The Children Money Can Buy

by Anne Moody

  These objections are based largely on the image of Western (white) society using its wealth and power to rob poorer countries of their children, and on the ill-gotten gains by the individuals and governments who orchestrate these adoptions. Those who call for a halt to international adoption believe that it commodifies children and deprives them of their heritage and culture. They make a complex and compelling intellectual argument about the immoral imbalance of power between the children’s home countries and the adopting parents’ home countries.

  But while this argument has validity on a societal scale, it has little timely relevance for any one particular child. It is neither realistic nor ethically acceptable to expect children in need of a home to atone for the world’s political and financial inequities by spending their childhood without a family. The sad truth is that international adoption arose out of a need to find homes for children and recognition that these children had little chance of being adopted within their own countries.

  Historically, most people in the United States had a generally favorable view of international adoption when it came to the country’s attention on a large scale in the mid-1950s after the Korean War. The well-publicized plight of children orphaned by war moved many Americans to sympathy and moved some of them to take action by adopting a child. Less well publicized was the fact that many of these “orphans” were the children of American servicemen whose Korean mothers were effectively abandoned and forced to relinquish their babies rather than raise them in a society that rejected their mixed-race heritage. For a combination of social, political, and financial reasons, Korean adoption thrived, and over the past sixty years approximately two hundred thousand children were placed with families outside of Korea, three-quarters of them in the United States.

  For the most part, children in need of families inspire affection in American society, and the families who adopt them receive approval. This was never more evident to me than when I worked with a family who wanted to adopt a Korean baby in 1983. The family consisted of a mom, dad, and grade-school-aged son and daughter. I had done their home study a year earlier, and the family was eagerly awaiting their referral. When I received the packet of information for them, it contained quite a surprise: instead of pictures and information about one baby, as they had been expecting, it was a referral for twin baby girls. At first, the prospective parents were ecstatic, but their excitement quickly turned to concern about financial reality. They were a young couple with a stable income but a tight budget, and it had not been easy to save the money needed for an international adoption. After a great deal of agonizing, they finally were forced to acknowledge that they didn’t have enough to cover not only the unexpected fee for the second baby but the extra costs of raising twins. The agency allowed them a week to make their decision, and the couple struggled unsuccessfully to come up with the money. But on the night before they were to tell the agency that they could not move forward, something incredible happened.

  The family’s son, while too young to be fully involved in discussions with his parents about family finances, nevertheless understood that they were upset and that he was in danger of losing the chance to have twin baby sisters because of a lack of money. He shared his worry with his teacher one day at school. The teacher verified the story with the mother, then did something brilliant. She realized that the final episode of M.A.S.H. (a wildly popular television show that takes place in Korea during the Korean War) was going to be airing on television that night, that much of the nation would be watching, and that public attention and sentiment would be focused on Korea in a way it probably hadn’t been since the war itself.

  This teacher contacted the television station that would be running the local news right after “M.A.S.H” and told them about the family’s situation. It was the top story that night, with pictures of the babies appearing on screen almost as soon as the “M.A.S.H.” theme song had ended. I remember watching the interview in amazement, enormously happy because it seemed obvious that this family would now be able to adopt these babies. By the next morning, they had received enough donations to pay for the adoptions, buy the extra baby equipment they would need, and start college funds for their new daughters.

  That was a simpler time. Today, international adoption’s critics demonize it as being an economically motivated endeavor preying on desperate birth parents and creating irresistible financial incentives for people to engage in unethical procurement of children. There have been a number of exposés over the years about countries where corrupt attorneys, adoption agencies, and government officials paid “finder’s fees” to individuals who would engage in unethical methods of locating babies who could be adopted. No doubt there were many more instances of abuse that were undiscovered and unreported. Tragically, there are situations in which the birth parents hadn’t actually consented to an adoption or, if they had, didn’t really understand what legal adoption meant. There were also accusations of out-and-out kidnapping for the purpose of adoption. Of course, there have always been regulations against this sort of procurement of children, but when there are powerful-enough financial incentives, people find a way to work around the regulations—sometimes quasi-legally, sometimes through overt corruption. And it can be almost impossible for adoptive parents to recognize when they are in danger of involving themselves in this sort of unethical situation and to fully understand the consequences for the birth parents, themselves, and the children.

  Much of the media-reported criticism of international adoption these days singles out celebrity parents. It makes sense that female celebrities, who are often focused on career rather than marriage and children during the years in which they would be most likely to have children biologically, would turn to adoption as a method to bring children into their lives. Adoption also makes sense for them because celebrities have the ample funds needed for an international adoption or two (or more).

