The first travel tournament I ever went to as a novice was in rural Cheyenne, Wyoming. Cheyenne is all the rage in Speech and Debate, in case you didn't know. I mean, who doesn't love being met with broken elevator shafts in your hotel room, or needing a group consensus to go to Buc-ee's after 10 hours of debating? It's pretty exciting stuff, but it wasn't for my mother when I first showed her the sign-up form.

"Wyomming? Are you sure? You know their laws on, well, trans people and bathrooms and whatnot. I just want you to be safe."

My mom was a bit scared, and rightfully so. Currently, Wyoming has passed a slew of anti-trans laws, a some of which restrict transgender people from accessing public facilities aligned with their gender identity. Furthermore, these laws include the prohibition of transgender people using restrooms and changing areas that don't align with their sex assigned at birth.

However, the struggle for trans competitors in Speech and Debate extends beyond Wyoming, because as of mid-2025, 20 states have laws or policies that restrict transgender people's access to bathrooms that match their gender identity. Unsurprisingly, a vast majority of these bans affect K-12 schools, home to where speech and debate tournaments take place.

Even outside of states without odd bathroom laws, intolerance still feels like a foundation in speech and debate for trans kids. From feeling out of place in formal clothing to coaches pushing kids to give speeches about their identity, or even, more staunchly, transgender people's existence becoming a debate, transgender kids' roles in speech and debate has become exactly the latter: a debate, rather than a piece in the forensics community.

In North Carolina, near where the NSDA national tournament will be held for 2025 in Virginia, resides my friend, Kae. Earlier this month, my friend Kae was telling me about an experience he had at his school. On a random Thursday, Kae's friend at school blurted, “I wish guys were more like you.” A bit puzzled, Kae replied, "I am a guy, what do you mean?” “Well, you're like a… a guy-girl!” A “he-she” she later added. 

Of course, my first instinct was to reply with, “Well, she must be indecisive at parties.” Still, on a serious note, incidents like these highlight the issues transgender people face regularly when navigating social intolerance. While comments like these aren't exactly malicious, they're still exhausting.

Similarly, on an institutional level, states like North Carolina and their neighbors like Virginia pose restrictions on expressing gender identity. North Carolina's Parents' Bill of Rights requires teachers to notify parents if a student's name or pronouns change at school, while in Virginia, Virginia's Department of Education issued new model policies that require parental consent for any changes to a student's name or pronouns on official records. 

State-level policing doesn’t just happen in schools; it spills over into extracurricular activities too. In the NSDA's “Professionalism Reading Handout 1” they explain about how boys are encouraged to wear suits whenever possible. For girls, the recommendation is to go for either a skirt suit or a pantsuit. These regulations might seem small, and voluntary but they add up to set a precedent to how speech and debate should operate. Measures like these shift speech and debate from expression to a program. Trans competitors have to navigate debate not only as an academic experience but also as a space where their identity is shaped within a binary framework, even down to what they wear.

While I've spotlighted the exclusion thatfForensics often brings for competitors, strangely enough, there's still a problem with inclusion — just not in the way we might think. To quote Northeastern University's Jessica Kurr, "Do not assume every trans student wants to make arguments about gender issues or give speeches about their identity. While some might, trans competitors should not and cannot be reduced down solely to being trans." The NSDA hinges on embracing and uplifting central parts of our identity; however, when these arbitrary traits relating to gender identity, which make up such a small fraction of our complex characters, cast a shadow on who we are as people, it becomes a problem.

Transgender students within the NSDA should be proud of their identities, not have them commodified to pull on a judge's heartstrings during an OO round. Restricting the already limited autonomy that transgender speakers have outside of speech serves as yet another reminder of the societal pressures they face. We need to create an environment that celebrates diversity and lets all students tell their stories in their own way, without being reduced to just their gender identities.

For trans competitors like myself, tournaments can feel like both a sanctuary and a spotlight. On one hand, speech and debate is built on expression and freedom of thought. On the other hand, it often overlooks the very real barriers that prevent us from feeling safe enough to compete — and that loss affects everyone. When trans debaters quit or choose not to compete, the circuit loses perspectives that challenge norms and expand empathy. Debate becomes less about representing every voice and more about reinforcing who’s already comfortable speaking.

But the story doesn't have to stop there. Solutions like requiring at least one gender-neutral restroom per tournament site, giving agency to transgender students to guide their speeches to how they see fit, or doing something as simple as asking for your opponents' pronouns before the round can greatly improve everyone's experiences.

Furthermore, building a sense of community is one of the most essential ways to create a positive impact. Establishing mentorship programs that connect younger competitors with more experienced ones, especially focusing on underrepresented groups, to provide guidance and support that so often becomes a second thought. 

In forensics, if speech and debate genuinely aim to amplify every voice, then trans students deserve more than just tolerance — we deserve a sense of belonging. When we stand up to speak, we aren't asking for special treatment; we’re asking to be heard for who we are.