Open Records: A Motherhood Issue
By Bryony Lake

If a mother walked down the street carrying her infant, and a stranger came up to her, took her child, and told her, “You will never see your child again – he’ll be okay so just forget him and get on with your life,” most people would naturally assume she would feel fear, desperation, loss, pain, anger, and grief. We would know that she would not easily “get over it.” Taking away her child without her consent would be considered an inhuman act. Keeping her ignorant of her child’s welfare -- wondering whether her child was alive or dead -- would be considered cruel beyond belief.

As this hypothetical child grows up somewhere far away, no one would deny that that the mother/child bond and love will endure despite the separation. We would naturally assume that the mother’s grief would be unresolvable, in a situation of loss with no closure.

Yet, in surrendering their children to adoption, somehow natural mothers* are presumed to have lost those feelings and connection with their beloved children. This is a falsehood of tragic proportions. How can it be assumed that any mother would “just get over” the loss of her child? But every day, mothers exiled from their babies by adoption are told, “Put it behind you,” “Get over it,” and “Get on with your life.” Agency websites say they feel “satisfaction” and will “heal.” Why are we considered to be so different from the hypothetical mother mentioned above?

It is a barrier of shame and fear that keeps many mothers of the “closed adoption era” silenced. Unheard and invisible, we are the ghosts behind every adoption (except in ongoing-contact “open adoptions”). Rejected by our families and society when we became pregnant, sent away so we would not shame our families’ names, assigned aliases in maternity “homes,” released as “born again virgins,” and warned to tell no-one of our shame, the industry effectively silenced us, ensuring we wouldn’t speak out about our treatment.

But there must be more to it, because society has obviously changed to the point where single motherhood is no longer a matter of shame. So, why the shame that still chains us even 20, 30 or 40 years after separation? This is something I have pondered since reuniting with my son, when I found myself still hesitant to speak to friends and family about the adoption. I think I have now found the answer in another involuntary experience. A year after my son was surrendered, I was raped. Looking back, I now realize what caused the “shame of surrender” that I felt in losing him: it was the shame of rape. It was a shame that came from feeling violated, having had something precious taken without my consent, and being powerless to fight back. A shame that kept me silent about him for 22 years, fearing rejection from all I loved.

Thirty years ago, rape victims were routinely blamed for the crimes against them. They were often told, “You must’ve wanted it” and “You did something to deserve it.” Similarly, mothers who have lost children to adoption hear the same thing, to the point where many believe it. Yes, we often signed the forms (as well, many didn’t), but most of us had no other viable options available, and hence no choice. Was there any decision or choice when only one option (adoption) was given to us? When no social or financial support existed? Or when, as minors, all adults around us said we must sign “for the sake of our babies,” until in utter defeat we saw no recourse but to obey? A U.K. organization, Trackers International, completed a survey of 1000 former unwed mothers: 98.9% had been forced or pressured to surrender their babies for adoption. This same system was in place in Canada and the United States.

But just as rape victims have campaigned to change public perception and laws blaming them for being raped, so can us mothers who were raped of our babies. Instead of remaining submissive and passive — feeling lucky if our children actually find us (assuming they even know they were adopted) — we can let the world know that we have always loved our children and we WANT to reunite with them, by demanding open records for ourselves as well as for adoptees.

Opening records for natural parents, allowing us to obtain the adoptive names of our lost children and vice-versa, is not a new or radical idea. This system has been in place since 1996 in British Columbia where I live, and enabled me to find my son when he was 19. Records have been opened to both parties in Australia, the U.K., and two other provinces in Canada. In France, Finland, Saudi Arabia, Mexico, Norway, and Israel, adoption records have never been closed. Despite how the pro-industry lobby tries to portray it, an open records system does not mean open to the public. Nor does it mean that adoption files are opened for all to see: the only records affected are the original and amended birth certificates (or registration of live birth).

Many natural parents are working actively in the United States in open records campaigns that will open the records for adoptees. I discovered how one-sided this was in 2001, when I became involved in a natural mothers group and I suggested a page on open records for their website, I was shocked when the group leader told me that open records were not part of their agenda, but were “an adoptee issue.” In further discussion, I discovered that she was not aware of the idea of open records for natural parents, assuming that “open records” were for adoptees only, whereas I had assumed that open records naturally meant for both parties. When I explained how the open records system works where I live, she was enthusiastic about lobbying for it.

Denying natural parents and adoptees the identifying information (given names and surname) that would permit them to find their lost family members only perpetuates the shroud of shame and secrecy that covers adoption.

There is no justification for preventing those who have been separated by adoption from receiving information regarding the family they have lost. In most government offices, original birth certificates are cross-referenced with amended (falsified) post-adoption birth certificates so it shouldn’t be difficult for both to be accessible to mothers and to their children. Not only that, but the names of the adoptive parents need not be released.

Industry lobby groups such as the National Council for Adoption (NCFA) promote the myth that closed records are there to protect us from our lost children and that we were promised “confidentiality” when we signed. Nothing could be further from the truth. History shows that records were mainly closed to protect adoptive families from natural parents (see “How Adoption Grew Secret in America,” by Elizabeth Samuels), not the other away around. As well, no known surrender form has promised confidentiality to any surrendering mother (see Mothers for Open Records Everywhere (MORE)), and it is well-known in contract law that verbal promises are only worth the paper they are printed on.

The closed records system treats adopted adults as property and treats exiled mothers as criminals with permanent restraining orders imposed, serving a lifelong sentence of involuntary exile from our children. In no other area of life is such basic information withheld from adults who are innocent of any crime. Our adult children are capable of making their own decisions regarding relationships with us. Both adult adoptees and their natural parents should have the right to make choices and decisions regarding their relationships in the same way as the rest of the population takes for granted. After all, let’s not forget Freedom of Association, a principle underpinning all of Western democracy.

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Footnote: (*) I use the original term “natural mother” rather than the term “birthmother” as I believe that we are more than just incubators. The term “birthmother” was coined by social workers in United Kingdom maternity prisons in the 1950’s to replace the term “natural mother.” It was further promoted by social workers in the United States in the 1970’s. This word was coined to define us as having been mothers at the time of birth but not after, and thus to diminish us to having a solely reproductive purpose in our children’s lives. In order to sell adoptive parents on the idea of adoption providing them “a child of their own,” social workers must first eliminate our motherhood in their clients’ eyes.