Tag Archives: birthmothers

a certain slant of adoption

Scribble black backgroundHello folks! It’s Sunday morning, the skies are gray in my lovely locale. Nevertheless, I’m enjoying the weekend, despite the clouds. It couldn’t have come sooner.

Today, I wanted to talk about adoption…well, duh. I have something more specific in mind. For the past 7 years, I’ve actively searched for and read blogs, books, scholarly research, adoptee group sites, birthmother sites, and adoptive parent sites seeking connection, knowledge, resources, and validation. There are as many views on adoption out there as the colors of the rainbow. As an international and transracial adoptee, my own perspective on adoption has evolved. I don’t think it uncommon for our views to change as we experience personal growth and for lack of a better term, mature. Adoptees have strong inclinations regarding adoption rooted in their own life experiences, and multiple factors shape those attitudes. I’ve spoken with adult adoptees who are not terribly interested in connecting to their cultural roots or birth heritage, nor searching for their birthfamilies. Perhaps there’s a glint of interest, but there is not yet a compelling enough reason or desire to follow it. There are other adoptees who speak strongly against international adoption and for reasons that are quite justified. International adoption has a jaded history, and there are countless adoptees who were adopted illegally, through unethical adoption practices – in some cases both the agency and adoptive parents were plainly aware of the falsification of information. These deplorable practices still occur around the world. There is evidence, and though the U.S. attempts to keep the public aware of these dark practices, they continue.

I have several friends who are adoptive parents and have adopted children internationally from China, India, Africa, Ethiopia, and Russia. They also have very strong opinions and attitudes about international adoption. Sometimes – maybe even frequently – my friends and I do not see eye to eye; nevertheless we remain friends. I strongly believe in family preservation and the support of services to keep children with their biological families. As an adopted person, I cannot see past that. And yet, we live in a world where adoption is still thriving, although in decline internationally. I feel conflicted at times because I have my own very strong attitudes about adoption and yet I am supportive of my friends and other adoptive parents, and that will not change. I am for the welfare of children whether adopted or not.

What I particularly struggle with across the landscape of adoption is judgment and how we judge one another based on our attitudes and opinions towards international adoption. I know that I am judged by others for what I believe and support. I don’t necesarrily like being judged; the word ‘judge’ itself is so harsh. And yet I also judge – it’s inevitable. We all do because it’s human nature. I have no control over what others think and say, but I can temper my own thoughts, words, and actions. I’ve gone through the gamut of emotions related to my own adoption/identity and international adoption in general, from curiosity and awe, to self-loathing and anger, to grief and loss and depression, to acceptance. Like so many adoptees, ignorance makes me angry. It’s complex. There’s a lot of ignorance surrounding international and transracial adoption – adoptive parents experience it, too, and people can say some really dumb things. Sometimes I laugh it off, and other times I get angry and vent to a trusted friend or another adoptee who gets it. There is healing and validation in sharing our experiences.

And what about birthmothers? Of all involved in the adoption ‘triangle,’ their voices and stories are the least heard. And yet, I am certain that they have also experienced trauma, separation, grief and loss, and judgment. We know that women throughout the world have been forced to ‘give up’ their children through coercion for generations (Australia, Brazil, etc). And their children were later adopted by families/individuals from other countries. Societies often judge unwed, single pregnant women who are then stigmatized and left with few options.

What to make of all of this? I will be judged by what I say and do. That’s life, and I can accept that, as painful as it may be. There are a lot of adoptees and other folks out there with some very strong voices and opinions about how things should be. What I won’t accept is bullying by others who believe that everyone should share the same attitude and carry out the same actions. That’s just unacceptable. Adoptees do not all share the same points of view. Similarly, adoptees, adoptive parents, and birthmothers have vastly different experiences. Sometimes what we see on the outside is not what’s on the inside. I realize that we may not always agree, but we can certainly respect one another and our own personal and matchless journeys. We can look for ways to inform others who have not walked in our shoes. I’m speaking as one adoptee to another – I hope to support you wherever you are in life and wherever life takes you. I do believe that collectively, we can make a difference.

the picture of my birth mother

I finally framed the picture of my birth mother, which was given to me by my sisters in Taiwan. It was one of the first things they gave me at the airport once I arrived in Taipei. It’s a 5×7 black and white photo. My sisters laminated the picture to prevent any damage.

