The Haitian Adoption Conundrum

With the recent Haitian earthquake, international adoption has again come to the front pages of world newspapers and stories about it are abundant. I see two different narratives here: One is the parents who have already gone through most of the paperwork of adopting a Haitian child. The earthquake struck and now they are left wondering if they/when will see their kid. The others are the many families in this country and others who viewed with shock the devastation and believe adopting the surviving children is something they should do. The article below sums up the first group and their issues quite well.

“Painful Limbo for Parents Adopting Haitian Kids”

I feel for the parents who have nearly finished the adoption process, and now wait with anxiety to hear about the children they were so close to calling their own. What a terrible feeling that must be for them.

But this post is not about those families; this is for the people moved by the events on the ground and believes that adoption is the best option. Sometimes it might be, but generally it’s not. Consider this quote from UNICEF:

“Unicef’s position has always been that whatever the humanitarian situation, family reunification must be favoured,” spokeswoman Veronique Taveau said during a press briefing in Geneva. “The last resort is inter-country adoption.”

At the risk of sounding too negative, and as awful as the events are in Haiti, a family must be fully prepared emotionally if they are going to adopt a Haitian earthquake orphan. Haiti has been a mess for decades and rebuilding it (to be better than it was) will take an untold amount of time. But a knee-jerk reaction to “save” Haitian kids also will have consequences that reverberate for years as well. I’m glad to see that children’s relief advocates and organizations are cautioning people about letting their emotions rule over their logical minds when it comes to adopting Haitian children. To want to save the kids is a rational, human response, but that doesn’t make adoption the right one.

I’ve read about some people advocating massive baby lifts out of Haiti, comparable to the ones in 1975, which took place in Vietnam. I don’t think this is a good idea for a few reasons. One is that there are millions of kids in awful situations who have no future all over the world. Just because there was a national disaster does not mean they should all be taken to other countries. I do not remember any call for a baby lift type of mass evacuation of orphans after the South Asian Tsunami or the Pakistani Kashmir earthquake in 2005.

Consider this statement from the Joint Council on International Children’s Services regarding the possibility of airlifts.

“While both airlifts and new adoptions are based on valid concerns and come from an obviously loving heart, neither option is considered viable by any credible child welfare organisation,” said the Joint Council on International Children’s Services, a US advocacy group. “Bringing children into the US either by airlift or new adoption during a time of national emergency can open the door for fraud, abuse and trafficking.”

The second reason, one that we don’t like to dwell on, is that children are endangered, exploited, orphaned and left without hope or a future everywhere. Always have been, always will be. That doesn’t mean they should be forgotten, but it does mean the problem is too big for adoption to solve. The international community should be more focused on changing the conditions on the ground. I would like to see them more concerned with changing the environment which causes the needs for adoption in the first place. This includes ensuring they have access to healthcare and education, rebuilding infrastructure, removing structural and institutional inequality and keeping family units together as much as they can, along with a host of other improvements – rather than putting them on planes and taking them from their homelands.

Further grounds against adoption now are the massive loss of paperwork. Millions of pages and records have been destroyed and lost. There are bound to be cases where a parent or family member comes forward and says their child were taken from them. But without documents to prove otherwise, they won’t have a case. In the midst of the chaos extended family members of children won’t be contacted, or won’t be found in time and the children will be considered orphans.

What about the adoption fast tracking that is bound to occur in the process for these children? Should the prospective parents not be subjected to the same rigorous examinations that so many adoptive parents elsewhere have gone through, merely because they are adopting Haitian earthquake orphans? Is this good for the child? I’m not saying this is going to happen, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it did. The world is focused on Haiti right now and particularly its most vulnerable. Finding them homes quickly is the type of feel-good story the media loves to tell, in order reassure those who aren’t affected that something good will come from this.

Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not an emotionally detached observer of the Haitian catastrophe. My heart breaks for those kids who are without family because of the earthquake and I want them to have a better life. The last things I want to see or read about are hopeless children without basic needs in the poorest country in the Western hemisphere. Materially, a better life would come from leaving Haiti, on that point I don’t think someone could argue. However, to me it is imperative that anyone who is thinking about adoption of a Haitian during this crisis should be fully aware of what they are getting themselves into. When I say this, I’m not necessarily referring to the families in the article and the other ones who have already met their children, gone through a majority of the paperwork and await their children’s arrival. I’m talking about the many that will read the dreadful stories about the kids in Haiti and decide based on a humanitarian response that they should adopt.

