I think I have search on the brain right now. I'm not exactly sure why. But there it is, and I figure I should just run with it.
However, in my fixation about thinking through the issue of search, I want to be clear about something. The NCFA and other opponents to equal rights for adoptees would have you believe that open records is about search and reunion. It's not, and that is important.
By conflating the two issues, the NCFA avoids the equal rights argument and tries to suggest that what we are fighting for is the right to have relationships with our biological families. Of course, no one has the right to any relationship, so it seems easier to refute this position. It's called a straw man, and it's a fallacy. But if done well, it can be rhetorically effective.
The fact of the matter is, adoptees have a right to access government documents about themselves, the same documents every other citizen has access to. It doesn't matter for what purpose they want them. These are their documents. They have a right to them. We have a right to them.
Open records is simply about giving us the same rights everyone else has. It's about providing us access to documents that no other person is denied.
The issue of search is important. And it requires each adoptee to decide how to approach it, how they need to go about answering the questions, for themselves. Some may never search. But it is their decision.
The issue of open records is about equality and civil rights. We are owed these documents. And any discussion that avoids that simple observation is really avoiding the true issue. This is what it's about. And anyone who cares about adoptees should support open records.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
The Rhetoric of Marginalization
There are a number of commercials on television now whose first line of dialogue begins with the word "Fact!" Indeed, I just saw an Advil commercial that begins that way.
Of course, many times, what follows the exclamation "Fact!" in such commercials is almost never an actual fact. This is a corollary of something I often tell my students: Whenever someone uses the word "clearly" or "obviously," what follows is almost never clear or obvious.
I thought of this as I was doing a little bit of research for today's post. I was looking through various materials trying to recall where I had read that, according to the NCFA, few adoptees search for their biological families. Sure enough, it was in their "Adoption Factbook IV." In several articles, they claim that few adoptees search. Those who do are in the minority. And yet, curiously, they don't cite evidence for this "fact." They simply assert it over and over again. (This is the same method George W. Bush used to "prove" that Iraq had WMD.)
Of course, the NCFA has a vested interest in maintaining the perception that few adoptees search. There are political and economic motivations. Further, in perpetuating the perception that few adoptees search, they help discourage more adoptees from searching. If adoptees who are considering searching are told that it is abnormal to search, they are less likely to do it.
The reasons why are clear enough. There is, as I pointed out yesterday, a great deal of ambivalence for many adoptees regarding searching. There are emotional obstacles to doing so. Putting out the message that they would be in the minority of they searched simply reinforces those inherent obstacles.
I think that's part of why that passage I quoted yesterday from Being Adopted seems so important to me. Every adoptee searches. Every adoptee goes through these questions. How they resolve them varies. And I won't sit here and say that there is only one right way to resolve them. For me, I needed to hear the story from her. If someone else doesn't, that's okay. But that doesn't mean the person hasn't thought about the story, hasn't asked him or herself the questions.
Every adoptee needs to know that it is not unusual to ask these questions, to want to find some answers. They should be allowed to grapple with them in their own way, at their own pace, to be sure. But this repeated message that "most adoptees don't search" is harmful. Adoptees who hear it learn to stuff their curiosity and their emotions regarding their origins. However they decide to resolve these issues, they should be allowed the freedom to do so in their own way. They shouldn't have to hear, over and over again, how one way of doing so is strange and something most (normal?) adoptees never do.
Of course, many times, what follows the exclamation "Fact!" in such commercials is almost never an actual fact. This is a corollary of something I often tell my students: Whenever someone uses the word "clearly" or "obviously," what follows is almost never clear or obvious.
I thought of this as I was doing a little bit of research for today's post. I was looking through various materials trying to recall where I had read that, according to the NCFA, few adoptees search for their biological families. Sure enough, it was in their "Adoption Factbook IV." In several articles, they claim that few adoptees search. Those who do are in the minority. And yet, curiously, they don't cite evidence for this "fact." They simply assert it over and over again. (This is the same method George W. Bush used to "prove" that Iraq had WMD.)
Of course, the NCFA has a vested interest in maintaining the perception that few adoptees search. There are political and economic motivations. Further, in perpetuating the perception that few adoptees search, they help discourage more adoptees from searching. If adoptees who are considering searching are told that it is abnormal to search, they are less likely to do it.
