Adoptees talk about their fates: "We were part of an experiment after all"

Transnational adoptions are again up for debate. But the sensitive subject contains a number of diverse destinies. Some are adopted from Germany, others from Sri Lanka, China or Iran. Some were adopted illegally, others in accordance with the rules. And some are angry, while others are grateful. Here, five adoptees are allowed to tell their story as they have experienced it - for better and for worse

I am insanely grateful

Ida Rekha, 33 years old, adopted from Sri Lanka

I was born in 1989. I was 17 days old when I came from Colombo in Sri Lanka to Anholt in Denmark. My biological father ran away when my mother became pregnant, and since she could not provide for me herself, she did what she could to give me a better life.
Many people ask me when it dawned on me that I was adopted. After all, I have always been able to see that my skin color was different from that of my parents. That I looked different. But when I went around with my friends at school, I never thought that I stood out. And unlike many others, I did not have to be told that I was different.

My parents have always talked a lot about the sensitive subjects - probably especially because my father himself is adopted, just in Denmark. His mother was inappropriately young when she gave birth to him, but my father actually, when he became an adult himself, found his own biological mother. This is probably a significant part of the explanation for the fact that I have always felt that there was room for that curiosity about what one comes from, without it being taken as an expression that I wanted a different or a better family .

At one point I took part in the TV program "Traceless" , and afterwards many people wrote to me that their biological parents became very angry or hurt when the adopted children asked about their adoption papers or biological parentage. That it was perceived as a criticism of their parenting. But I am convinced that the best thing to do is to support the adoptee's curiosity rather than make it a taboo.

My parents took a lot of pictures when they were in Sri Lanka to pick me up. So I've always had a picture on my desk of my biological mother standing with me in her arms, and I've probably always had a longing to meet her. In 2012, when I was in my early twenties, I had a breakup with an ex-boyfriend and got the feeling that now something had to happen, now I had to do something that was about me. So I signed up for "Traceless" and a few months later I found myself in Sri Lanka.

There were an enormous number of thoughts and feelings that were suddenly brought into play. Many adoptees have a fragile side and various psychological things they struggle with. The fear of losing, of losing control. And I actually managed to regret it, but then my father (adoptive father) chose to come with me as support, and so the trip to Sri Lanka with the TV crew turned out to be something after all.

My biological mother was sitting on a bench in a garden and I started bawling when I saw her. After all, I had no relationship with her, and I didn't expect to cry, but something happened inside me. I completely broke down. It was absolutely crazy to hug the person who gave birth to you, but whom you don't know. Today I am happy that I did. There was something, a curiosity, that could not be redeemed until I had met her.

I needed to see the country and the people that were the setting for my start in life. See the woman who made an incredibly difficult decision to give me a better life. I am insanely grateful that she could see that she couldn't give me the opportunities in life that she wanted for me. And that I ended up where I did. And at the same time, I am extremely happy that I had the opportunity to meet her and show her that the choice she made then was the right one. That she saw that it ended well before she died last year.

Everyone has the right to seek their roots

René Bie, 59 years old, adopted from Germany

I was born in 1963, and during my first year of life I was removed from my mother in Germany and came to live in an orphanage in Altmorschen near Kassel. I clearly remember the first time I saw my adoptive parents. I sat on a step with another orphanage child and watched the car arrive with my parents and a man from Jugendamt (Germany's child and youth welfare). "My father and my mother are coming," I said aloud.

I was four and a half years old when I arrived in Vejle. It was at Easter 1968. My parents could not have children themselves, and they had gone through a long process to be approved. But the time was different anyway. The screening is much more extensive today. It was only in 1969 – i.e. after I was picked up – that rules were made about adoption. That it was recognized that adoptees are entitled to rights. The lack of legislation helped pave the way for some of the horrible things that happened in those years.

My first meeting with Denmark was good. Everything was new and exciting. My father spoke German, but my mother – who I went with at home – did not. When I had lived in Denmark for about three months and we started to understand each other, I asked my mother how she had learned German so quickly? But, it turned out, it was me who had learned Danish. That thought had never crossed my mind.

