Searching Family Overseas: Blood Ties and Hopes
by Yue Tian
Now that the One-Child Policy is
becoming a bygone memory, we are facing the broken lives of 150,000 abandoned
Chinese children and hundreds of thousands of torn families. “Reunite family
members” has become an eternal theme in their lives.
Anna, 23, has healthy sun-kissed
skin. When she smiles, her brows arch and her lips spread warmly. If you run
into her in the streets of South China, you’d mistake her as one of many
friendly girls living in the neighborhood. But when she speaks, you’ll
immediately realize that she is different.
Anna, with Asian features, was
raised by an American couple. She spoke fluent English and clumsy Chinese. Now
that she’d grown up, she wanted to return to her hometown to find her
biological parents.
According to data released by
China Center for Children’s Welfare and Adoption in 2016, since the
implementation of foreign adoption, China has established partnerships with 17
countries. Nearly 150,000 Chinese infants or young children have been adopted
by foreign families. More than a decade later, they’ve grown up and many have
chosen to return to look for their families in China.
In the summer of 2018, accompanied
by her American parents, Anna took a 20-hour flight from Louisiana to Changsha,
China, and began her family-searching journey. Coming back to her homeland
after 20 years, Anna was filled with curiosity and found the place both strange
and familiar.
“Changsha is much more developed
than I thought! Modern high-rises stand in lines; the streets are broad and
clean; every restaurant I pass by waves at me.” Anna was excited and eager to
take her American parents to taste Hunan gourmet at a local restaurant. The
family used chopsticks skillfully and enjoyed the spicy Hunan dishes. Anna’s
adoptive mother Mary said: “Anna was born in China and we felt she should
understand the culture of her motherland. That’s why when she was very young,
we helped her learn to use chopsticks, and together we learned about China as
much as we could.”
When the waiter brought a bowl
of Hunan rice noodles to the table, as if touched by a fragile memory, Anna
winced a little. “I think rice noodles might as well be the umbilical cord
connecting me with my hometown,” she quipped. “When I was little and had rice
noodles for the first time, I teared up. I had no idea what China and Changsha
was like then. My Chinese friends told me that Hunan people love rice noodles
and spicy food. It’s very interesting because my American parents have a light
diet––salad and lasagna are their favorite food––but I’ve always loved spicy
and hot food since I was a kid. I’m still a big fan of spicy food.”
Joy and pride filled her voice.
“I have a precious Hunan tummy.”
Anna’s adoptive parents were
over 60 years old. To help fulfill Anna’s wish, they insisted on traveling long
distances to Changsha with her to search for her biological parents. “We
respect Anna’s decision and don’t want her to live with regret. So, we’ll be
with her no matter how far the road. Her family is our family,” Anna’s adoptive
father David said with a smile.
The Only Trace
Anna was a little nervous when
she arrived at Changsha Social Welfare Institute, standing at the turning point
of her life. With a serious look, she glanced around, trying to conjure a
distant memory. But she was just a one-year-old baby when she left, having no
knowledge or memory of what happened.
The employees who took care of
little Anna 20 years ago saw that the baby girl in a swaddle had become this
healthy grown-up now standing in front of them. Overcome with complex emotions,
they wept. Among them, Aunt Wang tenderly held Anna’s hands and said, choking
with sobs, “In the past, I often held you, a little bundle. You didn’t cry or
kick. Now we’ve grown old. I never expected to see you again. How have you been
all these years?”
Before a staff member could
translate Aunt Wang’s words, Anna looked at the old woman with gray hair and a
hunched back, now weeping for their reunion. Anna felt deeply moved. She
realized that she had come back too late. “I can’t believe anyone here
remembers me.”
With enthusiasm, the staff
helped Anna find her adoption file and said they’d do everything in their power
to help her find her biological family.
“Anna, female, born on April 9,
1997. Abandoned on Changsha Station Road on January 3, 1998. Sent to Changsha
Social Welfare Institute by the local police. Adopted by an American couple in
June of the same year.” This passage written on her adoption paperwork was the
only information for Anna to trace her family.