  The most public “villain” in international adoption for a few years was Madonna, the singer. The outcry over her efforts to adopt a baby boy and then a little girl from Malawi was long and loud, and the media coverage was so outraged and convoluted that I doubt anyone ever really reported the story completely accurately (making it hard to piece together now). The basics of the baby boy’s story were that he had been brought to an orphanage by his father after his mother died. Madonna and her then husband hoped to adopt him and were initially told they could do so. It appears that they went through all the appropriate steps to accomplish this, but prior to the placement, a group called The Human Rights Consultative Committee in Malawi objected. Their reasons included unhappiness about the ethics of international adoption, a belief that Madonna had used her wealth and position to circumvent Malawian adoption law and policy, and the conviction that the particular child’s father did not want his son to be adopted.

  There were numerous dramatic and heart-wrenching stories in tabloids, in mainstream papers, online, and on television news depicting Madonna as a prima donna who had, purposely or naïvely, assumed she would receive special treatment and could bend the rules to suit her desires. The fact that various officials, including the president of the country, made it possible for Madonna to adopt this child without asking her to live in Malawi for the required eighteen months before adopting makes one wonder why it was Madonna who was singled out for condemnation. But it seems both understandable and questionable that an exception to normal policy would be made for someone such as Madonna, who had donated a great deal of money to be used for charitable purposes in the country.

  The more poignant stories about the irregularity of Madonna’s adoption of this child surfaced when someone interviewed his birth father and reported that the man said he had not understood that his son could be adopted and didn’t want him to be adopted by Madonna. This of course spurred a real media frenzy, but when the man was interviewed again a short time later, he said that he supported Madonna’s efforts to adopt his son and that he was concern
ed that all the criticism she had received from the media might discourage not only her but also other families who wanted to adopt Malawian children.

  The father acknowledged that he had been responsible for some of the confusion when he told the Associated Press that authorities had not made it clear to him that he was giving up his son “for good” when he had earlier agreed to the adoption. But he clarified that what he meant to say was that he “wasn’t selling my son. I said I wouldn’t . . . sell my son for anything but I had agreed with Madonna before a judge so my comments were taken out of context and I hope Madonna is not angry.”1 I remember all the horrified reporting about the father’s first statement and very little about the second statement, which was made a short time later. The adoption was ultimately approved by the Malawian courts, but in the eyes of the world Madonna was possibly a baby snatcher who had left a bereft and powerless widower in Malawi mourning the loss of his child.

  The story gets much more complicated. It turns out that the charity Madonna was funding (called Raising Malawi), which had been doing a great deal of good for many children, was not being managed well in Malawi. Stories about the extreme misuse of funds (for things like luxury cars and country club memberships) came to Madonna’s attention, and the Malawian director of her foundation, who happened to be the sister of the country’s president, was relieved of her duties. While all of this was happening, Madonna was in the process of adopting a second child, a little girl she had met prior to her son’s adoption.

  Perhaps it was a complete coincidence, but it was at this time that the president, Joyce Banda, reversed her previously high opinion of Madonna and began to characterize her as someone who demanded VIP treatment, bullied state officials, and lied about the accomplishments of Raising Malawi. The president issued a statement saying that “among the many things that Madonna needs to learn as a matter of urgency is the decency of telling the truth. . . . For her to tell the whole world that she is building schools in Malawi when she has actually only contributed to the construction of classrooms is not compatible with manners of someone who thinks she deserves to be revered with state grandeur.”2 To which Madonna’s publicist responded, “Madonna is the largest individual philanthropist in Malawi. We will continue to fund programs that support the children of Malawi.” When a new president took office in May 2014, Madonna received his endorsement and support, and his press secretary issued a statement saying, “We welcome Madonna as a guest of the government and people of Malawi. . . . The president appreciates the charity work she is doing for Malawi.”

  But Madonna’s troubles were not over, even though she was allowed to adopt the second child, now three years old, who had also been orphaned by her mother’s death. This child, Mercy, had been living in the orphanage when Madonna first saw her as a baby in 2006 and stayed there until an uncle signed the adoption papers in 2009. The difficulty this time seemed to stem from the enormous cultural differences between this child’s birth and adoptive families and their understanding of the meaning of adoption. Madonna promised to bring both of the children she had adopted back to Malawi every few years, and she did, but some members of Mercy’s birth family felt especially unhappy about their lack of access to the child during these visits. As her birth grandfather poignantly and accurately explained in a December 2014 interview with Peter Jegwa for The Daily Mail, “White foreigners who decide to take our children away from Africa have no understanding of our culture. They don’t realize that in our African families each one has a responsibility to the others. If a half-brother or half-sister does well, they share their fortunes with all of the others. A child like my granddaughter Mercy, if she succeeds in her career, she is expected to share that success with all of us. That is how our extended family system works.” He went on to say that he now understood that what Madonna meant when she said she would bring Mercy back to Malawi every few years was simply that they would come to the country, stay in an expensive lodge, and ignore her blood relatives. “That cannot be the right way to do things,” he added. “No foreigner has the right to interfere in our culture like this.” The grandfather now apparently felt that the family had made a mistake in allowing the adoption because, “What is the point of us wanting Mercy to get a good education and a good life if in the end she does not help her relatives?” An uncle added that Mercy had lots of cousins who wanted to see her but didn’t understand her life of luxury. “They wonder why this famous rich woman should allow them to live in poverty while their cousin is living big. This is not good for Mercy herself. What will she think when she discovers her people are wallowing in poverty?”3

