Editor’s note: South Korea has a long history of sending its children abroad for adoption.  The issue of overseas adoption is connected to issues of women’s and children rights, poverty and discrimination, and race and migration. By listening to the voices of women who grew up in other societies and then returned to the country of their birth, Ilda hopes to hear their experiences and the messages they hold for Korean society. This series is supported by the Korea Press Foundation’s Press Promotion Fund.

 

The 50,000 adoptees living in the USA without American citizenship

 

At the same time, not all intercountry adoptees to the U.S. were naturalized as citizens. Since 2011, I’ve volunteered with other internationally adopted people to close the loophole of the Child Citizenship Act of 2000. The CCA granted automatic citizenship to children adopted from abroad. However, it excluded anyone who was 18 or over as of February 2001. Due to negligence on the part of the adoption agencies, adopters and our sending countries, this has resulted in an estimated 50,000 intercountry adoptees living without citizenship. We wrote letters on behalf of Russell Greene and Kairi Shepherd and were able to halt their deportations. In addition, we worked to amend the CCA to include all adopted people. However, our efforts were blocked by members of the Congressional Adoption Caucus.

 

My own experience in becoming a citizen involved missing school in kindergarten, something that never happened in my family. I had nearly perfect attendance and if I faked being sick to stay home just because I didn’t feel like going to school, I had to write my own excuse note to my teacher. This day was different because my adoptive mother was giving me permission to miss school. We went to the courthouse with a family friend where I stood before a judge who by the power vested in him, granted me U.S. citizenship with all its rights and privileges. We went out for lunch to celebrate and our family friend gifted me a book about the U.S. Constitution and an American flag. I still have the book, flag and memory of that significant day. The book is a bit yellowed and the flag a bit discolored but the memory crystal clear. At the time, I didn’t realize the significance of that day but it certainly seemed special and important if I had to get dressed up and was allowed to miss school.

 

As I was preparing to return to Korea for the first time in 2001, return was a common topic amongst adopted Koreans I met with the perpetual question, “Have you gone back?”. I met a woman who hadn’t returned because she was still a Korean citizen and couldn’t get a U.S. passport. She knew what she needed to do but just hadn’t gotten around to it. I remember feeling quite amazed at her situation, somewhat envious that she, unlike myself, hadn’t been stripped of something so essential to my Korean identity and heritage.

 

I would learn over the years that hers was not a unique experience as there are an estimated 50,000 intercountry adoptees living without citizenship not only from Korea but also Haiti, India, Iran, Vietnam, Costa Rica and any other country that has sent children to the U.S. for the purpose of adoption.

 

People have asked me, “Shouldn’t adopted people be U.S. citizens if their adoptive parents are U.S. citizens?”. The governments of our sending and receiving countries have yet to answer this question. A few years ago I asked my adoptive parents how they knew they needed to go through the naturalization process for me to become a U.S. citizen. They said it was always on their list to follow through on after five years at the guidance of the adoption agency. They weren’t allowed to take me out of the country during this five-year period and prior to our court date, they, along with our family friend were interviewed to ensure a legitimate inter-country adoption.

 

As adopted person, it’s easy to fall into the trap of playing the What If? game but it’s rarely useful for me to hypothesize my life. However, I realize with the lottery that adoption is, I too could easily have been one of the 50,000 adoptees without citizenship. Had I never been naturalized, would I have had the same educational and career opportunities? I’ve been able to earn my undergraduate and graduate degrees, which were only possible because I was able to apply for financial aid. Last spring my job was eliminated after nearly seven years with the same employer. Within two months I was fully employed again and still have recruiters contacting me about new opportunities. I’ve lived and worked abroad, have traveled to over 40 countries, I can vote and have my driver’s license.

 

Not My White Savior, my first poetry collection

 

Most of this would not be my reality if I’d never been naturalized. Growing up in a rather fundamental, legalistic home and church, justice has always been a driving force for me. I feel a responsibility to rectify this human rights crisis. The emotional labor involved in this work is exhausting and somewhat traumatizing. I’ve experienced backlash and opposition and some of this has come from other adopted people, usually those who have citizenship.

 

▲ Performing at a poetry reading. (photo by Kuya Paul)

 

However, I have the luxury of moving on from this work at any time. Instead I wrote a poem. Poetry is in my opinion one of the greatest literary devices. In a poem I can say what I find difficult to say outside of a poem. Poetry for me is therapeutic. It’s meditation for my soul.

 

I wrote the persona poem Return to Sender http://www.julaynelee.com/poetry partly as my way of processing what it must be like to find out accidentally that you are not a U.S. citizen and then to live in deportation limbo as well as a way to bring attention to an oft overlooked issue, the human rights catastrophe of adoptees without citizenship. Poetry has in many ways helped me document my history.

 

I remember visiting the War Memorial in Seoul on a hot, humid July summer day. With nervous excitement I approached the section where inter-country adoption should be placed only to be disappointed at the absence of any mention of the nearly 200,000 Koreans sent abroad for the purpose of adoption. I felt as if I didn’t exist. Because in this historical documentation I didn’t. We didn’t.

 

I had nowhere to go with some of my conflicting thoughts and feelings but my own words on paper would not talk back to me but instead validate me because they existed. And reading them over and over was like someone telling me I mattered.

 

When I moved to Los Angeles a few years ago, I met a palm reader or as she preferred to be called, a hand analyst. I must have told her that I write poetry; although, I did not at that time refer to myself as a writer or a poet. She told me I would be published. I smiled, thanked her and laughed to myself. Other than a few independent publications from more than a decade prior that I preferred to keep quiet about, I had no aspirations to publish anything. I rarely read at an open-mic and had several unfinished poems and essays in my files. If I didn’t finish anything, then there could be no expectation to read publicly or publish.