“The Lucky Child”
“I knew I was adopted when I was
little. I’d ask my American parents why I looked different from others, and
they always explained why to me kindly and patiently, helping me approach the
topic of adoption with a very positive attitude. But whenever I thought of
being abandoned by my Chinese parents, I couldn’t stop feeling sad. I wanted to
know if I’d done anything wrong.
“I really miss my biological
parents even though I don’t know anything about them. But after I learned more
about Chinese history and culture, I felt they might be people with very strong
hearts, but had to give me away for reasons outside of their control. Perhaps
for survival? I couldn’t help but imagine all kinds of possibilities. Only the
truth could give me peace of mind.”
Anna left her DNA sample at the
Changsha Police Station and posted the information obtained from the welfare
institute on family-search websites in China, hoping for a reply. But all the
comments she received either discouraged her from searching. One comment said:
“Every time I see a foreigner searching for her Chinese family, I feel
speechless. What’s the point of finding someone who ditched you.” Others
expressed envy towards her: “I really envy your good fortune. I also want to be
taken to the United States and live a cool life.” Someone even remarked, “Now
your biological parents are going to strike it rich!”
Every comment confused Anna.
But even before this, she’d
received many seemingly thoughtful pieces of advice. Except for her adoptive
parents, it was very hard for others to understand why she insisted on finding
her Chinese family.
“Some think I live a very happy
life and should look forward rather than dwell on the past. Others often say
that I’m very lucky to live in the United States and have two doting parents. I
agree with them. I am very fortunate. But I believe only by understanding my
past can I move forward.” Anna explained with a serious expression, but what
she didn’t have the courage to say was, “Isn’t it lucky for you to never have
to experience the pain of being abandoned by your biological parents?”
“I feel very conflicted because
people always tell me that I’m lucky, but it’s hard for them to understand the
pain and loss I’ve gone through in my life, regardless of how lucky I am.”
Childhood—Feeling Inferior
Anna lived in an urban area of
Louisiana with very few Asians.
In junior high school, she was
the only Asian student in her class and bore the brunt of constant mean jokes,
such as, “Anna, did your parents ditch you in the trash can or the sewer?”
“Look! That’s Anna whom nobody wants!” “How shameful it is to be adopted.” This
kind of mockery stabbed the girl’s heart. Anna felt very embarrassed, fighting
back her tears and lowering her head without a word.
After school, she ran home with
a tear-streaked face. For the first time, she confided in her adoptive mother
Mary: “I don’t understand why my parents abandoned me. Whenever I think of how
my own parents don’t love and want me, I feel very hurt. I always slip into the
mental trap of ‘I’m a child unwanted by my own parents’, pitiful and inferior.
It’s impossible to fit into my surroundings. Am I American? I have yellow skin
and black hair. I’m different from all the kids around me. And I’m different
from my parents. Everyone is curious about me and asks me many questions––I
always have to answer those embarrassing questions. But who can answer them for
me? Am I Chinese? Why am I growing up in America? Why don’t my Chinese
relatives come to take me home? Where are my parents?...”
Mary held Anna in her arms and
gently stroked her back with her warm palms, trying to calm her. She kept
promising her, “Regardless of your past, we’ll always treat you as our own
child. We’ll always love you.”
When recalling this distant
memory, Anna smiled with a bitter sweetness. “When I was young, for some
reason, I always had a lot of angst coming from nowhere. I later realized that
the reason I bore so much anger in my heart was because I was wounded. My
American parents never made me feel I was adopted; they always gave me all
their love and care, protecting me in their own ways. But outside of their
wings, I had to face the cruel reality on my own.”
Young Anna and Her Adoptive
Mother Mary
Entering high school, Anna saw
more Asian faces on campus and no longer felt so out of place and helpless. But
when she hung out with her new Asian friends, she realized that the transparent
barrier was still there. “Growing up in America, I didn’t understand their
culture. To them, I was ‘not Asian enough’.”
Like Anna, most Asian children
adopted by white families would encounter identity crisis and ethnic
discrimination when growing up. Some children find it particularly hard to cope
with and choose to end their lives. According to the New York Daily News, Emilie
Olson, a Chinese girl adopted by American parents, fatally shot herself at age
13. Her adoptive parents said that their daughter had long been a victim of
school bullying against her Asian identity.
