Have you heard the news that Chinese mums are superior? Yes, we win the prize for raising high achievers with our tough love: we burn all your cuddly toys if you don’t practice your piano brand of parenting.

So says Amy Chua, a professor at Yale Law School. In a recent essay she wrote in the Wall Street Journal as a taster to her new book, the parenting manual “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother”.

I fall off my chair laughing as I’m a Chinese mother of two children, a boy and a girl under the age of eight, and I definitely don’t feel superior. I’ve read the “How to parent” and “What to expect as parents” type of books, but I don’t have all the answers. I wake up everyday knowing I’m not a perfect mum. I pray I have the strength to be patient and to not forget my children’s snack for school or, God forbid, their packed lunch.

But I did read Chua’s article with interest, reflecting on my own upbringing. I forwarded the piece to some close friends (most of whom I had shared tales of my upbringing before) and was bemused by the number of people, who asked me questions about it. Then, would you know it, more articles in rebuttal to Chua’s controversial remarks kept popping up.

When I was asked to share my thoughts as a mother here on the Dim Sum website, I was initially not going to write anything, but then I got to thinking is this a classic case of the idiom “a storm in a teacup”, a small event exaggerated out of proportion?

What was this all about? The only tiger I’d been contemplating up to Chua’s article was the countdown to the end of the volatile year of the Metal Tiger. Yet now we have to consider the “Tiger Mother” in Chua’s controversial theories?

I’m still not sure if she’s being provocatively tongue-in-cheek or whether this is a parenting blue print by which she swears. But what she’s obviously done, judging from the hue and cry, is expose a parenting nerve – are we good enough mothers? And, counter to the disciple and perseverance of Chinese mothers, is the lenient parenting style of the West a cover up for lazy parenting?

From what I’ve read, the recent outcry has been from non-Chinese parents, who think that Chua’s tough love stance is borderline child abuse. How dare she advocate practices that would obviously damage children’s self-esteem?

American Chinese are aghast that they have been lumped in with the “superior” label they believe does them a disservice. They are perhaps sensitive to Chua advocating a dangerous stereotype, particularly at a time when America is suspicious about the rise of China’s economy and military might. There have also been many American Chinese detractors who bring up their own strict upbringing and how negative it was for them.

Chua would probably say I’m not a Chinese mother by her definitions. She uses the term “Chinese mother” loosely: “I know some Korean, Indian, Jamaican, Irish and Ghanaian parents. Conversely, I know of some mothers of Chinese heritage, almost always born in the West, who are not Chinese mothers.”

As a Chinese mother, Chua expects and only accepts her children getting “A” grades in every subject except for PE and drama. She also expects them to excel in at least one extra curricular activity, preferably playing the piano or violin.

According to her, in order to raise highly successful children, a mother has to be über strict so that there is no playing with friends, watching TV or playing computer games. Chau’s children are not allowed to choose their own extracurricular activities.

She rejects what isn’t perfect, to the extent of rejecting home-made birthday cards from her daughters when they were little, telling them to make better ones, if she didn’t think they had put in their best efforts.

Strictness to her western friends means 30 minutes of piano practice, but strictness to her means three hours of practice – even when they are away on holiday abroad – and overruling their reluctance to practice. There’s none of this “learning is fun” philosophy espoused by Western mothers. Fun and praise from others comes after the skills and techniques are mastered and you can play the difficult pieces with ease.

Chinese mothers start out believing their children can be “the best” students, sacrificing everything for their success, be that it means spending ten times longer coaching them in their academic activities. The litmus test for successful parenting is academic achievement and, if they are not doing well, there’s “a problem” and you’re not doing your job.

Chua recounts her father calling her “garbage” when she was disrespectful to her mother, but this didn’t damage her self esteem because she knew how highly he thought of her. She does the same to daughters, retelling this at a dinner party and being ostracised by the dinner guests.

Chinese parents can say “You’re fat, lose weight” or “You’re lazy, your classmates are doing better than you”. In contrast, Western parents worry about negative self-esteem and use euphemisms like ‘heavy’ instead of the “f” word. They are conflicted about how they feel about achievement, making themselves believe they are okay with their children’s less than stellar progress.

