Why Asian Mothers (narrowly defined) Are Superior

The article below arrived in my email, as it often happens, just as I was hearing about the book from Amy Chua from quite a few others. This kind of buzz is a publicist's dream - in today's world, attention is power - and no publicity is bad publicity. Perhaps, the provocation and notoriety is just a dastardly clever way for Amy Chua to sell a lot of books (don't forget, if there is one thing Chinese do better than studying its making $$) - but I suspect the book must have struck a chord and will be widely discussed in the US and elsewhere.

At first impression the article made me feel uncomfortable - which made me curious as to why? So I re-read it carefully and really paid attention.

Nothing creates - or destroys - so much human potential as parenting. And yet it is something that most people learn on the job - without even a probationary period - by learning from their own mistakes or from fellow amateurs. All parents love their children unconditionally but how they express that love often bear the burdens of generations of cultural conditioning, habits and their own level of self-awareness. Safe to say most people ape their own parents and upbringing when they themselves became parents. Some bring to the role careful, conscious effort and reflection -- even for some of them still feel no wiser. A good number of kids thrive despite their environment!

But here is what I notice about the author and the article...

First, apart from their names, Sophia and Lulu, her article tells us little about her daughters. We know little from the mother's writing about their personalities, characters, passions etc. In many ways, to be glib, her article is mainly about "me me me". The several instances when she recounted her experiences with her daughters have a pretty consistent theme of getting her daughters to how she was proven right and how the daughters (and husband) eventually came to see the superiority of her way/wishes. I am sure she loves her family very much, but she sees the world though a somewhat self-righteous prism.

In a separate article in the Oprah magazine, she did point this out:

O: What is the single thing you wish you'd done differently? AC: I wish that I'd paid a bit more attention to the individual personalities of the girls, their temperaments and needs. I wish I'd realized earlier that parenting cannot just be one size fits all.

Indeed, I understand that at the end of the book, she realized that she has to moderate her ways because she feel she was going to lose her daughters - all while claiming that its superior all the same. In her logic, if you feel insulted, it is probably motivational.

Second, she might have attributed too much of outcome to her methods. And it is purely reductionist for her to cite her experience as all the proof she needs to devalue other other people approach to parenting. What is for sure is that she put in a tremendous amount of time, attention, energy and patience into her daughters. I'd consider this to be a critical ingredient to successful parenting. May be her kids would have turned out the same or better without the rest of her methods?? We will never know. Also, what are their other influences? Although she did not seem to rate her husband Jed's role very seriously (while not negative, her accounts of him were hardly flattering - mainly to illustrate the overly sensitive mentality of Westerners - and again, to prove that she was right in the end); I actually believe he probably played an important role in the family as a countervailing force to her.

Thirdly, another thing that she could have singled out is her refusal to believe anything to be beyond her children. What is praiseworthy is to teach the patience and capacity for hard work and the persistence to get through the difficult bits without giving in to self-doubt. But there has to be an alignment with the child's intentions and motivations; and not as fait accompli to her own ideas. There is tremendous value to have parents who have strong belief and faith in their children and who is willing to put in the effort/commitment to see it through. Unfortunately, her ego keeps getting in the way, so instead of empowering people to have boundless faith in their own children, she chose to use to it showcase the powers of her own will and genius in making things happen. One almost feel that her children are her props to prove her superiority. The choice of title is interesting - given that she is the author, she might (I say might) have chosen the title herself - before quickly defining the term Chinese Mothers to mean herself or anyone who is like her. She might as well title the essay "Why I am A Superior Mother (and if you disagree, you are a wimp)".

Fourthly, fair enough this is a short article and I have not read the book, but it is not clear to me what her daughters are like apart from getting As and there was a picture of one playing the piano in Carnegie Hall. We were not clued in on their achievements (easily measured) much less their well-being or character (less easily measured). Success is not the same as happiness. And being happy in turn is not the same as being a good person. I believe that by seeing the task as to be a "successful mother", the author forgets the desired outcome to have a "successful kid". In any case, what is for sure is that the daughters are still teenagers and it just seem strange for a mother of a teenager to be blowing the trumpet and declaring victory at that age... much less conclusively proving superiority. Not only would she have to uncross her fingers in order to grab the trumpet; it is definitely too early to tell - because the strength and resilience that she claim to have cultivated in the daughters still remain to be tested - and also, quite frankly, the only people who can really pass judgment on her parenting are her daughters.

