Engineers Outshine AI Debates — Smarter than TV Panels

Amlan Baisya 

Assistant Professor, Department of Literature and Languages,

Easwari School of Liberal Arts, SRM University AP

It was a usual morning. A few weeks ago. I had a 9 am morning class. I walked into my communication classroom expecting an ordinary debate. The students were engineering undergraduates. The topic was simple enough: “Should artificial intelligence be allowed in university assignments?” I expected the usual responses — some in favor, some against, a few rehearsed lines, and perhaps one or two students trying to finish quickly so that the class could move on.

However, what unfolded thereafter was nothing short of an eye-opener.

One student began by saying that banning AI would be unrealistic because students were already using it. Another immediately disagreed, but not angrily. She said the real issue was not use, but dependence. A third student added that AI could help students with weak English express their ideas better, but only if the original thinking remained theirs. Someone from the back bench asked, “But how will a teacher know what is original?” Everybody was silent. Then another student replied, “Maybe the assignment itself has to change.”

For the next forty minutes, the classroom felt more intelligent than many television debates. No one, literally no one shouted. No one called another person anti-student, anti-technology or outdated. No one reduced a complex issue into a slogan. Students interrupted occasionally but also apologised. They changed their positions when a better point was made. They asked for examples. They distinguished between copying, assistance and learning. They did something increasingly rare in public life: they disagreed without performing outrage.

The proud teacher, at one corner of the room, was almost ready to announce to the world that their engineering students argued better than politicians. The comparison may sound unfair. Politics is a difficult profession, and public debate has its own pressures. But anyone who watches contemporary public discourse can see a worrying pattern. Our debates are often loud but not illuminating. People speak to defeat, not to understand. The goal is to score a point, trend online, provoke applause or embarrass the other side. Listening is treated as weakness. Changing one’s mind is treated as betrayal. Nuance is often dismissed as confusion.

In such a climate, classrooms can offer a quieter and more hopeful model of public reasoning. We often think of communication classes as “soft skills” spaces. Students are told to improve pronunciation, prepare resumes, speak fluently, give presentations and perform well in interviews. These are useful goals, but they are not enough. A communication classroom must also teach students how to argue

responsibly. In a democracy, the ability to disagree well is not an optional skill. It is a civic necessity.

Engineering students, in particular, are often seen through a narrow lens. They are expected to be technical, practical and placement oriented. Humanities and communication courses are sometimes treated as supporting subjects — useful, but secondary. Yet modern-day engineer will not work only with machines. They will work with people, data, institutions, clients, communities and ethical dilemmas. They will design systems that affect lives. They will need to explain, persuade, negotiate and question. Technical knowledge without communicative maturity can become dangerous. This is why the debate in my classroom mattered. The students were not merely discussing AI. They were practising democratic habits: listening, reasoning, objecting, revising and responding. They were learning that disagreement need not become hostility.

However, disagreement must be cultivated carefully. A classroom debate is not a shouting match. It is not a competition in aggression. In fact, some of the most useful interventions come from quiet students who speak after listening. During the AI debate, one of the most thoughtful comments came from a student who had said nothing for half the class. She simply observed, “If AI gives everyone polished language, then teachers may have to look for honesty rather than perfection.” That one sentence changed the direction of the discussion. How profound! How practical!

Classrooms are the best places to build this habit of asking questions because students are still forming their public selves. They are learning not only subjects, but also ways of being with others. When a teacher allows a student to disagree respectfully, the student learns courage. When a student listens to a classmate with an opposing view, the student learns humility. When a class changes its collective opinion after discussion, it learns that truth is not owned by the loudest person in the room.

This requires teachers to change too. Many of us are uncomfortable when students challenge us. We may call it indiscipline when it is actually curiosity. We may prefer silence because it is easier to manage. But an entirely silent classroom is not always a successful classroom. Sometimes it is only a frightened one. Of course, not every disagreement is valuable. Prejudice cannot be excused as opinion. Careless claims cannot be celebrated as originality. A classroom must have ethical boundaries. But the answer to weak or harmful arguments is not to ban discussion altogether. The answer is to teach students how to examine claims, demand evidence and recognise consequences.

In the AI debate, when one student said, “Everyone uses AI, so it should be allowed,” another student responded, “Everyone doing something does not automatically make it ethical.” That was not just a classroom point. That was moral reasoning. It was the kind of sentence one wishes to hear more often in public life.

By the end of the class, the students had not reached a neat conclusion. Some still believed AI should be allowed with disclosure. Others wanted stricter rules. A few argued for oral follow-ups after written assignments. But the absence of a final answer did not mean the debate had failed. It meant the issue had been understood in its complexity.

That day, my engineering students reminded me that the classroom can still be a democratic space. Not because everyone agreed, but because everyone had the right to think aloud. They showed that argument need not be a weapon. It can be a method of learning.

Isn’t this what we should expect from education? Not students who merely speak fluent English, but students who can use language responsibly; not students who win every debate, but students who know how to make debate meaningful; not students who repeat what is fashionable, but students who can ask what is true, fair and thoughtful. For forty minutes, a group of young engineers gave me a glimpse of the public culture we often say we want — informed, patient, sharp and humane.

Maybe our politicians should attend a communication class someday.