I used to think that my birth mother looked so solemn. She’s wearing a black mandarin collared jacket or shirt. Her hair is short and neat in the style of older women. Her eyes are a little downturned at the outer corners. I thought upon first seeing the picture that she appeared sad. She is not quite smiling, and I often wonder what my birth mother was thinking when the photo was taken. Oddly enough, I never asked my sisters how old she was at the time. I think that I was so overwhelmed with joy to have her picture and to see what she looked like that the thought didn’t cross my mind. My guess would be that she was somewhere in her fifties. My sisters told me that I look very much like our mother in her younger years. Unfortunately, there are no photos left of her when she was a young woman.

It’s a really odd feeling knowing that I was born to two people who I will never have an opportunity to meet. The story of why and how I was placed for adoption is a very sad one. Yet my sisters believe that my adoptive parents were angels and are very happy and thankful that I had the opportunity to be raised in a more affluent, stable environment. I understand why it happened the way it did. There are many privileges that I have received because I grew up in the U.S. in a middle class white family. My adoptive parents loved me very much, but there were many challenges, especially when I was a teenager. My parents were ill-prepared to parent an adoptee with identity issues.

I am happy that my sisters and family wanted to reunify. They have very big and generous hearts. The picture of my birth mother is now sitting in a place where I see it every morning. Framed, she appears happier, if only in my imagination, and it makes me smile.

an interview with author, mridula koshy

koshy authorIn my last post, I reviewed Mridula Koshy’s debut novel, Not Only the Things That Have Happened. I was so intrigued with the book that I asked Mridula if she would be open to an interview, and she graciously said yes. I hope that you will read the interview below in its entirety. Mridula shares not only her thoughts on the book, but on important social issues  especially as they pertain to women (including video footage). I would like to thank Mridula for taking time out for the interview. 

Could you tell us a little about yourself and what led you to writing?

I grew up hearing I would become a writer. This was presented as an inevitable future for a talker like me. What scared me was the other connection drawn – to my aunt, Mary John Thottam, a well-known poet in Kerala, India.  I was frightened by this idea of writing as a family trait surfacing in the same way a pudgy nose might every generation or so. What if my parents were mistaken and I wasn’t nearly smart enough to be a writer.

At thirty-five, it was no longer an option to turn my back on something that felt like my re-entry ticket to home. Back in Delhi after a twenty year stay in the US, this talker no longer knew anyone in a town so intensely alive with talk that ‘belonging’ depended on gaining entry into the conversation. I was home with my youngest child, my dear daughter who had just turned three a year after joining the family. It was too soon to enroll her in school and to seek full time work outside the home. I began writing as a way to enter the conversation and found to my relief that writing is no more dependent on inherited genius than it is on inspiration. Paper, pencil and disciplined engagement is all it takes.

What inspired you to write, Not Only the Things That Have Happened?

The ethical and legal problems with inter-country adoption were hard to escape once I became intimately aware of them through my experience of adopting my daughter. When I began work on Not Only the Things That Have Happened, I knew a critique of inter-country adoption would be one of the book’s reasons for being. I also knew this book would be would be a fictional work, that is to say it would not be my family’s story. In fiction I could access the historical and political story of adoption, and as well characters whose circumstances called for more courage and more imagination than I have ever had to summon.

In the story, “time” is a character. Can you talk about how this character is central to the theme of the story?

Toward the end of my protagonist Annakutty’s life she lies on her deathbed struggling to see her life. Her eleven-year-old niece, Nina, tells her that although the sun is indeed too bright and wavery and impossible to see, she can draw it. She draws the sun not by trying to see it as it is, but by trying to see it as she imagines it is. So she draws it “with two eyes and a nose and a smile on its face…by imagining about the sun.”

