Ich bin sicher, dass die meisten, die dies lesen, die „Geschichte“ von Olivia Atkocaitis kennen und verstehen werden. Ich bin mir sicher, dass es Emotionen und Gefühle ausgelöst hat, die zu schwer und schwer zu überdenken und zu verarbeiten sind. Oder in den Köpfen anderer Menschen ist es vielleicht viel zu weit von ihrer Realität und ihren Adoptionserfahrungen entfernt, um es überhaupt in Betracht zu ziehen. Ich weiß, dass ich, als Lynelle mich um diesen Artikel bat, wirklich nicht die emotionale Kapazität hatte, mich hinzusetzen und darüber nachzudenken, geschweige denn, darüber zu schreiben. Aber mir wurde klar, dass sie nicht um einen Nachrichtenbericht gebeten hatte, und die Schlagzeilen, wie bereits erwähnt, reichen aus, um die Schwere dessen zu verstehen, was Olivia durchgemacht hat, und es ist nicht nur eine Geschichte für sie, es ist ihr Leben. Als internationale Adoptierte werden das Gesamtbild und der Aufruf, unsere Stimme zu erheben, immer wichtiger, denn schauen Sie sich an, wer diese Erzählung verbreitet, sehen Sie sich an, wie diese „Geschichten“ überschrieben werden. Unsere Stimmen, unsere Erfahrungen, unsere Erzählungen verdienen es mehr, als nur Teil einer Boulevardgeschichte zu sein, die sich astronomisch als One-Hit-Wonder verkaufen wird. Und die Aufmerksamkeit, die diese Geschichten bekommen, provoziert die falschen Fragen und lenkt die Empörung auf die mikroskopische Linse der Spezifität, die diese Boulevardartikel bieten.
Das Problem mit Sensationsgier im Journalismus ist, dass es nicht nur an Genauigkeit, Präzision und Details mangelt, sondern aus einem größeren Bild extrapoliert, eine Geschichte aus dem größeren Kontext nimmt und sie so weit hergeholt erscheinen lässt, dass sie fast zu einer wird -Hit Wonder im Sinne einer Nachrichtenmeldung. Und ähnlich wie die Künstler, die mit ihrer eingängigen Melodie berühmt wurden, sind sie unvergesslich, sie tauchen gelegentlich wieder auf, um Luft zu holen, und dann werden sie zu einer Haushaltsnotiz für „wo sind sie jetzt“. Die Natur der Adoption ist transaktional und ich habe ausführlich über das Thema geschrieben, aber bei jedem Journalisten, dem ich begegnet bin, um mich nach meinen Erfahrungen zu fragen, sei es meine Wiederverbindung mit meinem Geburtsland, die Suche nach meiner biologischen Familie, meine Erfahrungen als Britisch-Chinesen im Vereinigten Königreich, sie haben nie eine finanzielle Entschädigung für meine emotionale Arbeit angeboten, und sie wollen die Authentizität nicht hören, sie wollen eine Nachricht. Und so beschloss ich 2018, dass niemand meine Erzählung für mich schreiben würde, ich bin durchaus in der Lage, meine eigene zu schreiben.
Aufrufe zum Handeln, Aufrufe zum Zorn, Aufrufe, um die Fehler des Adoptionssystems hervorzuheben, sie reichen nicht aus. Als internationale, transrassische Adoptierte gibt es genug Inhalte da draußen, um bemerkt und gehört zu werden, aber warum sollte man sich die Mühe machen, zu reden, wenn niemand zuhört? Lynelle hat Recht, Olivia verdient ihren Platz in unserer Gemeinschaft, einen Raum, um sich dafür einzusetzen, einen Raum, um ihre eigene Erzählung zu gestalten, und ich werde nicht hier sitzen und das für sie gestalten. Und ich werde nicht zum Handeln, zum Zorn oder zum Wandel aufrufen, dies ist ein Aufruf zur Empathie. Ein Aufruf an Sie, hier zu sitzen und internationalen, transrassischen Adoptierten zuzuhören. Das Problem ist, dass die Worte „Adoptierter“ oder „adoptiert“ allein schon die Infantilisierung von Erwachsenen konnotieren und die Leute mit uns reden, als wüssten wir nicht, was das Beste für uns ist. Oder die Worte „Glück“ oder „Dankbarkeit“ werden herumgeworfen und uns wird gesagt, dass „es hätte schlimmer kommen können!“ Wie konnte man Leuten wie Olivia Dankbarkeit aufzwingen, Leute wie Huxley Stauffer oder Devonte Hart? Wie können Sie sich ein vollständiges Bild machen, ohne Details zu kennen? Und das ist die Macht, die White Supremacy bei der Adoption spielt. Diese Systeme wurden nicht für Leute wie uns gebaut. Die Schlagzeilen von Olivia Atkocaitis, Huxley Stauffer, Devonte Hart sind absichtlich sensationell und so gestaltet, dass sie jedes wirkliche Detail oder jede wirkliche Information ausschließen, denn wer kann Sie für die Menschen zur Rechenschaft ziehen, die durch das Raster fallen, wenn der Leser in Chaos, Empörung und Brennen geraten ist Wut?