The reasons why are clear enough. There is, as I pointed out yesterday, a great deal of ambivalence for many adoptees regarding searching. There are emotional obstacles to doing so. Putting out the message that they would be in the minority of they searched simply reinforces those inherent obstacles.
I think that's part of why that passage I quoted yesterday from Being Adopted seems so important to me. Every adoptee searches. Every adoptee goes through these questions. How they resolve them varies. And I won't sit here and say that there is only one right way to resolve them. For me, I needed to hear the story from her. If someone else doesn't, that's okay. But that doesn't mean the person hasn't thought about the story, hasn't asked him or herself the questions.
Every adoptee needs to know that it is not unusual to ask these questions, to want to find some answers. They should be allowed to grapple with them in their own way, at their own pace, to be sure. But this repeated message that "most adoptees don't search" is harmful. Adoptees who hear it learn to stuff their curiosity and their emotions regarding their origins. However they decide to resolve these issues, they should be allowed the freedom to do so in their own way. They shouldn't have to hear, over and over again, how one way of doing so is strange and something most (normal?) adoptees never do.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Every Adoptee Searches
When I started actively searching for my first mom, I started getting a little crazy. The emotional turmoil of deciding to move forward with a search, the waiting, the wondering, the ambivalence, the feelings of disloyalty... All of it drove me a little mad. (For those that know me, a little MORE mad.)
I began scouring the internet for resources to help me. I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I didn't really know anyone adopted when I was growing up (or really, until I got into reunion), so I didn't know how other adoptees felt about this. I just wanted some insights into what I was going through.
I stumbled upon a review of Being Adopted: The Lifelong Search for Self by Brodzinsky, et al. I ordered it from Amazon and began devouring it immediately. The book was a life-saver in many ways: for the first time in my life I realized I wasn't alone in how I felt about adoption. I think that's why the book is still the first one I recommend to anyone when it comes to books about adoption.
One passage, in the first half of the book, has stuck with me:
Those questions are some of the earliest ones I can remember. Asking them helped shape my childhood and, ultimately, my identity.
We usually take "search" in such a literal way. And it is heavy with implications and pitfalls. What does it say about our feelings towards adoption, towards our adoptive family, towards ourselves? But I have to believe every adoptee searches, in precisely the way that Brodzinsky and his co-authors suggest.
Some adoptees may resolve those questions without ever performing a literal search. Or some might abandon the search before it ever gets that far. But I have trouble believing that any adoptee never asks these, and related, questions. Never wonders about where they came from.
Those questions, that wondering, is a form of search. We may forgo carrying it through to the end, to finding out real answers, but the questions are always there to be asked.
I'm glad I found some of my answers.
I began scouring the internet for resources to help me. I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I didn't really know anyone adopted when I was growing up (or really, until I got into reunion), so I didn't know how other adoptees felt about this. I just wanted some insights into what I was going through.
I stumbled upon a review of Being Adopted: The Lifelong Search for Self by Brodzinsky, et al. I ordered it from Amazon and began devouring it immediately. The book was a life-saver in many ways: for the first time in my life I realized I wasn't alone in how I felt about adoption. I think that's why the book is still the first one I recommend to anyone when it comes to books about adoption.
One passage, in the first half of the book, has stuck with me:
We are often asked, "What percentage of adoptees search for their birth parents?" And our answer surprises people: "One hundred percent." In our experience, all adoptees engage in a search process. It may not be a literal search, but it is a meaningful search nonetheless. It begins when the child first asks, "Why did it happen?" "Who are they?" "Where are they now?"
Those questions are some of the earliest ones I can remember. Asking them helped shape my childhood and, ultimately, my identity.
We usually take "search" in such a literal way. And it is heavy with implications and pitfalls. What does it say about our feelings towards adoption, towards our adoptive family, towards ourselves? But I have to believe every adoptee searches, in precisely the way that Brodzinsky and his co-authors suggest.
Some adoptees may resolve those questions without ever performing a literal search. Or some might abandon the search before it ever gets that far. But I have trouble believing that any adoptee never asks these, and related, questions. Never wonders about where they came from.
Those questions, that wondering, is a form of search. We may forgo carrying it through to the end, to finding out real answers, but the questions are always there to be asked.
I'm glad I found some of my answers.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Rebelling and Adoption
One of the things that has been amazing for me during my reunion with my first mom is how similar we are. Our interests, our fears, our peculiar neuroses... I had long suspected that, in the nurture versus nature debate, nature had a lot to do with things.
