Unveiling Deception in Adoption Histories
For decades, many individuals adopted from South Korea to Western countries relied on the narratives provided in their adoption records. However, a growing number of adoptees are now discovering that these foundational documents often contain fabricated information, leading to profound personal reckonings and a collective push for justice.
Marie Wang, adopted to Denmark in the early 1990s, exemplifies this experience. Her original records stated her birth mother, a university student, was compelled by circumstances to relinquish her. Yet, upon requesting her adoption file in 2023, Wang unearthed a starkly different account: her birth mother believed she had died, and a doctor facilitated the adoption. Wang suspects the adoption agency, Korea Social Service (KSS), inadvertently released this document, as subsequent requests for information have been met with refusals, citing privacy laws. This revelation has profoundly impacted Wang, who asserts her adoptive parents would not have proceeded with the adoption had they known of such deception.
Mia Lee Hansen's journey mirrors Wang's. Also adopted to Denmark through KSS, Hansen initially accepted her adoption papers' narrative. However, a 2011 visit to South Korea brought a KSS representative's admission that her files were fabricated due to poor record-keeping. Unassisted by the agency, Hansen turned to commercial DNA testing in 2020, which led to a reunion with her birth family in 2022. Her family confirmed that doctors had informed her mother of Hansen's premature birth and supposed death in 1987. Her adoption file, however, offered conflicting reasons for her relinquishment, including poverty and gender, and even listed a different birth hospital.
South Korea's Acknowledgment and Ongoing Challenges
For years, adoptee advocacy groups have accused South Korean adoption agencies and the government of complicity in fraudulent overseas adoptions. A significant turning point occurred last year when South Korean President Lee Jae Myung issued a public apology to overseas adoptees and their families, acknowledging the 'anxiety, pain and confusion' many had endured. This apology followed findings by South Korea's Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC), which concluded that the government had facilitated overseas adoptions through widespread human rights violations, including fabricated records, identity tampering, and fraudulent registrations. The TRC's three-year investigation into 367 cases corroborated earlier findings by The Associated Press and PBS Frontline, which revealed that approximately 200,000 children were sent overseas despite evidence of family separation through deception or coercion, with adoption agencies reportedly paying hospitals and orphanages for infants.
South Korea's overseas adoption program originated as a welfare initiative for war orphans after the 1950-53 Korean War. However, as the nation's economy grew in the 1970s and 80s, international adoptions surged, earning South Korea the moniker of a 'baby-exporting' nation. In response to these revelations, the government has taken steps, including joining the Hague Convention on Protection of Children and Co-operation in Respect of Intercountry Adoption, transferring oversight from private agencies to the state, and pledging to end intercountry adoptions by 2029.
Despite these official actions, many adoptees argue that meaningful accountability remains elusive. Tens of thousands of adoptees still lack the necessary documentation to pursue their cases, leaving them without answers.
The Search for Understanding and Justice
The annual Overseas Korean Adoptees Gathering (OKAG), organized by the governmental Overseas Koreans Agency, brings adoptees from around the world back to South Korea. While offering a space for connection and shared understanding, the widespread reports of fraud have cast a shadow over these reunions. Attendees like Anne Kim Loesch, who lives in Luxembourg, find themselves questioning the authenticity of their own adoption files, acknowledging the emotional strength required to navigate such uncertainty.
Lee Do-hyun, founder of KoRoot, an organization supporting overseas adoptees since 2003, believes official programs like OKAG, while well-intentioned, often misplace priorities. He argues that the primary focus should be on investigating the responsibility of South Korean society and government for the lifelong experiences of adoptees, rather than solely curating positive experiences. Lee suggests a historical 'sense of guilt' has led to superficial responses rather than a deep commitment to listening to adoptees and uncovering the truth.
Barriers to Accountability and Unanswered Questions
Peter Møller, who assists adoptees with South Korea's truth-seeking process through KoRoot, highlights the significant hurdles to achieving accountability. He points to instances where police have dismissed cases of state-sponsored human rights violations identified by the TRC, citing expired statutes of limitations. Møller argues that if an individual was abducted in 1974, they remain abducted today, underscoring a critical disconnect between governmental recognition of human rights violations and the criminal justice system's response.
Authorities frequently deny adoptees' requests for information, citing privacy laws. Møller counters that if birth parents were unaware their children were alive, they could not have consented to the release of such information. A case currently before the Constitutional Court, referred by the Seoul Administrative Court, questions whether requiring birth parents' consent for adoptees to access identifying information violates the fundamental right to know one's origins.
KoRoot's review of over 4,000 adoption cases since 2021 has yet to find a single instance where all information was completely accurate. Møller also notes an unusually high number of premature births among overseas adoptees, with some biological mothers reportedly injected with drugs during pregnancy to induce early deliveries. While last year's apology offered validation, Møller expresses disappointment at the lack of broader institutional reform. For individuals like Anders Riel Muller, whose adoption was recognized by the TRC as a state-sponsored human rights violation, the relationship with South Korea remains complex—a place he enjoys, yet one that he feels 'didn't want me.'
