South Korea’s history of overseas adoptions in the spotlight

The last memory Han Tae-soon has of her daughter as a child is in May 1975, at their home in Seoul.

“I was going to the market and asked Kyung-ha, ‘Aren’t you coming?’ But she told me, ‘No, I’m going to play with my friends’,” recalled Ms Han.

“When I came back, she was gone.”

Ms Han would not see her daughter again for more than four decades. When they reunited, Kyung-ha was almost unrecognisable as a middle-aged American woman named Laurie Bender.

Kyung-ha had been kidnapped near her home, brought to an orphanage, then sent illegally to the US to be raised by another family, alleges Ms Han, who is now suing the South Korean government for failing to prevent her daughter’s adoption.

She is among the hundreds of people who have come forward in recent years with damning allegations of fraud, illegal adoptions, kidnapping and human trafficking in South Korea’s controversial overseas adoption programme.

No other country has sent as many children abroad for adoption, and for so long, as South Korea. Since the programme began in the 1950s, about 170,000 to 200,000 children have been adopted overseas – most of them in the West.

In March, a landmark inquiry found that successive governments had committed human rights violations with their lack of oversight, allowing private agencies to “mass export” children for profit on an industrial scale.

Experts say the findings could open the door to more lawsuits against the government. Ms Han’s is set to go to court next month.

It is one of two landmark cases. Ms Han is the first biological parent of an overseas adoptee seeking damages from the government, while in 2019, a man who was adopted in the US was the first adoptee to sue.

A government spokesman told the BBC that it “deeply sympathises with the emotional pain of individuals and families who could not find each other for a long time”.

It added that it considered Ms Han’s case with “deep regret” and that it would take “necessary actions” based on the outcome of the trial.

Ms Han, 71, told the BBC she is determined the government takes responsibility.

“I spent 44 years ruining my body and mind searching for [my daughter]. But in all that time, has anyone ever apologised to me? No one. Not once.”

For decades, she and her husband visited police stations and orphanages, put up flyers, and went on television appealing for information. Ms Han said she spent all day pounding the streets looking for her daughter “till all 10 of my toenails fell out”.

Over the years she thought she came close. In 1990, after one of her TV appeals, Ms Han met a woman who she believed could be Kyung-ha, and even took her in to live with her family for a while. But the woman eventually confessed she was not her daughter.

A breakthrough finally happened in 2019 when Ms Han signed up with 325 Kamra, a group that connects overseas Korean adoptees with their birth parents by matching their DNA.

They soon reported a match – Laurie Bender, a nurse in California. After several phone calls, she flew over to Seoul to meet Ms Han, where the two had a tearful reunion at the airport.

As they embraced, Ms Han ran her fingers through Kyung-ha’s hair. “I’ve been a hairdresser for 30 years. I can quickly tell if it’s my daughter just by feeling her hair. I had mistakenly thought I found her before, so I had to touch and feel the hair to confirm it,” she said.

The first thing she told her daughter was “I’m so sorry”.

“I felt guilty because she couldn’t find her way home when she was a child. I kept thinking about how much she must have searched for her mother… Meeting her after all those years made me realise how much she must have longed for her mother, and it broke my heart.”

“It’s like a hole in your heart has been healed, you finally feel like a complete person,” Kyung-ha said about their reunion in an earlier interview with the Associated Press. She did not respond to the BBC’s requests for an interview.

The pair eventually pieced together what happened on that day in May 1975.

Kyung-ha, who was six years old at the time, was playing near her home when she was approached by a strange woman claiming to know her mother. Kyung-ha was told her mother “didn’t need” her any more and was taken to a train station.

After taking a train ride with the woman, Kyung-ha was abandoned at the final stop, where she was eventually picked up by police officers and placed in an orphanage. Soon, she was flown to the US to be adopted by a couple in Virginia.

Years later, checks revealed she was given false papers stating she was an abandoned orphan whose parents were unknown.

“It’s like you’ve been living a fake life and everything you know is not true,” Kyung-ha said previously.

Her case was far from an isolated one.

South Korea’s overseas adoption programme began in the ashes of the 1950-53 Korean War, when it was a deeply impoverished country with an estimated 100,000 orphaned and displaced children.

At that time, few families were willing to adopt non-biological children, and the government began an overseas adoption programme, billed as a humanitarian effort.

The programme was handled entirely by private adoption agencies. While they were under government oversight, over time these agencies gained significant autonomy through laws.

As their power grew, so did the number of children being sent abroad, rising in the 1970s and peaking in the 1980s. In 1985 alone, more than 8,800 children were sent overseas.

There was a massive demand from the West – with declining birth rates and fewer babies to adopt at home, families began seeking children elsewhere.

Photos from that era show planes heading to Western countries filled with Korean children, with swaddled babies strapped to seats – what the truth and reconciliation commission’s inquiry called the “mass transportation of children like cargo”.

The report alleges little care was taken of these children during these long flights. In one case it cited from 1974, a lactose-intolerant child was fed milk in transit and subsequently died upon arrival in Denmark.