Ich könnte den ganzen Tag hier sitzen und über die Mängel des Systems und die Mängel der internationalen Adoption sprechen. Ich könnte mich hinsetzen und Kontroversen hervorrufen, genau wie die Boulevardzeitungen Funken sprühen, aber dies ist kein Aufruf zu Empörung oder Wut, dies ist ein Aufruf zur Empathie. Hinter den Nachrichten, hinter der Wut, hinter den kaputten Systemen gibt es Menschen wie Olivia, die in ihrem Leben etwas Besseres verdienen, und wie kann man Mitgefühl für Menschen haben, wenn man sie auf eine Nachrichtengeschichte reduziert? Wie können Sie jemandem zuhören, wenn Ihr innerer Monolog bereits von der Sensationsgier der Boulevardzeitungen umrahmt und erzählt wird, und von diesen Erfahrungen profitieren? Die Primärquellen sind da, sie müssen einfach gehört werden, nicht nur, wenn wir der Flavour des Monats sind, weil etwas Sensationelles passiert ist. Bei der Repräsentation geht es nicht nur darum, unsere Gesichter auf dem Bildschirm oder in Räumen zu sehen, die uns nicht gewährt wurden. Es geht darum, diesen Raum einzunehmen und ihn für uns zurückzufordern; Menschen wie Olivia brauchen keine Interessenvertretung, sie brauchen keine Überkompensation. Sie verdienen einen Platz.
von Maars, von den Philippinen nach Kanada gebracht. Sie können Maars @BlackSheepMaars folgen
Ich erforsche seit 3,5 Jahren meine Wurzeln. Als ich diese Reise zum ersten Mal begann, hatte ich nichts als gekritzelte Erinnerungen an Momente, die Orte und Namen lieferten. Meistens durch Dinge, die ich als Kind mitbekommen habe, als meine Familie über mich und meinen Beitritt zu ihrer Familie sprach. Es gab viele unbestätigte Informationen, und die meisten davon sind Annahmen und sogar erfunden.
Ich saß auf der Couch und schrieb jede Erinnerung in meinem Gehirn auf, was gesagt wurde, was erwähnt wurde, was geklatscht wurde, was mir zugeschrien wurde.
Ich hatte keine wirklichen Informationen, um diese Reise zu beginnen, und selbst als ich um Informationen bat und vorbeikam und Fragen stellte. Niemand war besonders daran interessiert, etwas zu sagen. Es fühlte sich wie ein Geheimnis an, das ich nicht entdecken sollte. Aber ich habe trotzdem weitergemacht, und das erste Jahr hat mir viel abverlangt, ich habe sogar eine Frau in Amerika mit meiner leiblichen Mutter verwechselt.
Ich hatte keine wirklich greifbare Erwartung, keine Richtung oder eine Vorstellung davon, wo diese Reise enden würde. Nachdem ich jedoch meine leibliche Mutter gefunden hatte, hatte ich nur ein Ziel. Um unsere kleine Familie zusammenzusetzen, um das gebrochene Herz meiner leiblichen Mutter zu heilen, die ihre ersten beiden Kinder aufgeben musste.
Ich wollte meinen leiblichen Vollbruder finden, damit sie zumindest ihre Schuldgefühle und ihre Scham heilen kann, bevor sie dieses Leben verlässt. Aber ich konnte es nicht tun. Ich war zu spät, ich habe ihn erst fünf Monate nach ihrem Tod gefunden.
Als Einzelkind aufwachsend, mit dem Gefühl aufwachsend, allein auf der Welt zu sein, als Fremdling gegenüber meiner eigenen Art, meinen Wurzeln, meinem Erbe, meiner angestammten Tradition – all dem, woraus ich gemacht bin, hätte ich nur noch eine Person auf diesem Planeten übrig teilt aufgrund der Adoption die gleichen Wunden wie ich. Und doch würde das Trauma der Adoption in unserem Leben dazu führen, dass wir uns schließlich zum zweiten Mal wieder trennen.
Es gibt so viele Akzeptanzverluste!
Ich versuche immer noch, meine väterliche Seite durchzuarbeiten und hoffe auf irgendetwas, Hinweise, aber das Unvermeidliche ist die Suche nach jemandem/etwas, von dem man nicht einmal wusste, dass es existiert, das ist eine Meisterleistung, die es zu erforschen gilt.
Ich werde nie genau wissen, wie, wann oder ob ich gefunden wurde. Mein Kunstwerk auf dieser Seite zeigt, wie ich mich entschieden habe, meine eigene Szene zu kreieren, und ich habe das kleine ostasiatische Mädchen mit einer typischen nordischen Landschaft gemischt.
Dieses Jahr werde ich fünfzig. In sieben Jahren und vier Monaten dieser fünfzig Jahre habe ich die Adoption aus einer anderen Perspektive betrachtet als in meinen ersten zweiundvierzig Jahren, und hier ist etwas, womit ich die ersten Stunden des Jahres 2022 nachgedacht habe.
Wenn Sie eine Adoption kritisieren, hören Sie oft Leute, die Ihnen widersprechen und sich auf andere Adoptierte beziehen, die Ihre kritische Meinung nicht teilen. „Ich habe eine Freundin, die adoptiert ist und einfach nur glücklich und dankbar ist.“ Gut so?
Eine andere Sache, die mir oft auffällt, ist, dass, wenn es um eine Adoption geht, älter und erfahrener zu sein, einem nicht mehr Respekt einbringt. Ich weiß nicht, wie oft ich gesehen habe, wie erwachsene Adoptierte von Adoptiveltern zurückgedrängt wurden, die behaupteten, ihr zehnjähriges Adoptivkind habe niemals Rassismus erlebt oder sich wurzellos gefühlt usw.