  What is it that we Westerners expect Mercy to think? Do we expect her to think she should share her wealth and advantages with her birth relatives? And, if so, to what extent? How much of her money should she give them, and which relatives (half siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, second cousins, third cousins) qualify? Do we expect Mercy to devote her life not only to helping her birth relatives but also to the plight of all Malawian orphans? Are she and her brother expected to take over their mother’s charity work in Malawi? On a more fundamental level, do we admire the image of extended-family financial responsibility and solidarity that the grandfather characterized as “African” and feel that Mercy and other adopted children of African heritage should embrace it as their own? Do we expect this of all internationally adopted children? Are they not as free as other people to choose the direction of their lives? Would it be selfish or irresponsible for them to choose to be poets or stay-at-home moms instead of pursuing more financially rewarding careers in order to be able to send more money to their birth families?

  I feel that Mercy’s grandfather’s statement about no foreigner having the right to interfere in another country’s culture speaks eloquently to the problems in international adoption, but not in the way he intended.

  The separation from one’s birth culture is an inherent part of international adoption: No matter how many times Madonna takes her children to Malawi, their primary home is not there, and, just like all children, they have become part of the culture in which they are being raised. In Western culture, one of our strongest beliefs is in the right to self-determination. Viewed from a Western perspective, we want Mercy to have the freedom to live her life in whatever manner suits her needs and desires. We do not believe that American children should always be financially responsible for their extended families or that wealth must always be shared equally. We do admire people who have charitable instincts, but we don’t criticize (or even especially notice) those who don’t. As Americans, we consider ourselves to be responsible and independent, and we admire these traits. But from an African perspective, we must look selfish and hardhearted. And the expressed desire to agree to “adoptions” only as a means to provide for and educate a family member who can then return to the country to help support their relatives sounds too much like indentured servitude to the average American.

  Of course we have a hard time understanding each other, but there are no villains—just very different perspectives and realities.

  This difference was illustrated to my family in a seemingly small and easily explained manner during our trip to Korea when Jocelyn was thirteen and we met with her foster mother, Shin Hae Soon. Shin Hae Soon had been a foster parent for Holt Children’s Services for seventeen years and was presumably a proponent of international adoption for the children who had been in her care. After the first ten minutes of smiling and crying at each other, the visit suddenly turned serious and a little tense when Shin Hae Soon asked the translator to ask us why Jocelyn’s skin was so much darker than the rest of the family’s. We explained that Jocelyn spent many hours outdoors playing soccer, and Shin Hae Soon nodded as though she understood. But she was really asking if Jocelyn, unlike her sisters, was forced to work outdoors, as if she were a servant in the fields. The question was not unusual, and our explanation, quick and truthful as it was, didn’t really address the root of Shin
Hae Soon’s underlying concerns about the possibility that we might not really be the good parents we appeared to be. More significantly, it didn’t address the fact that even a foster parent who worked for an adoption agency apparently still had doubts about the possibility of adoptive parents using their children as laborers.

  I recently saw an article written for CNN by Srey Powers, a young woman who had been adopted from Cambodia as a six-year-old. Srey was an eighteen-year-old star soccer player in 2013 when she and her mother traveled to Cambodia, found the village where she had lived and had a wonderful and highly emotional reunion with her grandmother. This grandmother had raised Srey for either three or four years (“dates and details of my past were obscured by my grandmother’s hardships”) and had ultimately decided that adoption would be best for her. Nevertheless, when the woman saw her granddaughter fourteen years later, she asked for forgiveness. Dropping to her knees in tears, the grandmother said, through the translator, “Forgive me for giving you away.” Then added, “But I would do it again . . . you are a beautiful woman.” The grandmother then described what life had been like for the family and what Srey had been like as a child. Everything was going well until the grandmother suddenly turned to the adoptive mother and harshly asked why Srey’s skin was so tan. The translator explained that “in her life, a dark tan suggests hard work on the land rather than long hours of practice on the soccer field.” Srey and her mother did everything possible to reassure the grandmother that “I was a girl with many opportunities in America, that I would be educated and would prosper.”4