The fact that I was adopted was not something we talked about. But I have been told this continuously, in everyday life. So, "mother didn't give birth to you, we picked you up", if that was relevant in a particular situation. It has never been a forbidden subject.

I've probably always thought about this, that it was someone else who had given birth to me. As a child, I had a somewhat rosy picture of who my biological mother was. If, for example, I had been scolded by my adoptive parents, I reflected the situation in the idea I had of my biological family. If only I had been there, it would probably have been different, I thought. I used the idea of ​​my biological family as a kind of shield or refuge when things were bad.

However, I have never felt a longing for the place where I was born. Neither physically nor culturally. But I have had a curiosity about where I come from biologically. And when I became an adult, I took the consequence. By chance, my adoptive parents had some papers from my case with my mother's address. So it was actually pretty easy to track her down. When I was in my early 20s, I called and asked if she wanted to see me. And then I drove south.

Very quickly it became clear that the meeting with my biological mother was no "jubi, now I have found home and we love each other" experience. There was no emotional connection. On the contrary, the meeting confirmed that it was absolutely true that I had ended up somewhere else. That things had turned out well.

It was a good experience to be able to reflect in the person who is one's own flesh and blood, but I have never had any doubts that it is my adoptive parents who are my real parents.

I can wonder about the change in the view of transnational adoption. Basically, I think that adoption is a good tool for those families who can't have children and for those children who don't have parents who can take care of them. Does it give the children a better life every time? Unfortunately not. We have to recognize that, and it is full of dilemmas. But should we, on the other hand, stop altogether – rather than holding on to the fact that there are, after all, a great many people who get a good life? There I think that sometimes you focus too much on the negative issues rather than the positive ones.

Adopted children are not per automatically bought children. I find it difficult to see adoption as a continuation of colonial structures or as human trafficking. And the fact that you criticize those who adopt children, rather than those who give up their children, I actually also find it difficult to accept. Of course there is an element of "something for something"; a hope of getting love from the adopted children. But at the same time, the adoptive parents choose the children that others - in some cases - have opted out of. .The vast majority of children who are adopted come from something that is not so good to something that is better

However, I believe that it is important that when you, as an adoptee, one day start asking questions, you must have the opportunity to get answers. Who are the parents, why were you adopted? And does the biological family exist today? These are questions like these that take up a lot of space for many adoptees. That you can search for answers if you wish. I wanted to be sure - my half-brother, who also lives in Denmark, doesn't want to, and that's fine. Then you are allowed to be free of your past. But most people are now curious about what they are shaped by as people, and it can be enormously traumatic if you can never get that clarification. Everyone else has the right to search for their roots, except for adoptees.

We were part of an experiment

Sanne Nielsen, 50, adopted from Iran

I am found by the police in a gutter in Iran's capital, Tehran, and handed over to an orphanage. It was in August 1972 and I am estimated to be three months old. According to the papers, I'll grow just one centimeter and gain 100 grams in the next eight months. When I am 11 months old, I come to Denmark. There I weigh 5.5 kilos and am severely understimulated.

I subsequently spoke to a woman who was the liaison between the orphanage and the adoption agency, and she told me that the children were occasionally drugged with opium and rented out to Tehran's beggars. Without a child who looked sick, there was no empathy and therefore no money.

My Danish father was an engineer, and my parents were – like many other Europeans – stationed in the Shah's Iran for a period. They had two biological children, but there were many expatriate Europeans who still took a child home. However, it is only in Denmark, where I will be flown up later, that they meet me.

It was a fairly ordinary Danish family in a suburb of Aalborg. But unlike my siblings, who were my parents' biological children, I was very restless. I have since been diagnosed with ADHD.

Until the teenage years I have a good life, but then things go wrong. I was thrown out as a 16-year-old, almost lived in Jomfru Ane Gade for a period. I became a mother at 21 and settled down. However, my relationship with my adoptive parents is conflicted, and a few years ago it ended badly.

In my childhood, I didn't particularly reflect much on this thing about being different. When I become a mother myself and sit with my son in my arms, it becomes clear to me that here is the only person in the world I know who looks like my flesh and blood. I've taken a lot of DNA tests over the years, but it's not until 2022, when Mahsa Amini dies (in the custody of the Iranian police, ed.) and the protests break out, that Iran really starts to fill my heart.

