My thoughts after making Team Canada

I got the phone call at 3:21 pm from an unknown caller in Vancouver, BC. I would later realize that they had tried to reach me about ten minutes earlier, but the two calls didn’t go through as I was talking to my mom who was quite worried about me.

And to be fair, she had every reason to. I had just gotten home that day at 5 AM, driven back from Pearson by my poor father while fighting to stay awake. I had just finished the Canadian National Debate Championships in Calgary, Alberta, which followed the tryouts for the National Team held in the same city. I was finally able to experience the blessing of sleep at around 6 when the sun had started to rise, relieved to finally be back home. My mom was calling me to ask if I was at school, to which I laughed and said: “Obviously not”.

But amidst my tranquility loomed an air of nervous anticipation – my partner Jason and I had been told that we would both receive a phone call that day to inform us if we’d been successful in qualifying for Debate Team Canada (TC). A spot on the team is widely seen as the apex of Canadian high school debate: being part of one of the 12 “best debaters in the country” grants you glory, recognition, and of course, a significant resume boost. Team Canada only took the best of the best, and my sole mission for the entire trip was simple – make it at all costs.

Now, the application process for TC is quite convoluted. Each of the provinces can send a maximum of 3 delegates, selected internally, directly to the National Qualifiers (Nat-Qs) in Calgary. This year, my partner Jason and I were selected by the Ontario Student Debating Union (OSDU) to have our process expedited, as we had some of the best tournament results in our year. For those who their province doesn’t select, not all hope is lost: they can apply to the Alternate Qualifiers (Alt-Qs) by sending in their debate resumes to the Canadian Students Debate Federation, which then ranks what they deem to be the best 24 debaters that applied. Those 24 then compete in a grueling 2-day long tournament, with half the competition being eliminated after the first day, and another half being eliminated after the second. I was miraculously able to make it to the second day last year, just to not be part of the 7 people who they sent through. Usually, they send 6 people. This year, they sent 5.

But here’s where it gets interesting. Those 5 people that just made it through hell and back are now thrown into a final pool along with the provincial delegates and sent to the final tryout in Calgary. This year, there were a historic 10 open spots on the team, with only 2 members (a pair of Albertan boys) returning. The stage was set for a Hunger Games-esque showdown in some poor Downtown Calgary hotel, where we would battle it out to determine who would reach ultimate debate glory.

As the tournament went on, this running joke of the “Hunger Games” between my friends seemed to ring truer. It was another 24-person competition, with the delegates from the largest provinces (Alberta, BC, and Ontario) being the favorites to win, just like the Career Tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4 in the actual trilogy.

More than anything else, it resembled the Games in how cold and ruthless it was.

Imagine placing 24 of the most driven, talented debaters in the country in the same hotel conference room and forcing them to bear each other’s presence. We all played nice with each other when the adults were watching, making pointless small talk like “what province are you from?”, but none of us were stupid and we all knew the stakes. Only 10 of us would make it, so it was everyone for themselves.

Debaters don’t like losing, and they would do everything in their power to win if it meant achieving the ultimate goal. For those that had tasted rejection before (like myself), we did not want to taste it again. For those in their final grade 11 year (like myself), we knew that this was our last chance, that it was all or nothing. Most 11th graders quit debating after not making TC, maybe because of burnout, maybe because of sadness, maybe to spend the remaining half-ish year doing something else to supplement their university application.

But even without these stakes, the circumstances themselves were antagonizing. Unlike most tournaments, the only rankings at this team would be individual, meaning not only did you have to beat the other team of 3 debaters, but you also had to outshine your two partners to succeed. If that means hoarding all the good content to yourself during prep, so be it. If that means tricking your partners into running a bad case just so you can repair it in a later speech, go ahead (I’ve seen it work).

As we had all been warned by our seniors, tryouts were a marathon. There were members of the National Board watching you at all times, even after the round, leading to debaters sucking up and asking for extensive feedback after rounds just to put up a front. The judging at this tournament was also interesting, to say the least. My lowest moment was definitely after the second round, where the panel of 3 judges (one of them the Committee Chair) looked incredibly confused by both my teammates and displayed passionate agreement whenever the opposition team said anything. By the time of my third speech, I was certain that we were losing the round, and despite what was retrospectively a decent effort, had lost all confidence. I even asked what I thought was a clever Point of Information to the Opposition’s 3rd speaker, and upon hearing her response, the lady judge in the center of the table nodded and audibly said “Exactly”.