Chinese parents can get away with what they do because:

1. Western parents are too concerned about self-esteem. Chinese parents project their children’s strengths not their fragility.

2. Chinese parents believe in Confucian filial piety and parents sacrificing everything for their children – for Chua gruelling hours spent tutoring and training. In return, children obey and make their parents proud.

3. Chinese parents believe they know what’s best for their children. Their children’s desires and preferences don’t count. So there’s none of this going to a sleepover at your friend’s house because you want to, instead of doing hours of maths homework.

The experts say that Chua has struck a raw nerve in a society that has slipped from world rankings in academic achievements. Current debates on education in America centre on schools and teachers’ efforts and not on what the parents are doing at home.

The argument that middle class American parents give is they don’t want their children to be overburdened with too much homework, so they don’t have time to be children and take part in sports and other activities.

In Chua’s defence, some commentators believe that middle class cultural expectation creates a climate of laziness and entitlement. Other cultures do better academically because effort is expected of everyone, especially parents.

Chua’s detractors have come back with all the arguments – her kids will be skilled and obedient, but not creative or great. Chua will destroy their love of their music. They have even thrown in the high suicide rates in American Asians for good measure.

What do I think? Here’s where my views stand as a British-born Chinese (BBC) person, who grew up in inner-city Birmingham in the 1970s and 1980s. A daughter of immigrant parents from S.E. China, who immigrated to England in the mid 1960s.

I don’t feel outrage and I’m not surprised by what Chua says.

I had the life of an immigrant child helping out from a very young age at her parents’ restaurant. I was expected to do my homework at the restaurant and then work until it closed. I was expected to perform the next day at school on less than a few hours sleep. Yes, I was expected to get straight “As”.

I was expected to take care of my siblings, translate for my parents and help my father deal with all business correspondence before I was ten.

Because they worked 19 hours a day, seven days a week and didn’t speak or read English, my parents couldn’t help me with my homework, but the importance of education was drummed into me. Homework always came first. There weren’t any threats of no TV watching since I never had any spare time and there were no toys to burn as we didn’t have toys.

I imagine my life back then may still be the situation for many immigrant children even now.

Many of the people I’ve told my background to have no idea of what it was like to be an adult before you were a child (mostly new American friends, who have lived a privileged life compared to my upbringing). They can’t believe I don’t know how to ride a bike or how to ice skate or to swim. They may see me working as child labour, but I saw it as my responsibility to my family.

Even as I pushed back with arguments and rebellion (the normal coming of age things we go through) I instinctively knew my parents loved me and worked hard for our future, even without the outward demonstrations of love and affection.

The part with Chua calling her children “garbage”, “lazy” or “fatty”, well, how many of us as British-born Chinese haven’t heard the sting of those words or worse from parents and relatives? Who hasn’t been to Hong Kong and hasn’t been scrutinized by relatives?

I remember clearly my Hong Kong cousins calling me a “fat girl” and, even now, every time I visit home, I steel myself against comments on my weight. Yes, my mother called me fat. I wasn’t pretty, tall or thin enough to do something glamorous. Her message, study hard and achieve a professional job away from the catering trade.

Did it damage me? Yes and no. Being called fat – it hurt.

Did I do counselling? Of course, for quite a few years. I know my expectations bar is raised so high for what I expect of myself to achieve. I know this and reign myself in. I constantly work at self-confirmation – I’m good enough and proud of my achievements. I tread a fine line.

Did I blame my mother? For a time, but with age and experience, I know they did the best they could with the parenting models they were given. They believed working hard every day with no breaks was not only for family survival but to give us an opportunity to go to university.

My parents were survivors coming to a country in the early 1960s when multiculturalism wasn’t even in the vocabulary. I grew up with hard core work ethics that have brought me the success I have today. For that, I thank my parents and I feel it’s my responsibility even now to work hard in the face of their sacrifices.

Their methods toughened me up, so I have the attitude, if I apply myself I can do anything. Not just in the big goals, but my day-to-days efforts, from keeping up my communication with my friends, hosting a dinner party or raising money for a worthy cause.