Throughout large parts of my life, I have tried to fill the hole that exists within me in various destructive ways. But in the past year, the commitment to the Iranian women's cause has made a difference. I suddenly feel an enormous obligation to my Iranian roots. At the same time, my engagement on social media means that I will not be visiting my home country. I was born in Iran and they don't recognize dual citizenship, so if I landed in Tehran it would be at risk of not being able to get out again.

My adoptive mother has always been afraid of me going there. That I would find something better than her. But even if we no longer have contact, my adoptive parents are my parents. That will not be changed, not even if I think a lot about my biological mother. If she lives? Whether it was even voluntary that she left me?

In light of the many scandalous cases that have come to the fore in recent years, doubts are growing. I have a very small foundation throughout my life and now I don't even know if I can trust that narrative. If I really am a lost child, it is a lucky fate to end up in Denmark. But when you adopt from countries that you don't trust in other respects, then in my eyes it is reprehensible that you trust them when it comes to children. Perhaps I have in fact been trafficked? The thought that there might be a family missing me makes me extremely indignant. Especially after I became a mother myself. I am part of a group for adoptees from Iran, and those who have been successful in finding their families report that their story is almost always different from the one they were brought up with.

I know my parents have done nothing wrong. They have done what they could to avoid ugly things. They couldn't dream of doing anything wrong and it has nothing to do with them. But doubt nags. And I don't mind being told to feel lucky. I'm not bitter. But I am sad that the authorities are not better at listening to us who were adopted in the 1960s and 1970s. After all, we were part of an experiment. And the money, which was also part of this, was often a fortune in the countries where the children came from.

A paradigm shift has taken place

Vivian Yan Mygil, 23 years old, adopted from China

I was born in 1999 and adopted from China in June 2000. My birth date is estimated to be August 1st, but no one knows for sure. There is a big difference in how much is known about one's early life depending on where one is adopted from. And China is not exactly known for openness. Furthermore, it is both taboo and illegal to adopt one's child. 

I was about a day old when I was found in a moving box under a railway bridge. I've probably been to several orphanages, but the paperwork that exists doesn't match. And at the same time, for example, moves that are not so good for the child are often obscured in the papers, so that the "product" appears in as good a condition as possible.

One of those I was adopted with, for example, had a false age given because the adoptive family wanted a child over nappy age. However, I know for sure that I must have been lying on my back a lot. In the orphanages there is no one to turn the babies and I have got a very flat back of the head. At the same time, I was quite malnourished and had sores on my scalp.

My life in Denmark begins in Skejby near Aarhus. My parents had tried artificial insemination for many years, but they could not have children. It was only around the age of 6-7 that I really started to reflect on the fact that I looked one way and my mother looked another. But I have always sensed that I was not born by my mother. Probably because my parents told me in a pedagogical way in my childhood.

However, there were frustrations. For example, it took me longer to learn to speak. At the same time, I was quite far behind motorically and cognitively after my time at the orphanage. Fortunately, I found that out quickly when I came to Denmark. When I got older, and I was, for example, with other adoptees from China, we might well be asked if we ate a lot of rice. And if we were siblings, even though we looked different. I also had a teacher who at one point mentioned that I was not a wishful child after all. It hurt.

During the corona pandemic, it became more direct racism. And in the job search process, which I have been in the middle of, I have also tried two identical applications with different names - and there it is the most "western" one that usually results in an interview. These kinds of experiences make an impression.

Being adopted is a strange life situation – there is a constant discrepancy between what you put out into the world and the reactions you get back.

When I was little and "Trackless" filled a lot, everyone wanted to know if I should not be in the program. I thought that was silly, because I was here, where I belonged. I wasn't looking for anything else or more.

As I got a little older, I got the feeling that just because I'm privileged and have the resources, I don't automatically have the right to show up on my biological family's doorstep and say, “Here I am, now you're going to know me , because I need that!”. So, they may have let go, needed to save the part of their life that is about giving away a child. I didn't want to mess that up. 

