Why Yale Professor Amy Chua should read Catherine Lim’s short stories

Kelvin Teo

Regular visitors to MPH may have noticed Yale Professor Amy Chua’s book entitled “Battle Hymm of the Tiger Mother” hitting the bookstore (s) recently. For locals who are not aware of the reactions to Chua elsewhere, it is worth noting that the book had a controversial reception within the western world, so much so that even American and British dailies have picked up its trail. The Wall Street Journal followed up on the book with a provocative headline that screamed “Why Chinese Mothers are superior“, and it was penned by none other than Dame Chua herself. The Guardian on the other hand opted for a sensational headline which read “Amy Chua: ‘I’m going to take all your stuffed animals and burn them!’”. To be specific, The Guardian’s headline was an excerpt from Chua’s book.

So, what is Battle Hymm of the Tiger Mother about? Basically, the story revolves around Yale Professor Amy Chua and her family, with the spotlight on her child rearing methods. The part about Tiger Mother arose from the fact that Chua was born in the year of the Tiger within the Chinese zodiac calender. However, one would suspect the Tiger in the title has little to do with the zodiac sign but is rather an implicit reference to Chua’s tigrish child-rearing methods. Chua gave an apt preview of what to expect in her book in the Wall Street Journal article, kicking off with a “NOT TO DO” list for her two daughers, Sophia and Louisa:

• 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.

In the same article, Chua coins the term “Chinese” mothers as a euphemism for the demanding style of child-rearing that typefied her approach, and one may suspect that too of East Asian families. She gives an illustration that reflects the attributes of a “Chinese” mother:

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

Chua later admitted that the term “Chinese” mother does not have a racial basis, but is more of a descriptor of a mode of parenting – the type that drives the child to excellence in the academic field, and for the more demanding ones, multiple fields like Chua who demanded excellence in music and studies. Elizabeth Kolbert”s review of Chua’s book in a New Yorker article entitled “America’s Top Parent” yielded anecdotes typefying Chua’s ‘Chinese’ child-rearing methods that may come as familiar to some (especially those who have gone through such upbringing) and horror to others. The proof of the pudding – when Sophia, her elder daughter came in second for a multiplication test to a Korean boy, Chua ensured there is no repeat of such again.

In another occasion, Chua threatened to take Louisa’s doll house to the Salvation Army, and when that wasn’t effective, to deny her lunch, dinner, and birthday parties for “two, three, four years” because she cannot master a piece called “The Little White Donkey.” (Sophia plays the piano whilst Louisa plays the violin) In yet another instance, Chua called Sophia “garbage”, a term that her own father used on her. When she related her labelling of “garbage” on Sophia to guests in a party, one of them became visibly upset, to tears.

One reason why Chua’s upbringing didn’t raise much of a ruckus here in Singapore is attributed to the fact that such a mode of parenting is very familiar here in our part of the world. Even for those whose parents are lenient and tend to be “western” types in Chua’s description, we may have peers whose parents raise them in the “Chinese” mould.

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Catherine Lim, one of Singapore’s best-selling fiction authors, wrote a classic collection of short stories entitled Or else, The Lightning God. One of the achievements of her work was her uncanny ability to capture the ethos of our Singapore society through her skilful inter-weaving of both familiar and familial aspects of Singaporean life in a collection of short stories tinkered with a dose of irony.

“Kevin“, a short story from the collection “Or else, the Lightning God” represents a condensed version of Chua’s story. Kevin, a school-going kid was constantly pressurised by his mother to score perfect marks in all his tests. His mother would make a threat:”Remember, Kevin, if you don’t get 95% or more–”. There are a number of repercussions if Kevin doesn’t hit the 95% target – knocks on the head with the knuckles, knocks on the knuckles with a ruler, twisting of the ears, one after the other, which left a hot tingling sensation that lasted for at least half an hour, a caning on the legs and buttocks, a withdrawal of permission to watch TV or go to the cinema for a month.

In yet another instance, Kevin’s mother’s anxieties would not cease until she has ascertained that he was the highest in the class. She would ask Kevin how much did Tan Mong Chiaw and Ravindran Pillai, Kevin’s closest rivals in the class, get. And when Mong Chiaw and Pillai beat Kevin in maths and composition respectively, she would get worried that Kevin will not be first in class, but anyway it turned out that Kevin was first in class.

Now, that sounds familiar right? Sophia and Louisa are no different from Kevin, and Amy Chua plays the role of his mother. Even the withdrawal of permission to watch TV or go to cinema parallels denial of lunch, dinner, and birthday parties for “two, three, four years”. And Sophia coming in first in class for math is analogous to Kevin finishing first in class.

Chua indeed sets the minimum target as far as her daughters’ musical achievements are concerned – to make it to Carnegie Hall, considered to be the Holy Grail of many a budding musician’s career – so much so that even when they went touring, she would go as far as to book a practice room near their hotel where her daughters could practise. If we take into consideration the fact that Carnegie was the launching pad of luminaries such as the world-renowned pianist Lang Lang’s career, you will have pretty much an idea of what it takes to make it to Carnegie. And amazingly, Sophia does make it to Carnegie.