The truth is my parents did the best they could. I grew up the best I could and I parent the best I can.

My upbringing makes me a believer in the power of education. This is where I feel empathy towards Chua’s emphasis on academic excellence.

I believe you can work hard to the best of your abilities to create opportunities and achieve your dreams. I wasn’t a naturally gifted student. I hated maths and sciences, contrary to all popular beliefs that all Chinese students are tops in these subjects. But, I remember working at the questions night after night until I got the formulas into my head. I can honestly say I succeeded through sheer hard work and grit.

Those who grow up in a country that have educational access never see the privileges they have; never truly see the opportunities open to them if they work hard. “Work” being the operative word: they expect things to fall into their laps and abuse their privileges.

Here’s where I differ from Amy Chua’s arguments. I believe there’s a fine line between self-esteem and toughness.

Some toughness is a plus. We don’t allow our children the important lesson of failure early in their lives. Consequently, when they do go out into big wide world they are ill prepared to handle it.

In the US, I think children have a tough time handling failure when in everything, sports being a big example, everyone gets a medal, even if you come in last. As a graduate teaching assistant at an American university, I saw the disservice done to first year students, who graduated from their high schools with a high grade point average, but couldn’t strings sentences or arguments together in an essay.

I believe in hard work. I won’t lie; I want the best for my children. I expect them to put in the effort that is required of them at school and home. But I want them to work to their strengths, encouraging them in what they are good at and helping them deal with the subjects they are not good at.

Above all, I do not want them to grow up feeling entitled, with an expectation they will be given everything on a silver platter, from every activity they want to do to the current hot toy they must have. Even if I had the means to buy them everything they want, I wouldn’t. They have to learn how to earn things from their hard work and efforts.

I have the skills (educated to Masters Level with multiple professional qualifications) to do the gruelling coaching that Chua puts into her children’s education. I’m fluent in English and the ways of the modern world. I have long left the stereotype of the takeaway regime and, in every way, live a very middle class life in suburban American. I have the time to coach but would I subject my daughter to three hours of piano practice? No.

I won’t be the parent who pushes her daughter at six to do gymnastic practice several nights a week because she has been invited on the development team. At six, she doesn’t know that gymnastics is the love of her life and she want to be an Olympic gymnast!

By the way, with some Western parents and their sporting ambitions for their children, who is to say they are not doing the same as Chua, but in sports? I’ve been to sports games where parents are screaming at their kids to play well.

There is no substitute for hard work to improve a skill or learning, but I do believe learning should be fun as well and not be scared to death of trying or being a failure.

From my experiences, self-esteem and a positive self-image are worth pursuing. And what I lacked the most – an outward, physical demonstration of my parents love – I give my children in big measures; hugging and kissing them all the time and telling them how proud I am of them.

As for Chua’s points about filial piety and overruling your children’s preferences, I can only say I chose to have them. I don’t need them as my insurance in old age, but I expect them to treat me with respect as their mother.

Of course, children want to do the fun things like play their Wii all the time or play with their friends instead of doing their homework but as a parent, my job is to give them boundaries and teach them self-discipline and values.

At the end of the day, I don’t have all the answers. I will probably be blamed by my children for some phobia or paranoia of their upbringing – haven’t experts written about this ad nauseum? Isn’t this what Philip Larkin wrote about in his poem “This Be The Verse”:

“They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do…”

If my children grow up as well-centred, humble people with individual personalities, decent values and feel loved, then I have done my job as a parent. I will know I did the best I could with what I had.

This is what this Chinese mother thinks. I don’t expect an “A” grade for my parenting and that’s okay. What about you?

I’m still not convinced Amy Chua is being entirely serious in her book. That’s for you to decide.

SUSAN S. CHEUNG

Susan S. Cheung (known to many of her friends and contacts by her Chinese middle name, Shifay) is a British-born Chinese freelance writer and consultant, who now lives in the United States in Franklin, Tennessee with her husband, a fellow BBC and their two children. You can contact her personally at This email address is being protected from spam bots, you need Javascript enabled to view it . She would love to hear your views and comments.