My Experience With the Model Minority Myth
When my family moved to the U.S. in 2008, my parents did everything possible to make sure I had a “good education”—whatever that meant. Despite his poor English, my dad forced himself to socialize with my elementary school principals; they would hang out, get drinks, and play pool. Occasionally, he would even make pork dumplings for the whole class. I rarely saw my mom on weekdays; she was always working overtime at her Wall Street job, and often came home after I’d gone to sleep. Yet, she and my dad still somehow found the time to drill me on math problems on the weekend. My parents would constantly compare me to the other Chinese kids at school. Even when they stopped monitoring my schoolwork, I continued competing with them to be at the top of my class. I didn’t know it at the time, but this was essentially to fit the role of the “model minority.”
Over time, I developed an extreme fear of talking to strangers. I learned English alone, hiding in a corner of the school library with a stack of Percy Jacksons and Harry Potters. Fictional worlds were always my escape, although at the time I wasn’t sure what I was escaping from. Until recently, I whole-heartedly believed my social anxiety, excessive code-switching (especially around my white peers), and academic perfectionism was a singular phenomenon. I had nobody to relate to, no Asian American mentors in my life who could give me a hug and reassure me that I wasn’t alone. After 12 years of struggling to assimilate and conform, I was fed up. It was finally time to start asking: “Why?” Why do Asian immigrant parents invest so much time and money into their child’s education? Is this academic pressure a product of cultural differences or just a part of the immigrant experience? Why do so many Asian American youth feel as though they suffer in isolation?
I’ve always understood that Asian Americans emphasized education as the path to social mobility. Unlike native-born white Americans, immigrants can’t rely on social connections and status. As a result, education has been prioritized and is seen as an essential part of the “American Dream,” the so-called “great equalizer.” This is true for various Asian American groups and across the socioeconomic spectrum. A study published in 2016 found that Asian immigrant parents from low socioeconomic backgrounds are more likely to save for their child’s college education than white, U.S.-born parents. The promise of success through individualistic hard work is extremely attractive. Much of my identity, personality, and life choices today are a product of being part of this system. I’d never thought to question it until a few years ago, when I suffered from severe anxiety and panic attacks. My attempts with therapy weren't successful at addressing my struggles with my racial identity. Since then, I’m glad to have learned that I’m not alone in this area.
Asian American youth are disproportionately likely to report having low self-esteem and social isolation than their white peers, yet less likely to seek professional help. Their mental health issues stem from both expectations to be a “model minority” in white society, as well as pressure from strict parenting. In many Asian American households, second-generation children feel the need to compensate for their parents’ sacrifices in emigrating to America for better education opportunities. In extreme cases, failure to perform well in academics becomes a source of self-guilt. Sadly, these issues are often treated as “cultural differences” rather than actual psychological burdens; many young Asian Americans, like myself, fail to recognize that the “tiger mom” phenomenon, or “traditional Asian parenting,” may actually be a form of emotional (and sometimes physical) abuse. However, we shouldn’t begrudge our parents for being authoritative—they may also be victims of psychological trauma from assimilating into a prejudiced foreign environment.
The tedious path to “success” for many Asian American students requires them to get the best grades in school, enroll in highly selective universities, and pursue high-paying careers, often in STEM. The media has perpetuated a myth that Asian Americans are inherently good at math and science, often citing “Asian cultural values” such as Confucianism as a reason. However, recent literature has rejected these false beliefs, arguing that it’s because these fields are lucrative. In a study on the educational and career choices of Asian Americans, a Korean American participant explained, “I don’t think that Asians prefer the sciences. Sometimes it is the only avenue open to them. In the sciences, empirical results matter more than in the esoteric discussion of humanities. So that at least as an engineer, you know how to put machines in, and you can be a useful bolt and nut. And I think the job opportunities for us lie in this field.” This narrative of searching for “opportunity” in STEM fields is a common one among Asian American communities. As a result, we continue to be significantly underrepresented in humanities or creative-based fields, because they require a higher level of linguistic and cultural familiarity, as well as social connections.
By reducing Asian Americans to the “model minority” myth, a slew of issues are masked, from anxiety and lower self-esteem to ignorance of the poverty and language barriers. Moreover, we need to acknowledge that the psychological and social issues plaguing Asian Americans are racial, not individual. We need to start having difficult conversations focusing on addressing these racialized struggles. We need to start evaluating whether assimilation is actually contributing to our invisibility in the mainstream racial discourse. When Asian Americans compete against one another to get into selective universities, choose careers deliberately to avoid discrimination, and ignore our common experiences of feeling like “perpetual foreigners,” we are conforming to the expectations of white society. The "success" shrouded in upholding a model status is simultaneously isolating and dehumanizing invisibility.
The Asian American experience is so entrenched in harmful stereotypes that even I had to confront many of my biases. As someone who speaks English fluently and comes from a financially stable, middle-class family, my experience is drastically different from those of adult immigrants who are left to navigate an alien environment on their own. For them, being financially successful and safe from discrimination, or a “model minority,” means being happy. But I sincerely hope that U.S.-born generations of Asian Americans can use their cultural and linguistic familiarity to advocate for the distinct needs of their communities and fight for representation in the mainstream racial discourse. It’s a dream I hope to achieve for myself.
To further decolonize our minds:
NY Times | Confronting Asian American Stereotypes
HBR | Asian Americans Are the Least Likely Group in the U.S. to Be Promoted to Management
NBC News | The Source of the “Asian Advantage” Isn't Asian Values
TEDxBoise | Canwen Xu on Her Asian American Story of Breaking Stereotypes (Video)
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great read! :)