Not Only the Things That Have Happened is not a book about life as it is. It is about how I imagine life is – for Annakutty and Asa and a host of others. One reason the book is structured in a somewhat non-linear fashion is because linearity is only one way to imagine life. By imagining it anew I open myself to the possibility and usefulness of the many other ways in which it can be imagined.

Asa’s story is the story of someone plucked from the narrative of his life, displaced from the story he tells himself about himself first in his mother-tongue, Malayalam, when he is a baby, then in Hindi as a four year old street child in Delhi, and finally in English when he is adopted as a nine year old by his American family. Time is born and dies with each of these narratives as Asa is effaced again and again. There is no linear order for Asa and inevitably there can be none for the writer or the reader.

Can you tell us more about the title of the book and its significance to the story?

I remember the first stories in my life were always about ‘Once upon a time’ and this phrase I think is an important marker of the effort to contain the uncontainable, to contain the things that happened. The best of the stories hinted at or at least begged the question of what happened twice upon a time and thrice. They hinted at how untidy stories actually are.

The story of inter-country adoption is a contained and tidy story. It has a ‘once upon a time,’ the act of adoption, as its arbitrary beginning and permits itself no other ending but ‘happily ever after.’ This story of the things that have happened begs the question of what might be found if one were to look at ‘not only the things that have happened.’

Outside of literature, when a young adoptee asks the adoptive parent ‘Why did she leave me,” or “Will I ever see her again,” or “Is she alright,” and “my brothers and sisters, are they alright, do I have any,” the narrative breaks. The compassionate adoptive parent answers these questions with an attempt to comfort even as she imparts the painfully uncomfortable truth, “I don’t know.” In fiction, it is possible to complicate “I don’t know” with knowing. Though Asa doesn’t know whether his first mother lives or dies, the reader knows. Though Annakutty doesn’t know whether Asa thrives or suffers, we know.

The young Annakutty falls in love with a young man who does not marry her and then has a child out of wedlock. She experiences stigmatization and is ostracized by her family and community, her head is shaved and at one point her clothes confiscated to keep her under control. How common are such practices?  

Annakutty walks naked through her town in a dangerous act of defiance.  This cannot be characterised  as a common form of protest, but neither is it unknown. Here is a video of a woman who as an act of protest walked in her underclothes through the city. Notice the baseball bat in her hand. http://ibnlive.in.com/news/woman-strips-walks-in-city-against-dowry-demand/44089-3.html. Perhaps the most famous image of woman using their nudity to protest their oppression is this one in which a group of Manipuri women protest the Armed Forces Special Powers Act, which allows the Indian Army to act with impunity in some parts of the country where civil rights have been suspended, resulting in rape and other atrocities by the army. http://www.commondreams.org/headlines04/0719-03.htm

It will take too long to answer the question of how women are oppressed in India. Suffice it to say patriarchy is alive and well here, as elsewhere, although it takes some unique turns here. But whether manifested uniquely or otherwise, patriarchy looks different in different parts of this huge and diverse country. For example, the birth ratio of baby girls to boys is skewed by selective abortions in one half of the country but not in the other half. http://www.nybooks.com/articles/archives/2013/oct/10/indias-women-mixed-truth/?page=2

Annakutty raises her son alone and eventually makes the heart wrenching decision to relinquish him around the age of four to tourists passing through. What is it, ultimately, that forces her to make this difficult decision?

The long answer to the question of what forces Annakutty to relinquish her son is in the 350 pages of the novel. The short answer is she relinquishes him because someone shows up to adopt him. She withstands a tremendous amount of pressure to be done with her child, pressure that includes an attempt to kill her child in the delivery room, and pressure that has resulted in her terrible isolation from her family and community, isolation she fears will be visited on her child as he grows. But until someone comes to adopt her child, she continues to struggle with the circumstances of her life, agonizing over what to feed him on his birthday as any mother anywhere of any circumstance will. Absent the pressure of adoption, she would in all likelihood have continued to struggle to provide for him.

Annakutty regrets her decision throughout her lifetime as she remembers and even tries to search for her son. How does this story speak to other birth mothers who are forced to relinquish a child(ren)?