As I’ve said before, adoption is a messy process. You may be taking the child from a life of poverty and difficultly (certainly the case in Haiti and elsewhere) but there are adoption wounds which can never be fully healed. When you adopt a child from Haiti are you going to be able to help them get in touch with their birth culture? Do you have a long-term plan about how you, as probably a different race from your child, will be raising a Haitian? Additionally, any Haitian orphan who is newly adopted at this point will have the label of an “earthquake orphan.” I can only imagine how difficult that mark will be as they grow older, as endeavor to understand what that means and how that forms their identity growing up.

The issue of adopting Haitian children orphaned by the earthquake is a complex one. There is not a right answer, or an easy one. The plights of these children should not be ignored, and yet adoption of all of them is not a feasible response either. I can’t totally fault someone for believing they need to “do their part,” and adopt a child from Haiti. I’d just like the dialogue to focus a bit more on their eventual life elsewhere, rather than on their immediate sense of danger. If they are adopted and leave Haiti, there will be a lot of life to be lived afterwards, and they need to be given every chance to make the most of it.

Exploring Adoption Consciousness

I have two adopted siblings who are also from India, but we are not blood relatives. A lot of people wonder if they are involved within the adoption field like me. Do they speak about it or share their thoughts with non adopted people? The simple answer is no. Without putting them on the spot here or making them feel uncomfortable, they don’t discuss adoption at all and if they do, it’s certainly not with people outside of our family. And that is totally fine.

As I’ve discussed and many of you know, international adoption is a complex emotional process. Frequently I hear parents ask about their children’s adoption consciousness. More specifically, “when will my child start to explore their adoption as you have?” My answer – I just don’t know.

I think for a lot of adoptees, they begin to question their adoption and how that fits into their overall identity, as they start questioning who they are during their teenage years. It seems like a natural point of life to begin exploring identity issues. For others, they begin unpacking their “adoption box” when they are younger, and don’t necessarily have the words to describe all their feelings. For other’s they don’t even look into that box until their late 20’s, 30’s, and older. There is no right age to start doing so. For some adopted people, they have no interest in opening up that box and I think that’s acceptable.

My mom and I were talking recently about if a parent should push their child to explore their adoption. Again, this is an individual choice. On one hand the parents could easily turn their children off to ever discussing adoption if they bring it up repeatedly and the child is not ready or does not want any part of that conversation. On the other, when parents make no mention of it, I think that sends the wrong signal as well. It’s a fine line in discovering when to talk about adoption or not and there’s no one out there, no book or blog, movie to watch etc., which will tell an adoptive parent when they might be crossing it. The answer goes back to one of my mantras, being open, but more than just being open, being aware. You as the parent know your child (presumably) and you will have to decide whether you think they want to talk about it. But if you get no answer, then you should not push.

Adoption feelings are so unique and personal. There is nothing wrong with a child, a teenager or an adult, who does not want to explore that part of their identity. For many who have not yet or will never delve into that part of their lives, an outsider would not necessarily be able to tell from the surface if their silence has affected them or not. In our “let’s talk through everything culture,” sometimes it’s best to let adoption lie. I know I just angered social workers, psychologists and a host of other folks, but here’s my stance. Why push them? Or better yet, why make an adopted person feel like there’s something wrong with them because they don’t want to talk about their experiences, feelings and thoughts on the topic? To use the cliché, “why fix something that is not broken?”

In the case of my brother and sister, I have no real idea what they think about being adopted. We don’t discuss our adoptions with one another. It’s something we all share; I know we hold it as special to us and it uniquely bonds us together. But I don’t chat about the world of adoption with them and I’m pretty sure they don’t talk about it with each other. I have heard they are proud of me for talking about my thoughts and being open enough to do write about it. But rarely have they commented to me about this blog and I have no expectation that they should do so.

I can’t stress this enough. Adoption processing and opening the box, is not easy and it’s ok if adopted people don’t do it. They aren’t necessarily going to become angry and bitter because they never explored this part of their identity. For a good number of people, you would never know they were adopted. Talking about their adoption makes uncomfortable. Or it’s not a big deal to them or anything they even think about. That is their prerogative. Furthermore, for many adopted people they don’t consider being adopted part of their identity at all and I don’t have a problem with that.

I write about my experiences because I think I can put them into words in better ways than others and feel like I (as an adopted person) have a perspective that needs hearing. But, I’m still going through the journey myself, constantly discovering what’s in the “adoption box” on my own. Sometimes I get overwhelmed with it all, but for me it’s important to explore. For others they have no desire, no need and don’t want to and that is just as fine.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

Friends,
Greetings from snowy, cold, New Jersey. I am here with my entire family celebrating Christmas and it’s been wonderful.

I hope you are all having a beautiful time with your families and loved ones this Holiday Season. I would like to thank you so much for reading and responding to my blog. It has brought me great joy being able to share my always evolving ruminations with you all, and to hear your thoughts back to me. Thanks so much!

