Royals Essay 33

Practice ends at 6:00, but our conversations don’t. They last for hours, and by the end of the night, my teammates feel less like peers and more like cherished friends. If there is one thing these late nights have taught me, it’s the power of marginalized voices when given a platform to be heard. Over the past four years, I’ve worked hard to carry that lesson beyond the speech and debate classroom and into the forefront of my life.

I entered my first speech and debate practice as a freshman in high school, unsure of where I belonged. Growing up in a low-income immigrant family taught me to avoid the spotlight and not waste time on too trivial matters. As such, I possessed an incessantly shy demeanor that haunted me throughout middle school. But what was supposed to be a quick informational meeting quickly turned into a loud, high-spirited improv session with me as a witch and my partner as a door-to-door salesman. It was my very first time acting.

The next week, I returned to practice, though something within me had changed. My improv session of the previous week had left my hands slightly less tense and my voice steadier when it was my turn to address the room. In the heat of the moment, I decided then that I wanted to officially join the team. Looking back, I was unaware of how much this decision would shape me. Today, as a senior, I am proud to serve as captain and president of my high school’s sixty-member speech and debate team.

Tournament after tournament, I’ve developed my voice from small and shaky to steady and confident. Whether through my sophomore year piece exploring my Iranian-American heritage or my junior year speech dedicated to female autonomy, my voice has allowed me to use storytelling as a form of advocacy. As a four-time KSHSAA 5A state competitor and three-time nationals competitor through NCFL and NSDA, I have traveled to tournaments in Louisville, Chicago, and Des Moines, where I met students from vastly different backgrounds united by a shared commitment to argumentation and public speaking. These tournaments have taught me that the true power of speech and debate is not the competition aspect, but the space it holds for diverse perspectives and storytelling.

As captain and president, I am responsible for helping run practices and tournaments, coaching novices through their debut seasons, and working with my team to build an environment where every member feels valued and uplifted. These tasks have taught me that leadership is less about personal recognition and more about maintaining collective growth and ensuring positivity.

Beyond practice, I help organize events that strengthen our program’s foundation. I planned our 2025 senior sendoff and 2026 season kickoff to celebrate past competitors and build momentum for the year ahead. Furthermore, to ensure our team could afford travel and resources, I’ve helped fundraise nearly $1,500 through a talent show and speech showcase ticket sales, concession stands, and snack sales. Coordinating these efforts required communication with administrators, parents, and more, but being able to help bring our team to nationals made every sacrifice worthwhile.

The most meaningful moments I’ve experienced through speech and debate were not being awarded medals, but watching novices advance to finals after weeks of practice or seeing a once-quiet teammate volunteer to lead a vocal warmup. As a leader, I am dedicated to ensuring that our platform is accessible to others. Through this activity, I have learned that leadership is service. It requires listening before speaking and investing in others, even when your own schedule is full. Most importantly, I learned that advocacy is most effective when it empowers others to participate. A single voice can raise awareness, but a community of voices can create change.

That understanding extended beyond competition. One morning in Anthropology class, my teacher shared that when she first began teaching, it felt as though a student was passing away from cancer every year. I struggled to believe it. Instead of accepting it as unfortunate but inevitable, I began asking why. Speech and debate had trained me to question assumptions and communicate with purpose. As I studied the social determinants of health, including economic stability and environmental conditions, I learned why life expectancy in Wyandotte County is significantly shorter than in neighboring communities. The disparities were systemic, not accidental, and I became determined to use speech and debate to curb them.

By the summer of my junior year, I merged my interest in advocacy with scientific research, studying how toxic stress affects immune function in pediatric asthma. Balancing research with work and tournaments was demanding, but seeing my study selected for publication made every sacrifice worthwhile.

For a long time, I thought the path out of Wyandotte County was the only option. But after years of learning, growing, and leading, I have begun to see my community not as a place to escape, but as the reason I care about advocacy and public speaking in the first place. I often reflect on the birthplace of this passion: my speech and debate classroom. Today, I approach college, and my path forward is clear. I hope to one day return to Wyandotte County post-studies so I can give to others what was once given to me: the gift of advocacy.