Annakutty is left with little besides regret. What legal recourses does she or any birthmother have? How does her economic poverty and the beliefs of those around her equip her to fight for her child? It does not. Of course, as readers will find, Annakutty does not stop at weeping over her loss. She may not be able to rewrite the rules of the engagement, but engage she does with life, above all by grappling the question of how she will live with her loss.

I think regret is real for everyone in the triad. Adoptive parents are regretful and even remorseful that the very circumstances which allow them to become parents are also the circumstances which leave them unable to answer their children’s most anguished questions. Loss marks all the relationships in the triad, and this loss extends beyond the triad.  Recently, the Australian government apologized to women who were coerced in the past to give their children up for adoption. This coercion was cultural and political. The apology is an acknowledgment that regret is not just a birth mother’s obligation. It is from the owning up to our regret that we can step toward the kind of legal reform that is needed in inter-country adoption.

Annakutty suffers many losses in her life, yet possesses a certain strength and dignity despite her painful circumstances. From your perspective, what gives Annakutty such resilience in the face of her experiences? Would you consider her a heroine? If so, in what ways?

Annakutty’s powerlessness is not far from the experience of most women on the planet today.  I’d like to believe she is a heroine in the way most women are: she tells the truth, the complicated truth, regardless of her inability to command an audience for it. She does not, for example embrace the idea her neighbours offer her – that her child is lucky for being adopted,  that he has gone to “a good life such as none of us can give our children.” She fights for the return of her child whom she herself handed over to another family.  Gretchen, who is the child’s first adoptive mother, is another example of this courage I admire in women. Late in life she voices the difficult truth that “she made a huge mistake.” The child she saw calling to her in her dreams, the child she was forced to abort, cannot be replaced by a child she adopts. Gretchen has no one with whom she can share her regrets, no way to correct the mistake she made. Her courage is evidenced in the endless calls she makes to random toll-free numbers in India, an attempt to find the child she adopted and lost.
Asa, Annakutty’s son, struggles to remember the events that led up to his relinquishment and is frustrated by the lack of information available to him. This manifests in anger and a deep sense of loss, which greatly affects his life and relationships with significant others. From your perspective, how do the losses experienced by adoptees shape who they become?

I don’t believe Asa is condemned to a life of anger and nothing but anger. He is shown in the novel attempting to love and to be loved, for example in his relationship with his daughter. This work of loving which is painful and filled with risk for most of us is made more painful for Asa by the fact that he has no narrative to explain the loss of his first love, his mother.  Barred access to this narrative, he needs at least an acknowledgement of this loss if he is to ever sustain himself in the work of loving his daughter. Even given such an acknowledgment, many adoptees will struggle with anger as they encounter each new loss life brings them. Some of the new losses will be related directly to the original loss. Other losses (the loss of a lover or a job) may not be directly related to the original loss, but will recall its helplessness.  Some adoptees do not accept the idea of loss as a recurring event in life. Others are vocal in their acceptance of this idea. And certainly society with its celebratory embrace of adoption cannot accept the idea that loss is a part of adoption.

At the end of the story, Asa decides not to go to India to search for some of the missing pieces to his past, yet leaves the airport having gained some insights about his life. Do you foresee Asa returning to India one day to search for answers? And, in the book, nearly all of the characters experience some sort of loss, including Asa’s adoptive parents, Marge and David. How does loss factor into the theme of the story?

Oh my gosh, I really don’t know about Asa returning to India. I write to discover answer to the questions I don’t have answers for. I would have to write another story to find out if Asa ever makes it to India. In writing Not Only the Things That Have Happened, I wanted to answer a different question: how can a person live with profound loss and disruption? And of course I wanted to know, how can a parent leave their child? Can a child recover?  I found in Annakutty’s story a remarkable example of someone who lived and lived well by allowing loss to remain with her, to keep faith with that loss. She does not give in to the pressure to put it behind her. Whether Asa is scamming old ladies into adopting him or scamming himself into thinking that he need not be a parent to his daughter, his life seems to be a dizzying scramble to escape loss.

