In a community that prides itself on advocacy, why are survivors so often silenced? Speech and debate is supposed to be a space for justice and diversity, yet survivors of sexual assault face neglect, retraumatization, and institutional apathy. 

Time and time again survivors of sexual assault are failed by their peers. The community fails survivors on three fronts: in rhetoric, in culture, and in accountability. To truly be a community that embodies the values it promotes, a shift in how members view consent and sexual assault representation must occur. When a competitor gives a speech or introduces a card, it tends to cross the very fine line between advocacy and appropriation. A deeply traumatic event is turned into a performance completed with false empathy. 

The core of the issue is that sexual assault in the speech and debate space is frequently used as a strategy; these depictions tend to be extremely graphic and weaponized for their own benefit. The clear intention behind the performances of sexual violence is to shock judges or “stand out.” The discussion of this unfortunately prevalent experience is an important one that should be included in the debate space; however, these descriptions are rarely survivor-centered and most commonly exist to create emotional leverage. 

These inaccurate and harmful interpretations of personal experiences occur at all levels and rounds of competition, but they are especially common in final rounds or at high-stakes bid tournaments, where drama is rewarded over depth. An anonymous member of the debate community recounts an instance of this “strategy” being used in a Congressional Debate round: “When debating A Bill to Aid Myanmar, I’ve heard peers describe the assault of women in minute detail. This included harrowing descriptions using the most personal and traumatizing experience of someone’s life for the sake of their argument.”

Exploitation of sexual assault manifests in more ways than one. Some competitors flatten sexual trauma into a statistic, which detaches it from its human weight. A primary goal in the debate space is to create mutual understanding, and sometimes, empathy. Solely using numbers to represent a group of people experiencing the brunt of societal ignorance introduces this element of abstractiveness. This representation is harmful as it turns real suffering into emotionless data. The true consequence is the lack of empathy existing for sexual assault survivors both inside and outside of a round. 

Identifying why certain “strategies” of using sexual assault in an argument is crucial because there’s a difference between citing harm and commodifying it. 

It’s also important to address how this sensitive topic is introduced before the timer begins. A standard practice across multiple events is providing a trigger warning, which is truly just a band-aid on a gaping wound as it creates the illusion of choice. More specifically, in events such as Public Forum or Lincoln Douglas, trigger warnings often come after the debate has begun or when it’s too late to step out. “As a survivor of sexual assault, I sat through a Public Forum round where my opponent opened with graphic details of abuse. They gave a trigger warning just seconds before speaking. I didn’t feel like I could leave. I didn’t want to seem unprofessional or let my partner down. So I stayed. And I was shaking by the second contention,” said an anonymous member of the debate community. 

Survivors are put in a lose-lose situation: stay and be retraumatized, or leave and lose competitive ground. This requirement was designed to create a safe space for survivors, but in practice, an institutional pressure presents itself. Many competitors adhere to this rule simply to check a box, but fail to understand how their detached content harms the group of people they advocate to help.

These trigger warnings are not only fundamentally flawed but also they have become performative: a five second disclaimer before five minutes of graphic detail. Some debaters include them to appear “sensitive”, but they then proceed to say the most insensitive things. Even with the purest of intentions, many trigger warnings appear inconsistent which presents another inherent problem: not all warnings are created equal. Inevitably, rules and requirements vary based on the district, event, etc. Some offer warnings, some don’t; some wait fifteen seconds, some wait three seconds. This inconsistency should not be taken at face value because a bare minimum should exist everywhere. When predictability is established, to a certain degree, survivors are in a safe environment to make decisions that balance their competitive edge with emotional wellbeing. 

In the absence of care, the burden often falls on survivors to “prepare themselves” emotionally, rather than on speakers to adjust their content. Universally, there is a quiet pressure to maintain professionalism in competition. However, that burden can become too difficult to bear when insensitive words and ideas remain unchecked in this space of advocacy.

These harms are undeniably emotional and clinically proven as 41% of sexual assault survivors have PTSD one year later. This means that when someone chooses to stay in a round, they could be staying in a space that reopens wounds that are trying to heal. 

The presence of a warning doesn’t absolve someone from the harm their speech causes, especially when the subject is sexual assault. The idea of trigger warnings being ineffective or needing reforms is becoming more popular, yet understanding and questioning how sexual violence is presented in this space is more important that ever. Regardless of how commonplace trigger warnings become, if survivors are still forced to hear their trauma

spoken by their peers for the sake of a higher ranking, then the warning was never enough. 

The problem isn’t talking about sexual assault; it’s how it’s talked about. This issue cannot be solved until the speech and debate community reevaluates and redefines what real advocacy looks like in this capacity. Genuine discourse manifests into many different forms, but these various forms share the same foundational principles. Any rhetoric surrounding sexual violence should be survivor-centered, not trauma-centered. It should avoid having a shock value or hyper-graphic details. A rule of thumb to adhere to would be using first-person sparingly and only when absolutely necessary. 

You can’t call yourself an advocate and stay silent. Well-intentioned, yet vague, warnings and promises do not create authentic and long lasting change. A real solution comes from collaboration: competitors, coaches, and leaders on all levels need to work together to ensure that exploiting someone else’s traumatic experiences does not continue to be normalized. 

These alterations are not radical; they are basic protections that matter. If the debate space can’t protect survivors, it isn’t worth preserving as is.