Jahrelang war ich für Adoption und nahm sogar an Informationsveranstaltungen (Propagandatreffen) einer Adoptionsagentur für zukünftige Adoptiveltern und Sozialarbeiter teil. Ich wurde nie befragt und nie gebeten, Statistiken anderer wissenschaftlicher Quellen vorzulegen, um meine Behauptungen zu untermauern. Ich wurde damals adoptiert und bin jetzt genauso adoptiert. Meine damaligen Worte waren jedoch nie zweifelhaft, während das, was ich heute sage, immer Gegenstand der Überprüfung ist und ziemlich oft als sentimentale BS abgetan wird. Im Gegensatz zu dem, was wirklich sentimentaler BS war …
Ich hatte damals weder Berichte noch Dokumentationen über Adoption gelesen oder gesehen. Ich hatte kaum mit anderen Adoptierten gesprochen als mit meinen Geschwistern und den anderen Adoptierten in den Gremien der Sitzungen der Adoptionsagentur. Klar, heute könnte man mir vorwerfen, dass ich ein bisschen kategorisch bin, aber warum wurde mir das früher nicht vorgeworfen? Und warum sind die Worte meines bald fünfzigjährigen Ichs weniger vertrauenswürdig als die meines dreißigjährigen Ichs oder meines fünfzehnjährigen Ichs …
Dabei geht es nicht nur um Traumata. Mir geht es um politische/ideologische Statements, es geht um Erkenntnisse über Privilegien und koloniale/patriarchale Strukturen, von denen ich heute viel mehr weiß als vor zehn Jahren, geschweige denn als Kind.
Ich denke, es hat mit der Art und Weise zu tun, wie Adoption gestaltet und besetzt wird. Wir, die Adoptierten, sind auf ewig Kinder und als solche untereinander gleich, aber nicht gleich mit Adoptiveltern, nicht einmal wenn Sie Jahrzehnte älter sind als der Adoptivelternteil, über den Sie debattieren. Daher hasse ich es, im Zusammenhang mit der Adoptionsdebatte als „Adoptivkind“ bezeichnet zu werden, und ich mag es nicht, Menschen, die adoptieren, als Adoptiveltern bezeichnen zu müssen. In diesem Zusammenhang würde ich es vorziehen, wenn wir Adoptierte und Adoptierende wären, aber da ich weiß, welche Schlachten zu wählen sind, respektiere ich die Gruppenregeln in Adoptionsforen. Ich glaube jedoch, dass die Sprache wichtig ist. Worte malen Bilder und diese Bilder beeinflussen die Art und Weise, wie ein Gespräch geführt wird.
von Kamina die Koach, transracial adoptee in the USA.
I am a domestic, transracial, late discovery adoptee born in 1979 just outside of Dallas, Texas in the USA. At 42, I identify as just another African American woman but I actually didn’t know I was black until I was 14 and even then, I only thought my mother had an affair, or at least that’s what I was told. I believed this lie because I wanted to believe my parents, until I found out, by accident, that I was adopted.
When I found out at 32 that I was indeed adopted, I was going through SO MUCH that I just could not bear to face this truth. I acknowledged it and suffered the ignorant comments people made about me being adopted, to include questions about why I hadn’t searched for my family. It all made me even more defensive. I’ve always had, what I determined to be, rage issues. That certainly didn’t help the matter, constantly being confronted with questions I couldn’t even answer for myself. Instead of facing this horrible new truth, I locked it away and left the USA for almost 10 years.
My adopted home was full of racism, chaos and confusion. I was homeless at 15 because my female adopter put me out. She called the police and they came and waited for me to pack my things and leave. I asked them where I was supposed to go. They said that they didn’t care but I couldn’t stay there because my frail white female adopter was afraid of her big black burden. The best thing that ever happened to me was getting out of that home, though it did prove to make life quite a bit more complex than it originally should have been. Up to this point, we had been fighting over a man almost 15 years my senior that she had been allowing me to see. Until I started to unearth all my trauma, I didn’t even realize that this too was abuse. Nonetheless, in the time she spent with him helping us sneak around to see each other, she fell in love with him. I will leave that first home right there but not before also mentioning that my female adopter’s biological son sexually abused me and when I finally had the courage to bring it up, I found out she knew. So yes, let’s leave them right there.
I had so much trauma in the works before I found out I was adopted that I had spent almost 10 years attending to those wounds before I could even consider the journey out of the fog. I looked to religion, even attending seminary to become a chaplain in the Army. The book “The Secret” began my spiritual transformation. While I am not religious at all anymore, I am quite deeply spiritual as that book set me on the path to study Quantum Physics and other ideas and theories that not only supported my soul but also didn’t go against science. I needed to make sense of it all.
In China, I found the book A New Earth by Ekhart Tolle and started to learn more about energy and discovered I could control my menstrual cramps by focusing on the energy I hold in my body. That led me to discover energy medicine and energy healing, from which I took my atunement to become a Reiki master. Living outside the white noise of the USA gave me an opportunity to explore myself in a way I never had before, and so I did. Meditation became easier and I started growing and changing as I continued to feed my mind with knowledge about my soul and the powerful energy that we all share that is inside us.
I became quite a devout Muslim while living in Saudi Arabia and I studied Buddhism quite a bit while living in Thailand and Myanmar. I was constantly seeking a way to fill up the hole in my heart where a family should have been. Religion didn’t do it. Science didn’t do it. And let’s be painfully direct and say that spirituality didn’t do it either. I desperately wanted to have kids of my own but that was yet another attempt to fill that hole.
I returned to the USA after almost 10 years of living and working abroad in eight different countries during the worst time in my life to be an American, March of 2020, the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic. I’m an introvert and an empath, so being at home was great but the problem was I could literally FEEL all the pain of the country. At one point, I was curled under my office desk in tears shaking and crying. The loneliness finally broke me on my birthday, a bad day for many adoptees and I’m no exception. This was the second time I self-sabotaged on my birthday and almost succeeded in ending my life. I was supposed to go see a guy I liked and he went missing. Instead, I got up, got dressed and went out to get the attention I so desperately thought I needed. I was arrested for driving under the influence on my way to who knows where. I was so out of it that I didn’t even know I had driven all the way to another city before I was pulled over and arrested.
