In a lot of our debates and speeches, we talk about how limited opportunities in the world are. Yet it’s something that’s often forgotten within the debate community itself—especially when it comes to the opportunities we get in competition. And no, I don’t just mean financial ones. There’s another blog article talking all about that, and those of us who compete nationally already understand how fortunate we are to afford flights, hotels, and registration fees. But there’s a quieter privilege we don’t always name: the privilege of knowing that the national circuit exists in the first place—the privilege of information. 

To clarify what I mean, I’ll take my alma mater, Olympic Heights, as an example of a program that was unaware of the options available. When I joined the team in 2022, we believed we were giving ourselves every opportunity to grow. We competed monthly in our local CFL, attended the state championship, and closed the year with NCFL nationals. We took pride in our accomplishments—enough to call ourselves “local legends.” 

But if you’re reading this blog, you probably know better. You know that there are dozens of national tournaments, bid circuits, and round robins available. At Olympic Heights, we thought there was a single national tournament a year—because no one had ever told us there were more. 

And that ignorance wasn't—and isn’t—unique to Olympic Heights. 

There are four CFL districts in Florida, and 6 CDIs. Across them, over a hundred schools compete each year. But only a fraction of those schools ever set foot on the national circuit. For the rest, debate remains a regional exercise—unaware that students elsewhere are qualifying for TOC, attending invitationals at Harvard and Glenbrooks, and receiving invites to round robins around the country. Unaware that those tournaments exist in the first place. 

Olympic Heights only discovered that world because we got lucky. 

In the summer of 2023, I attended the Harvard Council Congressional Debate Camp. It was there that I met Florida debater Grace Jackson and Ohio’s Ankit Maharana—both of whom gave me the opportunity to gain knowledge. Grace explained what mid-round speeches were. Ankit explained what TOC bids were. If it weren’t for that camp, along with Ankit and Grace, my team would’ve never figured out there was a bigger world of debate. 

But when we returned to school that fall and entered our first TOC bid tournament, we were competing in Florida Blue Key. We went in proud. We left humbled. After all, local legends are national nobodies. 

It wasn’t a question of effort—we were already putting in hours. But our PF debaters had never heard the phrase “tabula rasa” before. Our Congress kids didn’t know how direct questioning worked, let alone how to write a crystal. Our speech competitors weren’t even taught by the event, or called by their event. They were just… “speech kids.” And if you’ve been on the circuit for long enough, you know as well as I that it wasn’t just my school; there are tons of schools where the structure, the knowledge, the exposure isn’t there. 

After all, how could it be? 

You can’t access opportunities you don’t know exist. We talk so often about financial equity in this space. But information equity matters too. I know it sounds like I’m complaining, but I’m truly not. I'm grateful that I was able to bring my team into this world and, with the help of Equality in Forensics, gain the knowledge and the equity of what debate really is. Of what tech debate is, of what a crystal is, of what speech events actually are. 

My team grew because of a single person learning that this world existed, leading to growth, not by me carrying the team, but just by letting them know the world existed, and with EIF, the rest is history. That’s why I’m writing this—not just to tell you about my team’s growth, but to leave you with this. 

There are programs just like mine all across the country. Programs filled with students who are talented, passionate, and deeply committed. But they are not able to access this greater world of debate we have grown to love, because they don’t know it exists. 

They need someone to tell them. 

That’s exactly what the members of EIF do with the chapter initiatives, and I hope to truly transmit the level of cluelessness that is felt in the schools that EIF is trying to bring information equity to. I hope to show just how incredibly important the chapter initiative is to bring equity and equality to debate truly. But above all, I hope to have someone from a CFL-only school read this, and understand that even if you only have a single year to take advantage of the opportunity you just learned about due to EIF reaching out to you. You have the ability and time to make the most of it, and even qualify for TOC, like my team did. 

But if you’re like me, an alumnus of a program like that—a public school that made it work without knowing the national scene—reach out. Your team would probably love to hear from you. This year I’m returning to Olympic Heights—not as a competitor, but as an advisor, helping ensure that the opportunities in the world of debate are known about, that my team can pursue them if they should choose. 

You don’t need to be a finalist to offer support. After all, I wasn’t a national finalist, nor were my mentors, but with the help of alumni Hila Matitiaev and Aiden Israeli, I went from a national nobody to at least a national somebody with a couple of accomplishments under my belt. 

You don’t need to go as extreme and become a full-fledged advisor to help. You don’t need to be the reason why your old team becomes a national circuit powerhouse. But if you choose to give them a little, just the information, the knowledge that the opportunity exists. You might just see your local legends become national ones all by themselves.