[nfb-talk] Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior

[Joe Orozco]

The article below recently went viral.  If you haven't read it, I'd like you
to read it carefully and than share your thoughts.  You may not see the
direct link between it and a discussion of blindness right away, but one
thing that occurred to me is that if my parents had employed even half of
the techniques traditional Chinese parents are exercising, I might be even
more successful than even I can imagine.  Anyway, I'll come back with
commentary later, but as we go about searching for the root of what it is
that keeps the unemployment rate among the blind so high, perhaps parenting
is one good place to start, since most if not all of us could agree that our
own family is sometimes our greatest obstacle to independence.  But, enough
of me.  Here's the article:

Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior

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. 

Ideas Market 
The Tiger Mother Responds to Readers 

Ms. Chua answers questions from Journal readers who wrote in to the Ideas
Market blog.

All the same, even when Western parents think they're being strict, they
usually don't come close to being Chinese mothers. For example, my Western
friends who consider themselves strict make their children practice their
instruments 30 minutes every day. An hour at most. For a Chinese mother, the
first hour is the easy part. It's hours two and three that get tough.

 
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.

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Despite 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.

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.

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.)

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.

In China, Not All Practice Tough Love 
The Juggle: Are U.S. Parents Too Soft? 
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 C 2011 by Amy Chua.