That was it for me. I began my reunion journey shortly thereafter. Wherever you go, there you are and I had been running from myself for far too long. In the 10 years I was abroad, groups have formed to assist domestic adoptees in searching for free, using only non identifying information and DNA results. I’m a research fanatic and that’s how I ended up making a turn down the adoptee rabbit hole. I had joined an adoptee group once before and left because I was overwhelmed. Same this time. I joined many groups and each time I would find myself out of place or wildly uncomfortable. Luckily though, not before I made two amazing adoptee friends who are also women of color and transracially adopted. I’m so very thankful for their presence in my life, but I still avoid groups for the most part. I hate discourse that ends up in bickering. The one group I continue to enjoy is one for adoptees who have cut ties with their adoptive families. I have not found another group where I felt this safe.
As I moved through my reunion journey, I continued to hear people say that I NEEDED a therapist. I couldn’t afford one at the time and didn’t have insurance to help. Instead, I joined a support group for adoptees of color. I didn’t fit in there either. It was decent the first session but after that, I began to feel like an outsider yet again. I began to ask for help more to see if anyone had any ideas and one of my new adoptee friends turned me to Joe, one of the very first adoptee psychotherapists to start to write about this. His website stated he offered help for free to those who are moving towards reunion. Nonetheless, after our first session, he started discussing money. He was also an older white male which made me uncomfortable and he attempted to overcompensate by telling me he had a a black girlfriend. It was very creepy and uncomfortable. Needless to say, that didn’t work out either.
After Joe, a former military friend pointed me to a military funded therapist. I was so thankful to find out she was also trained in EMDR. I knew about EMDR because a friend of mine died in another friend’s arms and an Army chaplain suggested I research it to help him process his trauma. However, she ended up being quite racist, calling me a reverse racist. After two sessions, she ended our relationship via a text that almost snapped my soul in two. I had started seeing a very sweet person I was in love with and I was certain that I wouldn’t be able to maintain the relationship or navigate reunion without help. It was like being broken up with, like death. Abandonment has always equalled death to me.
Those two failed attempts at therapy didn’t deter me from continuing my healing journey. Dr. Gabor Mate is one of my favourite trauma experts and he asserts that all of our mental hang ups are a product of trauma, including addictions. He also endorses psychedelics for healing, though that wasn’t the first time I had heard about this. The first time was probably when I was wondering to a friend about near-death-experience and they mentioned DMT, the manufactured version of the plant medicine ayahuasca. At this point I had read a book on how people are able to rewire their brains through following an intensive meditation modality, but that ayahuasca had been able to achieve the same results, often with only one dose. As I went further down the rabbit hole, I found the psychedelic groups on the social media platform ClubHouse, and that’s where I first turned my attention to psilocybin, the psychedelic chemical in magic mushrooms. I had never thought of them before but began to study them more closely. I found they have the same capabilities to rewire the brain and quieten the ego portion of the brain so I could look at my trauma for what it truly is.
When I moved to Arizona in July of 2021, I finally had access and began the search for the medicine (magic mushrooms) while still studying what people had to say about the process. Science has done plenty of studies but I wanted to hear what the natives had to say about it as well. Colonization has allowed white people to appropriate everything and make it seem as though it was their ideas, but these natural healing modalities have been around for 1000s of years. I wanted to hear what everyone had to say so that I could make the best decision for myself. ClubHouse offered that opportunity as well.
In the process of searching for magic mushrooms, I began to search for a therapist. My romantic relationship ended quite violently and I just couldn’t bear the idea of hurting anyone else with my hurts. I believe the concentrated positive energy of my adoptee friend, led me to my new therapist or at least aided in my search. Not only is she very aware of her whiteness and the privilege it yields her, she isn’t uncomfortable to talk about it. She’s also adoption informed, trained in brainspotting and psychedelics for healing. Brainspotting is even more effective than EMDR and requires less prep work. I found her using https://www.psychologytoday.com/us. I like this site because it allows me to search for therapists who accept my insurance, the modality I wanted, and the area of specialty. I always searched for adoption informed first, but would have accepted merely trauma informed. I’m happy I found the therapist I have now because she trusted my intuition about my own healing, even before I did.
At this point, I have done three sessions of psilocybin and 5 therapy sessions and I’m stunned at the breakthroughs and progress I’ve made. I love myself, probably for the first time in my life — truly love myself. I mourned what I lost when I lost my family and have developed deep compassion for myself. My biggest fears to date have been my rage and my issues developing boundaries. Guess what I’m now working on? That’s right, my rage and my boundaries. Why now? It’s amazing what you’re willing to do for someone you love, especially when that someone is yourself! It’s still scary but I know for sure that I’m worth the effort. Now, I’m actively using psilocybin on my own and using my therapist for integration after each ceremony.
I will wrap up by saying that we are all unique, even though we share adoption in common. Before you begin such a radical healing journey, please consider where you are spiritually and emotionally. Also, don’t take other people’s word for anything. Take everything with a grain of salt, even what I have written here. Though people may have a title like doctor or therapist, that doesn’t mean they know which healing path is best for YOU. Only YOU truly know that.
If you don’t have money for a therapist, which I understand wholeheartedly, there are so many resources online that will point you in the right direction and help to give you some insight into your struggles. Take plenty of time reflecting on yourself, your journey and where you want to go before you make any decisions. All the healing you need is already there inside of you. The trick is finding the key to unlock it.
One last thing, healing is a journey, not a destination. Though I am making huge leaps and bounds, I will always be walking down this road. You can’t rush it and you might even hurt yourself if you do. Have patience with yourself, though often easier said than done. Sending love and light to all who read this as you move along your healing path.
