During this unforgettable summer in politics, Indian American women have arrived

By any measure, it’s been an extraordinary summer in presidential politics. Between the shooting of Donald Trump, Joe Biden’s exit from the campaign, Kamala Harris’ rise, and the selections of JD Vance and Tim Walz as their parties’ vice presidential nominees, it has been an unforgettable few months.

Yet for me, a marker of this period, will remain an observation that grew to a full realization through the crescendo of a reverberating drumbeat in my mind: Indian American women have arrived.

Never before in our nation’s history have two South Asian American women played such a prominent role in presidential politics — one, Harris, as the Democrat’s pick for commander in chief, and the other, Usha Vance, as the wife of Trump’s Republican running mate and a crucial partner in her husband’s rapid rise.

As a South Asian American of Indian descent and a daughter of immigrants, seeing women who share my background playing such pivotal roles in the presidential election is powerful. Whereas others have focused on fraught discussions of “DEI hires” and when someone started “becoming Black,” I see first-generation Americans taking the opportunities their parents struggled to give them and advancing to the national stage in the span of a few decades through determination, excellence, and accomplishment.

As daughters of immigrants, Kamala Harris and Usha Vance were handed the batons their families carried as they came to the United States and bravely stepped into the unknown. And, in their own ways, both of those women took their batons, ran — and then flew. They embody the spirit of the American dream.

In actuality, South Asian Americans have been a part of this entire presidential campaign period as both Nikki Haley and Vivek Ramaswamy, earlier Republican candidates, are also first generation Americans of Indian descent.

The three of them (Harris, Vance, and Ramaswamy) have South Indian origins, a nuance that is notable perhaps only to other Indians, as the more commonly known foods, clothes, traits, and celebrations in the U.S. are often from North Indian culture.

In fact, I was surprised to learn that Ramaswamy was from Kerala, the same Indian state as my family, and immediately texted my father to ask if he knew this. His comically curt response, “No. He brings no honor to the diaspora,” perfectly illustrates our shared belief that no matter how one looks or where one comes from, it’s the actions, values, integrity and track record that we scrutinize, especially in those for whom we might cast a vote.

Like mine, the stories of Kamala Harris, Usha Vance, Nikki Haley, and Vivek Ramaswamy are neither rags to riches nor completely self-made.

Each comes from middle-class families in India, the largest democracy in the world; each are the product of highly educated parents, grandparents, and even great-grandparents, whose careers included new discoveries and creating new knowledge as researchers and scholars, caring for and healing countless patients and families as physicians, and educating and empowering generations of children and young adults as teachers and educators, among others.

Their trajectories began from the privilege brought by education, knowledge, awareness, and belief in unending possibilities — that which beckons with the notion that nothing is impossible if you work for it, but nothing is entitled.

A look across many major industries shows people of South Asian descent in key leadership positions in the U.S. and around the world.

A review done in 2024 showed the largest cohort of nonwhite CEOs in the U.S. were Asian/Indian. In the last decade or so, leaders of Indian descent broke into lists such as CEOs of Fortune 500, Forbes richest people in the world, New York Times bestsellers, and the Group of Seven (G7) in greater numbers than ever before.

A review done in 2024 showed the largest cohort of non-white CEOs in the U.S. were Asian/Indian.

Whether business, engineering, journalism and media, computer science, law, medicine, education, entrepreneurship, literature, film, and a variety of STEM fields, people of South Asian descent have made their indelible mark, their presence known and their voices heard. A visible cohort has been promoted through broad recognition of their expertise and leadership acumen, setting the precedent to normalize South Asians in those echelons — although women still lag.

A look closer to home, in the academic medical arenas of Philadelphia, doesn’t paint the same picture. Consistent with my own experiences as a physician, others have written before about the lack of diversity among the high tiers of Philadelphia’s medical colleges and hospitals.

South Asians, or people of South Asian descent, are not a minority in the world of medicine; in fact, Indian ethnicity makes up the largest subgroup of Asian applicants to medical school, which is in itself the second most represented race/ethnicity group, behind white people, of all medical school applicants and active physicians in the U.S.

Yet studies have shown that despite making up a significant proportion of academic physicians and faculty, Asians were far less likely to be promoted to leadership positions, less likely to receive equitable grant funding, including the prestigious National Institute of Health R01 grants, or be recognized by national academies and medical speciality associations.

It has been postulated that the characteristics that lend to the “model minority” trope — hardworking, quiet, assimilating, goal-oriented — are the same reason they are overlooked for leadership roles or have “the everyday experience of exclusion and invisibility.”

The attributes that lend to the “model minority” trope — hardworking, quiet, assimilating, goal-oriented — may be the same reason some Indian Americans are overlooked for leadership roles.

In Philadelphia, chairs across academic medicine are a largely homogenous group in place for decades. The birthplace of American medicine has not reflected the changing demographics of its brethren in its leaders, and instead train their gaze to physicians who are “more academic” or who are perceived as having “gravitas” — code words commonly used that effectively exclude applicants who are not white.

The existing medical power structures are apparently comfortable with the anchored perspective of Eurocentric patriarchal leadership they perpetuate rather than widening their views to the qualities, skill sets, and competencies that would propel toward future and sustained success. Ironically, for me and many Asian American women like me, we seem to have been penalized for not complying with the “quiet and meek” Asian stereotype, instead being willing to use our voices when we get to the table.

I left that world because I felt its limitations for my missions and goals — reflected in the words of Amanda Gorman: “And so we lift our gazes not to what stands between us, but what stands before us.” I chose to look and explore beyond and saw representation reflected in the problem solvers of our time — the ones who dare step into the arena, ask probing questions, poke the status quo, willing to speak truth to power, and work for benefit beyond their own.

More and more, when I look up, I see others of South Asian descent — particularly Indian American women — who advocate for themselves and others, who lean in with curiosity to listen and learn, who use their knowledge and expertise to influence, build partnerships, develop collaborations and bring others along, and who have the courage to always push for better, in themselves and the systems around them.

Kamala Harris, Usha Vance, and Nikki Haley and have made it possible for me, and generations of South Asian American women and girls, including my incredible nieces, coming behind me, to realize and boldly declare: I look like a leader.

Priya E. Mammen is an emergency physician and public health specialist whose work focuses on underserved and marginalized populations and improving health care equity. @PEMammen