Fifthly, at many points of the article, she practiced the classic tendency of may parents esp. Asian; i.e. to substitute a child's self-confidence with the need to seek the approval of others. Parents do that by making their love and attention conditional - the child learns that if they do something that pleases their parents, only then would they get praises or rewards. So they live for external affirmations - first grades then degrees, honours, prestige, positions, salaries, praise, luxury brands ... each a reaction to some inner insecurity and inadequacy. With that an aversion to initiative, risk, adventure, intimacy, empathy, creativity and living from the heart - because, what would so-and-so think?? That is a heavy load to carry, and I can see that with Amy Chua herself e.g. her need to prove her superiority as a mother to the world at large. At the end of the day, the human spirit is endlessly capable of finding a way out - which is how many people find peace and not take themselves too seriously at old age - although often not soon enough to avoid passing the same on to the next generation and thus perpetuating the cycle.

There are some who wonder if the book was meant as a satire. Whichever the case, it is sure to create another Asian stereotype.

Interestingly, an article in The Slate mentioned that in the epilogue of the book, she tells of when she showed the manuscript to her daughters, the elder one said "I'm sure it's all about you anyway," and the younger one said. "It's not possible for you to tell the complete truth, you've left out so many facts. But that means no one can really understand."

Not exactly what I hope my daughters will say when I show them my book.

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From WSJ - THE SATURDAY ESSAY JANUARY 8, 2011

Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior

Can a regimen of no playdates, no TV, no computer games and hours of music practice create happy kids? And what happens when they fight back?

By AMY CHUA

A lot of people wonder how Chinese parents raise such stereotypically successful kids. They wonder what these parents do to produce so many math whizzes and music prodigies, what it's like inside the family, and whether they could do it too. Well, I can tell them, because I've done it. Here are some things my daughters, Sophia and Louisa, were never allowed to do:

Erin Patrice O'Brien for The Wall Street Journal

Amy Chua with her daughters, Louisa and Sophia, at their home in New Haven, Conn.

• attend a sleepover

• have a playdate

• be in a school play

• complain about not being in a school play

• watch TV or play computer games

• choose their own extracurricular activities

• get any grade less than an A

• not be the No. 1 student in every subject except gym and drama

• play any instrument other than the piano or violin

• not play the piano or violin.

I'm using the term "Chinese mother" loosely. I know some Korean, Indian, Jamaican, Irish and Ghanaian parents who qualify too. Conversely, I know some mothers of Chinese heritage, almost always born in the West, who are not Chinese mothers, by choice or otherwise. I'm also using the term "Western parents" loosely. Western parents come in all varieties.

When it comes to parenting, the Chinese seem to produce children who display academic excellence, musical mastery and professional success - or so the stereotype goes. WSJ's Christina Tsuei speaks to two moms raised by Chinese immigrants who share what it was like growing up and how they hope to raise their children.

Journal CommunityDespite our squeamishness about cultural stereotypes, there are tons of studies out there showing marked and quantifiable differences between Chinese and Westerners when it comes to parenting. In one study of 50 Western American mothers and 48 Chinese immigrant mothers, almost 70% of the Western mothers said either that "stressing academic success is not good for children" or that "parents need to foster the idea that learning is fun." By contrast, roughly 0% of the Chinese mothers felt the same way. Instead, the vast majority of the Chinese mothers said that they believe their children can be "the best" students, that "academic achievement reflects successful parenting," and that if children did not excel at school then there was "a problem" and parents "were not doing their job." Other studies indicate that compared to Western parents, Chinese parents spend approximately 10 times as long every day drilling academic activities with their children. By contrast, Western kids are more likely to participate in sports teams.

What Chinese parents understand is that nothing is fun until you're good at it. To get good at anything you have to work, and children on their own never want to work, which is why it is crucial to override their preferences. This often requires fortitude on the part of the parents because the child will resist; things are always hardest at the beginning, which is where Western parents tend to give up. But if done properly, the Chinese strategy produces a virtuous circle. Tenacious practice, practice, practice is crucial for excellence; rote repetition is underrated in America. Once a child starts to excel at something—whether it's math, piano, pitching or ballet—he or she gets praise, admiration and satisfaction. This builds confidence and makes the once not-fun activity fun. This in turn makes it easier for the parent to get the child to work even more.

Chinese parents can get away with things that Western parents can't. Once when I was young—maybe more than once—when I was extremely disrespectful to my mother, my father angrily called me "garbage" in our native Hokkien dialect. It worked really well. I felt terrible and deeply ashamed of what I had done. But it didn't damage my self-esteem or anything like that. I knew exactly how highly he thought of me. I didn't actually think I was worthless or feel like a piece of garbage.

