How the model minority stereotype hurts me-and how it hurts disabled Asians in general
- May 17, 2022
- 7 min read
Updated: May 18, 2022
So, it's May, which means it's officially AAPI (Asian American Pacific Islander-I know, what a mouthful right? That's why it's shortened to AAPI) heritage month. While I'm grateful to have witnessed many progressions within and for the Asian community in my lifetime, from better and broader representation, like with BTS and Never Have I Ever, to educational milestones; I'm from Illinois, and I'm so proud to say we were the first state to make it a requirement to teach Asian American history in public schools-the truth is, during this month, there are still so many voices that are overlooked. And that includes disabled Asians. And it is ridiculous-you'd think we'd get better rep and recognition, considering, hello, the creator of Pokemon himself, Staoshi Tajiri, is also autistic (he utilized his special interests of bug collecting and video games to create the game!), and Illinois state senator Tammy Duckworth, being Taiwanese, is physically disabled. But we don't-and that's where the model minority stereotype comes into play as the main reason.
And exactly what is the model minority stereotype? Well, for those of you not in the know, the model minority stereotype is, like with all stereotypes, a surface level perception of Asians, stereotyping all of us as hard working and submissive, as obsessive perfectionists with genius levels of intellect, and being a prodigy with at least one ore more activity or skill (be it chess, piano/violin, anything involving technology). And what's funny is that these traits aren't so different from the stereotypes associated with autism (aka savant syndrome, akin to what's depicted in the 1988 film Rain Man). But as positive as it all may seem, it only hurts us in the long run.
Though the model minority stereotype is a uniquely American idea, many Asian families, particularly immigrant families, have adopted this ideal, demanding nothing short of perfection from themselves and their children-be it academics, achievements in other extracirriculars like sports, and higher education, in order to adapt and assimilate better to American society, to avoid being seen as the "other", and not give any reason to be antagonized as the stereotypical "lazy" immigrants by white America. But when some Asians just can't live up to those expectations, or ideals, due to having a disability, they're shamed, isolated, and treated as burdens within their own families, in ways both subtle and explicit, or at best, there is some support, but they're still misunderstood in many ways-as if baring the brunt of those reactions from society at large wasn't enough!
Please understand, as a quick disclaimer, in no way am I saying this accounts for ALL Asian families with a disabled relative (and if there are families in general like that, a CPS investigation is definitely needed), and I'm certainly not trying to say I endured any attitudes or feelings of that sort from my own family. However, even though I am a member of the social work honors society at my campus, and I've done reasonably well for an autistic social work major, in many ways, I still feel very isolated from my family-socially and academically. To give you a quick run down, my parents are both doctors, both having graduated and met at Northwestern, an extremely prestigious (and ridiculously overpriced) school, which is where three of my other uncles and two of my aunts attended, and my younger sister also attends. I have a cousin at Boston University that's also going there for grad school, and my younger brother attends Purdue, another highly ranked university, and I have another cousin attending UC Berkely-whereas on the other hand, I studied at Joliet Junior College, or JJC, a small community college, before transferring over to my current campus, Lewis University, and while both have extremely strong programs in nursing and in social work, they're not on the level schools like Purdue, Northwestern, or Berkely are. And let me tell you now, as a twenty-three year old-you just don't outgrow your insecurities (and anyone who claims that you do is lying). Even when my brother, like me, is also graduating a year late, and hearing my sister lament her struggles to us about how hard her classses are and how much she's struggled with midterms, unlike in high school, where she aced all of her AP and honors classes with flying colors, just like my brother-it's still hard not to question why I'm not in the same league as them, and why I'm not at a big ten school like U of I, why I didn't try to push harder to convince my English teacher junior year that I could handle AP English and Lit rather than College Writing, why I didn't at least try to major in something like biology or nursing instead of choosing social work, why I didn't try harder when I failed stats and had to retake, why I got an 88 in my research class for social work last semester. The model minority stereotype in this situation has not only made it harder for me to accept that because my brain is wired so differently, there's just things I excel at better, but also things I struggle with more compared to neurotypicals, but it's made me compare, criticize, scrutinize, analyze, dissect in the most over-obsessive, perseveratory ways that only a neurodivergent/autistic person can-and this proves for a self-destructive combination; jealousy, the feeling that I need to somhow prove that I'm "Asian enough" (and when I do, it's STILL not enough), and ashamed as I am to admit it, the constant longing to be "normal", in terms of what's considered "normal" in the Asian and neurotypical communities. I too often overlook my strengths that stem from being neurodivergent-a strong sense of fairness and justice, the ability to percieve the world in a totally unique way compared to my neurotypical peers and associates, excessive knowledge of my passions, from the ocean to Hamilton that could easily rival Wikipedia, in favor of what I think I should-and could-be. In short, it's like two sides of me are locked in a constant battle-my autistic self, the real me, and the idealized version of me I made up-without little regard or belief that the two can somehow co-exist, or that it's ok to just be one. And this is a struggle disabled Asians know all too well.
