Unpacking South Korea’s Overseas Adoption History: Stories, Impact, and Insights

In 1975, Han Tae-soon last saw her daughter, Kyung-ha, when she was just six years old. Ms. Han was leaving for the market and asked Kyung-ha to join her. The little girl declined, and when Ms. Han returned, she found her daughter missing. More than four decades would pass before they reunited, under shocking circumstances. Kyung-ha had been kidnapped and sent to an orphanage, later adopted by a family in the U.S. Now called Laurie Bender, she returned to Korea, but the journey to find each other was fraught with pain and heartache.

Ms. Han claims her daughter’s adoption was illegal and that the government is to blame. Hundreds of similar cases have surfaced, exposing a dark chapter in South Korea’s history of international adoption, where allegations of kidnapping and human trafficking have come to light.

Since the 1950s, South Korea has sent around 170,000 to 200,000 children overseas for adoption. Most of these children ended up in Western countries. A recent inquiry revealed that governments allowed agencies to operate without proper oversight, leading to widespread human rights violations. This has led to a growing number of legal challenges against the state, including Ms. Han’s impending lawsuit.

Experts argue that these findings could result in more families seeking justice. Dr. Lee Kyung-eun, an international law scholar, emphasizes that the government played a crucial role in creating this situation by allowing private agencies to flourish. “The government was the captain, and the agencies rowed the boat,” he explains.

The legacy of these adoptions has left many adoptees and birth parents struggling with what they lost. Adoption records often contain false information, complicating efforts for people like Laurie and Ms. Han to connect meaningfully. A 1976 BBC documentary compared the situation to a disturbing form of child trade between Asia and the West, indicating that many children were merely treated as commodities during their transport.

This troubling history is reflected in some adoptees’ experiences, who have described their childhoods as “fake lives.” Maurice Sabré, a social worker who has assisted adoptees, states that “this issue is deeply rooted in systemic exploitation.” He highlights the need for transparency and better systems to help families reunite.

In the years leading up to the official inquiry, many like Ms. Han dedicated their lives to finding their lost children. She visited police stations, orphanages, and appeared on television. Her perseverance finally bore fruit in 2019 when she connected with Laurie through a DNA matching service, leading to a tearful reunion in Seoul. Standing in the airport, she felt she was “healing a hole in her heart.”

Despite the emotional rollercoaster of their meeting, language barriers have posed challenges in their relationship since then. Laurie, having grown up in the U.S., struggled with her Korean, while Ms. Han diligently studies English daily in hopes of building a strong bond with her daughter.

The government claims to regret the pain families have experienced and maintains that it is now focusing on reforms. Changes have been made to the adoption system, including stricter regulations, yet many feel these steps are long overdue.

As the country starts to confront its past, families like Ms. Han’s continue to navigate the tangled emotions and unresolved issues that arise from this heartbreaking history. They strive for acknowledgment, healing, and the chance for connections that could have flourished in a different world.

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