Readers will quarrel with the disappointment of not being able to see Asa return to India. Instead of the music soaring as the curtain falls there will only be the static of CNN’s botched weather report, the man snoring in the seat next to Asa, the whoosh of the revolving door ushering Asa out of the airport and  into the rest of his unknown life. In the first pages of the novel, Anakutty’s niece Nina exits the stories Anakutty likes to tell about her Lost Boy because Nina dreads the way they all end in the unknown.  I hope that forewarned by Annakuttys death on the first page, readers will know this is not a story about reconciliation. I hope readers will wonder as I did what one can take away from a story that ends in the unknown. Perhaps uneasiness. And uneasiness is useful. Perhaps a little bit of the sense I gained writing this book that even the unknown future is not entirely unknowable. Annakutty certainly believed in keeping faith with her loss, which cannot be read as anything but faith in her future.

What would you like most for readers to take away from the book?

Two things actually, the first is a political and the second a literary/philosophical objective. One, we need to reform inter-country adoption and two, our narratives must of necessity be as complicated as the stories we hope to tell.

Visit Mridula Koshy’s facebook page here

Purchase Not Only the Things That Have Happened on Amazon.com

book review: not only the things that have happened

“If it is real, you can remember not only the things that have happened, but also the things that are going to happen.”  —Annakutty Verghese

Harper Collins (India, 2012)

Mridula Koshy’s debut novel, Not Only the Things That Have Happened, is not a tale for the faint-hearted. It is a story that explores the impact of adoption, oppression, loss and identity. Koshy’s prose and storytelling is hauntingly beautiful and speaks directly to the heart. It is not a quick read, but one that invokes thought, and as such, is an important and compelling work.

At the center of the story is Annakutty Verghese, an aged, dying woman who desperately clings to life as thoughts of the son she relinquished 30 years ago linger within her memory. Annakutty was coerced into giving up her beloved son and regrets this decision the rest of her life. She constantly relives her brief time with him by telling stories to her niece, Nina. Annakutty’s greatest hope is that her Lost Boy, Madhu, will return to her, a hope that never diminishes even until her death.

Divided into two halves, the story takes place in Kerala, India and in the Midwestern U.S. and spans a period of 36-hours. The story of Annakutty is featured in the first half and that of Annakutty’s son, renamed Asa Gardner by his adoptive parents, in the second. We transition back and forth between the present and the past as the memories of various characters whose lives intersect are recollected. This can be a bit confusing, yet it is through this interweaving of past and present that Koshy so masterfully creates a multi-layered story of memories, loss and longing.

In Part 1, we travel back to Annakutty’s life as an adolescent. The sixteen-year old Annakutty falls in love with a young man from her stepmother’s village. Her family, particularly her stepmother, disapproves and Annakutty is sent away to a convent, but not without first suffering much degradation and scorn. At the convent, she has a child out of wedlock with a priest, which brings more shame upon the young Annakutty. Eventually, she is convinced to give up her son when he is four years old. She later takes in her niece, Nina, and even marries, which brings a certain happiness back into Annakutty’s life, though she never gives up hope of finding her Madhu.

In Part 2, we travel a world away to meet Asa Gardner, formerly Madhu, who is now a grown man. We learn that Asa’s life has been characterized by instability. After his relinquishment to a German couple visiting India, he becomes lost at the train station where he and his new family are to depart. We are led to believe, however, that this was not an accident. The young Asa soon joins a group of homeless boys, his “brothers,” who live on the railroad platform until he is rescued by agency workers. He is eventually adopted by an American couple. Asa’s struggles continue even after his adoption, and he has great difficulty assimilating to his new life. After a devastating family tragedy, Asa leaves home for good only to return to what is familiar- living on the streets and begging. Time passes and Asa marries, but becomes estranged from his wife and has a disconnected relationship with their young daughter. At the root of Asa’s turmoil is the lack of any tangible history, in essence, a lack of true identity. With only fragmented memories of his past, Asa wanders like a lost soul, searching for missing pieces and reinventing stories to fill in the gaps.