Recommended Resources for Healing with Psychedelics
I also recommend joining in on ClubHouse and the groups that discuss this topic. Specifically, there is a couple that I have joined who have been doing this for 14 years i.e., healing people with magic mushrooms. Their names are Tah and Kole. They are VERY knowledgeable.
I would be so bold to say that the vast majority of, if not all, adoptions are the selfish act of those wanting to, or having already adopted. The result of adoption leaves the adoptee in a perpetual state of dehumanisation. If we look at the word dehumanisation defined by the Oxford Dictionary, it means “the process of depriving a person or group of positive human qualities.” For the public and individuals who are not well versed in adoption, the adoption industrial complex, and its practices, this can be quite confusing and the representation of adoption and adoptees have, for the most part, been a glamorised sensational plot twist or form of character development. Yet, here lies one of the many ways adoptees, both on-screen and off, are dehumanised and portrayed as void of any critical thought or experience.
Adoption, as portrayed by social media and film, consistently shows adoptive parents (who are often white) as selfless philanthropic couples whose only intentions are to dote and shower love on a poor child (who are often BIPOC), ever pushing the narrative of white saviours. The consistent and inherent goodness and altruistic nature of whiteness by default shifts both power and racial dynamics in favour of whiteness and the dependent, in need of saving, is helpless without the all-powerful and knowing whiteness bestowed onto the child of colour. When these patterns of adoption become representative and up for societal consumption, it dehumanises the adoptee to be merely a puppet without inherent positive attributes on their own. Any potential is tied and associated to the people who adopted them, leaving the adoptee as a hollow shell used to narrow in the spotlight on the adoptive parents. Through film and TV, adoption is the stripping away of an adoptee (again, predominantly BIPOC), the illumination of adoptive parents (and, again, predominately white), how can society possibly see us as humans when we live in the shadows of those who adopted us? How can we be seen with inherent potential, with the successes of our ancestors running through our blood, and dreams reflecting our truest selves when we are constantly being shown that we are nothing without adoption? That we are nothing without whiteness?
In the continual film and TV portrayal of adoption and adoptees, adoptees are always pitted against one another. When you think of some of your favourite films or characters that are adoptees, who are they? Do they happen to be Loki, Frodo Baggins, Black Widow, Batman, The Joker, Lord Voldemort? The paradox of society’s fascination and indifference for orphans is destructive, the demand for adoptees (and thus, adoption) is binary and forces adoptees to fill the dual desire to save adoptees/orphans and villainize an adoptee/orphan. The loss of biological connection and identity loss is fantasised to create a more contextualised storyline. The need for adoption to contribute trauma and fantasy for character build-up is highly sought after. This is the double dehumanisation of adoptees through film and TV.
The danger with artificial and weak backstories is that it boxes adoptees and orphans into narrow forms and compounds the stigma and expectations surrounding our existence. This forced role of villain or hero does not provide a realistic experience of cohesively incorporating mountainous rage, burdening grief, exuding joy, and love. What Hollywood and the media project of “bad” or “good” adoptees/orphans limits and strips them of their individuality, autonomy, and humanness. The “damaged and broken” adoptee or “overcomer and hero” orphan are roles that are inaccurate and are a weak reality that is far from the nuanced life an adoptee/orphan lives that requires a burden too heavy to carry. Film and TV strips away our humanity and adoptees do not get the privilege to exist as ourselves. We are only for consumption and the limited space provided for us in the binary tropes romanticises our trauma, confines our capabilities, and diminishes us to fit a consumer’s palate. We never belong to ourselves. If we cannot have ownership over our own stories and lives, are we even able to be fully human?
In my experience, the greatest form of dehumanisation occurs for an adoptee within the church. Growing up in an all-white environment and heavily involved in a white church that preached white Christianity, I had to survive in an ecosystem of whiteness that demanded gratitude to the good white Christians who saved me from big, bad, heathen, communist China. I would find myself, more than once, being paraded around as a token of Christian and white goodness. Of how “the Lord works in miraculous ways” and gave lil ol’ me the “opportunity and privilege to be adopted by a Christian family in a Christian country where I learned about Christ.” What that told me loud and clear was that China was irredeemable unless under the power of the white Christian church or through adoption by whiteness. In other words, I did not possess inherent potential and positive traits without the white man liberating me and providing me access to success under the guidance of white Christianity.
The dehumanisation continued, as in my early years during conferences I would be brought in front of a congregation or made to stand onstage alongside my adoptive parents, and they would discuss how adoption was a beautiful gift that touched their life. Other times, youth leaders would openly discuss how my adoption is a metaphor for how Christians are “adopted” into the family of Christ. And how my adoption gave me a new father – we have a new father through Jesus! Different variations and versions of these scenarios have plagued my youth and further trivialised my existence into a metaphor that others could benefit from. Not once did anyone question if adoption was a gift to me, if being taken away from my homeland touched my life in a beautiful way or not, or being uprooted twice before the age of three with a group of white strangers benefited me or could replace a sense of family for me.
To have your story told through a white lens as a person of colour that protects the white man while diminishing your autonomy and the multifaceted complexities of your existence, is one of the most dehumanising grievances that can happen. Adoption through mainstream media and the church gave little room for me to feel human but instead made every space feel like an advertisement that others could project their value onto, for their own benefit. Winners have the privilege to write history or speak about it on stage. Losers, those who are not given the same chance to speak their own story, those who are bought…are dehumanised.
von Roula Maria stolen from Greece and adopted to an Australian family.
Twin sisters, separated by black market adoption in Greece.