That's not to say nurture doesn't have a role to play. I know that my (adoptive) family had an impact on the person I would become. That was never really in doubt.
But I have to admit I didn't fully appreciate the nature side of this until I reunited with my mom. I know that not every adoptee experiences the connection that I did. For me, though, it was huge. My mom noticed it, too, as she has said a number of times that she thinks she and I have more in common than she does with any of her other boys.
And I've thought about that. I know that often, when children are raised by their biological parents, they often go in very different directions than their parents. Academics often don't have children who are particularly interested in school. Very religious parents often find their children are somewhat apathetic towards religion (or vice versa).
Which has gotten me thinking... Am I so much like her because she wasn't around to rebel against? Instead of rebelling against those parts of me that are most like her in order to establish my own, separate identity, it seems as though I embraced those parts. Maybe as a way to hang on to whatever connection with her I had even in her absence?
I don't pretend to fully understand human psychology, or even my own psychology. I never really took an interest in developmental psych. But I have to admit this question fascinates me.
That's not to say nurture doesn't have a role to play. I know that my (adoptive) family had an impact on the person I would become. That was never really in doubt.
But I have to admit I didn't fully appreciate the nature side of this until I reunited with my mom. I know that not every adoptee experiences the connection that I did. For me, though, it was huge. My mom noticed it, too, as she has said a number of times that she thinks she and I have more in common than she does with any of her other boys.
And I've thought about that. I know that often, when children are raised by their biological parents, they often go in very different directions than their parents. Academics often don't have children who are particularly interested in school. Very religious parents often find their children are somewhat apathetic towards religion (or vice versa).
Which has gotten me thinking... Am I so much like her because she wasn't around to rebel against? Instead of rebelling against those parts of me that are most like her in order to establish my own, separate identity, it seems as though I embraced those parts. Maybe as a way to hang on to whatever connection with her I had even in her absence?
I don't pretend to fully understand human psychology, or even my own psychology. I never really took an interest in developmental psych. But I have to admit this question fascinates me.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Demons of Adoption Awards 2009
Just a quick note to let you all know that the annual Demons of Adoption Award was announced by Pound Pup Legacy yesterday. The "winner" was Bethany Christian Services. From the announcement:
You can read the whole announcement, with a lot of history of the adoption industry and it's self-congratulatory "Angels in Adoption Awards," at Pound Pup Legacy: Bethany Christian Services recipient of the Demons of Adoption Awards 2009. It's a really informative read. It's also a pretty disturbing read.
To raise a voice against adoption propaganda and the self congratulatory practices of CCAI's annual Angels in Adoption AwardsTM, Pound Pup Legacy initiated the Annual Demons of Adoption in 2007. This year there were many 'worthy' nominees, but members and visitors of PPL's website decided Bethany Christian Services to be most deserving to receive the award. Bethany Christian Services has over the years used coercive tactics on pregnant women to obtain infants for adoption and has used its influence, both in the US and abroad to create 'orphans' to further expand their business.
You can read the whole announcement, with a lot of history of the adoption industry and it's self-congratulatory "Angels in Adoption Awards," at Pound Pup Legacy: Bethany Christian Services recipient of the Demons of Adoption Awards 2009. It's a really informative read. It's also a pretty disturbing read.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Identity
Identity is a social construction. Who we are is shaped, in part, by the messages we receive starting at a very young age. It is not just that, of course. And there are elements that are ingrained in us from birth. Our temperament, for instance, is basic building block of our personality. It helps shape our reactions to things that happen to us.
So many different bits play a role in shaping our identity, it's hard to tease them all out and understand how they impact us. All of which leaves us with a temptation to oversimplify the situation. We want to point to just one thing, or a couple of things as essential to our identity. But we have to resist that impulse.
When I try to explain the importance of reclaiming my original birth certificate, it usually results in blank stares. "I have my birth certificate and it didn't affect my identity." Of course, the person who says that cannot really know it didn't affect his or her identity. They've always had that information.
The adoptee who lacks it often can't escape the sneaking suspicion that something magical might be contained in that document. That something essential to identity is hidden there, and they are being kept from it.
While I don't deny I have, at times, been tempted to overblow the importance of my OBC, part of me isn't sure that it's possible. After all, it is a part of my identity, and something I should have.
Maybe even more than the information is what it symbolizes. After all, when I did get my OBC, I already knew what it said. But that isn't why I wanted it anymore. I wanted it because it returned to me a measure of control. A measure of what was lost all those years ago. I got back a bit of power over how my identity could be defined.
