■ Event: [Book Talk] Two Books That Connected Us

■ Time: February 25 (Tue), 2025 7pm 

■ Venue: Nuguna Café (near Jonggak Station, Seoul)

■ Moderator: Jung Eun Park(Interpreter and translator;
                Author of I'm Not Sad Every Day Just Because I Don't Have a Mom(unofficial translation))

■ Speakers: Jinsi Bae, Hee Jung Kwon 

■ Hosted and Sponsored by: Unwed Mothers' Initiative for Archiving and Advocacy 

On February 25, 2025, a book talk titled "Two Books That Connected Us" convened to discuss I Am an Upside-Down Tree by Jinsi Bae and This Is a Record of the Lost Children by Hee Jung Kwon. 

I Am an Upside-Down Tree is a documentary novel presenting the narratives of eight Korean overseas adoptees the author encountered while volunteering as an interpreter. The text documents their experiences in the process of searching for their biological parents as part of their efforts to reconstruct their personal histories. 

This Is a Record of the Lost Children examines the cases of infants who were killed, abandoned, neglected, or adopted at birth, tracing how Korean society has treated newborns over time. It also interrogates what measures are necessary to prevent such outcomes. 

This book talk examined the issues of infanticide, abandonment, and adoption from a socio-structural perspective, creating a space for authors and participants to engage in critical discussion. Below are selected passages from the books for further reflection, along with a summary of the conversation. 

■ Key Takeaways for Reflection*
* Please note that these are unofficial translations and paraphrased excerpts rather than direct quotes from the book. They are passages that UMI4AA found intriguing and wished to share. Additionally, in the excerpts from I Am an Upside-Down Tree, the author intentionally uses names and pronouns inconsistently, shifting perspectives between the speaker and the narrator.

From I Am an Upside-Down Tree

I sat on the edge of a seat with four babies next to me and four more baskets at my feet. An adult sat across the aisle. The babies cried alternately for ten hours, and Marc was terrified and couldn’t sleep a wink. One baby cried so much it seemed like it was on the verge of choking. [...] The wailing was apocalyptic. [...] [When they arrived at the airport, Marc] was swept away alone, holding someone’s hand into a completely unfamiliar place. 

In the 1970s and 1980s, in Europe, adopting a child from a poor country was considered a proud achievement [and marker] for the middle class and above.

I am neither ashamed nor proud of being of Korean descent, but I do feel ashamed of being from a ‘discarded’ background. 

Change doesn’t happen just because those directly impacted by the unjust adoption system protest against the state. Those who are not directly impacted by the adoption system but believe the system is unjust must also take action against what they see as an unjust system. 

From This Is a Record of the Lost Children

A female ensures the survival of her offspring only when certain conditions are met, the most crucial of which is access to caregiving resources. These resources include not only food but also the presence of other members of the species that assist in rearing the young. In anthropology, such caregivers are referred to as ‘helpers,’ ‘alloparents,’ or ‘allomothers.’ As long as there are others available to support the caregiving process, even offspring born under unfavorable conditions can become wanted by the parent. 

A society in which infanticide is unthinkable, where newborns are not abandoned on the streets or left wrapped in cloth and tied to trees, is likely one in which women possess a degree of reproductive autonomy and have access to reliable forms of contraception. Alternatively, it may be a society in which mothers can, at their own discretion, utilize established social customs or institutionalized support systems that allow for the delegation of caregiving responsibilities to allomothers.

We have long stood by as children were abandoned in baby boxes, placed in institutional care, or sent for domestic and international adoption under the framework of the ‘normative family,’ allowing the fragmentation of biological families to persist. Now, the introduction of the Protected Birth Bill further reinforces this pattern. Why does the state continue to send children to even more distant and unfamiliar places? I envision a society where mothers are not forced into infanticide, where they do not have to leave their children behind, where children can know their biological families without separation, and where no child is displaced. 

■ Summary of the Book Talk Discussion

1. Documentary Novel, I Am an Upside-Down Tree

   Park: What motivated you to write a book about the experiences of Korean overseas adoptees?

   Bae: While studying in France, I met a Korean overseas adoptee. Unlike my other friends, I found myself particularly drawn to the issue of adoption, and I began to reflect on why that was. I recalled my childhood experience of volunteering at an infant home with my mother. The director there had told us that children sent for adoption would grow up in wealthy countries, dressed like princesses and living well. I had internalized that idealized narrative. As I grew older, I largely forgot about topics like orphanhood and adoption. Then, I met Luc, an adoptee, in France. Luc told me he was unhappy. Later, I witnessed him return to Korea, reunite with his birth parents, and ultimately face rejection. Seeing that experience firsthand made me realize that the stories of Korean overseas adoptees needed to be told.  

