I Am Not Jessica Chen(32)
On the other side—my side—is Charlotte Heathers and a girl from Jessica’s physics class.
“Hey, Jessica,” Charlotte says with a wide, genuine smile. She’s one of the only girls in our year who hasn’t had her braces taken off yet, and the smattering of freckles across her nose looks more prominent than ever under the harsh fluorescent lights. It’s a look that not many can pull off, but she makes it seem cute, even stylish.
“Okay, debaters, please find the topic on the board,” Old Keller announces. “Tracey, Liam, and Lachlan—you’ll be arguing for the topic. Jessica’s team—you’ll be arguing against.”
I slide into the only seat available, on Charlotte’s left, and stare ahead. The topic has been written out with a dying blue marker and circled twice for emphasis.
It reads:
Imperialism is a justifiable means of spreading knowledge and new technologies to weaker nations.
“What?” I hiss out loud, blinking at the board. “Are we being serious? Is this . . . is this a legitimate topic for debate?”
Charlotte shoots me a look that’s half infuriated on my behalf and half apologetic. “Maybe we can ask the teacher to change it,” she says. “This is only for a mock debate, anyway.”
I feel a low twisting in my gut, but I ignore it. It is possible that the teacher would change the topic—but then I’d have to try and explain myself to the room, beg them to understand it from my point of view, and that thought only makes my stomach tighten further. “No, it’s fine,” I say. “Not a big deal.”
Across the room, the other members have already started brainstorming, Liam speaking low and fast with his hand covering his mouth, while Tracey nods enthusiastically and takes notes, her pen flying across the page.
“Wow, they were really prepared for this one, weren’t they?” I mutter. “It’s great that they can think of so many reasons right away. Not concerning at all.”
“We’ll win,” Charlotte reassures me. “We can come up with better points.”
I nod, even though that’s not what I’m worried about.
The official debate begins fifteen minutes later. Liam goes first. He stands up slowly, pushing the chair back with an unpleasant, drawn-out screech, and clears his throat twice. His limbs are loose and relaxed, his mouse-brown hair gelled back, his expression smug, as though they’ve already won.
“I would like to first clarify what the topic is addressing,” he says, “in that the real question posed here is: Do the benefits of imperialism outweigh any potential harm? Ultimately, we believe the answer is yes.”
It’s all I can do to keep my eyebrows from ascending up my forehead.
“What is imperialism?” he continues, now walking around the room as he talks. He isn’t holding any cue cards, so his hands move freely about in distracting, elaborate gestures that mean nothing. “Simply put, it is the spread and extension of power, culture, and influence. Let’s look throughout history, toward the Opium War, as an example. . . .”
I’m forced to sit there and chew my own tongue as he goes on and on about the economic benefits of opium sales, about the modernizing effects of war, the stimulation of global trade, before arriving at his next point. “We believe that the weaker nations are the ones benefiting the most from imperialism. Look at our education system, our resources, our research—it’s universally acknowledged that a Western education is superior. Today, hundreds of thousands of immigrants flock to our country in hopes of attaining exactly that. Those people will spend their whole lives fighting to be recognized by institutions like Harvard.” His eyes land deliberately on me, his point clear.
I look away, coldness spreading through my fingertips, unable to think of a response. Because haven’t I spent my whole life longing for Harvard’s approval?
Charlotte goes next. She delivers a calm but scathing rebuttal, which is then countered by Tracey, and then it’s my turn.
I rise to my feet. The notes I’ve prepared shake so violently in my hands that I almost can’t read them. I swallow, open my mouth to speak, even though it feels like there are stones lodged inside my throat. “The second argument in favor of our position is . . .”
The other team looks straight ahead at me. Looks straight through me. Their expressions are totally unbothered, cool, bored. Liam’s brows rise higher and higher as I make my points.
“We shouldn’t ignore the social ramifications . . . the devastation caused to—” My voice cracks.
Charlotte immediately offers me a bottle of water. I take it, cupping it in my trembling fingers.
“Take your time, Jessica,” Old Keller tells me.
I can feel myself growing more and more flustered, an unpleasant heat spreading over my face, my neck, my palms.
“The devastation caused to the local populace,” I continue, but it’s like I’m not even here. It’s like I’m hovering outside Jessica’s body, watching everything progress from above. It’s all futile. A doomed match. Of course the members of the other team are able to rationalize and intellectualize their way through this argument; they can express their opinions clearly, succinctly, without any personal feelings on the matter, without having to sift through their trauma for evidence, and they’ll be rewarded for it.