Adoptee Deportation: It Matters!

Ever hear of Russell Green?  Joao Herbert?  Kairi Shepherd?  I hadn’t either until a few months ago and now, knowing their stories, it’s nothing short of shocking that their names are not more familiar.  These three people are only a few of a growing list of international adoptees who have been deported from the US back to their countries of birth or who risk deportation.  Joao Herbert was deported back to his birth country, Brazil, where he was murdered a few years later.  Kairi Shepherd and Russell Green continue to reside in the US, but their fate is unknown.  The scary reality is that many international adoptees may be in danger of being deported back to their countries of birth; countries they may have no clue how to survive in.  Imagine being told you had no choice but to go live someplace where you don’t know the language, culture or a single person to help you out.  Your entire life would be disrupted.  You would have to leave your home, your job, your family, everything.  Oh, and the cherry on top, you would be labeled as an ‘illegal immigrant’.  All because you did not become a US citizen.

Okay, so citizenship is not the only component to this situation.  More accurately, adoptees who lack US citizenship and who have committed a criminal offense risk deportation.  Mind you, the term ‘criminal offense’ can cover many a crime.  Kairi Shepherd committed fraud due to her struggle with drug addiction.  Jess Mustanich, who was deported to El Salvador, burglarized his father’s home at age 18.  Many of the crimes in question were committed by adoptees when they were in their late teens and appear to surround drug possession, fraud and burglary.  I realize the way I’m phrasing this sounds possibly biased and more sympathetic towards the adoptees, and that’s about right!  These crimes do not justify removal from one’s country.  To these adoptees, the US is home; the only place they’ve ever truly known and felt comfortable in.  The law is stripping them of what they trusted to be theirs.  And, oh heck, Blanca Catt?  As far as I know, she did not commit any sort of crime and yet she, too, came under fire for her lack of citizenship after being smuggled into the US as a toddler.

It might be easy to jump to the conclusion that the adoptive parents are to blame.  However, the lack of citizenship has not come at the fault of the adoptee or, in many cases, even their adoptive parents.  Jess Mustanich’s father tried numerous times over multiple years to secure citizenship for his son, only for agencies and resources to fumble around and never do anything about it.  Some adoptees ended up passed from place to place, living in child welfare limbo where no one secured citizenship for them.  That path to citizenship is not without barriers.  Those barriers became fewer when the Child Citizenship Act of 2000 was passed, essentially giving international adoptees automatic citizenship upon arrival in their receiving country.  While this is great for many adoptees, it does not protect those born prior to 1983.  What is in place to protect the rest?  Sadly, nothing that I know of.  Not yet, anyway.

I have to admit I was quite ignorant on this entire issue up until fairly recently and now it’s one of those disturbing things that I cannot possibly unlearn.  What disturbs me most, however, is how little attention this problem is getting.  Kairi Shepherd’s case seems to be the most prevalent in the media, but even her story barely has footing.  This is a human rights issue that has been glossed over for years.  If this is the first time you’re reading about adoptee deportation, know that it isn’t new news.  Joao Herbert was deported over a decade ago!  This is an ongoing problem and those at risk need a solution now.  Although this situation does not apply to me, these are fellow members of the adoption community hurting in a big way.  They need the support of their community, adoptees, APs, friends and all.

So, community, what can we do about this besides get mad about it?  (Getting mad is a good start, though!)  Get informed.  Google the names mentioned in this post.  Click this link to find a list of deportation cases.  Sign a petition to amend the Child Citizenship Act to help those at risk of deportation.  Spread the word about this social issue to whoever will listen to you. 

(Special thanks to Land of Gazillion Adoptees for challenging adoptee bloggers to write about this topic in the month of June.  Better late than never, right?) 

Coming out as an immigrant

I’ve long identified myself as an adoptee from Korea, but only recently have I come to acknowledge my identity as an immigrant. ‘Only recently’ being about four months. I think from my education and exposure to current events growing up, I learned to associate immigrants within certain contexts that did not include me. In eighth grade, we took a trip to Ellis Island and had learned its history in class. As I grew older, I became more aware of immigrants in modern day. Even now, I notice my hometown area continue to diversify as more immigrant families move in. In spite of my growing awareness, however, I just never connected to the notion of being an immigrant myself. Even if I was born outside of the United States, I assimilated so much that some days I don’t even legitimately feel Korean. My nationality is American and it is all I’ve known. Immigrant? Me? Are you sure?

The turning point came one day during my diversity & oppression class. Somehow we landed on the topic of whether or not people should have to learn English if they are to live in the US. A heated discussion began. The girl that sparked it all identified herself as an immigrant and a refugee from West Africa. Her family came to the US when she was 11 to escape warfare. She expressed a deep frustration and sadness at being forced to assimilate into an entirely new culture. Her family had little choice: leave everything you know behind or stay and risk death. They picked life at the loss of their first, only and most loved culture. I listened to the story, completely transfixed by my classmate’s pain. She was more than sad; she was downright bitter. She resented America for imposing its new language and lifestyle on her in the wake of such a traumatic move. Many classmates had a hard time accepting her words and some felt clearly burned by them. I felt burned, too, but in a way I never expected. Emotions had been building up inside me the entire class and when we let out, my friend Liz sat beside me on a bench and let me cry.

It took me days after the fact to realize that I was grieving. I am not a refugee. I did not have 11 years of another culture to recall like my classmate did. Our lives have been drastically different, and yet her emotions felt familiar to me. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how much our lives were shaped by cultural displacement. My departure from Korea was not a direct result of warfare, but I also had no say in the matter. What say does a six-month old baby have in who will care for her or where she will live? We both lost our first homes, our first cultures. And although we were both young at the time, age does not invalidate the impact of the loss. Even as adults, it is a loss we continue to live with. Because no matter how much we are forced to or even choose to assimilate, there is no denying that we were once a part of another country, born into another life. It perhaps is not the most tangible of losses to bear, but it is so very real. It is a loss that should be talked about without shame and without being minimized in gravity. I think one of the greatest cruelties a person can do another is to belittle their pain.

After that unforgettable class, I sought out my classmate and thanked her for everything she was brave enough to say. We hadn’t really spoken much before that, but I just had to break the ice. A number of classmates had been upset with her. I wanted her to know that I wasn’t. And that she had another immigrant in the class who had her back.