Two quick related things before I go. One, eight years ago today, my family was running around like crazy getting ready to embark on our first trip to India. I will never forget the days in India or the days leading up to our departure.

Secondly, my sister just returned from living and working in the orphanage where she began her life in Pune, India. What a big step that was for her and one that I don’t think I could ever make. I look forward to talking with her about her experiences before I go back to Washington, D.C. and may share some of her thoughts with you all as well, depending on her level of comfort.

Again thanks for reading my blog and I will be posting more in the near future. If there is any particular topic that you would like to hear an adoptee’s thoughts on, please don’t hesitate to suggest something. I really want this to be a dialogue, not just me writing to the masses.

Children of “their own.”

I happened upon this article last week and it brought up a few long standing topics in the adoption arena. But there’s one particular issue I’d like to examine today and that is the idea of an adopted child as “second best.”

“Adopting a New Attitude”

I get really annoyed when I tell people I’m adopted and then after the inevitable, “Have you met your real parents?” question, they ask me something similarly disturbing: “Were you adopted because your parents couldn’t have children of their own?”

As if “their own” means only a birth child could truly be their child. First of all, it’s completely impolite to ask such a delicate question about my parents. Why do people, the second I tell them I’m adopted, think that social convention is no longer necessary, asking personal questions which are intrusive, disrespectful and most alarmingly, unintelligent? This drives me crazy, just because I’m adopted does not give you carte blanche to ask me any question that pops into your head. It’s like the “where are you from” question, it’s never as innocent as it seems when someone is adopted.

But I digress, the other issue I have with the “children of their own,” question is that I have no easy answer. To say “yes,” feels like I’ve revealed something of a sensitive nature about my parents that I don’t feel comfortable sharing with the general public. Not to mention, even if they personally don’t feel that it’s something shameful, or has a negative connotation, it’s not my place to discuss my parents’ reproductive ability. That is not a socially appropriate conversation for me to have without my parents’ presence. But if I deflect the question by saying “no comment” or something similarly political, people view that as admitting my parents couldn’t have natural children. And more often than not, they view that fact as negative- so the situation is lose-lose.

But the insinuation of “their own” is the most irksome to me. Why does it matter, if I am a child of my parents through natural birth or by adoption? I am no less of a child to my parents because I was adopted. By the same token, I am not more of an “authentic” child if I had come from my adoptive mom’s body. I am not special because I am adopted. I am special because I am a human being of intrinsic value as a person.

I have been told time and time again by my mother, that she could not love me more if I was of her own flesh. My father has said he could not feel any more connected to me than if he helped give me life. Those are beautiful sentiments and they mean the world to me. I am theirs, the fact that I’m an adopted child does not make me a second rate kid, neither does it make any adoptee that way. My parents love for me and my siblings is not diminished because I didn’t come from their physical union.

Adoption is not the “fall back option” when parents can’t conceive naturally. Sometimes after trying to get pregnant parents can’t have children and decide that they want to adopt. Adoption is another option and a personal choice to start a family. They want to be a parent(s) and shower a child or children with love, care, etc.., who is anyone to say that because the child was adopted their status in the family is less than biological childs? Children should not have “status” all all, they are part of the family. It does not matter if they were adopted or otherwise, that is the end of the story.

Just because a couple didn’t adopt in the first place doesn’t make their desire for adoption the next best alternative. Some parents decide from the beginning they would like to adopt, but it’s not a rejection of natural birth. Other times parents who are able to have a biological child, give birth and then decide they would like to supplement their family through adoption. This doesn’t make them confused, nor does it make the adopted child less their own.

Making judgments and jumping to conclusions about the motivations behind parents adopting children first, or after natural birth or not at all needs to stop. Adoption as I’ve said before is 1) a deeply personal process for everyone involved and 2) arises for many different reasons. No one has the right to judge parents’ actions in this regard. They create a family in the way they feel is best. How can anyone have the gaul to say one choice is better than another?

What do you think of my sentiments? Am I correct in feeling that adoption has a negative connotation and that adopted children are looked at frequently as “second best?” Please comment and let me know.

Donaldson Institute-Identity Study

Hello everyone, I apologize for not writing in a long while. My graduate studies are keeping me quite busy, as it’s nearly the end of the semester.

I just found this article over the weekend and it’s full of issues that I’ve written here on my blog so far. Check it out below.

Adopted From Korea and in Search of Identity

A few thoughts:

One of my favorite things to read in the article was the comment from Adam Pertman the executive director of the Donaldson Institute regarding listening to the “adoptee voice.”

Finally, they are asking the adopted people themselves how THEY feel about their adoption. The study went directly to the source. ““We wanted to be able to draw on the knowledge and life experience of a group of individuals who can provide insight into what we need to do better,” Adam said.

