Some Chinese parents say their babies were stolen for adoption

Some Chinese parents say their babies were stolen
for adoption

In some rural areas, instead of levying fines for violations of China’s
child policies, greedy officials took babies, which would each fetch $3,000 om
adoptions.

September 20,
2009
|Barbara Demick
The man from family planning liked to prowl around the mountaintop village,
looking for diapers on clotheslines and listening for the cry of a hungry
newborn. One day in the spring of 2004, he presented himself at Yang Shuiying’s
doorstep and commanded: “Bring out the baby."

Yang wept and argued, but, alone with her 4-month-old daughter, she was in no
position to resist the man every parent in Tianxi feared.

“I’m going to sell the baby for foreign adoption. I can get a lot of money
for her," he told the sobbing mother as he drove her with the baby to an
orphanage in Zhenyuan, a nearby city in the southern province of Guizhou. In
return, he promised that the family wouldn’t have to pay fines for violating
China’s one-child policy.

Then he warned her: “Don’t tell anyone about it."

For five years, she kept the terrible secret. “I didn’t understand that they
didn’t have the right to take our babies," she said.

Since the early 1990s, more than 80,000 Chinese children have been adopted
abroad, the majority to the United States.

The conventional wisdom is that the babies, mostly girls, were abandoned by
their parents because of the traditional preference for boys and China’s
restrictions on family size. No doubt, that was the case for tens of thousands
of the girls.

But some parents are beginning to come forward to tell harrowing stories of
babies who were taken away by coercion, fraud or kidnapping — sometimes by
government officials who covered their tracks by pretending that the babies had
been abandoned.

Parents who say their children were taken complain that officials were
motivated by the $3,000 per child that adoptive parents pay orphanages.

“Our children were exported abroad like they were factory products," said
Yang Libing, a migrant worker from Hunan province whose daughter was seized in
2005. He has since learned that she is in the United States.

Doubts about how babies are procured for adoption in China have begun to
ripple through the international adoption community.

“In the beginning, I think, adoption from China was a very good thing because
there were so many abandoned girls. But then it became a
supply-and-demand-driven market and a lot of people at the local level were
making too much money," said Ina Hut, who last month resigned as the head of the
Netherlands’ largest adoption agency out of concern about baby trafficking.

The Chinese Center for Adoption Affairs, the government agency that oversees
foreign and domestic adoption, rejected repeated requests for comment. Officials
of the agency have told foreign diplomats that they believe that the abuses are
limited to a small number of babies and that those responsible have been removed
and punished.

For adoptive parents, the possibility that their children were forcibly taken
from their birth parents is terrifying.

“When we adopted in 2006, we were fed the same stories, that there were
millions of unwanted girls in China, that they would be left on the street to
die if we didn’t help," said Cathy Wagner, an adoptive mother from Nova Scotia,
Canada. “I love my daughter, but if I had any idea my money would cause her to
be taken away from another mother who loved her, I never would have
adopted."

Twisting the
laws

The problem is rooted in China’s population controls, which limit most
families to one child, two if they live in the countryside and the first is a
girl. Each town has a family planning office, usually staffed by loyal Communist
Party cadres who have broad powers to order abortions and sterilizations. People
who have additional babies can be fined up to six times their annual income —
fines euphemistically called “social service expenditures," which are an
important source of revenue for local government in rural areas.

“The family planning people are even more powerful than the Ministry of
Public Security," said Yang Zhizhu, a legal scholar in Beijing.

Throughout the countryside, red banners exhort, “Give birth to fewer babies,
plant more trees" and, more ominously, “If you give birth to extra children,
your family will be ruined."

But the law does not give officials the power to take babies from their
parents.

Some families say they were beaten and threatened into giving up their
daughters, or tricked into signing away their parental rights.

“They grabbed the baby and dragged me out of the house. I was screaming — I
thought they were going to knock me over," said Liu Suzhen, a frail woman from
Huangxin village near Shaoyang in Hunan province. She was baby-sitting her
4-month-old granddaughter one night in March 2003 when a dozen officials stormed
her house.

She said they took her and the baby to a family planning office, where a man
grabbed her arm and pressed her thumbprint onto a document she couldn’t
read.

Once a child is taken to an orphanage, parents can lose all rights.

“They wouldn’t even let me in the door," said Zhou Changqi, a construction
worker whose 6-month-old daughter was taken in 2002 by family planning officials
in Guiyang, in Hunan province. Zhou tried repeatedly over three years to get
into the Changsha Social Welfare Institute, one of the major orphanages sending
babies abroad, until one day he was told:

“It’s too late. Your daughter has already gone to America."

Perverse incentives

In much of China, villagers live in dread of surprise visits from family
planning officials. It was certainly the case for the residents of Tianxi, a
mist-shrouded village of 1,800 people tucked high in lush mountains near
Zhenyuan.