There is a power in these kinds of symbols. It is obvious that there is power or groups wouldn't be trying so hard to keep adoptees from them. They wouldn't be trying so hard to keep us from reclaiming this piece of ourselves. And the harder they try to keep them sealed, the more adoptees become convinced that there really is something magical hidden inside.
What could be more magical than a piece of yourself?
So many different bits play a role in shaping our identity, it's hard to tease them all out and understand how they impact us. All of which leaves us with a temptation to oversimplify the situation. We want to point to just one thing, or a couple of things as essential to our identity. But we have to resist that impulse.
When I try to explain the importance of reclaiming my original birth certificate, it usually results in blank stares. "I have my birth certificate and it didn't affect my identity." Of course, the person who says that cannot really know it didn't affect his or her identity. They've always had that information.
The adoptee who lacks it often can't escape the sneaking suspicion that something magical might be contained in that document. That something essential to identity is hidden there, and they are being kept from it.
While I don't deny I have, at times, been tempted to overblow the importance of my OBC, part of me isn't sure that it's possible. After all, it is a part of my identity, and something I should have.
Maybe even more than the information is what it symbolizes. After all, when I did get my OBC, I already knew what it said. But that isn't why I wanted it anymore. I wanted it because it returned to me a measure of control. A measure of what was lost all those years ago. I got back a bit of power over how my identity could be defined.
There is a power in these kinds of symbols. It is obvious that there is power or groups wouldn't be trying so hard to keep adoptees from them. They wouldn't be trying so hard to keep us from reclaiming this piece of ourselves. And the harder they try to keep them sealed, the more adoptees become convinced that there really is something magical hidden inside.
What could be more magical than a piece of yourself?
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Fear
The comment left on Tuesday's post has had me thinking.
I was struck by the fears that Shari, an adoptive parent, expressed about failing her daughter and how her daughter might feel about her later in life. I suspect that many adoptive parents would be able to relate. The one that stuck with me most forcefully was the fear that her daughter might one day hate her.
I can honestly say I don't know too many adoptees that hate their adoptive parents. I'm sure there are a few. Many of those, I suspect, were abused and have good reasons. And there may be some who weren't abused and still hate their adoptive parents. But there are also biological children who hate their biological parents. It happens. But I suspect it's rare.
That's not to say I don't understand the fear at all. I do have some sense of it. Indeed, I often don't talk to my (adoptive) parents about adoption. I suspect that even if they could hear my feelings about it without feeling as though it's about them, they might still feel upset. They might wonder if they did something wrong.
The answer is, they didn't. I mean, sure, they did things wrong. What parent doesn't? But they didn't do anything wrong to adopt me. Just because I hate adoption doesn't mean I hate them. I don't. I don't think I ever have.
They made mistakes. They were bound to. No parent, adoptive or otherwise, can avoid making mistakes. And children, adopted or biological, survive those mistakes. And most, I think, don't forever hold them against their parents.
I don't know if it's useful to hear me say this, but I've been thinking about it a lot the last few days, and I wanted to put it out there.
I was struck by the fears that Shari, an adoptive parent, expressed about failing her daughter and how her daughter might feel about her later in life. I suspect that many adoptive parents would be able to relate. The one that stuck with me most forcefully was the fear that her daughter might one day hate her.
I can honestly say I don't know too many adoptees that hate their adoptive parents. I'm sure there are a few. Many of those, I suspect, were abused and have good reasons. And there may be some who weren't abused and still hate their adoptive parents. But there are also biological children who hate their biological parents. It happens. But I suspect it's rare.
That's not to say I don't understand the fear at all. I do have some sense of it. Indeed, I often don't talk to my (adoptive) parents about adoption. I suspect that even if they could hear my feelings about it without feeling as though it's about them, they might still feel upset. They might wonder if they did something wrong.
The answer is, they didn't. I mean, sure, they did things wrong. What parent doesn't? But they didn't do anything wrong to adopt me. Just because I hate adoption doesn't mean I hate them. I don't. I don't think I ever have.
They made mistakes. They were bound to. No parent, adoptive or otherwise, can avoid making mistakes. And children, adopted or biological, survive those mistakes. And most, I think, don't forever hold them against their parents.
I don't know if it's useful to hear me say this, but I've been thinking about it a lot the last few days, and I wanted to put it out there.
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