What makes it even worse is that the aforementioned mindset is present in the people meant to help us most when our parents can't-teachers, speech language pathologists (SLPs), social workers, doctors, etc. It's systemic racism and ableism in the worst ways, presenting itself in ways both covert and explicit. While I cannot speak for others experiences, I can speak from personal experiences: ever since I was in kindergarten, they knew something was up-enough to the point where I was sent to see an SLP and a social worker at school occasionally, and when I moved elementary schools at the start of third grade, it went from occasionally, to every week (funny enough, that's around the time I was officially diagnosed, so I'm pretty sure the diagnosis had something to do with it). I was placed in a few groups, and gradually, especially in middle school, I couldn't help but notice how my white and other non-Asian peers seemed to receive more attention from the social worker and/or SLP and other people running the group than me-being asked more questions about academics and their social lives, being asked more if they needed help in reaching out to a teacher. And though it's (somewhat) fair to say the other people in the group were more "low-functioning" than I was, and whose grades weren't the best compared to mine (I was achieving mostly high 90's throughout school), just because it looked like I was doing fine, didn't mean I was doing fine consistently. And here's a troubling story: in June of 2020, at the height of the pandemic, a Korean Princeton undergrad, Jennifer Lee, got Chron's disease, qualifying her as disabled-only to be told by a doctor that "Asians don't get Chron's" (Namkung, Victoria, 2022). Never mind that this was not only at the height of the pandemic, but at the height of the BLM protests for George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and countless others that were victims of police brutality, resulting in thousands of companies and other institutions rushing to pledge their commitment to social justice, diversity, and inclusion. And I'm going to follow up with an equally concerning statistic: recently, as of October 2021, it's been estimated that twenty percent of public school students get support from the Individuals With Disabilities Act, or IDEA-but when race is factored into the data, only seven percent of Asians receive support, having the lowest statistics of any racial group. Some of the main reasons include shame, socioeconomics, cultural barriers, confusion about what constitutes a disability, the model minority myth and a reluctance to identify as being disabled-despite how around 1.4 million people from the AAPI community self-identify as being disabled (Namkung, Victoria, 2021). And next to eradicating the ableist and racist belief that Asians are immune to any disease that physically and/or mentally impairs them, we need to increase that second percentage-along with other statistics wherein disabled Asians are the least represented.
To any Asian parents/guardians that have disabled children/relatives, or who suspect that their child or a relative might be disabled, SLPs, social workers, doctors, teachers, allies, etc reading this: our disability is an integral part of our identity, but it does NOT define our capability, our potential, our intelligence, our ability to relate to and understand non-disabled people/neurotypicals, or our future. Some of us suck at math and science; some of us don't. Some of us might excel in one or a few academic subjects, and struggle with the rest. Some of us may excel academically in all areas and do fine socially-but that doesn't always mean we're thriving. We will still NEED help throughout life, regardless of how "low-functioning" or hard-working we appear. Being Asian doesn't cancel out our disability, but our disability doesn't cancel out our heritage either. Not to mention, the research you've done, patients/clients you've worked with, and people you've met do NOT account for all of us, and never will. This is a long-overdue call to action-be a voice for us, but don't take our voice. We exist, and always have-and it's high time this is not only recognized and supported, but also celebrated and elevated as well.
Referenced articles:
Namkung, Victoria (2021, October 1st). Ableism and the racist model minority myth are keeping Asian Americans from disability care. Retrieved from https://www.yahoo.com/now/why-asian-american-kids-under-183254248.html
Namkung, Victoria (2022, January 20th). Asian Americans with disabilities are often overlooked. A new youth-led group aims to change that. Retrieved from
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