No matter that the village is a two-hour drive down a rutted dirt road and
then a 30-minute hike uphill, family planning officials make inspections as
often as twice a week. Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, when families were too
poor to pay, the officials would punish them by ransacking their homes or
confiscating cows and pigs, residents say.

Then, in 2003, things changed. The year after the Social Welfare Institute in
Zhenyuan was approved to participate in the burgeoning foreign adoption program,
family planning officials stopped confiscating farm animals. They started taking
babies instead.

“If people couldn’t pay their fines, they’d take away their babies," said a
retired municipal employee from Zhenyuan who used to work as a foster parent for
the orphanage.

“We were always terrified of them," said Yang Shuiying, the 34-year-old
mother whose daughter was taken away.

In December 2003, Yang gave birth to her fourth daughter, delivering her at
home with the help of a midwife. It was an unplanned birth. In fact, her husband
had gotten a vasectomy just a few days before she realized she was pregnant
again.

“I hadn’t planned to have another baby, but once I did, I wanted to raise
her," said Yang, a soft-spoken woman who told her story with downcast eyes.

Her husband, Lu Xiande, felt even more strongly that the girl belonged at
home. Away at the market when the baby was seized, he erupted in fury when he
discovered what had happened.

“I’ll get her back," he promised his distraught wife. He headed off to
China’s east coast, hoping that as a migrant worker he could raise the money to
pay the family planning fine. But Lu fell sick and had to return home. Shortly
afterward, he tried to slit his throat with a butcher knife.

Almost everybody in the village knows somebody whose baby was taken away. An
old man leaning on a hand-carved walking stick told of how his granddaughter was
taken away. A younger man spoke of a niece.

The villagers resent the suggestion by some that they don’t love their
daughters and readily abandon them.

“People around here don’t dump their kids. They don’t sell their kids. Boy or
girl, they’re our flesh and blood," said Li Zeji, 32, a farmer who says his
third daughter was taken in 2004.

Under Chinese law, officials are required to search for the birth parents of
abandoned babies. Four months after Yang Shuiying’s daughter was taken, her
photograph ran in a notice in the province’s Guizhou City Daily along with those
of 14 other babies.

The ad claimed, falsely, that the baby was “found abandoned on the doorstep"
of a home in Tianxi village.

“Whoever recognizes this child should contact the orphanage in 60 days;
otherwise, the baby will be considered an orphan," read the Aug. 14, 2004,
announcement.

The parents say they never saw the notices because they lived in remote
villages where newspapers were not available. In addition, many of the parents
are illiterate and they had been told by family planning officials that the law
allowed them to confiscate the babies, so it did not occur to them to
complain.

The truth emerged because a teacher with relatives in Tianxi village heard
about the confiscations and reported them to police and a disciplinary agency.
When there was no response, he posted complaints on the Internet, which made it
into the Chinese press in July of this year after a few earlier stories were
censored. The teacher is in hiding for fear of retaliation.

The U.S. Embassy said in a statement released in July that it had been
advised by China’s Central Adoption Authority “that seven officials implicated
in this case have been arrested." It added, “The United States takes seriously
any allegation that children were offered for inter-country adoption without
their parents’ knowledge or consent."

But in Zhenyuan, officials denied that anybody had been arrested or fired
from their jobs. They said the penalties ranged from demerits to warnings placed
in their files. Shi Guangying, the official who took Yang’s baby, was
demoted.

Zhenyuan officials angrily defended their conduct.

“It’s a lie that they took babies away without their parents’ permission.
That’s impossible," said Peng Qiuping, a party official and propaganda chief for
Zhenyuan. “These parents agreed that the children should be put up for adoption.
They understood that they were greedy and had more children than they could
afford."

“They’re better off with their adoptive parents than their birth parents,"
argued Wu Benhua, director of Zhenyuan’s civil affairs bureau.

From 2003 to 2007, the orphanage in Zhenyuan sent 60 babies to the United
States and Europe. Given the suspicious clusters of the babies listed in the
notices and the remoteness of the villages where it would be difficult to hike
in and abandon a child, many, if not most, are believed to have been confiscated
by family planning officials.

Wu said the money received from adoptive parents, $180,000 in all, went
toward food, clothing, bedding and medical care for the babies and to improve
conditions in the Social Welfare Institute.

But most of the babies had been housed with families who were paid only $30 a
month for their services, according to one foster parent. And there were no
obvious signs of renovations at the institute, a grim three-story building where
a couple of senior citizens could be seen through barred windows lounging on
cots. Reporters were not permitted to enter.

“We don’t know what happened to the money, and we don’t dare ask," said Yang
Zhenping, a 50-year-old farmer from Tianxi.

