I always considered speech and debate noble pursuits.
Speech skills pervade every aspect of life from confidence building to
critical thinking skills, and being a good speaker necessitates having empathy and worldliness.
When I found out there was an international debate community here around 7 years ago, I was pretty interested in what possibilities exist now. It turns out that 5 years ago, the money for international debate leagues ran out, and all English language debate clubs and schools and universities suffered. I heard from older debaters that at its height, the debate movement was a way to shake off the hopelessness after the civil war. But if money and organizers were the only obstacles, and actual interest existed for debate teams, then my existence as a Fulbright ETA in Dushanbe was a blaring solution.
Indeed, using some Embassy resources, I organized a small but proper debate tournament at
the Ismaili Center for my students from American Corner who showed superior
language skills and students at a local university. From the Corner,
I hand picked six of the most committed kids who had the best English to form a team. We practiced debate every day, and they were so eager to prepare that came to each class with research. I admired their tenacity, and they pushed me to be a better teacher, coach, and resource.
We were set to debate against a slightly more
experienced team from University of Central Asia. The students had a week with the topics to prepare. The day of the tournament arrived and we had two teams of three competing. The first round's resolution: "This House believes the Internet does more harm than good to children." Internet accessibility is particularly significant in our context since the Tajik Communications Ministry has been dangerously flirtating with censorship since July 2012. Many times we wake up to find Facebook, Twitter, and a hundred of other Russian/Tajik news sites blocks for a few weeks at a time. One of my teams lost, but the other one hailed victorious
The surviving team also made it through the semis where they debated the resolution, "This House would support International Adoption." Smiling, they went into final round, but this time they did not have the topics in advance. It was revealed to them 15 mins before the round. The topic turned out to be specific to Tajikistan's cultural history: "This House would ban New Years on December 31st in favor of Navruz (Persian New Year)." This debate was essentially about the cultural legacy of the Soviet Union and Tajikistan's struggle to re-identify itself with its Persian civilizational roots, without become Islamicized or radicalized.
American Corners had to defend the ban, and lost the round. In the end, we came in second out of
six teams. Regardless, I was thrilled. That morning, the other organizers and I feared we were in for 4 hours of
stumbling speeches and loopy arguments. But after the final round ended around 5 PM, even the head judge (a local Fulbright Scholar who founded the only gallery place in Dushanbe, Art Ground, and has debated abroad for 7 years) said the level of debate at the tournament surprised him. The
resulting speeches were coherent, the research well grounded, the
exposition quite colorful, and the final victory hard earned.
After the tournament I
took my six debaters out to eat some kurutob with Alfred, who was visiting for
the weekend from Kulob. By the end
of the meal, my conversation with Begin, Khairina, and Kamila (my formidable muskateers and star high school debaters) turned to the topic of the summertime military
invasion of semi-autonomous Khorog. Khorog is home to many of the leaders of the opposition from the civil war, which ended in 1997.
Although they were born and raised in Dushanbe, two of the girls' families are Pamiri, and so they were in Khorog visiting extended family when the
Tajik military invaded the semi-autonomous region. They
recounted to me the events of July 24, 2012. Since their grandmothers and aunts
lived close to the main square in Khorog, their homes were amongst those that
the young soldiers invaded first, firing incessant shots without clear
direction or training. Begim told
me the attack started at 3:30 in the morning, and her younger brother and
grandmother had to hide on the floor of the bedroom until the military forces
slowly thinned out.
After that frightful
night, the resulting public outrage and confusion in Khorog resembled military interventions and conflict zones I read about in the papers. The girls recounted feeling peace was fickle and fleeting. They described the noise and the smell of charred metal. They described sitting at home, eyes shut, in panic. At age 16, they had understood how quickly their country may lapse if not tightly controlled.
Now as I watch world news, I see that the same uneasiness is becoming a ubiquitous feeling around the world.
Despite the region or country in which conflict occurs, whenever I read about a military
invasion, I can see the same smoke, I can smell the same burnt metal, I can
hear the same wails that the girls described.
Deep down I
am nauseously aware that such an experience is not far from any one individual,
no matter where he or she lives – Palestine, Russia, California, or Tajikistan. My young, innocent, bright-eyed debate
girls continued sharing the alarming transpirations from the summer invasion. Kamila, who was still in Dushanbe, vividly described sitting at home, pale in the face, waiting for her best
friends to call her from the Pamirs while she knew the government had cut off
access to the entire region for days without explanation. Of course, Tajikistan
is a small country, and there are not many degrees of separation when it comes
to internal violence. But that summer, a dark, black hole had appeared where her best friends’ calls, texts and faces
used to be. It seemed to me deeply unfair. Her story was just one from hundreds.
I suppose that is why they come to each class of mine with such eagerness. I don't always understand why I am treated with such gratitude, such respect, and tolerance. My students, in general, regard any time they spend in my class as a rare gift. It can be overwhelming and humbling. But without the student's unbridled support, I wouldn't always have the patience and courage to keep trying new ideas, proposing schemes or events for students to learn English.
Strangely, as I write this, I remember these are the highfalutin ideals of the Fulbright Program - to bridge barriers through honest dialogue and people-to-people communication. I know it doesn't seem like I can do that every single day. But I can see through moments like after a successful debate victory and honest conversations over kurutob, how I've started to come closer to understanding life in Tajikistan.