My name is Roula and I was born in Greece with my twin and sold separately on the black market in July 1981. I have only just found my twin in the recent years and hope to meet in person once COVID eases. This is my story.
About my parents
After migrating from Greece in the early 60’s they settled in a small country town outside of Adelaide, South Australia. There were other immigrants that also went to the same town after coming from Greece.
My parents were not able to have children after many attempts and eventually decided to make themselves known to a family who had adopted a little girl from Greece. It turns out that family did not actually adopt the little girl but purchased her from a doctor who was producing and selling gypsy children in an institute in the heart of Athens. They gave my mother the contact details for the midwife in Greece.
My parents made contact with the midwife in Greece and made an appointment to travel to Greece to speak to the doctor. Once they had arrived he told them that there were many babies available but they would need to wait. They agreed and travelled back to Australia.
About 6 months later, the phone rang with good news and they travelled to Greece within the week. My mother’s request was that she wanted a girl but at that time there were no girls available, so they remained in Greece until one was. She also wore a pillow under her belly to show she was pregnant – the lengths my parents went to was phenomenal.
Then I came along.
My adoption
My dad went to the town of Korinthos to sign the paper work. On my birth record my mother who bought me was written as my birth mother, so authorities would not pick up on the falsified documents, then my dad went back to the hospital in Greece and I was given to him. They payed $6000 euro in 1981, the equivalent of around $200,000 dollars Australian back then.
They stayed in Greece for around 40 days as the culture states a child needs to be blessed around their 40th day of birth. They took me to the Australian Embassy and registered me as a citizen of Australia under parental authority.
Then the fear of being caught played on their minds. They knew from the time at the airport ’till the time the plane took off that they were in grave danger of being caught. Once onboard and the plane got into the air, my mother breathed for the first time.
I was flown to Australia on the 24 August 1981.
I grew up with two sides. I was the happy little girl who loved life and everything in it but I was also the little girl who was traumatised by intense sexual abuse and a victim to domestic violence. My childhood was filled with sadness and also happy family moments, it was as though I lived in a time warp between two worlds, the real and the hidden.
Even the Greek kids that I grew up with would tease me about being adopted and when I confronted my mother, she denied all allegations. It was a part of my everyday life growing up with my mother being untruthful about it all. It was not until my teens that a cousin confirmed the truth to me in a state of anger, as the behaviours that I was displaying where the behaviours of a survivor of abuse.
No one knew the turmoil and the hurt I was facing as typical Greek families do not discuss issues and are taught to bottle them up and never spoken about it, especially with the older generation.
It was not until I had reached year 7 at primary school that I finally spoke out about my life but even then, it was dismissed and ignored.
My family sold their land and moved me to Adelaide thinking that it would help me move on with my life, but from what psychologists and counsellors say to me, running is not an option. My parents thought they were doing the right thing but it led me to destructive teenage years filled with drugs, homelessness, violence, jails, and institutions.
If only people could have been able to help me but by then, I had been hurt and lied to, too many times to even want anyone’s help.
At the age 15 in 1996, I started my search, homeless and in the library trying to find information about black-market adoption from Greece. I came across 100’s of articles about selling of babies within the gypsy community in Greece. I was shocked and intrigued at the information available. I put up posts in forums stating that I was searching for my birth mother. I had no idea what I was writing but I tried everything.
For some reason though I knew I was on the right track, something inside me knew what I was doing and where I was searching was real and leading me to where I belonged.
After years of trauma from living on the streets and being a complete drug addict, in 2003, I went into rehab. I got clean and my life started to get better. I still had some very damaging behaviours but in 2010, I moved back to that small country town and found a great psychologist who is today still a large part of my healing and journey.
I ended up marrying a man from that town and we moved away due to work reasons, then in 2015, I had a child through IVF. My son has a great childhood but he has also had some life challenges. Compared to what I had, I’m thankful I was able to change the mistakes that many Greek families have today and we communicate!
Why am I sharing my story?
I share my story because I participated in the early stages of ICAVs video resource project and I wanted to contribute.
Being a product of adoption and black market selling of babies is not an easy life. We children come from all different backgrounds with genetic disorders and family health systems. These need to be addressed and I disliked having to say to a doctor, “I don’t know, I am adopted,” whenever I was asked what my family health history is. I’m sure my feelings on this must be very common amongst adopted people . When a doctor knows you are not the biological product of the family you are in, more tests, more health records and more information should be assigned to the adoptee, to assist in finding out the health answers we deserve.
If it wasn’t for the technology of DNA testing, I would not have known my heritage or my health record. I am so glad I can now got to the doctors and say I genetically carry this, this, this, and this. It is extremely empowering.
With teachers and school counsellors, I believe adoptive parents need to take responsibility for ensuring information is provided to the school, disclosing that their child is adopted. There should be no judgment or repercussions in any way when parents disclose this. Teachers also need to be aware that the child may be facing or feeling empty from not knowing their identity nor understanding why they may be feeling this way.
These days in schools, there are mindfulness clinics, self-esteem talks, anti-bullying days, and wellbeing classes and they have a different curriculum compared to what I had in the 80’s. Adding a box to identify at enrolment whether adopted or not, should start from early childhood care, all the way through to university. All enrolments should ask us to identify if we are adopted or not. If the student does not know, then parents should be asked discreetly with confidentiality maintained, as some parents chose to wait until their child is old enough, to be told.
I suggest support resources such as social media, jumping in online forums where other adoptees share the same voice. I run 2 groups. One is called In Griechenland geborene Adoptierte with 450 members and the other is called Greek Sold Gypsy children with 179 members. This group is for sold children and for the gypsy parents to assist them in finding each other. We use DNA testing to match the parents and the sold adoptees.
