It’s a red hot topic. A proverbial hot potato. You’ve reached the point in your scheme of work where the moral boundaries become blurred. It’s going to be controversial; feelings will probably run high.

What should be done about global warming? Did the Nazi Party rescue the German economy in the 1930s? Should athletes who have doped be given automatic lifetime bans? Is capital punishment ever acceptable? Who is most responsible for the death of Eva Smith in An Inspector Calls?

With such interesting subject matter, now is the time to channel your inner Mrs Merton: “Right, class: let’s have a heated debate!”

During the first few years of my teaching career, I held many a “heated debate”. As an English teacher, I felt that discussing controversial literary topics would help my classes get to grips with plot, theme and characterisation. For English language, I thought such debates would act as a useful precursor to a writing-to-argue piece, usually involving banning teenagers from wearing or eating something.

Debate lessons would be liberating: a time to push the desks to the side of the classroom and throw off the shackles of the seating plan. Adding a layer of competition would help, too. I’d create two teams, with the promise of fun-size Twixes for the oratorical victors. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, there are several reasons why I no longer bother with debate lessons.

Firstly, I found that setting up a debate “arena” wasted valuable lesson time. As soon as I started moving desks, students were more likely to get distracted. Even when I opted to keep them seated, and use the usual room layout, my students sensed that this wasn’t going to be a “normal” lesson and tended to stray from their previous high standards of effort and behaviour. I envisaged a lesson of logical Socratic reasoning and ended up with Prime Minister’s Questions - with even more braying.

Secondly, my debates were usually dominated by verbally confident students. Teasing out the interesting thoughts of clever introverts became difficult in a stridently competitive setting. Despite my efforts to train my classes in the finer points of debating etiquette - affirmative proposals, counter arguments, polite rebuttals, no interruptions - I struggled to get to the point where all were equally involved and listened to.

Thirdly, I realised that I was often getting students to argue about stuff about which they knew very little. My debates about, say, fox hunting began with an assumption that my students had a reasonable amount of general knowledge on the topic. Generally, they didn’t. Instead, I’d try to fill in the gaps, inevitably leaning towards my viewpoint and skewing the subsequent “debate”.

Finally, capturing the oracy output also proved problematic. The fruits of the discussion were usually lost or discarded when it came to writing up arguments and counterarguments.

So, what do I do now? Most importantly, I teach the essential knowledge first. This is then developed through the classic rhetorical devices that I’ve taught, to be used in writing or during our (briefer and more controlled) discussions. The result? By ditching debates I’ve shifted from disappointment and disorder - or should that be “Order. Order! ORDER!” - to well-constructed, convincing and calm responses.

Mark Roberts is an assistant headteacher in the South West of England

This article originally appeared in the 8 November 2019 issue under the headline “Why I dropped debates like a hot potato”