His attitude is a welcome step in the right direction.

As readers of this blog know, that is one of the biggest reason why I scribble my thoughts on this page. It’s crucial for people to hear about adoption and it’s consequences and the lives of adopted people, from the ones who have been adopted themselves.

One a more somber note, it remains sad to me how many parents are afraid when their adopted children begin exploring their birth roots. I feel for people like Ms. Towne (a personal friend) and quoted in the article who said ““A lot of adoptees have problems talking about these issues with their adoptive families. “They take it as some kind of rejection of them when we’re just trying to figure out who we are.” One of the things I stress to anyone whom I converse with about international adoption, is the overall spirit of openness that must be there throughout the whole process for both adoptive parents and the adoptees.

Adoption is a complicated, emotionally chaotic situation, however, hiding behind fears of rejection, as many adoptive parents do, when their adopted children just want to “know where they came from and who they are,” merely makes the situation worse and potentially increases resentment as the adopted person grows older.

I am so grateful to my own parents for always letting me explore my identity and never shying away from the tough questions about my birthmother and birthfather, Indian roots and whatever my life was before I joined theirs. They have allowed me and blessed my efforts as I continue on the road to discovery of what being adopted means to me and how my adoption and my birthculture shapes my identity to this day. I can’t thank them enough for that.

Elton John and Celebrity Adoptions

Once again another celebrity is getting into the adoption game. This time it’s 62 year old Elton John. Ugh. Great. Is this really necessary? A number of people want to know my thoughts about celebrity adoption, you are about to hear them.

One of my biggest concerns with celebrity adoptions is the ease and speed in which they are conducted. While ordinary people wait many months, even years to receive a child, celebrities go through paperwork in a matter of weeks. It’s patently unfair to those who have gone through proper channels and have waited excruciating amounts of time to be passed up on the list just because someone is well known. Why should a famous person get a child through adoption any faster? If anything it should be a MUCH slower process for them. What kind of home study was going on for Madonna and Angelina Jolie? What social workers were looking into their households to determine if they were fit to adopt a child? I would think they never had to deal with that intrusion on their lives. Shouldn’t there be due diligence done on them, as there is for the rest of the adopting world?

Celebrities should have their ability to raise a child scrutinized even further than a non famous couple or parents. Who thinks a child that grows up in a celebrity house is going to be any better adjusted than a child who goes to a regular family situation? To me it’s almost a laughable question. Not only will they be pampered and live in a world most of all will never know, their parents by the mere fact they are celebrities have a much greater likelihood of not being involved in their lives. If the child is going to be raised by a number of high priced au pairs, and servants, while their parents have minimal contact with them, how is that beneficial to the child?

Adoption is already a complex emotional process. There is no need to add the burden of fame and being in the spotlight to a child who is desperately trying to fit in with their new family.

Some may say, being adopted by a celebrity is great, because they will never have to worry about material possessions and will live a life “better” than anyone could imagine. Yes, eventually they may be wealthier according to Western standards of consumption. For sure; they will be able to have all the toys in the world, and will almost certainly be able to do whatever they want with their lives, as money will be no object. But are those reasons enough to justify a celebrity adoption? In my view no amount of money or material possession could ever take the place of love, a sense of belonging, and acceptance of that child as your own which parents can bestow. All the opportunities and riches are great, but if you don’t feel loved and wanted, what good is all the rest?

One of the biggest issues I have with anyone who adopts a child internationally is their future plan to help that child get in touch with their birth culture. I don’t think anyone should adopt a child from another country if this is not the case, celebrity or otherwise. Now tell me, what are the chances that celebrities not only will value the birth culture of their children, but will give them the opportunity to explore it? From what I’ve read, they want to “Americanize,” their children as soon as possible. Essentially erase connections of their children’s former lives from adoption onward. That’s patently wrong.

International adoption should never be an “it” thing to do. That some people look at a foreign adopted babies as the newest “thing” to have disgusts me. Children are not a trendy accessory in order for you to feel better about yourself, or to feel like you can keep up with Angelina and Brad. I’m talking about a child. A living, breathing human who I feel in some cases is being bandied about in a game of one-upmanship and used to show off a higher social status. I realize not all famous people view internationally adopted children this way, but I fear some do.

So far I’ve only discussed the effects on the children and society, while not touching on the effects celebrity adoption has on the orphanages and societies where the children are born. First off, it seems to me that bringing high visibility to orphanages is a double-edged sword. On one hand I am glad that the plight of some many of the world’s abandoned and orphaned children goes to the forefront of national news. On the other, adopting a child may lead many mothers in less developed countries to put their children in orphanages in the futile hopes that their child too will be picked up by a famous person in the Western world.

