China's Stopped International Adoptions: A Chinese Adoptee's Perspective - Part 1

Part One

TW: Mention of suicide, self-harm

On September 4th, I received a notification on Instagram titled, “China’s closed international adoptions.” it was 11:00 PM. Immediately, I texted my closest adoptee friends I had met throughout the pandemic, connecting through various channels and groups like Subtle Asian Adoptee Traits on Facebook and other online and in-person communities. We were all passing along the news, checking in on each other’s mental well-being, and focusing on how we would enter this new era. I hastily posted a thrown-together thought on an Instagram caption calling for community and solidarity during this time.

According to most estimates, China has sent approximately 150,000 of its children overseas throughout its international adoption program (BBC) over the last 30 years, with almost 83,000 of those children being sent to the US alone.

My attitude around and about adoption has changed significantly over the years. From the pride and joy of it all to the rebellion of being touted as a “China doll,” to the rejection of colonization, to the reclamation of my Asian identity, to the radical formation of my own adoptee community, and finally, the realization that we belong to ourselves as Chinese adoptees, can I sit at the intersection of mental health, a survivor of separation trauma, a survivor of geopolitical proxy wars, gender violence, high-control religion, self-harm, racial violence, and so much I cannot list or even begin to describe that has been inflicted upon my soul and etched into my body.

For those who don’t know me, I’m Hannah, Pastor’s kid, mental health advocate, social worker by education, nonprofit girly by trade, and coffee enthusiast by night. I grew up in Waco, Texas, and now live in NYC. Welcome. My own story began in 1994 in the Anhui province; my parents, unable to conceive, prayed for a child and, through God’s grace, were able to adopt a child. Me. Or so the story goes. The story that I was told. That I have been given by them, by the Church and community I grew up in, and by the conservative White majority Texas society into which I was thrust at seven months old. I’m not here to bash religion, politics, or even racial identities. I’m here to point out the reality that they exist. That was simply the context in which I was brought up with no racial or genetic mirrors, no linguistic or cultural bearings, and frankly, a little xenophobic rhetoric sprinkled in here and there by local news media and ignorant elementary schoolyard bullies.

I spent my teenage, identity-forming years coming to terms with a Major Depression Disorder diagnosis before I turned sixteen. I would later find out that Adoptees are four times more likely than the average population to attempt suicide. I was not unique; I had my first attempt in my senior year of high school. Now that I am nearing my 30th rotation around the sun, there will have been at least two more scares and one hospital visit in my life.

I made my way out of “the fog” of adoption when I began to question the sincerity and ethics surrounding overseas mission trips of various evangelical churches, much to the dismay of my evangelical pastor father. I continue to stand by my convictions to this day as I work towards the moral and ethical safeguarding of vulnerable populations throughout my career. As there was no one to safeguard me.