Lan, a Chinese-American
volunteer helping worldwide clients find lost family members, said that she
once received a phone call from an American adoptive mother whose Chinese
daughter had just been found after making her fourth suicidal attempt. As her
daughter was being rescued in the hospital, she called Lan in a dejected
spirit.
Professor Margaret Keyes from
the University of Minnesota pointed out in her report that the suicide rate in
transracial adoption families is much higher than that of same-race adoption
families. For small children, the trauma of having been abandoned while having
trouble fitting in their social circle can easily trigger psychological disorders.
They are far from being lucky.
Accompanied on the Family Search
Journey
Through the internet, Anna met
many Chinese adoptees who, like her, were adopted by families in the United
States, the Netherlands, Switzerland, the United Kingdom, Japan, or Canada. The
members in this group far exceeded what she’d expected. When she first joined,
there had been 1,655 members; now there were 8,000 and growing.
The abandoned babies, now
grown-ups, desire to find their Chinese families, completing the missing puzzles
in their lives. Lily, a Chongqing girl adopted by an American family, said:
“It’s very sad not to know who my biological parents are.”
Members of oversea support
groups share their life experiences and family search stories, and organize
volunteer trips to aid Chinese orphanages, providing love and support for other
orphans. Close friendships blossom during the journey. Anna smiled: “This is a
great way get to meet friends all over the world, thanks to the families around
the globe who adopted us. I always feel comfortable to meet another adoptee
because we share similar experiences and feelings––we don’t have to answer any
demoralizing questions concerning our origins.”
Many adoptees have started
learning Chinese, studying Chinese culture, and discovering a hidden part of
themselves. “Searching for family is a healing process. Hopefully one day we
will calmly answer the question ‘Who am I’.” Members return to the orphanages
to do research, post online inquiries, enter their DNA sample into the
database, cooperate with media reports, and spread hopeful seeds every step of
the way.
The Chinese children raised
overseas have very remote and blurry impressions of their Chinese parents. They
ache to find out why their parents abandoned them, how their parents have
lived, and what they really feel. They want to know if their parents miss them
as much as they do. Anna admitted: “Because we rarely see coverage on Chinese
parents searching for their children, I once thought that perhaps these parents
are indifferent to their lost children or have long forgotten them. That’s why
I felt really uneasy before I came to China to search for my family. Then, my
friend Lan told me the story of Li Guoming’s family from Jiangxi province,
which gave me great courage and strength to follow through.”
Lan said: “After contacting the
oversea adoptee groups, I’ve also seen many Chinese parents worrying about and
missing their lost children. I hope more parents can step up to look for their
children, so that more adoptees can hear stories from the Chinese parents’
perspective.”
Story of a Chinese Family
Searching for Their child––“We Have Never Abandoned You or Given up Looking for
You.”
When registered with the
orphanage, Li Guoming’s daughter was given the name Lv Er [er: second],
a random name jotted down by the village head who had carried her there. In the
orphanage, the girl was called Jiang Li [li: beautiful]––Jiang was the
last name of the orphanage head at the time; all the orphans were named after
him. Li Guoming had named his daughter Li Mengyan [meng: dream; yan: beautiful].
Li Guoming, a shy speaker,
hesitated for a long time before he explained the name, blushing up to his
ears: “I named her Mengyan because I dreamed of my daughter leaving me and
hoped to see her when I woke.”
Passing Down Ancestral Lineage
During the Family Planning Era
Wuli village in Jiangxi province
is home to a rural community with a deep-rooted patriarchal
tradition––sustaining ancestral lineage through male heirs remains a sacred
creed. The family planning policy implemented in the 1980’s struck the village
like a thunderbolt, shattering the rigid feudal nerves. Villagers made
observations and plans.
“In the village, if you don’t
have a son, you’ll forever be shamed. You’ll be called ‘that extinct one’,
meaning your root is cut, a terrible things to say. Everyone knows that
daughters are more well-behaved than sons, but you can’t change a rural mind.”
When Li Guoming’s older brother had two daughters, he threw a banquet at home
to celebrate. But Li Guoming’s father, after a few drinks, ran out to cry in
the mountaintop where no one was around, save for sagging graves everywhere.