While international adoption’s existence can be debated, and I will discuss that in a later post, I believe countries should be working with parents and families to help keep everyone together. Giving your child for adoption should be one of your last options. I would love to see a world someday where the structural failings of a society no longer existed, in order for international adoption to cease. But that world is utopian and never coming. In the meantime I’d like to see governments and other institutions which work closely with families help developing nations understand the importance of keeping their children with their birth parents. Celebrities have clout with other governments and NGO’s because of their humanitarian beliefs, and money. Could they use that political currency to help address the underlying social situations which make adoption neccessary?

I realize I have made some sweeping generalizations, but the topic gets me fired up. What do you all think? This is an issue that I’ve heard discussed from adopted and non –adopted people and everyone seems to have an opinion on it, I want to hear yours.

From Indifference to Love: How my Affection for India Evolved –Part Two

As I discussed here, my Indian heritage was a source of deep embarrassment and shame most of my young life which included my junior high and high school years. Coincidentally India’s stature on the world stage increased, as my love for it grew, from my Senior year of high school in 1998 through the present. After high school I attended the University of Delaware for college.

Again though, I felt uncomfortable with Indian students. Actually I tried to show interest in the Indian Student Association, but that did not turnout as planned see my post about thin slicing.

The turning point in how I viewed India came when I finally returned the spring of my junior year of college. My affection for India started to grow exponentially during and after my visit for three weeks in 2001. Growing up, our family dream was that all five of us would travel to India when we were old enough to appreciate it. After my grandmother unfortunately passed away the fall of 2000, my parents decided to use their inheritance money to finance our long-awaited journey to land of our births.

My return to India with the family merits its own set of blog posts, but I will mention a few things about it. One, it changed my life in a deep way. I looked at the world differently; I viewed my own life through a new lens. I became passionate about returning for a longer period of time, at some point in the future. Spending three weeks there with my entire family was the most intense emotional experience of my life. I must have cried myself to sleep half the nights I was there. My trip to India was a watershed event for me, and its effects continue to this day. The biggest change: for the first time I was proud to be known as Indian.

Before leaving for India, my mother suggested I contact a girl from Namaste (the group of adopted kids from Madison), who I had grown up with. She was a fellow Indian adoptee who had already made the trip back in her teen years. Besides my own brother and sister, my mom reasoned, I was not in communication with any other Indian adoptees. I did not think Ruthie would remember who I was and so I blew my mother’s suggestion off. However, Ruthie would resurface in my life a short time later.

A little more than a month after I returned from India I asked my mother for Ruthie’s email address and wrote her a message. I received a response a few days later, thus re-connecting with a woman that I knew as a young child in Madison. Over time my relationship with Ruthie evolved into one of the closest friendships I have. In fact Ruthie and I have an incredible story, one that I’ll share with her blessing at a later time.

I had fundamentally changed. I began speaking wistfully of India and my experiences there. Somehow, I was always working India into my conversations with people. I was fascinated with her politics and plotted ways to get back using my journalism education and political science background.

In the coming months whenever I would meet someone who looked like they were from the subcontinent I would politely find out. “You look you are from the subcontinent, right?” And then pretend to hide my glee when they replied, “Yes, I’m from Delhi, or Bombay, Madras, Pakistan,” or other places. I’d reply that I was from Kerala, and then try continuing the conversation. Two things would happen at this juncture. Either they would say some Hindish (Hindi-English mixture) or they would feel awkward and leave. Both responses were less than optimal. But I was putting myself out there as an Indian person, owning it, loving it, and proud of it.

The majority of Indians that I met in those few months and coming year and change did not become anything more than minor acquaintances. They were for the most part on the opposite quest from me. They were trying to become more American, looking to shed their accents, their Indian stereotypes and their clumsy English conversational skills. They were essentially trying to be more like me (the American), and I was trying to get more into the world they were desperate to minimize. It was a glaring contrast.

I began reading books about India at a prolific rate. My first read was Arundhati Roy’s “The God of Small Things.” Ruthie bought it for me. About my home state Kerala, it’s a beautiful story and remains one of my favorite books of all time.

I devoured books about modern India, about the Moghuls and the ancient Indian kingdoms, and the many novels of Salman Rushdie, a favorite author of mine. I read Gandhi’s biography, books about the Partition, current Hindu-Muslim relations in North India, the history of spices and Indian trade and a host of other sub topics about India, her people, her culture and her history.

I found an Indian restaurant near the college and began going there for Sunday buffet lunches. Over time I began bringing large groups of friends there as well. I’d always loved Indian cuisine and was happy to share what I consider one of the best ethnic food groups in the world with my college buddies. I became for my non-Indians friends, a portal to all things Indian. It was thrilling.

