On the Debate Team

I was so excited to make my high school debate team. What could be better than that? I'll tell you what! A big debate with our crosstown arch rivals, Bumpus High. And on a hot, contemporary topic, too!

We were to debate Bumpus on single-payer health insurance. We were given "pro"; Bumpus got "con." They had a good reputation, but we prepared copiously and felt quietly confident when the big day arrived.

The auditorium was packed with men and women and young and old. The Bumpus High debate team was a cool, impressive lot. but as the new kid on our team, I didn't know any of them and had to turn to my more experienced teammates, if I wanted to get the scoop on any of them.

"Relax," said our captain Otto. "That guy over to the left is Phil. He's kind of a dolt. Some of them are pretty sharp, but none of them is as good as you."

"Ah," I blushed happily. "And you know all of them?"

"Yes," replied Otto. "Except for one. I've never seen that dorky looking little kid before."

The debate began, and for a while, it went pretty much as you might expect. We stressed cost savings and efficiencies, advantages of uncoupling health insurance from people's jobs, and the like. They argued that government is less efficient than business, that there would be long waits for service, and that it would restrict choice. Then Phil the dolt rose, screamed, "Socialism! Bad!" and sat down.

Otto replied that it was all very well for senators and congress people and media people to argue like that, but debaters had to explain things and give actual evidence. In the current instance, for example, one would have to explain what socialism was, give reasons why it was bad, and what its relevance, if any, was to the debate.

Then the dorky looking kid rose, walked over to the judges' table, and deposited a large satchel on that table. The satchel popped open, revealing wads of US currency. The chief judge then rose and said, "The debate is over. Bumpus High wins!"

To say that we were flabbergasted would be to understate the case. We were tripping all over each other, raising our voices in protest.

"Hold on a minute!" I cried. "You can't do that! That kid didn't say a word! All he did was give you money!"

The chief judge eyed me severely. "Money is speech," he intoned. "Constitutionally protected speech, I may add, per Roberts v The United States of America, 1/21/2010."

"Speech?" I screamed. "How is that speech?"

"Young Joey there," said the chief judge, indicating the kid with the money, "is a corporation. Money is the language he speaks."

"That's not fair!" we cried in unison.

"Not fair?" replied the judge. "Of course, it's fair. I invite - nay, encourage - you to recruit your own corporate students to throw around money for you. We'll be more than happy to listen to that, too."

"But listen!" I persisted. "What if you applied your corporate-money-is-speech to the real world - to the very subject of our debate, for example? Then there wouldn't be any real discussion. Rich corporations would just buy the solution they wanted, and everyone else would be stuck with it ...

"Oh. I beg your pardon."

Hey, I'm just a kid. But I'm learning.