  Park: I had assumed that all adoptees were orphans with no living parents. But your book reveals that some children sent for adoption actually had biological parents. Who, then, were the children most often sent overseas? 

  Bae: None of the Korean overseas adoptees I met had the exact same circumstances. Adoption was not always driven by poverty; in some cases, families sent their daughters for adoption simply because they had too many.

  Park: I had assumed that orphanages existed to care for children. Why, then, were so many sent for adoption?

  Bae: When I spoke with mothers who had placed their children in orphanages, many told me they had only intended to leave them temporarily, planning to take them back once their financial situations improved. But by the time they returned, the children were already gone. At the time, poverty was met with disregard, and mothers who were unable to provide for their children were treated with contempt. Today, they might at least have the ability to call out the system, but back then, even questioning it was difficult. 

  Park: Why did orphanages send children for adoption without parental consent? And why did Western countries accept them?

  Bae: At the time, [Korean] adoption agencies received around 3,000 euros per child (approximately 5 million KRW). In addition to these payments, they also received ongoing donations, and over time, adoption became a business. I once told a French adoptee about the 1988 Olympics, saying, “Korea wasn’t that poor by then.” He responded, “You funded the Olympics by selling us.” I had always been taught that the 1988 Olympics were a point of national pride, but during that same period, an enormous number of children were sent overseas. The majority of those adopted were girls, many of whom were exposed to sexual violence.

 Park: It was surprising to learn that some children were sent for adoption due to pressure from in-laws or religious groups, regardless of the parents' wishes. Was there a particular aspect of this issue that you wanted to highlight in your book? 

  Bae: As I listened to the stories of adoptees, I became convinced that Korea’s adoption system is fundamentally flawed and that adoption should be discontinued. This realization deepened when I became a parent myself. I began to question whether a five- or six-year-old child, suddenly placed in a foreign country with unfamiliar parents, food, and environment, could truly adapt and survive. Through this book, I wanted to raise awareness about the realities of adoption.

  Park: This is undeniably tragic. Would domestic adoption be a viable alternative?

  Bae: Domestic adoption remains heavily stigmatized in Korean society. The public perception is shaped by an idealized image of adoption, where a well-dressed baby is presented as part of a heartwarming narrative. However, the reality is far more complex. A child does not remain a baby forever. When considering adoption, prospective parents should imagine that child at the peak of adolescence, around middle school age. If they are still prepared to take responsibility at that stage, only then should they consider adoption.

  Park: Kwon, what was your take on I Am an Upside-Down Tree?

 Kwon: I appreciated that the book did not frame adoption solely as a tragedy or a melodrama. Regardless of whether adoptees successfully reunite with their biological parents or restore those relationships, the process of searching for one's origins is something most adoptees inevitably go through. Even when they discover painful truths about their birth families, that knowledge can help them move forward. While the book was deeply emotional, I also found myself bursting into laughter at the adoptees’ humorous misadventures in Korea, which made the reading experience both poignant and entertaining.

One section of Bae’s book discusses how the adoption of Asian children became a status symbol in Europe during the rise of humanist ideals. I came across a 1972 article that supported this claim. Apparently, French families strongly preferred Korean children, believing them to be highly intelligent and adaptable. The article stated that between 1969 and 1972, France requested 900 Korean children for adoption, of which Korea sent 252. From the 1970s onward, Western societies saw a shift, as the expansion of women's reproductive rights meant that unwed mothers of these countries increasingly chose to raise their children rather than relinquish them. This led to a decline in the number of children available for domestic adoption in the West, while demand for international adoption surged, both due to humanitarian sentiments and as a marker of social status. Meanwhile, Korea received fees for each child sent abroad, often exceeding the country’s per capita annual income. This economic dynamic contributed to the rapid expansion of overseas adoption. 

  Bae: Another reason French adoptive parents preferred Korean children was Korea’s proxy adoption system. In most countries, adoptive parents are required to visit the child’s country of origin, meet the child in person, and go through an evaluation process before the adoption is finalized. If the biological parents later seek information about their child, adoption agencies in those countries are obligated to provide updates. However, Korea’s proxy adoption system allowed for adoptions without adoptive parents ever meeting the child. They were permanently separated from their original families, and adoption agencies operated without oversight or interference. Under international law, an adoptee must be legally classified as an orphan for adoption to proceed. In Korea, this requirement led to the systematic erasure of birth records, with children sent abroad under altered names and family histories. The reality of this practice is profoundly unsettling. 

