Produced by Deann Borshay Liem and Charlotte Lagarde. Mu Films, 2019. 1 DVD resource (82 mins). 1 online resource (82 mins.). In English, Korean, and Swedish with English subtitles.
Since the Korean War (1950–1953), some 200,000 Koreans have been adopted overseas, primarily to North America and Europe. Although the first wave has left few traces in film and popular culture, since the 1990s adoptee filmmakers have been returning to Korea and documenting their experiences, exploring themes of displacement, identity, and kinship. These narratives often reflect the perspectives of monoracial ethnic Koreans raised in white families ill-prepared for the conflicts associated with transnational, transracial adoption. Among the early contributors to this body of work is Deann Borshay Liem, whose First Person Plural (2000) and In the Matter of Cha Jung Hee (2010) document her story of adoption and growing up in 1960s–1970s Northern California. Perhaps unique among Asian American filmmakers, Borshay Liem’s decades-long engagement with adoptee communities has given her a deeper perspective that informs Geographies of Kinship, a long-gestating work spanning the history of Korean transnational adoption.
Understanding this controversial practice requires a grasp of the complex historical, economic, social, and cultural forces shaping Korea and destination countries like the United States, Sweden, and Switzerland. Through a visually stimulating mix of photos, news clippings, infographics, home movies, archival footage, and personal interviews, Borshay Liem traces the evolution of Korean transnational adoption, from 1950s war orphans to subsequent waves of children sent abroad more often for economic reasons. As the film shows, Korea’s national program of rapid industrialization, launched under military rule in the early 1960s, left little room for social welfare; meanwhile, social stigma and the patriarchal hojeok family registry system led to difficult choices for single mothers whose children did not exist in the eyes of the state. These circumstances coincided with trends within Western societies that spurred an increase in Korea’s overseas adoptions during the 1970s–1980s. But as Korea raised its profile economically, it was labeled a “baby exporter” by the international media, a source of national shame for Koreans even as they celebrated Seoul’s hosting of the 1988 Summer Olympics. While Korean politicians pledged to curb overseas adoption, these efforts were stalled during the 1997 Asian financial crisis. Ironically, the crisis also set the stage for a new government that voiced sympathy for adoptees and recognized their rights as overseas Koreans, laying the groundwork for reforms that would address various factors driving transnational adoption.
Against this background, Borshay Liem weaves a narrative featuring four individuals adopted between the 1950s and the early 1970s: Estelle Cooke-Sampson, who was raised by an African American military family in Washington, DC; LenaKim Arctaedius, who was raised in Sweden and whose tearful first encounter with future Korean President Kim Dae-jung had unexpected consequences; Jane Jeong Trenka, who was raised in Minnesota knowing that she had a family in Korea but no way of contacting them; and Dae-won Kim, who was given away by his grandmother but went to extraordinary lengths to preserve his Korean identity while growing up in Switzerland. The film’s overarching narrative is driven by the journey of Estelle Cooke-Sampson, an adoptee of African American-Korean heritage whose search for her origins takes us to the earliest days of Korea’s adoption history. Also included are rare interviews with two key figures who shaped that early period: Oak Soon Hong, who founded Child Placement Service, Korea’s first international adoption agency, in 1954; and Molly Holt, whose parents Harry and Bertha petitioned Congress to bring home eight Korean War orphans in 1955, opening the door to large-scale adoption and the establishment of Holt International Children’s Services.
Borshay Liem lets each interviewee speak for themselves—we hear her voice just twice and only incidentally—allowing them to retain agency in their own stories. Respect for her interview subjects is also evident in how she handles the emotional moments, framing her subjects in steady close-ups but moving to cutaways and voiceover when necessary. By keeping this respectful distance, she is also able to present the perspectives of those critical of transnational adoption alongside those who facilitate its practice. This is where Borshay Liem’s narrative strategy and community engagement pay off, as she’s able to gain access to several leading figures—some no longer with us—and encourage them to speak with candor. All of this is captured on camera in a way that is intimate but not intrusive, perhaps reflecting the director’s long-time collaboration with cinematographer Mike Chin. Given also the seven-year gap between the film’s release and its 2012 Kickstarter campaign, the post-production team of editors, colorists, and composer Todd Boekelheide have done a remarkable job making years of interview footage fit together almost seamlessly.
In presenting the complexity of Korean transnational adoption to a general audience, deciding how much context to provide is a serious challenge. If anything, the film errs on the side of caution, relying on three Korean American scholars from leading American universities to perform the heavy lifting of providing historical, social, and cultural context—curiously, however, it does not include such commentary from a Korean scholar or policymaker to offer a Korean perspective. And while the contributions of the three U.S.-based scholars are informative and accessible, viewers more knowledgeable about Korea may find the context provided in the first half of the film to be somewhat distracting from the emotional core.
That core revolves around the journeys of the four subjects, particularly that of Estelle Cooke-Sampson, who faces every twist with a quiet dignity and earnest quality that make it easy to root for her. But seeing the blurred-out faces in the family photos provided by Jane Jeong Trenka and Dae-won Kim, it’s clear also that there’s more to their stories and that of LenaKim Arctaedius. Personally, I would have loved to listen in as the filmmakers debated how to strike a balance between providing context and exploring individual stories. However long and difficult that process might have been, in the end Borshay-Liem and her team are able to pull everything together nicely into a film tailor-made for schools, festivals, and forums that touch upon modern Korean history and transnational adoption, as well as themes of economic development, social welfare, citizenship, and human capital.
Albert Lee
The Evergreen State College, Olympia, USA