On a much deeper level, the story of Annakutty and Asa speaks to a larger issue, the social institution of adoption, and begs the question, is adoption really the best option for children from disadvantaged backgrounds? I have conflicted feelings on this issue. The point of contention for me begins with the separation of a mother and her child due to coercion, or because an unwed mother feels that she has no other options. Furthermore, that such exorbitant fees are required to adopt a child from another country is difficult for me to grasp. I cannot undo my own past and recognize that I had privileges growing up that I would not have had otherwise. On the flip side, I will never know my birth parents, nor ever feel fully integrated into my culture of origin. It is an emotional injury that rears its ugly head now and again. Although adopted children flourish in adoptive homes, the disparity between losses and gains is traumatic. Often the only picture one gets of adoption is a romanticized one. Some adoptees are Ok with this disconnect. For me, it is not that black and white.

In the end, my heart broke for Annakutty and Asa. They both lived on the hope that one day they would reconnect, and there is something to be said of Annakutty’s unwavering hope that her son would return, though this never occurs. I could relate to Asa in many way- his losses and struggle to put a narrative to his unknown past. An element of grief seeps heavily into much of the story, as most of the characters experience a great loss. I didn’t mind the sadness, quite the opposite. There was an underlying rawness that pulled me deeper into the story and gave it a true sense of realism. I encourage you to read Not Only the Things That Have Happened. It is a powerful read and one that will leave a lasting impression.

Not Only the Things That Have Happened may be purchased on Amazon.com.

Mridula Koshy is an Indian writer and lives in New Delhi, India and Portland, Oregon with her poet-school teacher partner and three children. She is also an adoptive mother. Please visit her website at http://mridulakoshy.blogspot.com/.

Koshy’s short-story collection, If It Is Sweet, won the 2009 Shakti Bhatt First Book Prize and was shortlisted for the 2009 Vodafone Crossword Book Award, an Indian literary award.

Next post, an interview with Mridula Koshy! 

australian government apologizes for forced adoptions

“Today, this Parliament, on behalf of the Australian people, takes responsibility and apologises for the policies and practices that forced the separation of mothers from their babies, which created a lifelong legacy of pain and suffering…” National Apology for Forced Adoptions by Julia Gillard, Prime Minister of Australia, March 21, 2013

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Photo: Lukas Coch, European Photopress Agency

Adoption has gotten a lot of rap in the media lately. Unfortunately, not the kind of rap that tells of happy “forever families.” They are stories of adoption that have gone tragically awry. I’m speaking of the Adoptive Couple v. Baby Girl (Veronica) and the Hana Williams cases, both heart wrenching in their own right. There is yet another story that has captured my attention and that of other adoptees. It’s of a national apology issued on March 21, 2013 by former Australian Prime Minister, Julia Gillard, to birth mothers/fathers, adoptees, and others affected by forced adoptions that took place in Australia primarily during the 1950s, 60s and 70s. The excerpt above is the opening sentence of the apology delivered by Gillard. I was intrigued, first of all, that a government would publicly take responsibility for their share in such a scandal and apologize, but also seek to make reparations to those whose lives have been irreversibly affected. Second, I wanted to know how these events occurred, what has changed since in adoption practice, what prompted the government to finally act, and what is currently being done?

“We deplore the shameful practices that denied you, the mothers, your fundamental rights and responsibilities to love and care for your children. You were not legally or socially acknowledged as their mothers. And you were yourselves deprived of care and support. To you, the mothers who were betrayed by a system that gave you no choice and subjected you to manipulation, mistreatment and malpractice, we apologise. We say sorry to you, the mothers who were denied knowledge of your rights, which meant you could not provide informed consent. You were given false assurances. You were forced to endure the coercion and brutality of practices that were unethical, dishonest and in many cases illegal. We know you have suffered enduring effects from these practices forced upon you by others. For the loss, the grief, the disempowerment, the stigmatisation and the guilt, we say sorry.” National Apology for Forced Adoptions by Julia Gillard, March 21, 2013

Recently, a national research study was conducted by a team of Australian researchers to examine experiences of past adoption practices as they relate to the current support and service needs of affected individuals. It was a mixed methods study utilizing a series of large-scale quantitative surveys and in-depth qualitative interviews with those affected by closed adoption (in Australia), including birth mothers and fathers, adoptees, adoptive parents and extended family members. The researchers also engaged with representative bodies, service providers and relevant professionals, including psychologists, counselors and social workers.