 Kwon: Adoption has long been framed through the lens of the adoption triad model (adoptee–birth parents–adoptive parents), with discourse predominantly centered on the perspectives and narratives of adoptive parents. There is a critical need to shift this framework and examine adoption from the often silenced or neglected perspectives of birth parents and adoptees. 

2. This Is a Record of the Lost Children (unofficial translation)

  Park: What led you to focus on the issues of infanticide, child abandonment, and adoption? 

 Kwon: I was approached by a publisher to write on this topic. I had been researching and writing about unwed mothers, but I wasn’t sure whether I was equipped to extend my work to agendas about children more broadly. However, I soon realized that the issue of unwed mothers is inherently linked to the fate of their children. Infanticide, abandonment, and adoption are all part of the same structural reality. Recognizing the need for a comprehensive examination, I conducted further research and ultimately wrote this book. 

  Park: Many people assume that motherhood is instinctive and that all mothers are inherently self-sacrificing and loving. How would you define motherhood?

 Kwon: There is a widespread belief that motherhood is a natural trait that all women possess. While maternal care often manifests as an ability to provide unconditional love, it is also contingent on external conditions. If a mother perceives that the survival of her offspring is uncertain, or if there is no one else around to help her in her circumstances, she may abandon her child as a survival strategy. As Sarah Blaffer Hrdy argues, whether a mother chooses to raise or relinquish her child is not simply a matter of personal conscience or morality. It depends on the security of available caregiving resources. In this sense, motherhood is both an essential function and a phenomenon shaped by environmental factors. 

  Park: What conditions are necessary to protect motherhood? 

 Kwon: The presence of ‘helpers,’ those who assist in child-rearing, is essential. These caregivers can be categorized as either familial or social resources. Familial resources include spouses, parents, or close relatives, but not everyone has access to these supports. In some cases, even when family members are present, they may fail to provide assistance or actively pressure mothers into relinquishing their children for adoption. In the absence of familial support, the availability of social resources increases the likelihood that a mother will choose to raise her child. For this reason, a robust social welfare system that provides support from pregnancy to childbirth and through child-rearing is crucial. However, Korea’s support system remains inadequate. Access to safe abortion services is limited, medical coverage for childbirth is insufficient, and financial aid for child-rearing is extremely restrictive. Childcare subsidies are available only to those in extreme poverty, and even then, the amount provided is roughly 300,000 to 500,000 KRW per month, which is grossly inadequate. Without access to these resources, mothers are more likely to resort to abandonment, infanticide, or adoption. In France, all medical expenses related to pregnancy termination and childbirth are fully covered. Korean society must also establish a more comprehensive system of caregiving support. 

  Park: While reading your book, I was particularly struck by the challenges faced by the care-leavers, the young people who age out of the welfare system. Was there anything new that you learned while writing?

 Kwon: Many adoptees emphasize the importance of finding their biological roots, but initially, I didn’t fully grasp the depth of this need. However, as I examined more adoptee narratives for the book, I began to understand how profoundly unsettling it must be to lack a personal history that others take for granted. In I Am an Upside-Down Tree, Bae recounts the story of an adoptee who, upon meeting his birth mother, felt as if a deep void in his heart had finally been filled. Knowing one’s origins, the starting point of life, is a fundamental part of identity. Yet in Korea, privacy laws make it difficult for adoptees to access their birth records. Recently, Democratic Party lawmaker Seung-ho Moon proposed an amendment to the Special Adoption Act to grant adoptees and their families access to information about their biological parents. I hope this legislation moves forward.

  Park: Since last year, Korea has implemented the 'Protected Birth Bill,' which allows the state to take custody of infants born to mothers in crisis. From the perspective of children’s rights and welfare, could this be seen as a positive development?

 Kwon: The Protected Birth Bill allows women in crisis to give birth anonymously and surrender their children to state care. While the policy is framed as a way to protect infants, it ultimately reinforces institutionalized abandonment and the production of orphans. Every child has the right to know their biological origins. Moreover, while this policy may ensure the survival of the child, it completely neglects the needs of the mother in crisis. 

  Park: Bae, how did you interpret This Is a Record of the Lost Children? 

  Bae: I couldn’t put the book down from the first page. It completely challenged my assumptions about motherhood. When I thought of motherhood as a purely instinctual trait, I struggled to understand why parents would relinquish their children for adoption. This book made me realize that systemic support structures play a crucial role in enabling mothers to raise their children.