The old man’s wailing pierced the sky. “We were all tormented seeing the old
man so sad.” Li Guoming decided to shoulder the responsibility of passing on
his family’s line.
In the 1990’s, the family
planning policy carried out in Jiangxi allowed a rural household to have a
second baby if the first one was a daughter, but if the family already had two
daughters––it was called a “two-daughter family”––the mother would be persuaded
to have a sterilization procedure. In Wuli village, in order to secure a male
heir, many families hid their second pregnancy like soldiers fighting a
guerrilla warfare.
Having had a daughter, Li’s
family decided to take the risk [of hiding the second pregnancy] to save the
second and last legal opportunity for a possible son.
Li Guoming’s wife Li Fen’s
stomach swelled as the grip of family planning regulation tightened. “If
caught, they would not only destroy our house and burn the furniture, but also
abort my baby with force and sterilize me––no hopes for more babies.” When
hiding at her mother’s home, Li Fen lived in fear and anxiety every day during
her pregnancy. On the due date, December 9, 1993, she endured severe pain to
give birth to her second child, a translucent and beautiful baby girl.
The joy of welcoming a new life
and the anxiety about an uncertain future overwhelmed the family. Li Guoming’s
brother-in-law proposed an idea: “My brother-in-law’s family have always wanted
a daughter, why don’t you entrust them to look after your baby girl?” The
mentioned brother-in-law was the head of a neighboring village a couple hundred
li away.
At the time, the officials
searched every household for law breakers; a newborn’s cry would be an
unmistakable loud whistle. After looking after their daughter for a week, Li
Guoming and his wife decided to send the child to be cared for by the village
head. At the break of dawn, the baby girl wailed. Li Fen––recuperating in
bed––also cried, and Li Guoming quietly wiped his tears outside the house. The
family cried in waves. Li Guoming’s brother-in-law urged: “Don’t be late or
others will see it.”
The couple prepared cash, baby
formula, clothes, shoes, nursing bottles and other necessary items for their
daughter. According to local customs, when sending a child away, the adults
should buy noodles and rice candies so that the child will remember her way
back to eat home-made meals in the future––Li Fen prepared these as well. At
the time, she was convinced that the separation was only temporary, and she
would bring her daughter home as soon as the political whirlwind quieted.
Li Guoming carried his sleeping
daughter and walked to the village head’s house with his brother-in-law. Li
knocked on the door three times. The village head then opened the door and took
the baby. Li and his brother-in-law turned and left. Without extra words, Li
Guoming quietly suffered from the pain of separating from a loved
one––described as “flesh peeling off bones” in television dramas.
In order to make a living and to
dodge the family planning officials’ search, Li Guoming and his wife decided to
go to Guangdong as migrant workers. While in Guangdong, they regularly called
their brother-in-law to check on their daughter, and always received reassuring
news.
Lifelong Regret
In 1998, the couple returned
home. They bought new clothes, toys, and snacks to visit their daughter, but
were told that the village head’s family had sent her to the orphanage after
looking after her for just two days.
Li Fen broke into tears: “Why
did they send her away after just two days? Oh, my daughter.” Li Guoming
immediately ran to the orphanage to look for his daughter, but was stopped by
employees.
While his wife cried from dawn
to dust demanding to see her daughter, Li Guoming stood all day long outside
the orphanage, inquiring whenever he saw someone walking in. Nobody said
anything. He stood there until dark, and returned the next morning.
A week later, one of the staff
members asked Li Guoming for his daughter’s birth date, searched for it, and
told Li Guoming that she went overseas and was living a life ten thousand times
better than him, advising him not to worry.
Li Guoming stood there in shock,
his legs turning into jelly. He’d never thought that he’d forever lose his
daughter.
The remorse of losing the child
tormented the couple day and night. Whenever Li Fen thought of her, she wept.
She’d thought the pain of labor had pushed her physical limit to the extreme,
but the pain of losing her daughter was beyond what her body could take. Li
Guoming began to suffer from insomnia, worrying that his daughter would be
mistreated by her foster parents, that she would be discriminated and bullied
in a foreign country, and that she would resent him… He swore that he would one
day find his daughter: “Even if she doesn’t want to acknowledge us, as long as
we know she is healthy and happy, we’ll feel relieved.”
