay I wrote for college applications described how I felt that I had no opinions because debate always forced me to see both sides of an issue. My mother was concerned that this would imperil my chances with schools, which presumably value prospective students who possess opinions. (She was right.)
Watching this round was bittersweet. I’m depressed about leaving Duke’s debate team, which has been an invaluable family through both times of joy and times of grief. Unless I eventually go to law school and have the time to debate there (which is possible, but not likely), I will never again experience another weekend of flight delays, inclement weather, excessive drinking and overzealous opponents.
The proposition teams gave the arguments about the right to life not being incontrovertible, the economic actualization of women that’s stalled with unintended pregnancy and gender equality being tied to negating biological imperatives. They used the language that rhetorically helps—torture, parasitic, enslavement, etc.
The opposition teams talked about why ending life is wrong, why the fetus cannot protect itself and what it means to have power over another human being. They even said they’d be in favor of the government compensating women to acknowledge that they have less bodily autonomy than men. I found their argumentation persuasive because that’s what a good debate speech can do to me.
I worry that I feel too strongly about things and that I won’t be able to meet people somewhere in the middle. I don’t think that what happens to my body is up for debate, but it very much is outside the confines of my house and my circle of friends.
Journalist Irin Carmon, who visited Duke this Spring during the Women’s Center’s inaugural “Write(H)ers” series, had a number of tips for aspiring writers entering the cut-throat media market. One of them was “Punch Up, Not Down.” What she meant was that it is better to take on subjects of influence and power rather than easy targets for quick hits. I haven’t always followed this advice. Indeed, the title of this column pays homage to an anonymous, online commenter who didn’t appreciate a piece I wrote about Duke’s HerCampus platform. It sort of alludes to what I’m ineloquently trying to say.
In an act of desperation, I reread countless senior columns. I’m in in awe of how alumni like David Graham, Naureen Khan and Ryan Brown managed to articulate things that I’ve felt but would never know how to express. In the words of Connor Southard, “I’ve been given a lot of space to mess up here, and mess up is exactly what I’ve done.”
Just as a debate round lasts for a finite amount of time (56 minutes), a column maxes out at 850 words. But unlike an unrecorded debate round, columns can be infinitely resurrected. The Internet creates this hazard (I hope people never discover how I once connected Shooters II and a two-state solution) that is also a blessing (I’ll always be able to remember how and what I thought about).
Because of new media platforms and online commentary, columns increasingly have the power to generate conversations that can be both productive and destructive for our community. Looking at people, organizations and systems with a critical eye doesn’t always work out the way we intend, and it can engender opinions that are trite, self-righteous, judgmental, attention seeking or ill-informed. But what better way to practice moving into a world in which things happen messily, in which debates have ramifications beyond a room with a judge?
Sitting on my desk is one of the best gifts I’ve ever received—a DIY kaleidoscope from a former PWILD crew leader. She gave it to me for my birthday in September, when I was bummed about a break-up. On it she wrote: “Since a new year often calls for a different perspective and perhaps a fresh set of eyes, I made this kaleidoscope to help you shake things up.” It’s time to live out her words.
Thank you to my professors, my mentors, my teammates, my friends (who are my family) and my family family for always being there and supporting me in this process of figuring out who I am and what I stand for. Anticipating the loss of your every day presence induces overwhelming anxiety. I am so grateful for your love.
Samantha Lachman is a Trinity senior. This is her final column of the semester. Follow her on Twitter @SamLachman.
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