■   ■ Q&A Session

Q1. What are your future writing projects?

  Bae: I recently started working as an editor for an online news outlet focused on human rights issues. I plan to continue publishing articles, ensuring that Korean overseas adoptees have access to human rights-related content.

 Kwon: I am currently working on a project documenting the history of unwed mothers' oppression in Western countries. Many people are unaware that the mistreatment of unwed mothers is not exclusive to Korea. Between World War II and the 1970s, countless unwed mothers in the West lost their children to adoption. My previous work on this topic resulted in the Korean translation of The Baby Scoop Era, which examines the U.S. case. This year, I will be publishing a book focused on the history of unwed mothers in the U.K., followed by additional volumes covering Canada, Australia, and other countries with similar histories. 

Q2. Official government records state that approximately 170,000 Korean children have been adopted overseas, but unofficial estimates range from 250,000 to 400,000. Why is there such a significant discrepancy? 

Participant: The variation stems from the multiple pathways through which adoptions occurred. A recent study of 600 overseas adoptees found that 5% were adopted without going through adoption agencies. Some children were sent abroad for medical treatment and remained there, while others were informally adopted by relatives or through private arrangements, such as families taking in children of parents with Hansen’s disease. Under U.S. civil law, if both the biological parent placing the child for adoption and the adoptive parent consent through legal representation, it has been and remains possible to proceed with the adoption without involving an adoption agency. Because of these unofficial and untraceable channels, many adoptions were never formally documented, making accurate numbers difficult to determine.

Q3. When volunteering as an interpreter for adoptees, were there instances where you intentionally omitted or softened translations?

  Bae: There were definitely cases like that, though I don’t recall specific details. One thing that stands out to me is that adoptees always brought chocolates as gifts, while their biological parents always gifted them dried seaweed for soup (a symbolic gesture, as they had not been able to cook the traditional birthday seaweed soup for their children who were sent for overseas adoption). Both parties expressed gratitude during the exchange, yet adoptees often couldn’t eat seaweed soup, and older Korean family members weren’t particularly fond of chocolates. 

 Participant: I have also done a lot of interpretation for adoptees. One of the most challenging moments is when biological parents ask, “Did you have a happy childhood?” Many adoptees experienced abuse or sexual violence, making it difficult to determine how to relay this information. These situations put interpreters in a difficult position. 

Q4. Can Korean society accept overseas adoptees as full members of the community?

 Participant: Korean society needs to recognize adoptees as individuals with full personhood and establish institutional frameworks that address their needs. The state, government agencies, and adoption institutions all played a role in the adoption system. Acknowledging this history, taking responsibility for past injustices, and implementing corrective measures are essential. 

 Kwon: Initially, Korean overseas adoptees were classified as foreign nationals. It was only through adoptee-led activism in the early 2000s that they gained recognition as part of the Korean diaspora. However, beyond this legal recognition, little progress has been made. Under the Trump administration, the U.S. began deporting undocumented immigrants, and it is estimated that over 20,000 Korean adoptees remain without citizenship due to neglect by their adoptive parents. If these individuals are forcibly returned to Korea, how will we, as a society, respond? 

 Participant: The first step is for the Korean government to formally acknowledge its responsibility for the adoption system's failures. How to support returning adoptees is a secondary concern. Recently, Adam Crapser, a Korean adoptee who was deported from the U.S., sued Holt Children’s Services and the Korean government for damages but lost his case. While the government is aware of these issues, it continues to evade accountability.

Q5. Why did Korean society fail to resist the violence and practice of fabricating children’s identities and sending them for adoption under the guise of ‘modernization’?

 Kwon: At the time, adoption was framed as a humanitarian act. It was justified through narratives of welfare, protection, and salvation; adoption was seen as a way to "save" both unwed mothers and children, while adoptive parents were cast as benevolent figures. It was only when adoptees and unwed mothers began sharing their own experiences that the hidden realities of adoption came to light. Since the late 1990s, Korean society has gradually started to challenge problematic adoption practices, yet there remains a widespread lack of awareness about these issues.

More than 30 participants took part in a nonstop, two-hour discussion, diving deep into the issues at hand. One thing was clear: protecting children’s rights and well-being starts with making sure no child is abandoned. Hopefully, future government policies will focus on preventing abandonment in the first place, rather than just addressing its consequences.

It was also meaningful to hear moderator Jung Eun Park briefly share her own experience growing up in a single-parent household. A big thank you to author Jinsi Bae and everyone who stayed late and made this conversation so engaging and thoughtful.