A Mother's Long Search: South Korean Woman Sues Government After Reuniting with Kidnapped Daughter

Han Tae-soon, whose daughter Kyung-ha was kidnapped in 1975 and adopted illegally in the U.S., is suing the South Korean government for accountability in a deeply flawed adoption system. Questions surrounding the systemic issues of fraud and trafficking in overseas adoptions are resurfacing, following a landmark inquiry that found extensive human rights violations.

Han Tae-soon’s journey of searching for her daughter Kyung-ha spanned over 44 long years, beginning in May 1975, when the young girl was playing outside their home in Seoul. Han, now 71, recalls asking Kyung-ha to join her at the market, only to return home and find her missing. Decades later, the two were reunited, but Kyung-ha, now living as Laurie Bender in the United States, was hardly the same little girl Han remembered.

Laurie had been abducted and subsequently placed for illegal adoption in the U.S., a tragic story all too familiar within South Korea’s notorious adoption system. Han is now suing the South Korean government, which failed to prevent her daughter’s kidnapping. Her case is part of a larger reckoning regarding the country’s adoption practices, where accusations of human trafficking, fraud, and illegal adoptions have surfaced.

Since the establishment of South Korea’s overseas adoption program in the 1950s, an estimated 170,000 to 200,000 Korean children have been adopted abroad, largely driven by private adoption agencies acting with little government oversight. A recent inquiry criticized this lack of regulation, referencing “mass export” of children for profit and calling out the extensive human rights violations that ensued.

Experts assert that Han's legal battle could pave the way for more lawsuits against the government, as victims continue to draw attention to the systemic issues underlying overseas adoptions. With her court appearance set for next month, Han has stated her resolute desire for recognition: “I spent 44 years ruining my body and mind searching for [my daughter]. But in all that time, has anyone ever apologised to me? No one. Not once.”

The reunion between Han and Laurie in 2019 was filled with emotion, as they embraced at Seoul’s airport; Han sought confirmation through the touch of Laurie’s hair, a tactile memory from their past. Yet, the aftermath of their reunion has been bittersweet, hindered by language barriers and the geographical gulf. They keep in touch through sporadic texts, but with Laurie having lost much of her Korean language skills and Han struggling with English, their communication remains fraught.

Adding to the pain are reflections on the broader implications of their experiences within something termed a “trade in children.” Background histories have revealed that many children were taken from their families under questionable circumstances, involving falsified records and a lack of consent from birth parents. Critics of the adoption system have long questioned how an impoverished South Korea could justify the mass exportation of its children during a time of rapid economic advancement.

While the South Korean government is currently revising adoption procedures in the wake of this scrutiny, the lasting trauma experienced by parents like Han and adoptees like Laurie will take more than policy changes to heal. Han is determined to see justice served, lamenting, “My entire life has been ruined… no amount of money will ever make up for what I’ve lost.”