I often wonder which is most difficult: getting evidence, deciding what it means, or communicating it to someone who can use it. Generally speaking, I believe people make it more about theory and hard data when they're less experienced, and gain a greater appreciation for intangibles, context, and communication as they soak up more interdisciplinary and real-world knowledge.
Oops, wrong again. But a couple of teenagers recently reminded me how tricky interpretation is. I was on my high school debate team way back when -- so I looked forward to seeing the 2007 documentary Resolved, and wasn't disappointed (it's listed on Wikipedia, played on HBO recently, and is available on Netflix). Unlike olden times, debaters now talk really fast (like, hundreds of wpm fast) so they can argue as many points as possible -- it's gibberish to anyone not accustomed to listening to it (Barack Obama and Ronald Reagan, these kids are not). Lots of the debaters in Resolved were extremely impressive -- they could do intensive research and analyze alternatives far better than I could at that age. But I was most impressed by Richard Funches and Louis Blackwell -- who came from a Joe Schmoe public school rather than one full of privileged kids.
Evidence doesn't speak for itself. Not only did Funches and Blackwell win important competitions, such as the California State Championships, they did something unheard of: They began questioning the entire debate framework, arguing that simply speed-reading evidence to your opponent (and the debate judge) isn't necessarily the best way to discuss important issues, and that the process suffers from an inherent racial and class bias. (The two were inspired by the work of Paulo Freire.) They claimed the established approach left out considerations such as epistemology, and so they tried replacing the entrenched, supposedly objective debate style with arguments rooted in personal experience. Anyone who says teenage critical thinking skills are declining needs to see Resolved.
Looking back at my high school years, I suppose I liked it *because* it was all so logical and academic -- a nice, safe place to spill evidence. Little did I know how sheltered I was. I'm still debating this one. One of the policy questions I debated asked whether the electoral college violates the U.S. Constitution. Fast forward to 2000, when Bush took the presidency despite Gore's popular-vote victory: I can only hope debate teams are still arguing about that. (Recount, another film recently on HBO, offers a fascinating exploration of the tug-of-war over the 2000 election. I recommend it also.)
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