Never Give up
A small village is a small
society. Every son and every abandoned child in a family is public knowledge.
But in this village, the only couple that never gave up looking for their child
were Li Guoming and his wife.
They went to the village and
town government offices to explain the situation, wrote a letter of regret, and
showed willingness to pay the fine. Li Guoming said: “To us, the fine was an
astronomical amount which we couldn’t pay off right away. We both toiled as
migrant workers far away from home. Every time we saved a little money, we went
to the government bureaus to pay the fine, and slowly we paid it off.”
Others mocked Li Guoming for
being unnecessarily honest. He answered not without embarrassment: “What if my
daughter comes back to look for us? We registered our information at the
government bureaus so that she can find us.”
Li Guoming also contacted the
city’s newspapers and TV stations, hoping to publish a missing person notice,
but was rejected every time. He was told: “Given your situation, how dare you
make it public?” Li Guoming explained with grievance that he had never
abandoned his child; he left her to someone else’s care only temporarily, but
never thought she’d be gone. He wouldn’t rest in peace without finding his
child.
He left his cell phone number
and home address to the newspapers, TV stations, orphanages, government
bureaus, and hospitals. He never changed his number or turned his cell phone
off for 25 years, fearing he’d miss any useful information.
The couple worked in remote
towns as migrant workers for seven years before they finally paid off the fine.
Li Fen’s health deteriorated. With borrowed money and a loan, the couple opened
a car wash shop by the road leading to Wuli village. “Because I only have an
elementary school education and know very few people, I figured I could meet
more people from different backgrounds by washing their cars and filling their
water. I’ve met officials, foremen, and tourists; the more people I could meet,
the more chance to find my daughter.” Li Guoming printed out stacks of missing
person flyers and handed them to whomever entered his shop. Some people found it
bizarre and teased him: “I’ve seen parents giving their children away, but
never saw any looking for them.” Some ridiculed him: “If you want a daughter,
go pick one from the temple.” At the time, many unclaimed babies littered the
village; walk through the temples and ancestral halls and you’d pick up seven
or eight abandoned babies,” said Chen Yi, who worked at the local orphanage in
the 1990’s.
Hearing these biting remarks, Li
Fen would comfort her husband: “There is nothing to be ashamed of to look for
our own child. No matter how awful the stuff they say, we’ll keep looking.
What’s there to be afraid of when looking for our own daughter?”
Whenever he had time, Li Guoming
went to the orphanage. He didn’t bother the employees, but stood at the gate,
looking if any foreigner was bringing a child back. When his financial
situation improved, he bought a cart of baby clothes worth 11,116 yuan and
donated them to the orphanage. It was the first time he entered the orphanage.
Babies filled the hallway, some crying, some sleeping, some sucking
pacifiers--the sight greatly depressed Li Guoming.
It was the first time someone
donated so many things to the county orphanage. The staff enthusiastically
pulled Li Guoming and his wife aside and said they could call a reporter to
publicize their good deeds. Li Guoping said: “No no, I’m terrified of that. I
only plead that you tell me if my daughter returns one day.”
First Glimpse of Hope in Ten
Years
For Li Guoming, searching for
his daughter was like walking in the dark––without direction or light. But he
insisted on going forward, to find his daughter when he was still alive. “Home
is where parents are; if we’re gone, our daughter will have nowhere to return
to.”
It wasn’t until 2008 that Li
Guoming’s decade-long search saw the first glimpse of hope.
A regular customer at his shop
admired Li Guoming’s character and was moved by his persistence. He told Li
Guoming: “I have a good relationship with the current head of the orphanage. I
can help you get your daughter’s adoption profile, but I’m going to need some
cash.” Li Guoming immediately understood. He withdrew a stack of cash from his
savings and gave it to the customer. As long as he could find his daughter, he
was willing to pay any price.
The next day, Li Guoming
received his daughter’s adoption profile, which he held like a fragile treasure
while happy tears filled his eyes.
With a new hope, Li Guoming
searched online for updates on oversea adoptees every day. He’d type in the key
words: hui guo xun qin (return to China in search of family members).