Some things, however, remained the same. I still felt out of place and alienated by the Indian-American community. I still had no grasp on any native Indian languages and my friends were all non-Indian. I was getting to “know” India, rejoicing in my heritage in purely solitary ways, save for my Sunday lunches. As my collegiate life came to a close, my initial earnestness to get in touch with my Indian roots began to dissipate. The reason; the journey was my own, but I wasn’t really sharing it with anyone. It was a lonely adventure for me.

After a stint of living at home, I decided to move out of my parent’s house and down to Washington D.C. Thus began another phase of my trying to connect. After moving to DC I began attending cultural events based around Indian holidays, Diwali, Independence Day and Republic Day. I went by myself to see local dance troupes perform in front of family and friends for Republic Day celebrations. I ate the Indian fare at tables and tried to make conversation with those around me. I even went to the Indian Embassy here in Washington, for a raising of the tricolor and to take part in Independence Day. Everyone around me seemed to enjoy the festivities in large groups. But I was by myself, feeling self-conscious and definitely alone.

I wanted to bring other people, but the few Indian friends I had were not interested in going. Since I knew the gatherings would be primarily Indians, I was aware that bringing non-Indian friends would mean annoying stares all day. If there’s one thing I’ve realized about the Indian-American community over the years is that when you’re in their world, and you have non –Indians with you, you’ll feel like a celebrity with all the attention.

My journey from isolation to exploring my Indian-ness with others finally came about when I joined an adult adoptee group called “Desi Adoptees United (DAU).” It was founded by my friend Lata in New York a few years ago, and it’s made up of more than 30 Indian adopted adults throughout the country. We post messages regarding identity, birth mothers, culture and many other issues on a Yahoo group board.

The group also gets together every year in a random US city for a weekend of hanging out, which usually includes trips for the females in the group to get mehndi (I figure out a way to skip that part) a meal at an Indian restaurant, a Bollywood film screening or Indian clothes shopping. I know on the surface clothes shopping seems superficial, but for me, it was part of a bigger step. I was not only proud to be Indian, but I was willing to wear the clothes of my birth country, not just read about it or attend random Indian events.

Being a member of the DAU “family” gives me tangible, non intimidating ways to explore my birth culture and the group has changed my life. Not only is it wonderful to have so many adopted friends who understand and “get,” being adopted, but many of them are on the same journey, getting in touch with their roots, exploring what India means to them and we can talk about it together.

This September I’ll be in my 2nd year of graduate school, still planning on going to India in the near future. I love India today, more than ever. But I realize it has massive amounts of problems as well. My dream is to find a job that helps to eradicate some of those evils; its poverty, its poor governance, its religious conflicts, etc. I love her diversity, and the resourcefulness of her people. A year ago I came to a conclusion that has colored the way I look at the trajectory for the rest of my life. It’s very simple, but to me a profound shift in my thinking:

If I am to be proud of being Indian and all that India is, then I must do everything in my power to make India a better place. For me that means living there for a period of time, and advocating for her people whenever I can.

Those simple words belay a passion for seeing change come to India, and the acknowledgement that because I was blessed enough to have grown up middle class in this country as a young child, I have a responsibility to use my strengths, gifts and education to help make India all of which I believe she can be.

Now that’s a growing love for India, come full circle. Not only am I proud to be Indian now, relishing in my birth land, but I want to go back there and help it become a better place for everyone, because I love it so much. You can’t find a deeper love than that.

Thoughts to a Teacher regarding Adopted Children

Recently I was speaking on a panel to adoptive parents and one of them asked me what practical steps they could take to help their adopted children adjust in their new lives. I said one area I would like to see change is the vernacular in which teachers discuss adoption in their classrooms.

In my opinion, a child has as much choice in being adopted, as they do in choosing their gender and their race. This is to say, I think adoption should be talked about and discussed in the larger language framework of “diversity.”

This mother is well aware of the insensitive comments that teachers and students make when they have an internationally or domestically adopted child in their classrooms. She puts the responsibility on the parent to educate the teacher, not the other way around. I like that she believes in taking a proactive approach. I would think it would really advance the conversation that the teacher could eventually have with their students about their classmate who is adopted.

These are her thoughts.

I really like the point she made that face-to-face contact is critical for the parents and the child. I’m unsure if my parents sat down specifically with my teachers on an individual basis, but I think it’s a great idea.

What do you all think about this? Is adoption something that should be talked about using the language of diversity? Anything you would add to the conversation?

Thin Slicing my Name and My Physical Appearance

I’m still working on Part Two of my story about my growing love for India. In the meantime, I want to share another interesting consequence of my adoption, having brown skin, but a western name.

