Decades Apart: A Mother's Fight for Justice in South Korea's Adoption Scandal

Han Tae-soon, who lost her daughter Kyung-ha to an illegal adoption in 1975, is suing the South Korean government for negligence in oversight of the adoption system. Their reunion in 2019 was bittersweet, highlighting years of trauma and the government's failure to prevent child trafficking.

For decades, Han Tae-soon tirelessly searched for her daughter, Kyung-ha, who vanished from their home in Seoul in May 1975. "I asked her to come with me to the market, but she said she wanted to play with her friends," Han recalled, her voice filled with pain. It would take over 44 years for them to reunite, by which time Kyung-ha had transformed into Laurie Bender, a middle-aged nurse living in the United States. Allegations surrounding her disappearance suggest that she was kidnapped and sent to an orphanage before being illegally adopted in America.

This heart-wrenching story is part of a larger pattern in South Korea’s adoption history, which has recently come under scrutiny for claims of widespread fraud, human trafficking, and illegal adoptions. Approximately 170,000 to 200,000 children have been adopted out of South Korea since the formalized program began in the 1950s, making it one of the largest overseas adoption systems globally.

In a groundbreaking inquiry earlier this year, findings revealed that successive South Korean governments had committed human rights violations through inadequate oversight, allowing private adoption agencies to profit from the "mass export" of children. This unprecedented revelation has opened avenues for legal action against the state. In this pivotal moment, Han Tae-soon has chosen to take a stand and is suing the South Korean government for failing to protect her daughter.

Han's case is particularly poignant, as she is the first biological parent among hundreds of other affected families seeking reparations from the state. As she prepares for her court date next month, the government has expressed sympathy for the suffering experienced by families separated for decades but remains reluctant to take full responsibility. "I spent 44 years ruining my body and mind searching for my daughter," Han lamented, emphasizing the emotional toll of her decades-long struggle.

Throughout her search for Kyung-ha, Han exhausted all resources, putting up flyers and appearing on television to gather leads. Her breakthrough emerged in 2019 when she joined forces with 325 Kamra, a group utilizing DNA technology to reconnect adoptees with their birth parents. The diagnosis of their familial link resulted in an emotional reunion that underscored the deep connection that remained despite the passage of time.

Their reunion was marked by intense emotion, Han even recognizing Kyung-ha by her hair—developed skills from her 30 years as a hairdresser. "I've been a hairdresser for 30 years. I know my daughter's hair," she shared, tears streaming down her face. The overwhelming emotion of the reunion was coupled with immense guilt, as Han expressed concern over the trauma Kyung-ha experienced due to the separation.

Kyung-ha's journey from her home to the United States began when a stranger lured her away under false pretenses, claiming her mother didn't want her anymore. This horrific act highlights a dark era in South Korea's past, where thousands of vulnerable children were taken from their families and placed into a system rife with exploitation. The truth and reconciliation commission investigating these illegal adoptions contends that many adopted children were falsely labeled as orphans, often created through deception and coercive practices.

The long history of South Korea's overseas adoption practices emerged in the wake of the Korean War, when the country faced economic and social upheaval. Few families were willing to adopt domestically, prompting the government to establish adoption programs that ultimately lacked stringent regulatory oversight. As a result, private agencies operated with minimal accountability, leading to a paradox where the needs of adopted children were secondary to the financial incentives driving the industry.

Despite recent reforms aimed at limiting overseas adoptions, the scars from past practices remain with adoptees and birth parents alike. As Han struggles to maintain a relationship with Kyung-ha—now hindered by significant language barriers—she reflects on the trauma that has defined her life. "My entire life has been ruined… no amount of money will ever make up for what I've lost," she stated, encapsulating the unquantifiable pain and longing that is all too common among families affected by these systemic failures. As Han prepares for her court battle, the ongoing fight for justice heralds a call to confront the scars of history and seek accountability for those who have suffered.