“To be honest, I didn’t even graduate from elementary school, but I learned to
explore the internet using my cell phone in order to find my daughter.” He felt
envious and sad whenever he saw oversea adoptees returning home to look for
their parents.
He thought that as long as he
paved the way, when his daughter remembers to look for him, she wouldn’t be
disappointed.
Sometimes, Li Guoming left comments
online to encourage oversea adoptees and send them good wishes. He reflected:
“Whether it’s the adopted child looking for parents or the parents looking for
their child, it’s not easy for anyone.”
In 2016, Yang Bing, a Hunan girl
who returned to China to look for her parents, contacted Li Guoming. She told
him: “I’ll recommend a friend to you. She can help you find your daughter.”
This friend was Lan, the Chinese-American volunteer with 18 years’ experience helping oversee
adoptees to find their biological families. With her help, more than a hundred
families around the world have reunited.
Blood Ties and Hopes
Lan, who lives in the United
States, followed the address on the adoption profile and found Jiang Li’s
American adoptive mother’s email address. She wrote to her and collected Li
Guoming’s DNA sample. While waiting for a reply, Lan felt Li Guoming’s anxious
expectation. She often received messages from Li Guoming between one to three
in the afternoon (one to three in the early morning in China): “Hello, is there
any news about my daughter? Please help me!” Every time, Lan felt sorry to
disappoint the father on the other end.
Sometimes, Lan felt Li Guoming
on the fringe of a breakdown. His message read: “Greetings, Ms. Lan! Are there
still no updates on my daughter? Should I give up? I feel exhausted looking for
her. It’s all my fault. It’s been too painful thinking about her day and night
for more than ten years. I feel guilty. I shouldn’t have given her away. Sorry,
please help me. Thank you!” But he didn’t give up. He collected himself and
continued looking.
Five months later, Lan received
a call from Jiang Li. With great excitement, she asked: “Is everything you
wrote in the email true? Have my parents been looking for me all these years?
Is it true?” Lan, choked with tears, answered: “Yes, it’s all true.”
Lan had thought the story would
have a happy ending. But since Jiang Li was raised by her American mother
alone, to respect her adoptive mother, she decided not to contact her Chinese
parents. “Thank you for telling me that my biological parents didn’t abandon me
and have been looking for me. This fact is very important to me!”
From 1998 to 2018, for two
decades, Li Guoming had never stopped looking for his daughter.
At first, he felt shocked and
surprised when hearing about her. Slowly, he tried to understand her decision.
He said: “Parents should never blame their children. She has her concerns and
we won’t disrupt her life. But whenever she wants to find us, we’ll always be
here.” Upon hearing the news, Li Fen broke into sobs at home: “I want to kneel
down in front of her [American mother] and kowtow to her, thanking her ten
thousand times for raising my daughter. She is my life savior. But we’ve never
given up on our daughter; we’ve been looking for her all these years. We
understand her. As long as she is doing well, we’ll accept any conditions.”
Lan often remembers the story
and feels deeply moved by the kindness and persistence of Li Guoming’s birth family.
“Searching for one’s family is an arduous, long process. Hopes are slim and
challenges abound. Many people give up halfway. It’s really remarkable that Li
and his wife carried on for twenty years.”
After visiting different parts
of China and contacting tens of thousands of broken families, Lan learned about
the many reasons that forced parents to abandon or give away their children, or
find a temporary lodging place for a child as in Li’s case. “Some parents feel
it’s impossible to find their child, so they don’t look. Some parents feel
guilty and conflicted for having ‘abandoned’ their child in the first place, so
they avoid the topic. If Anna’s birth parents think this way, Anna will never find
her parents. How pitiful and sad that would be! Yet most parents don’t know how
to begin the process because they live in rural China with little education or
information. I hope more and more parents will contact me to help them. I’m
willing to do my best to support them.”
Family Search Continues, Hopes
Gleam in a Sea of Crowd
“It
is the blood ties and the hopes for family reunion that have guided us to
arrive here. But only when both parties––parents and children––reach out to
each other can they finally hold hands.” Whether it’s oversea adoptees or
Chinese parents, the journey of reunion has never been a one-way odyssey. Only
when both sides step up can they hope to see each other again.