Thank you for your time and I hope that more people will come forward about their adoptions. I speak for the Greek born sold children of Greece and I know there are 1000’s of us. Here in Australia, there are around 70 who I would like to make contact with when they are ready because we have gypsy parents who are wanting to meet their children for the first time and have given their permission to be found.
von Mila Konomos, von Südkorea in die USA adoptiert. Dichter, Künstler, Aktivist.
Mila mit ihrem Kind, das alles umarmt, was ihr als Säugling verloren gegangen war, getrennt von ihrer Mutter.
Ich habe in letzter Zeit viel das Alleinsein von #MotherLoss verarbeitet.
Intellektuell weiß ich, welche Selbstgespräche ich kultivieren muss. Ich weiß, ich bin nicht allein. Ich weiß, dass ich Menschen in meinem Leben habe, die sich um mich kümmern und mich wertschätzen.
Aber dieses Alleinsein ist tiefer als das.
Dieses Alleinsein ist das Alleinsein von Mother Loss.
Ich fühle mich so oft so allein, weil ich keine Mutter habe.
Ich habe meine erste Mutter im Alter von 5 Tagen verloren.
Ich habe meine Pflegemutter im Alter von 6 Monaten verloren.
Ich bin mit einer Mutter aufgewachsen, die mein Trauma nicht sehen konnte. Daher wusste sie nicht, wie sie mich durch den Verlust, den Schmerz und die Trauer meiner Adoptiertheit lieben oder trösten sollte.
Ich fühle mich allein, weil ich in meinem Schmerz und meiner Trauer immer allein war.
Ich fühle mich allein, weil ich die meiste Zeit meines Lebens alleine geweint habe.
Ich fühle mich allein, weil ich selten gewusst habe, was es heißt, nicht allein zu sein, nicht nur körperlich, sondern auch emotional.
Ich fühle mich so oft so allein, weil Mother Loss ein Verlust ist, der ein Leben lang bleibt.
Es gibt keine Möglichkeit, eine verlorene Mutter zu ersetzen.
Niemand sonst auf der Welt kann eine verlorene Mutter kompensieren.
Nur eine Mutter hat mich in ihrem eigenen Körper geboren. Neun Monate lang hörte ich nur den Herzschlag, die Atmung und die Stimme einer Mutter. Ihr Duft, ihr Gesicht waren wie meine eigenen.
Ich habe kürzlich einen Dokumentarfilm gesehen, in dem der Erzähler sagte: „Babys denken, sie sind ein Teil von wem auch immer sie sind.“
Dies ist tiefgreifend im Zusammenhang mit Adoptierten, die als Säuglinge von unseren Müttern getrennt wurden. Wir müssen die Trennung von unseren Müttern fast wie in zwei Teile gerissen, von uns selbst losgerissen erlebt haben. Gewaltsam auseinandergerissen.
Ich muss mir erlauben, diesen Mutterverlust zu betrauern. Es ist ewig. Auch 12 Jahre nach der Wiedervereinigung bleibt Mother Loss. Ich kann niemals die Mutter zurückbekommen, die ich verloren habe. Ich kann die mehr als drei Jahrzehnte meines Lebens, die ich verloren hatte, nicht zurückholen, was durch den Verlust von Sprache, Kultur und Geographie noch verstärkt wurde.
Es gibt einen Schmerz und eine Einsamkeit, die schwer zu beschreiben sind, wenn man findet, wonach man sein ganzes Leben lang gesucht hat, und es einem trotzdem durch die Finger gleitet.
Dieser Schmerz, so nah und doch so fern zu sein.
Als würde man durch ein Fenster schauen, aber nie wirklich hineinkommen.
Mila mit ihrem Sohn und einem speziellen koreanischen Kinderbuch mit dem Titel „Waiting for Mama“.
Um mehr von Mila zu erfahren, folgen Sie ihr auf ihrer Website, Die Kaiserin Han. Ihr neustes Poesie-Album Schrein erscheint im Mai 2021.
von Sabina Söderlund-Myllyharju, adopted from Taiwan to Finland. Translation by Fiona Chow. Original post Hier auf Schwedisch.
Recently my Facebook newsfeed has been flooded with important news items from places such as The Netherlands, Switzerland and Sweden. The Netherlands has suspended all adoptions from abroad after an investigation revealed systematic abuses as well as illegal adoptions. A similar investigation has begun in Switzerland. In Sweden, adult adoptees from Chile along with those from other nations, are fighting for a nation-wide investigation to be implemented as soon as possible.
This build-up of steam in the adoption world started to stir up feelings inside of me. For a long time now, I have been observing strong opposition against adoption from adopted adults in the international circles I am involved in on social media. But to completely halt all adoptions? That sounded foreign to me. Many years ago, I thought likewise, but since then I have come to the realisation that such thinking is a little too radical. At least, not while there are children out there without parents.
The other night, I listened to a discussion in which a Swedish adoptive parent openly stood in the gap for the illegally adopted children who are now demanding Sweden to take responsibility. She supported them whole-heartedly, even though her engagement is likely to bring negative consequences into her own life. It warmed my heart that she as an adoptive parent is willing to do everything in her power so that her own children in the future would not need to question the adoption system in the same way as the stolen children of today.
My own adoption didn’t go as it should have, and this has been the source of a myriad of different emotions inside of me. These have ranged from the sadness of not having grown up with my biological family, to real anger over a system full of inadequacies. How is it even possible that I was transported from one continent to another with the help of falsified papers? That the offenders have now been tried and punished is of course just and right, but why was there never any attempt to re-unite me and dozens of other children with their original families?