 

Being blessed with a generous literary community in Los Angeles, I eventually found open-mics, workshops and a creative writing and publishing program that facilitated my debut collection of poems Not My White Savior. In publishing a book and documenting my journey and history, if writing is resistance, then it is also post-adoption services not only as therapy for myself but also for others.

 

When I began reading publicly in 2005, people asked to translate my poetry in Korean, they asked for copies of my poems and wanted to talk with me about my poetry. I wasn’t interested in any of this as I was processing and needed writing as my space to heal and rage in response to a country that had tried to erase me. I am still healing but am at a place where I’m able to share my writing with others. I see my book is activism as I’ve heard from a number of inter-country, transracially adopted people that reading Not My White Savior has helped them know they’re not alone.

 

In the fall of 2017, I hosted the first known poetry reading by adopted people of color. It made an impact on all who attended, poets and audience members alike. https://womenwhosubmitlit.wordpress.com/tag/julayne-lee I knew I wanted to continue this path and was able to do so with the support of venue space. In December 2017, I launched Our Words: A Writing and Expression Workshop for those who identify as adopted people of color, indigenous adopted people and racially ambiguous adopted people. The workshop has brought together many who have never had the space to speak their truth in an environment free of judgement and shame. That alone is validating and life affirming. Since then, the workshop has traveled across the country and in November 2018, I produced Our Space, episode 3 in the reading series.

 

Writing can come in many forms and as a result of the 2017 Ends of Adoption Symposium at University of California Irvine (UCI), I collaborated with a transnational coalition of scholars and activists to draft the Declaration Calling for an Immediate End to the Industrial International Adoption System from South Korea. The Declaration was submitted to the administration of incoming president Moon Jae-In to bring attention to the lack of integrity in the current system.

 

▲ My first poetry collection, published by Rare Bird Books in March 2018

 

PAS, especially as activism, continues to be a necessary part of my journey

 

While ICA from Korea continues, the Declaration, signed by overseas adopted Koreans, scholars and Korean nationals, stands as documentation of our call for an end to a system that is no longer necessary. https://koreanadoptiondeclaration.wordpress.com

 

My activism stems from the belief that ICA is everyone’s issue and everyone’s thinking should be challenged beyond the conventional discourse. I hosted the first ever adopted Asian Americans caucus at the 2013 Advancing Justice Conference in Los Angeles which brought together multiracial adopted and non-adopted Asian Americans, 2nd generation Korean Americans and Asian American adoptive parents. I believe it is important to continue increasing awareness around ICA outside of the adcommunity and received an incredible amount of support to host this caucus.

 

However, someone suggested the caucus be called Asian American Adoption Community instead of Adopted Asian Americans. I politely declined the suggestion as I felt it was important to center the voices of adopted people as adoptee voices have been absent and silenced for far too long. Since then, I’ve hosted or attended adoptee caucuses at the APIA Spoken Word and Poetry Summit (2011) and VONA/Voices 2018. And I’ll be hosting the first AWP reception for adoptees and foster alum in 2019.

 

My hope is for Not My White Savior to continue to bring validation to other adoptees and empower them to voice their truth whether on social media, in a support group or in their own family. PAS is not something that adopted people graduate from. For me, it is a necessary part of my adoption journey. It has taken on many forms but primarily activism has been the foundation for me to heal, navigate my identity and maintain my mental well-being.

 

Keeping safer spaces for adoptees should be the norm. Most of us had no choice in our removal from our original families so it should be no surprise to adopters and adoption agencies that post adoption services are needed for the long-term. To ask us to pack away our need for PAS is to ask us to not be adopted. If only it were possible to reach back into our histories and correct that which brought us to need a lifetime of healing from our family separations.

 

*Note: Excerpts of this essay were included in the Celebrating ASK: 10 Years of Adoptee Solidarity Korea booklet (2014) in my essay ASK: Creating a shift in society.

*Bio: Julayne Lee is an overseas adopted Korean American poet, essayist, artivist, art curator and producer. Her debut collection of poems Not My White Savior (2018, Rare Bird) was on BookTrib’s list A Year of Memories: 15 New Memoirs We Can’t Wait to Read This Year and Bitch Media’s Bitchreads: 15 Books Feminists Should Read in March.

 

Not My White Savior was included in the 2018 Poets House Showcase in New York, their 26th annual exhibition of the nation’s poetry books. A Las Dos Brujas and VONA alum, Julayne's poetry and writing have been published in Cultural Weekly, Korean Quarterly, The Nervous Breakdown, Portside, Uri Shinmun, Zoom Info Korea and elsewhere. She's curated readings and hosted writing workshops for adopted people of color across the country.

 

Co-founder of Adoptee Solidarity Korea – Los Angeles (ASK-LA), she also volunteered with the Adoptee Rights Campaign (ARC) to ensure citizenship for all adoptees. Julayne has read and spoken on adoption at universities and symposiums throughout the U.S. & Korea and has an MAEd from Hamline University. When she's not writing or at a literary event, Julayne enjoys stand up paddleboarding (SUP), travel, films, Korean dramas, wine and cupcakes.

 

Follow her on facebook, instagram and twitter @julayneelle julaynelee.com

Published Nov. 24, 2018

Korean article: http://ildaro.com/8353

 

◆ To see more English-language articles from Ilda, visit our English blog(https://ildaro.blogspot.com).

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