The background: Early Spring 2001, I was a junior in college at the University of Delaware. I had attended a campus fair which has showcased a myriad of student groups. I spent a few hours walking around checking out both the booths of the student groups and the girls manning them. After visiting the display for the Indian Student Association (ISA), I was interested in attending a meeting. Having just returned from my trip to India with my entire family a few weeks earlier, I was eager to begin connecting more with my birth culture. A few days later I received a call quite late in the evening on my campus phone. This was before the proliferation of the cell and I still had a land-line.

My roommate handed me the phone and said a Pushpa was looking for me. I didn’t know a Pushpa, but I took the call anyway. I introduced myself and she replied that she was calling from the Indian Student Association. She was calling because I gave my contact information as I was interested in attending an ISA meeting. She wanted to inform me that the ISA was made up primarily of Indian students, and did not want me to feel out of place in the group because I was not Indian. I calmly replied, “Oh, but I am Indian, I just don’t have a typical Indian name.”

She didn’t know what to say, I think she was deeply embarrassed. The conversation ended shortly afterward, because it was awkward to continue. To my credit, I had reacted to her assumption without being snarky. It wasn’t her fault. Adam Bryant, does not like an Indian guy’s name. I understood her confusion. But this is a typical response to having a “white” name, but being brown skinned. A lot of my adopted friends have experienced similar situations and confusions over their names.

When people read my name on a list, without meeting me face to face, they sometimes assume that I’m Caucasian. Occasionally after meeting for the first time as I introduce myself, I can see they are surprised. I get it. We all make immediate judgments based on prejudices, likes/dislikes, and stereotypes. It’s a fact of human nature. Every one of us does what Malcom Gladwell calls in his book Blink, “thin-slicing.” We all make split second decisions, based on what we perceive and historically what we know.

Pushpa thought I wasn’t Indian because of my name, and Indians assume I am culturally Indian because of my skin. The following scenario occurs ever once in a while. I will be sitting somewhere, alone, reading a book or just thinking to myself, and an Indian guy or guys will sit down next to me. I’ll acknowledge their presence with eye contact briefly followed by a second or two of silence.

All of a sudden, it begins. They start jabbering away at me in Hindi, or some other Indian language. It overwhelms my ears, this onslaught of a language I don’t know a single word in. They pause. I haven’t responded. This is when I meekly reply that I don’t know any Hindi or any other language they might be speaking. They look at me, not quite comprehending what I just said. I ask if they will repeat what they just spoke, but in English this time.

I see the disappointment arise on their faces. They thought they would be able to communicate in their native language with someone who understood them, and I couldn’t do that. They wanted a quick connection, in a language they assumed we shared. I couldn’t give them that. In fact my response gave them the opposite, making us both feel like foreigners. Obviously I’m being more dramatic than neccessary, but you get the idea.

Another time I was in an Indian grocery store. I needed to buy paneer, the common type of Indian cheese. I walked back to the refrigerator and was confronted with a dizzying array of paneer choices. There must have been at least 15 different brands. Some were packaged in blocks, others already cut into bit sized pieces. All of them had markings in a language other than English. As far as I could tell, they were all the same basic flavor.

In my confusion I called over the owner of the store and told him I wanted paneer, could he give me some recommendations and explain their differences. He looked at me with a look of surprise, and said “aren’t you Indian?” Implying, am I not “Indian enough to know about paneer.” I tried to explain, “Well I wasn’t sure which to buy, and I don’t usually buy paneer.” But the damage was done, I wasn’t enough Indian for him and his subsequent attitude towards me become one of indifference. Needless to say I never went in that store again.

There are plenty of non –adopted people who go through similar experiences. But our names are so much a part of our identity; it’s fascinating to watch the extent to which people associate names with ethnicities. As an adopted person with a western, non- Indian name I wonder what it would be like if I had brown skin and the Indian name to go with it.

From Indifference to Love, how my Affection for India Evolved- Part 1

The next two posts will document how I grew to love India, after being indifferent/embarassed of my heritage. It’s interesting to note I was never ashamed of being adopted in and of itself, just being Indian.

Madison, Wisconsin has a vibrant and growing Indian-American community due to the large number of graduate students attending the university. When I lived there during the early 1980’s there were numerous traditional exhibitions (dances, plays, bazaars) which showcased India and allowed for personal interaction with Indian people and food. As a youngster, my parents took me to many of these events, exposing me to Indian culture. Since I’ve grown older, I’m glad they recognized the importance of keeping me in touch with my birth culture and never wanted that connection to fade away and be completely lost. But that was not always the case.