According to the study, adoption practice in Australia from the mid-20th century was enshrouded in secrecy, and the concept of having a “clean break” from the birth parents was idealized as the right solution. Unwed single women who were pregnant were encouraged–rather forced–to “give up” their babies for adoption. These women were stigmatized as “unfit” mothers due to their status as single, unwed and pregnant. The adoption practices at that time were referred to as “closed adoption.”  This meant that an adopted child’s original birth certificate was sealed forever and an amended birth certificate issued that established the child’s new identity and relationship with their adoptive family. Legislative changes in the 1960s tightened these secrecy provisions, ensuring that neither party, the birth mother nor adoptive family, saw each other’s names. At its peak in 1971–72, there were almost 10,000 adoptions in Australia. It has been cited that more than 250,000 Australian women had “relinquished” a baby for adoption since the late 1920s, although it is not known what proportion of these adoptions involved force, coercion, or other unethical or illegal behaviors (Kenny, P. Higgins, D., Soloff, C., Sweid, R. (2012). Past adoption experiences: National Research Study on the Service Response to Past Adoption Practices. Research Report 21. Melbourne: Australian Institute of Family Studies. ISBN 978-1-922038-05-0).

Mothers who were coerced into closed adoptions were subjected to unauthorized separation from their children, later to become known as “forced adoption.” From the 1970s, advocacy led to legislative reforms that overturned the secrecy within adoption, such as mothers receiving identifying information. However, it was not until further changes were made in the 1980s (1990s in some Australian jurisdictions) that information on birth parents was made available to adopted children/adults. Further changes took place in 1976 when state/territory-based registers were established for both birth parents and adopted children who wished to make contact. And, in 1984, Victoria implemented legislation granting adopted persons over the age of 18 the right to access their birth certificate (subject to mandatory counseling). Similar changes followed in other states/territories.

In the study, birth mothers reported numerous accounts of maltreatment including, “experiences of abuse or negligence by hospital and/or maternity home staff, administration of drugs that impaired their capacity, lack of the ability to give or revoke consent, not being listened to about their preferences, and being made to feel unworthy or incapable of parenting, particularly from authority figures.” Physicians and nurses used highly unethical methods to prevent mothers from seeing their babies, such as not allowing the mother to hold or feed the baby. They frequently lied to mothers telling them that their babies had died, did not allow a mother to see the baby through active shielding with a sheet or other physical barrier during birth, or removed the baby or mother from the ward immediately after birth. The traumatization of these experiences caused  many mothers to feel emotions such as grief, loss, shame and secrecy surrounding their experiences. The next excerpt is just one of several accounts from young mothers who share their painful stories. Please be advised before reading it that the information contained here may cause distress for some.

“I have gone through my life feeling guilty about my daughter being given up to adoption … If only I was able to have more support instead of being forced … From the time my hands were shackled to the bed to stop me from touching my baby’s head while she was being born, and pillows and sheets being put over my face until I was in a drug-enforced sleep to stop me from being a nuisance … Then the memory of waking up in a ward with three other young girls, … all in the same position as me … That room had baby weighing scales in there … The nurses brought babies in there to weigh them … We would all sit up and try and see the babies … We were all told not to bother because the babies weren’t ours … I will never ever forget that!!! I couldn’t understand why we were in that room … How could another human being be so cruel to another … Such painful memories.” (Kenny, P. Higgins, D., Soloff, C., Sweid, R. (2012)Past adoption experiences: National Research Study on the Service Response to Past Adoption Practices. Research Report 21. Melbourne: Australian Institute of Family Studies. ISBN 978-1-922038-05-0).