At the same time, I have experienced huge feelings of guilt for even thinking this way, as I have had a good life here in Finland. Who am I really to complain? In fact, this isn’t a question of not being grateful. I am truly thankful for many things, not the least of which include my three children who are growing up in a fantastic country such as Finland. However, am I thankful that I was separated from my biological mother? Is it even possible for me to ever stop wondering why my identification documents were falsified at the time of adoption? Was I sold? Is this what my biological mother really wanted?
It has been many years since my own adoption and at that time, the arrangements were made privately, without the help of an adoption agency, nor the protection such an agency would have provided. I am happy that today’s Finland adoptions are regulated in a totally different way, so that we can be certain that things are done legally and correctly when we place children through international adoption. This is the way it is, isn’t it? Surely our focus is on what is best for the child, just as the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC) demands? Surely we choose to act without delay when suspicious activity arises on the adoption field?
My hope is that adoptees, adoptive parents and adopters can be assured that all those who work with adoption in Finland are, with good conscious, able to say that everything is working as it should. I sincerely hope that adoption agencies such as Interpedia, Save the Children and the City of Helsinki have been quiet for so long because they absolutely have nothing to hide.
At the same time, I can hardly be the only person who thinks that an independent state investigation is long overdue, even in a country such as Finland.
von Yolanda, a transracial adoptee (of Jamaican, black mixed with Chipawaue Indian origins) raised in the USA into a black American adoptive family.
Artwork by Yolanda
I was adopted at seven months old and my adoptee story isn’t a good one.
Basically I grew up in a religious family full of mental, physical, emotional and sexual abuse. Because of that, I was taken away from my adopted mom and placed in the foster care system, where the mental and physical abuse continued.
Growing up was hard, I was always the black sheep of the family. Now that I’m older, my adoptive family act like I did something to them. They don’t accept me or my children. At family functions they won’t even speak to me or my kids. So I stopped going and cut them completely off, but it still hurts.
All I ever wanted was to be close to my family. But I guess I’ll never know what that feels like. Life sure does suck sometimes. I get sick and tired of not being accepted. I can’t seem to make sense of my life anymore. Why am I even here on earth? They tell me my life has purpose but I don’t see it.
My artwork above reflects how I’ve been broken. My music also helps provide me an outlet to express my journey.
Dies ist die einzige Zeit im Jahr, in der ich daran erinnert werde, dass ich keine Kindheitsfamilie mit erstaunlichen Erinnerungen und Nähe habe. Wie nur einige andere Adoptierte wissen, habe ich mich schon immer nach diesem Familiengefühl gesehnt, in dem ich mich gewollt, geschätzt und zutiefst geliebt fühle. Ich weiß, dass meine Familie, wie viele andere auch, nie perfekt ist, aber je älter ich werde, desto mehr sehe ich meine Kindheit in meiner Adoptivfamilie und kann mich nur noch an den Schmerz erinnern, den sie mir bereitet hat. Adoption soll doch glücklich sein, nicht wahr? Es ist das, was dargestellt wird. Aber ich weiß, dass ich Momente des Glücks hatte – es ist so schwer, mich daran zu erinnern, denn wenn ich älter werde und alles durch meine eigenen Kinder noch einmal durchlebe, wird mir klar, wie viel Vernachlässigung und Trauma meine Adoptivfamilie verursacht hat, das hätte sein können vermieden worden.
Wie komme ich daran vorbei? Sollte ich? Oder akzeptiere ich, dass es einfach immer so sein wird … ja, es tut unter der Oberfläche weh und quillt jedes Mal vor Schmerz, wenn ich an „Adoptivfamilie“ denken muss. Ich bin jetzt alt genug, um zu verstehen, dass dieser Schmerz ein Teil von mir ist. Es wird nicht verschwinden, aber ich kann halten und ehren, was ich tun musste, um darüber hinwegzukommen – funktionsfähig, stabil und liebevoll zu sein.
Heilung bedeutet nicht, dass der Schmerz aufhört und verschwindet. Heilung bedeutet, dass ich die Wahrheit akzeptiere. Ich sitze nicht länger darin und ertrinke oder reagiere. Ich habe gelernt, besser mit meinen Emotionen umzugehen. Ich habe gelernt, Grenzen zu setzen und nicht über das hinauszugeben, wozu ich bereit bin. Ich habe gelernt, dass es in Ordnung ist, meinen eigenen Bedürfnissen treu zu bleiben. Ich habe gelernt, zu akzeptieren, was nicht geändert werden kann, aber zu ändern, was ich kann. Ich kann sie so akzeptieren, wie sie sind, und weiß, dass sie dazu nicht fähig sind, selbst wenn sie es wollten. Ich muss es mir selbst geben. Liebe, Verbindung, Akzeptanz, Fürsorge.
Weihnachten ist, wie Thanksgiving für die Amerikaner, eine Zeit, in der ich als Adoptierter diese traurigen Gefühle über das verspüre, was ich vielleicht hatte, aber nicht hatte. Ich weiß, dass die Realität von Wiedersehen so aussieht, dass selbst eine Bio-Familie, falls ich sie jemals finden sollte, höchstwahrscheinlich auch nie in der Lage sein wird, mein emotionales Bedürfnis nach „Familie“ zu befriedigen. Deshalb werde ich dieses Weihnachten meine Kinder und meinen Mann nah bei mir haben und jeden Moment, den ich mit ihnen verbringe, wertschätzen, denn sie sind die einzig wahre Familie, die ich jemals haben werde! Ich bin dankbar, dass ich genug genesen konnte, um eine liebevolle Beziehung zu haben, selbst Mutter zu werden und meinen Kindern zu geben, was ich nie bekommen habe. Das war der Segen meines Lebens und wird dieses Weihnachten mein Fokus sein!