Chua family

From Ms. Chua's album: 'Mean me with Lulu in hotel room... with score taped to TV!'

As an adult, I once did the same thing to Sophia, calling her garbage in English when she acted extremely disrespectfully toward me. When I mentioned that I had done this at a dinner party, I was immediately ostracized. One guest named Marcy got so upset she broke down in tears and had to leave early. My friend Susan, the host, tried to rehabilitate me with the remaining guests.

The fact is that Chinese parents can do things that would seem unimaginable—even legally actionable—to Westerners. Chinese mothers can say to their daughters, "Hey fatty—lose some weight." By contrast, Western parents have to tiptoe around the issue, talking in terms of "health" and never ever mentioning the f-word, and their kids still end up in therapy for eating disorders and negative self-image. (I also once heard a Western father toast his adult daughter by calling her "beautiful and incredibly competent." She later told me that made her feel like garbage.)

Chinese parents can order their kids to get straight As. Western parents can only ask their kids to try their best. Chinese parents can say, "You're lazy. All your classmates are getting ahead of you." By contrast, Western parents have to struggle with their own conflicted feelings about achievement, and try to persuade themselves that they're not disappointed about how their kids turned out.

I've thought long and hard about how Chinese parents can get away with what they do. I think there are three big differences between the Chinese and Western parental mind-sets.

Chua family

Newborn Amy Chua in her mother's arms, a year after her parents arrived in the U.S.

First, I've noticed that Western parents are extremely anxious about their children's self-esteem. They worry about how their children will feel if they fail at something, and they constantly try to reassure their children about how good they are notwithstanding a mediocre performance on a test or at a recital. In other words, Western parents are concerned about their children's psyches. Chinese parents aren't. They assume strength, not fragility, and as a result they behave very differently.

For example, if a child comes home with an A-minus on a test, a Western parent will most likely praise the child. The Chinese mother will gasp in horror and ask what went wrong. If the child comes home with a B on the test, some Western parents will still praise the child. Other Western parents will sit their child down and express disapproval, but they will be careful not to make their child feel inadequate or insecure, and they will not call their child "stupid," "worthless" or "a disgrace." Privately, the Western parents may worry that their child does not test well or have aptitude in the subject or that there is something wrong with the curriculum and possibly the whole school. If the child's grades do not improve, they may eventually schedule a meeting with the school principal to challenge the way the subject is being taught or to call into question the teacher's credentials.

If a Chinese child gets a B—which would never happen—there would first be a screaming, hair-tearing explosion. The devastated Chinese mother would then get dozens, maybe hundreds of practice tests and work through them with her child for as long as it takes to get the grade up to an A.

Chinese parents demand perfect grades because they believe that their child can get them. If their child doesn't get them, the Chinese parent assumes it's because the child didn't work hard enough. That's why the solution to substandard performance is always to excoriate, punish and shame the child. The Chinese parent believes that their child will be strong enough to take the shaming and to improve from it. (And when Chinese kids do excel, there is plenty of ego-inflating parental praise lavished in the privacy of the home.)

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Chua family

Sophia playing at Carnegie Hall in 2007.

Second, Chinese parents believe that their kids owe them everything. The reason for this is a little unclear, but it's probably a combination of Confucian filial piety and the fact that the parents have sacrificed and done so much for their children. (And it's true that Chinese mothers get in the trenches, putting in long grueling hours personally tutoring, training, interrogating and spying on their kids.) Anyway, the understanding is that Chinese children must spend their lives repaying their parents by obeying them and making them proud.

By contrast, I don't think most Westerners have the same view of children being permanently indebted to their parents. My husband, Jed, actually has the opposite view. "Children don't choose their parents," he once said to me. "They don't even choose to be born. It's parents who foist life on their kids, so it's the parents' responsibility to provide for them. Kids don't owe their parents anything. Their duty will be to their own kids." This strikes me as a terrible deal for the Western parent.

Third, Chinese parents believe that they know what is best for their children and therefore override all of their children's own desires and preferences. That's why Chinese daughters can't have boyfriends in high school and why Chinese kids can't go to sleepaway camp. It's also why no Chinese kid would ever dare say to their mother, "I got a part in the school play! I'm Villager Number Six. I'll have to stay after school for rehearsal every day from 3:00 to 7:00, and I'll also need a ride on weekends." God help any Chinese kid who tried that one.