As I continued to explore the information available about this dark period in adoption history, it reminded me of other horrific events that have occurred in the past that were later brought to the surface. I know that no one was sent to the gas chamber, yet so many young, frightened women were tortured psychologically, emotionally, and even physically in a way that most of us have not nor ever will be. And that the Australian government was willing to acknowledge such abuse is quite amazing to me. I have to admit that I was somewhat skeptical as to why the government was now taking responsibility, but the fact that they did so is a step closer toward healing for all those many, many individuals affected.

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Photo: Lukas Coch, European Photopress Agency

“We recognise that the consequences of forced adoption practices continue to resonate through many, many lives. To you, the siblings, grandparents, partners and other family members who have shared in the pain and suffering of your loved ones or who were unable to share their lives, we say sorry. Many are still grieving. Some families will be lost to one another forever. To those of you who face the difficulties of reconnecting with family and establishing ongoing relationships, we say sorry. We offer this apology in the hope that it will assist your healing and in order to shine a light on a dark period of our nation’s history. To those who have fought for the truth to be heard, we hear you now. We acknowledge that many of you have suffered in silence for far too long.” National Apology for Forced Adoptions by Prime Minister, Julia Gillard, March 21, 2013

So what are the next steps? Following the national apology by Prime Minister Gillard, the National Archives established a project team to deliver a website, exhibition and education program with 2 main purposes: to increase awareness and understanding of experiences of individuals affected by forced adoption practices and to identify and share experiences of forced adoption. The Forced Adoptions History Project website was launched in March 2014. At this website, a link is provided for individuals who would like to share their stories, which may be included in the project. In 2015, an exhibition will follow to be launched at the National Archives in Canberra. And last but not least, as part of her apology, Prime Minister Gillard announced that $5 million (£3.4 million) would be provided to improve access to specialist support and to help records-tracing and mental health care for those affected by forced adoption. Surely this cannot repair all of the damage suffered by so many women. Yet it is a step in the right direction.

I hope that as a result of the national apology issued by the Australian government, mothers who were forced to give up their children find some solace in knowing that their pain, grief, and loss has at last been acknowledged. That they were in no way at fault, that their voices deserve to be heard, and that reparations must be made. I fear that unethical practices in international adoption continue to exist in certain parts of the country and that the only way to prevent this immorality is to advocate, advocate, advocate for ethical adoption practices. There is more that must be done. To birth mothers everywhere who have been forced to give up a child, I grieve with you and wish you a lifetime of healing.

Read the entire National Apology for Forced Adoptions issued by former Prime Minister, Julia Gillard here.

Read the full National Research Study on the Service Response to Past Adoption Practices: Final report here. It may take a few minutes to download, as it’s a large file.

reunion video captures bone-chilling anguish of korean birthmother

mqdefaultThe other day I happened upon a video of an adoption reunion posted by writer, Vicki-lynn, who blogs at adoptionfind. The video, called “Recovering What Was Left Behind,” by Korean adoptee, Kira Donnell, documents her reunion with her birth mother, which took place in October 2010. Kira also blogs at starlingblue. Vicki-lynn describes the footage well in this statement, “you are privy to the torment many birth mothers carry in their hearts after relinquishing a child.” It is a reminder of the grief and loss experienced by many birth mothers who must give up a child due to poverty or their status as unwed, single women. The footage also speaks to the adoptee’s need to know in many instances and desire to connect with her/his birth heritage. I often wonder if my birth mother mourned the loss of her fourth child (my biological father secretly relinquished me due to financial stress). As a mom, I cannot imagine being separated from my own daughter. There was such a strong emotional and spiritual bond I felt immediately following her birth. It’s almost indescribable. We were inseparable from that moment on. My heart goes out to any woman who is forced to relinquish a child or consider such a plight because of adverse circumstances during that period in her life. Kira and her birth mother celebrated their reunion, although not all reunion stories end as happily. Kira sends out a beautiful poem at the end of the video meant for her birth mother. Watch the video (approximately 7 minutes) below. Thank you, Vicki-lynn, for sharing this story.