My mental was destroyed at that point. Not only would this exact panel go on to judge me for three of the six total rounds, but among the spectators in the room were Brent Schmidt (the current coach of TC), and Jason Xiao (considered to be the best coach in Canadian history and a former World Champion). I nearly felt like crying after I got out of feedback, and if it wasn’t for a couple of motivational YouTube videos, I doubt I would have found the strength to keep going.

The second day was slightly smoother sailing – after another rough first round, I was reasonably satisfied with my final two speeches and headed up to my hotel room to finally relax. Even though I had made plans to hang out with other debaters, I canceled them all, as I wasn’t in a state fit for human interaction. I FaceTimed some friends, played a lot of Candy Crush, and used a $30 Uber Eats voucher I’d been saving to order precisely $30.50 of Japanese food which I subsequently devoured. Jason had also left the hotel for the night to hang out with a friend, which allowed me to have one of the most relaxing times of my life, It was nothing short of pure bliss to unwind after two days of nonstop stress, acknowledge that it was finally over, and go to town on some lukewarm ramen, sushi, and takoyaki.

Nationals during the following three days were also relatively stress-free – the stakes were far lower, there were many more friends around, and we had far more time to explore the city instead of being confined to the same hotel. When we finally landed back at Pearson, our suitcases full of wrinkled dress shirts, a stuffed moose I had bought from Calgary’s airport, and the two white cowboy hats gifted to us for making the quarterfinals, I was finally able to relax.

And then I remembered about the phone call. My relaxation would have to wait a bit longer.

…

I looked at the unknown caller, and quickly said a silent prayer before hitting accept.

“Hello, is this Julian?”

“Yes,” I reluctantly replied.

“Hey, this is Arsalan, one of the coaches of Team Canada. You probably know what this call is about”.

I was dumbfounded. It seemingly took all the strength in my body to conjure up a “yeah”.

“Well, congratulations! I wanted to offer you a spot on next year’s Team Canada. I just need to set up a meeting with your parents, so just message me on Facebook and we’ll figure out the details”

All I got out was an “alright, thank you so much” before hanging up the phone and letting out a massive sigh.

I think it’s very telling that the first emotion I felt was relief, not excitement. I thought back to the sting of defeat I had experienced a year ago, the silent recognition that despite my excuses about judging or whatever, I wasn’t good enough and I didn’t deserve to make it any further. I thought about how hard I worked in the following year, watching debates, meticulously jotting down every round I’ve done and piece of feedback I’ve gotten, and religiously studying every global event in the months leading up to tryouts. I thought of all the showers I’ve taken while listening back to a speech I’ve given, all the past Team Canada rounds I’d flowed, and all the nights I lay awake in bed dreading what would happen if I didn’t make it.

It was all worth it, I thought.

And then I thought of all the people that had helped me along the way. The coaches, teachers, and seniors who had taken me under their wing and raised me, even when I was just another bad junior debater who somehow thought they were special. The friends who’d gotten me through the whole process, whom I hoped would get similar calls as well (some did and some didn’t, which I’m still mad about to this day).

Only then did I finally start to realize the moments that were really important. Not debating the right of public-sector workers to strike or the US’s foreign policy, but cracking jokes with debaters in the lobby. Not jotting down every piece of feedback I’d gotten from judges, but talking with friends about our personal lives over dinner. Not trying to drastically outshine every other debater I met, but doing on a nighttime drive of Calgary with Jason’s friend after my couple hours of seclusion, bumping loud indie pop in a shaky Ford and enjoying the nighttime breeze. As cheesy as it is, those are the moments that make everything worth it – the achievements are nothing but a cherry on top.

To everyone I’ve mentioned, implicitly or explicitly, thank you so much. I don’t think I would have gotten anywhere near here without your support. I really hope this is a new chapter of my debate journey and not just an epilogue – there’s still a long way to go.