After I've started dreaming about having children myself, I've started to be a bit more concerned about what I come from, whether there are hereditary diseases or other things I need to be aware of. But I have no need to find my biological parents. I do not believe that I will be made more whole by meeting the one who gave birth to me. Conversely, I can feel a shame that I don't know more about Chinese culture. That it's like an expectation out there that I can't live up to.

I have followed the debate about those who have wanted to "get divorced" from their adoptive parents, and I myself was quite critical of the whole idea of ​​transnational adoption when I was a teenager. But it's hard for me to relate to today. On the other hand, I have fought various psychological battles – separation anxiety, difficulty in feeling basic needs and dissociation – which I have been told are typical of adopted children. Like I've had a hard time with my Asian features. Especially in the past, when people with an Asian appearance did not fill much of the Western cultural and media image.

There has undoubtedly been a paradigm shift in relation to how you talk about adoption. And it makes good sense that a critical awareness is growing. However, I am convinced that today I have a much better life than I would have had if I had not been adopted.

We never got an apology

Sebastian Jensen, 47 or 48 years old, adopted from Sri Lanka

I don't know when I was born, but I came to Denmark in 1977. From Sri Lanka to Nørre Aaby on Funen. It is my father who goes to Sri Lanka and picks me up. But 12 days after I land in Denmark, my adoptive parents split up and I am forcibly removed. At that time, adoptions from Sri Lanka are illegal.

I grow up in a family where I have a sister who is also from Sri Lanka and then two siblings who are my mother and father's biological children. It always amazed me that my parents had to adopt when they already had children. But that wasn't something we talked about. On the contrary, I was told that if it was discovered that I was adopted, I risked being sent back to Sri Lanka. I shouldn't ask questions, just be grateful.

At the time, I didn't really understand how things were connected. But later I have obtained a lot of information. There were many things that were not as they should be. But by then my parents had died. I grew up with lies everywhere. With an inner chaos. Everything that happened had to be covered up at all times. My childhood has had consequences for me in the form of abuse and self-harming behavior for 28 years.

I was always told that everything was my fault, that I was a bad person. It has caused psychological problems. I have seen myself as someone who was always in trouble. As always stood before the next rejection. I have had a really hard time understanding what being human is all about. I haven't been able to figure out how to be in the world. How to behave, how to get along with other people. I don't trust people. It has resulted in many lows throughout my life, and for a long time I had no trust in anyone but God and my cat.

At the same time, I also believe that one must be careful not to turn one's adoption story into a one-sided victim narrative. Yes, I was adopted, and yes, I was let down in my childhood. But I am also a person who must take responsibility for my own history.

I initially turned the anger on myself. At 14, I started cutting myself. I started drinking when I was 16. Moved to Odense when I was 18. There I started to turn my anger towards the world. Fighting and aggressiveness. And finally the anger came towards my parents and my siblings.

I've worked through a lot of things along the way, but when my parents died, the anger resurfaced. Largely triggered by what I experienced as my siblings' unfair treatment of me. This thing about not looking like your siblings, it does something to you.

I already knew when I was a child that I didn't belong in my family. Today I am no longer angry all the time. But I have a very great sadness inside. A sadness that makes me feel extremely lonely from time to time. I don't want to be someone who feels sorry for himself all the time, who constantly blames the outside world. But it hurts, it does.

Most answers about my childhood have gone with my parents in the grave. I have been prevented from gaining insight into my own history. And at the same time, my memories of Sri Lanka are not good either. My parents were engaged in various work in Sri Lanka and I remember one time we were there and where we had to be shown off. It was so embarrassing to be an extra in those white people's goodness show, where they were hailed with wreaths and I don't know what. So distasteful.

It has shaped my view on transnational adoption in the way that I believe the most important thing is not to adopt at any cost. I never got the explanation why I ended up in this family when there were other families who couldn't have children? I've been really, really angry at society. And this idea that you just have to be grateful, even though a lot of illegal things have happened, it's so wrong.

What has been bad for us, who have come from abroad, is that the criminal things that have happened over time, and that we have suffered from, have never really been recognized by the state. We never got an apology, and I think that's wrong. Because the state has a responsibility. I have been extremely mad. Today it is more in the blink of an eye. I'll probably move on.