Thus, what two things do Lang Lang and Sophia have in common? The first obvious answer is that both have been to Carnegie Hall. And the second, well, both have been products of “Chinese” child-rearing methods, the only difference was that for Lang Lang, the rearing was done by the father. Lang Lang’s father set a single goal for him – to be No. 1 pianist in all of China. Like Chua who threatened to take Louisa’s doll house to the Salvation Army, the father actually took action by throwing his transformer toys out of the window when he didn’t practise enough one day. Father and son moved to the capital in search of better teaching so that he could gain admission to the Beijing conservatory. Lang Lang’s typical day would be spent in classes and practice under his father’s watchful eyes. One day, he returned late from a choral session where he was playing the piano and the father berated him – to the extent of asking him to swallow pills to end his life. Lang Lang rebelled. Fast-forward, it was still a fairy-tale ending for Lang Lang – he was eventually accepted into the conservatory.

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It appears Chua has every reason to be proud of her kids’ achievements, and of herself for being the driving force through her child-rearing methods judging from Kolbert’s allusion to the book’s narrative as “your most self-congratulatory friend holding forth for two hours about her kids’ triumphs.”

Countless critics of the rearing methods adopted by Chua or Kevin’s mother in Catherine Lim’s short stories have pointed out the unhealthy impact of incessant pressure on their kids psychologically, but I would like to point out another flaw in their upbringing. Like Kevin and Chua’s kids, they have been numero uno and successful, but the problem is that they have failed to focus on developing one important aspect which could be an important determinant of future success – the adversity quotient. If one has it smooth-sailing and is successful at the top and hasn’t encountered any major setbacks, it is difficult to see how the latter can build up his adversity quotient.

Originally developed by Paul Stoltz, adversity quotient is basically the science of human resilience. Whilst it is good to be at the top, an important attribute is also to be able to face the failure or setback during the fall from the top, and bounce back. In as far as development of a child is concerned, he should be encouraged to participate in activities that build up his adversity quotient. One of the best ways to build it up is through sports. Often in a competition, it is not uncommon for a sportsman to come face to face with adverse circumstances like losing by a wide margin or lagging behind the competition field, and that is where the test of his character comes in when his back is against the wall.

Sports also inculcate another important value – the ability to accept failure and recover from it. I remembered in my primary school days when I was into soccer; the team that I usually played for wasn’t the best, and there were two other teams which were excellent by our standards. We were obviously the whipping boys, but every time at the end of the thrashing, we were unfazed and requested the either of the two teams for another game next time.

The question is how parents can build up their kid’s adversity quotient? One way is through participation in sports with the child together. Take for example a game of badminton. The parent can pair up with the child, and play with another parent who paired up with her kid. It could also come in the form of taking part in activities that test the human resilience, such as scaling a particular landscape, for example a grassy slope with obstacles. To an impressionable child, to see his dad slip and pick himself up again and select another route to climb the slope is an important lesson in dealing with adversity – to remain unfazed by the slip, and attempt a comeback by planning another alternative route.

Shulman and Bowen did an analysis of a particular subset of Ivy League graduates – the sportsmen who usually had lower GPA and SATs and their achievements in their careers beyond. It turned out the athletes ended up with much higher income than their peers, and were more likely to go into the high paying financial sector where they were more likely to succeed with their personality and psychological make-up. It is possible that their good adversity quotient given their sporting background could have been one of the factors of their successes. In a research article published in the Journal of Jilin Institute of Physical Education, Chinese researchers have found that sports do improve the students’ adversity quotient.

In recent years, our educators have acknowledged the importance of promoting adversity quotient among Singaporean school children. A mother with the moniker Jedamum went as far as to say on the Kiasuparents.com forum:

Having high expectations is not the source of stress.
Inability to accept failure is.
Kids and parents should be taught to accept failures.
So what if this exam results not ideal? After the nagging/reflections, just Keep Moving Forward

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Kevin’s mother had ulcers that gave her painful attacks when triggered by agitation. In the latest test, Kevin scored 82% and sixth in class. He made his way home with trepidation, fearing backlash from his mother. When he reached home, the servant told him that his mother had been admitted into the hospital with her ulcers acting up. There was a surge in spirit, as Kevin obviously displaying no signs of filial concern asked:”How long would his mother be in hospital?”, instead of asking “How was his mother?” which all filial kids usually do. When he was told that the mother will be away for one week, he went to celebrate in the privacy of his room. What a touch of irony indeed!

There was an irony that transpired in Chua’s book – Louisa and Chua got into a public argument that culminates in the former smashing a glass in a cafe, screaming, “I’m not what you want – I’m not Chinese! I don’t want to be Chinese. Why can’t you get that through your head? I hate the violin. I hate my life. I hate you, and I hate this family!” Maybe, Chua may consider asking her daughters if they ever reacted like Kevin whenever she fell sick and was unable to physically monitor their academic and musical progress.