Don't get me wrong: It's not that Chinese parents don't care about their children. Just the opposite. They would give up anything for their children. It's just an entirely different parenting model.

Here's a story in favor of coercion, Chinese-style. Lulu was about 7, still playing two instruments, and working on a piano piece called "The Little White Donkey" by the French composer Jacques Ibert. The piece is really cute—you can just imagine a little donkey ambling along a country road with its master—but it's also incredibly difficult for young players because the two hands have to keep schizophrenically different rhythms.

Lulu couldn't do it. We worked on it nonstop for a week, drilling each of her hands separately, over and over. But whenever we tried putting the hands together, one always morphed into the other, and everything fell apart. Finally, the day before her lesson, Lulu announced in exasperation that she was giving up and stomped off.

"Get back to the piano now," I ordered.

"You can't make me."

"Oh yes, I can."

Back at the piano, Lulu made me pay. She punched, thrashed and kicked. She grabbed the music score and tore it to shreds. I taped the score back together and encased it in a plastic shield so that it could never be destroyed again. Then I hauled Lulu's dollhouse to the car and told her I'd donate it to the Salvation Army piece by piece if she didn't have "The Little White Donkey" perfect by the next day. When Lulu said, "I thought you were going to the Salvation Army, why are you still here?" I threatened her with no lunch, no dinner, no Christmas or Hanukkah presents, no birthday parties for two, three, four years. When she still kept playing it wrong, I told her she was purposely working herself into a frenzy because she was secretly afraid she couldn't do it. I told her to stop being lazy, cowardly, self-indulgent and pathetic.

Jed took me aside. He told me to stop insulting Lulu—which I wasn't even doing, I was just motivating her—and that he didn't think threatening Lulu was helpful. Also, he said, maybe Lulu really just couldn't do the technique—perhaps she didn't have the coordination yet—had I considered that possibility?

"You just don't believe in her," I accused.

"That's ridiculous," Jed said scornfully. "Of course I do."

"Sophia could play the piece when she was this age."

"But Lulu and Sophia are different people," Jed pointed out.

"Oh no, not this," I said, rolling my eyes. "Everyone is special in their special own way," I mimicked sarcastically. "Even losers are special in their own special way. Well don't worry, you don't have to lift a finger. I'm willing to put in as long as it takes, and I'm happy to be the one hated. And you can be the one they adore because you make them pancakes and take them to Yankees games.

"I rolled up my sleeves and went back to Lulu. I used every weapon and tactic I could think of. We worked right through dinner into the night, and I wouldn't let Lulu get up, not for water, not even to go to the bathroom. The house became a war zone, and I lost my voice yelling, but still there seemed to be only negative progress, and even I began to have doubts.

Then, out of the blue, Lulu did it. Her hands suddenly came together—her right and left hands each doing their own imperturbable thing—just like that.

Lulu realized it the same time I did. I held my breath. She tried it tentatively again. Then she played it more confidently and faster, and still the rhythm held. A moment later, she was beaming.

"Mommy, look—it's easy!" After that, she wanted to play the piece over and over and wouldn't leave the piano. That night, she came to sleep in my bed, and we snuggled and hugged, cracking each other up. When she performed "The Little White Donkey" at a recital a few weeks later, parents came up to me and said, "What a perfect piece for Lulu—it's so spunky and so her."

Even Jed gave me credit for that one. Western parents worry a lot about their children's self-esteem. But as a parent, one of the worst things you can do for your child's self-esteem is to let them give up. On the flip side, there's nothing better for building confidence than learning you can do something you thought you couldn't.

There are all these new books out there portraying Asian mothers as scheming, callous, overdriven people indifferent to their kids' true interests. For their part, many Chinese secretly believe that they care more about their children and are willing to sacrifice much more for them than Westerners, who seem perfectly content to let their children turn out badly. I think it's a misunderstanding on both sides. All decent parents want to do what's best for their children. The Chinese just have a totally different idea of how to do that.

Western parents try to respect their children's individuality, encouraging them to pursue their true passions, supporting their choices, and providing positive reinforcement and a nurturing environment. By contrast, the Chinese believe that the best way to protect their children is by preparing them for the future, letting them see what they're capable of, and arming them with skills, work habits and inner confidence that no one can ever take away.

—Amy Chua is a professor at Yale Law School and author of "Day of Empire" and "World on Fire: How Exporting Free Market Democracy Breeds Ethnic Hatred and Global Instability." This essay is excerpted from "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother" by Amy Chua, to be published Tuesday by the Penguin Press, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Copyright © 2011 by Amy Chua.