During my undergraduate degree, there was a word that was circulated throughout many conversations. In fact, I am guilty of being disdainful towards this word.
‘Corporate sell out’
I believe that every child of immigrant parents goes through this cognitive dissonance at some point in their lives. Many of us want high social impact jobs which benefit underprivileged communities. I think this motivation comes from our first-hand experience of the struggles that we found growing up. My parents are part of an immigrant working class where the same story is told—that no matter how hard they worked, an insurmountable language barrier will haunt them for the rest of their lives. And yes, that means slaving away for a mortgage and a sizeable pension. Today, I am taller than my mum and in that little frame of hers is a woman with so much grit and character, but these traits do nothing to change her economic situation. She knows that her career aspirations will remain stagnant. So, seeing this growing up, I wanted to be the person who could compensate for their sacrifice and make their efforts feel valued. The perfect solution, study hard and get a stable well-paid job.
There exists a binary decision-making process which consists of an imaginary trade-off between ‘corporate sell out’ or a ‘good person’. It is a trend and term that has gained popularity. Jobs like trading and investment banking are deemed to be ‘selling your soul to the capitalist machine’ and jobs like nursing and being a schoolteacher are ‘good person’ jobs. But being a ‘good person’ doesn’t pay well. I think there is a grain of truth in Asian stereotypes of doing medicine, because if education is a return to investment, being a doctor allows you to be a ‘good person’ and strikes the perfect trifecta of stability, compensation, and status. When I think more about why these factors are so prized in Asian households, I realise at a deeper level, it stems from this idea of risk. My parents came to Australia as students barely speaking any English, where nothing about their livelihood could be guaranteed. In fact, some of the riskiest career pathways such as creative arts, is reflected by the little representation of Asians in mainstream media and movies. However, there has been a deviation from this trend in recent years as I get excited to watch Shang Chi and my playlist is getting filled with Asian American artists by the day.
Some of my peers might ask “shouldn’t you just choose what you like and not what your parents want”.
I think that the film called, The Farewell is a poignant response to this question. I came to the realisation that the concept of collective decision making is thoroughly ingrained in Asian households. Your life is not your own, and every decision is made with consideration on how it affects your family. That is not to say that non-Asian families are not considerate when making decisions but rather there is a stronger notion of sacrifice and collective obligation to your family.
I think it’s unfair that being a ‘corporate sell-out’ is stigmatised because ultimately decisions about someone’s career are more than just if it makes money, if they like it and if they’re good at. There are dimensions of privilege, culture, and family behind each of these decisions. I have been privileged to pursue a career that I love that also has a high social impact. This decision was grounded in my childhood. Even when I was younger, I distinctly remember accompanying my mother to the doctors as a seven-year-old, scrambling to translate the complex medical terms from Chinese to English. As a result, frustrated at my own inability to shoulder even some of my parent’s financial and cultural burdens, I wished for a future where I could be the person to change the system. But no matter the reason, I believe that every person’s career pathway is worthy of being applauded and celebrated.
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