Growing up in predominantly white Wisconsin was not easy. As a young child I was actutely aware of my small stature in comparison to the Midwestern farm boys who were my classmates, and hailed from Swedish, German and other European ancestry. I was very thin, weighed less than 100 pounds (I finally broke the century mark in high school) and was shorter than everyone, including most of the girls. This was not a combination of body characteristics which led to high self esteem. Not to mention I had brown skin, while everyone around me, save for my own brother and sister, were Caucasian. I felt out of place and different, more than I’d like to admit.

During primary school I was subject to more than a few instances of being mocked for having brown skin. But it’s difficult to say if that was just because kids tease ruthlessly or the mocking was racially motivated. I looked different than the kids around me, there’s no denying that. They didn’t know how to react to diversity; and I just wanted to be accepted. Teasing is natural for boys that age. I don’t condone it, but I understand it.

I endured what I believe were actual racial slurs, but mostly refused to acknowledge, or become confrontational towards those saying such hurtful things. One time I do remember being mocked mercilessly by a guy and responding to him kicking him in the jaw. Luckily for me, given my age and the fact that parents are super involved in their children’s lives, I was never caught for my transgression. For the most part I tried to stick by the childhood mantra, “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” I didn’t realize until much later, just how wrong that pithy saying is.

As an elementary school student, we brought in desserts for our classmates when we had birthdays. I think this is standard practice in US schools. Typically we’d feast on cupcakes, brownies or something similarly sweet, while congratulating our classmate and taking a “break” from our studies. Having a birthday in late June meant school was never in session on my actual birthday. But I brought in my treats for my schoolmates near the end of the school year.

I offered my favorite Indian dessert, Halwa (a cakelike mixture of semolina, milk, sugar and nuts) and kids loved it. But there was a weird paradox in my choosing halwa. On one hand, I was proud to bring a unique international food from India to share with the class. But, I didn’t identify as Indian and wanted to be as American as possible. I didn’t realize the inherent contradiction at the time.

Over the years, a few of my classmates’ parents contacted my mother requesting the recipe to make the dessert themselves. I wouldn’t be surprised if for a number of them my birthday snack was their first exposure to Indian food. And I’d like to think that in scattered houses in our Madison neighborhood, American mothers were experimenting in making halwa for their children, because their children asked for it.

While living in Wisconsin, we were members of a group called Namaste, which was made up of other families who had adopted children from India. I still stay in touch with some of the children, nearly 30 years later. My mother still corresponds with some of their families as well. We formed beautiful connections which last to this day and are meaningful to each of us. Among the activities of the Namaste group was an annual Christmas party, complete with an Indian Santa Claus. We also had picnics, met at restaurants for dinners and enjoyed each other’s company through meals around member’s dining room tables. I was happy to be with other Indian kids, and at least feel comfortable because they had brown skin like me. But we were alike, the severe minority, surrounded by the majority.

Growing older I was no longer interested in attending Nameste gatherings or the cultural offerings downtown. I considered myself fully American, despite my brown skin. Additionally, my family moved away from Madison, to New Jersey when I was 13, in thes summer before sixth grade. My mom still made Indian food on special occasions like my adoption anniversary. When we moved to New Jersey we discovered a vast Indian diaspora population. Our next door neighbors were Indian. I had a number of Indian classmates. Less than 20 minutes away from us was a town called Edison, known affectionately as “Little India.” One can’t walk more than ten feet there without running into an Indian restaurant, jewelry store, clothing shop or grocery store in Edison. It’s an amazing place.

However, I didn’t identify with being Indian very much during my junior high to high school years. There were a few reasons for this. One, India was not discussed during the time. Today it’s an anomaly to watch television, read a newspaper, or surf the Web without reading/ hearing/seeing news about India. Whether it’s her rising world prominence, economy, poor or her personalities. India is seemingly everywhere these days.

In the mid to late 1990’s that was not the case. I felt like the only Indians that people knew were “Apu,” the stereotyped convenience store clerk on the Simpsons, Gandhi and random proprietors of 7-11 and gas stations. With the exception of Gandhi, not exactly people I enjoyed being associated with. India’s economy was not growing like it was today and the world was not going through globalization as it is now either. India was relatively unknown outside of its borders.

The last reason was that the Indians I did know, seemed really geeky to me. To be sure, they were extremely bright, phenomenally educated, but had thick accents, horrible fashion sense and an overriding feeling of being lost in popular culture and within their new homeland. Again, I didn’t want to be linked with them either. Even my Indian classmates, were extremely studious, very Indian in their mannerisms and made fun of all the time for their awkwardness. I refused to be connected to them. If I had my wish, I wouldn’t even be thought of as Indian at all, my skin color be damned.

That last sentiment would soon change, radically.

Coming soon: Part Two