Critics of the programme have long questioned why so many children needed to be sent overseas at a time when South Korea was already experiencing rapid economic growth.

A 1976 BBC Panorama documentary, which featured South Korea as one of several Asian countries sending children to the West, quoted an observer describing the situation as “out of control” and “almost like a trade in children… flowing from Asia into Europe and North America”.

According to the truth and reconciliation report, foreign adoption agencies set quotas for children, which Korean agencies willingly fulfilled.

It was a profitable business – the lack of government regulation allowed the Korean agencies to charge large amounts and demand hidden fees termed as “donations”.

Some of these children may have been obtained by unscrupulous means, with parents like Ms Han alleging their children were kidnapped. In the 1970s and 1980s, thousands of homeless or unattended children were rounded up and put in orphanages or welfare centres as part of a national campaign to “clean up the streets” of South Korea.

Other parents were told their babies had fallen sick and died, when they were actually alive and taken to adoption agencies. Agencies also did not obtain proper consent from birth mothers to take their children for adoption, according to the truth and reconciliation report.

The report also stated that adoption agencies deliberately falsified information in adoption records to cut corners and quickly meet the demand for children.

Lost children who were found without any identity documents would be made to appear, in paperwork, as if they had been abandoned and put up for adoption.

If a child intended for adoption had died or was reclaimed by their birth parents, another child would be swapped in and assigned the original child’s identity. This allowed agencies to avoid refunding adoption fees and expedite the adoption process.

Decades on, this has created immense difficulties for many overseas adoptees trying to track down their biological parents.

Some have wrong or missing information in their adoption records, while others have discovered they were given entirely false identities.

“We are victims of state violence but there is no trace of this – literally. This lack of documents must not make us victims for the second time,” said Han Boon-young, co-founder of an overseas adoptee rights group campaigning for greater access to birth information.

“This is a human rights issue. There were kidnappings, falsified documents – all of which were examples of violations committed during the inter-country adoption process.

“It is really necessary to move towards reconciliation, that we recognise these experiences, and that the people who committed these violations be held responsible.”

But some of the key players continue to stay silent or deny wrongdoing.

The BBC contacted Bu Chung-ha, who in the 1970s served as chairman of Holt International, South Korea’s largest adoption agency.

Holt is at the centre of numerous allegations of fraud and illegal adoptions, and the subject of two lawsuits so far, including Ms Han’s.

In a brief reply, Mr Bu denied that the agency had sent abroad any children wrongly identified as orphans during his tenure. Any parents alleging their children were kidnapped “did not lose their children, they abandoned them”, he said.

The current management of Holt International has yet to respond to the BBC’s request for comment.

Experts say the responsibility lay not only with the private agencies but also with the state.

“Adoption agencies exploited the system, and the government turned a blind eye – allowing illegal practices to take root,” said Dr Lee Kyung-eun, an international law scholar at Seoul National University.

“The government was the captain, and the agencies rowed the boat,” said Shin Pil-sik, a researcher on transnational adoption at Seokyeong University, who added that this structure enabled both sides to deflect accountability.

Dr Shin said the state was not a passive observer- it actively shaped adoption policy, setting annual quotas for overseas placements and even on occasion halted some adoptions.

An Associated Press news investigation last year found successive Korean governments had rewritten laws to remove minimal safeguards and judicial oversight, fit their laws to match American ones to make children adoptable, and allowed foreign families to adopt Korean children quickly without ever visiting the country.

While the government billed the programme as a humanitarian effort, observers say it also served to strengthen ties with Western countries.

A 1984 government document obtained by the BBC stated that the official goals of the adoption policy included not only the welfare of children but also “the promotion of future national strength and people-to-people diplomacy”.

When asked about the state’s role in past adoption practices, South Korea’s health and welfare ministry said they were “continuing efforts to strengthen state responsibility” in the system and that it plans to promote adoptions that comply with international standards.

In 2012, the government revised adoption laws to tighten screening of potential adoptive parents, and to track birthparent data and birth information better.

It has also enacted reforms to the adoption system ensuring that overseas adoptions are minimised and that all adoptions would be handled by the government instead of private agencies. The changes will take effect in July.

Meanwhile, overseas adoptions have declined. In the late 1980s, overseas adoptions dropped sharply, before stabilising in the 1990s and dropping again in the 2010s. Only 79 children were adopted abroad in 2023, according to the latest available data.

But as South Korea begins to address this dark chapter in its past, adoptees and birth parents like Ms Han continue to struggle with their trauma.

After their initial reunion, Ms Han and Kyung-ha have struggled to maintain a close connection.

Not only do they live on opposite sides of the world, her daughter has forgotten most of her Korean while Ms Han knows little English.

They keep in touch over texts occasionally, and Ms Han spends two hours every day practising her English by writing phrases in an exercise book.

But it isn’t enough for Ms Han.

“Even though I have found my daughter, it doesn’t feel like I’ve truly found her. All I know is where she is, but what good is that, if we can’t even communicate?

“My entire life has been ruined… no amount of money will ever make up for what I’ve lost.”