Brian Stuy, an adoptive father in Salt Lake City who researches the origins
of Chinese adoptees, has noticed an unusually large number of older babies
reported as abandoned. He suspects these were babies who were confiscated,
stolen or given up under duress.

“If you don’t want a girl, you give her up as soon as she’s born," Stuy
said.

He believes that the $3,000 adoption fee — about six times the annual income
in rural China and usually handed over in new $100 bills — has inspired
abuses.

“It is international adoption that is creating the suction that causes family
planning to take the kids to make money," Stuy said. “If there was no
international adoption and the state had to raise the kids until they turned 18,
you could be sure family planning wouldn’t confiscate them."

Tricking parents

China’s family planning laws don’t just restrict the number of children in a
family. Couples are supposed to get a birth permit before conceiving. Women must
be at least 20 years old and men 24. Couples must have a marriage certificate,
which requires that each partner have proper hukou, the cumbersome residency
permits that control where people live.

Residents in Gaoping, a small town in Hunan province, say family planning
officials have used the fine print of the law to confiscate even first-born
children.

Yang Libing and his wife, Cao Zhimei, both migrant workers, said their
9-month-old daughter, Ling, was taken away in 2005 because, as migrant workers,
they weren’t able to gather all the documents to register their marriage. The
local family planning officials struck when Yang’s elderly parents were
baby-sitting.

They told Yang’s father that the family would be fined the equivalent of more
than $1,000, but that if he signed a document saying that the baby was not their
birth child, but adopted, they would be spared the fine.


//

//

“They were people I knew. I trusted them. They tricked me,"
said the father, Yang Qinzheng, a Communist Party member who, though literate,
didn’t read the document carefully because of poor eyesight.

The officials then took the baby to the orphanage in nearby Shaoyang,
promising to bring her back after her registration papers were filed. The family
did not see her again.

The couple, who had another child later, a boy who is now 3, still grieve for
their daughter.

“Everybody in the village adored her. She had big eyes like saucers and a
smile for everybody she saw," said Cao, the mother. “I think of her all the
time. I wonder if she looks like an American now."

In all, residents say, about 15 babies were confiscated in Gaoping. A
schoolteacher helped families from villages around Gaoping write a petition in
2006, which they submitted to a deputy of the National People’s Congress,
China’s legislative body.

When the news broke in the Hong Kong-based South China Morning Post, some of
the family planning officials were reassigned to other posts, but no one was
arrested and none of the families recovered their children.

“They still have jobs. Nothing really happened to them, but they at least
stopped stealing our children," said Yang Libing, who was a leader of the
group.

But the practice continues elsewhere. In December in Dongkou county, 10 miles
from Gaoping, family planning officials took a nearly 6-week-old boy out of his
mother’s arms, saying the family owed more than $2,000 in penalties because he
was a second child.

“They didn’t say what they were going to do with the baby, just that they
would send him to the orphanage, but I realized that they were planning to sell
him," said the baby’s father, Hou Yongjun, a driving instructor. Unable to raise
the money on short notice, he telephoned everybody he knew, including a
journalist.

At 10:30 that night, Hou’s wife heard a noise and looked out the window to
see two people running away. Thirteen hours after he had been taken, she found
the baby on the doorstep, hungry but unharmed.

Adoption experts say that China’s system is badly in need of repair.

Deng Fei, an investigative journalist based in Beijing who has written
frequently about the issue, believes there should be more scrutiny of the cash
paid by foreign parents.

“That money is a windfall for the orphanages and local officials," Deng said.
“It seduced them into going to look for babies to send abroad."

In Philadelphia, Wendy Mailman, who adopted in 2005 from the orphanage in
Zhenyuan that took in confiscated babies, now questions everything she was told
about the girl who orphanage officials said was born in September and abandoned
in January.

“Why would a mother who didn’t want a baby girl be so heartless as to wait
until the dead of winter to abandon her?" she said.

She wonders what she would do if she discovered that her daughter was one of
the stolen babies. She knows she could never return the Americanized 6-year-old,
who is obsessed with “SpongeBob" and hates the Chinese culture classes her
mother enrolled her in. But she said, “I would certainly want to tell the birth
family that your daughter is alive and happy and maybe send a picture."

“It would be up to my daughter later if she wanted to build a relationship,"
she said.

For many birth families, that would be enough.

“We’d never make her come back, because a girl raised in the West wouldn’t
want to live in a poor village like this," said Yang Shuiying’s mother-in-law,
Yang Jinxiu.

“But we’d like to know where she is. We’d like to see a picture. And we’d
like her to know that we miss her and that we didn’t throw her away."

barbara.demick@latimes.com

Nicole Liu and Angelina Qu of The Times’ Beijing Bureau contributed to this
report.

http://articles.latimes.com/2009/sep/20/world/fg-china-adopt20

 

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