Magandang araw!
In Tagalog, the language of the Philippines, this warm greeting simply translates to “good day!” but is one I have rarely been able to say to other Filipinos given that Asian diversity is minimal in my home state. I grew up in a small coal town in Eastern Kentucky that has an all-white population, hence I was exposed to little diversity both in-person and in the media. This lack of representation led me to wonder whether people who look like me have a place in science, which was one of my favorite subjects in school (surprising, right?). In middle school, I attended a summer camp at the University of Kentucky called ‘Girls in Research,’ which aimed to encourage young girls to pursue careers in science, technology, engineering, and mathematics (STEM). Each year, we were assigned a mentor and during my first year I was assigned to a Ph.D. student. Now, imagine how extremely excited 11-year-old me was when I met her for the first time and found out that she was Filipina. This experience was my first exposure to other Filipino people, outside of my family, and was one of the major influences that led me to pursue a Ph.D. This is a prime example of the importance of representation as people are less likely to pursue careers in which they feel and look like the outsider or worse- the “token diversity hire.”
If you work in an area of STEM, you’ve probably worked with several Asian people. The common choice of Asians to enter the field of STEM is primarily influenced by culture. Poverty in Asian countries can be particularly tumultuous, and even fatal. If you’re not familiar with this topic, Bong Joon-ho provides a shocking and poignant description of the living conditions of South Korean impoverished families in his Oscar-winning film Parasite. Even here in the U.S., Asians are still predisposed to poverty. In California alone, 1/4th of the Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) population lives in poverty, despite having labor-intensive jobs [1]. If you were to ask any of your AAPI friends and/or colleagues, they would most likely have at least one family member who has lived in such conditions. For instance, my lola (grandmother) grew up on an impoverished island of the Philippines and began working as early as eight years old. These stories are passed on across generations and inspire us (and, more often than not, pressure us) to strive for success, and we often do so by working in fields like STEM.
There is a long-standing claim that Asians are overrepresented in STEM; however, a 2021 study conducted by the Pew Research Center showed that Asians occupy 13% of all STEM jobs in the U.S. versus their White counterparts, of whom make up 67% [2]. Conversely, Pacific Islanders are overwhelmingly underrepresented in STEM. In the Pew Research Center report, Pacific Islanders are grouped in the ‘Other’ category, which comprises a mere 3% of all U.S. STEM jobs. The claim of overrepresentation can be harmful for Asians when seeking job opportunities in STEM. For example, Asian pre-med students in the U.S. are expected to score significantly higher on the MCAT than their non-Asian peers in order to be considered competitive enough for medical school acceptance. However, a high MCAT score and GPA are still not a guarantee for Asian pre-med students. In fact, the American Association of Medical Colleges reported that between 2010-2012, Asian students had one of the lowest acceptance rates into U.S. medical schools, regardless of their MCAT score and GPA- a trend that was observed again throughout 2013-2017 [3]. This idea of Asian “overrepresentation” in STEM has created extensive barriers for Asians to pursue STEM careers that is spearheaded by racial profiling and discrimination. Furthermore, society’s dismissal of indigenous peoples, like Pacific Islanders, in combination with long-standing social and economic disparities promotes discrimination against Pacific Islanders in higher education and STEM [4].
Despite the contributions of AAPIs to the U.S. economy and advancements in medicine/technology, the U.S. still views AAPIs in America as “perpetual foreigners,” as described by Dr. Chen and colleagues in the American Journal of Surgery [5]. Anti-AAPI sentiment in the U.S. has resulted in their dehumanization in both society and the workforce. AAPI employees having financial constraints are more likely to be paid less than minimum wage and to have been required to work overtime for no pay [1]. Additionally, anti-Asian discrimination and violence in America has deep roots dating back to the late 1800’s, like the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, which banned Chinese people from immigrating to the U.S. [6]. During 2020, violent crimes against AAPIs in America has increased by approximately 150% due to racially-motivated assumptions about COVID-19 [7]. Furthermore, the cultural pressure and societal expectation for Asians to succeed are significant contributors to the fact that suicide is the leading cause of death of young Asian Americans [8]. Given these data, there is a dire need for our country to protect AAPI citizens and celebrate their contributions and success. Not only do AAPIs provide unique insights in STEM, they absolutely belong among everyone else. As scientists, we can protect our AAPI coworkers in the workplace by dismantling harmful stereotypes and removing toxic work culture principles, and we can begin to do so by starting meaningful conversations and providing education on anti-Asian biases.
Sources:
https://www.americanjournalofsurgery.com/article/S0002-9610(20)30277-4/fulltext
https://www.history.com/topics/immigration/chinese-exclusion-act-1882
https://www.nami.org/Blogs/NAMI-Blog/July-2020/How-Asian-Shame-and-Stigma-Contribute-to-Suicide
https://about.att.com/inside_connections_blog/2021/aapi_heritage_month.html