There are stories that make us feel like we're in a dark novel. But sometimes the most disturbing narratives aren't fiction; they happen every day, often in the shadow of expanding markets and well-intentioned ideals. Danish investigative journalist Dorrit Saietz tells such a story in her gripping book , "The Adoption Business – Torn from Parents, Sold as Orphans ," published by Jim Humble Verlag. In this book, she exposes how international adoptions can become a nightmare for children, their birth families, and adoptive parents alike. A case that changed everything The catalyst for her research was the fate of the Ethiopian sisters Amy and her little sister. The girls were supposed to find a new, safe home in Denmark. However, when the adoptive parents couldn't cope with the lively, then ten-year-old Amy, they simply handed her over to the authorities. A child, uprooted from her homeland and her family, suddenly found herself alone in the Danish foster care system. Dorrit Saietz followed the trail of the past, traveled to Addis Ababa, and found Amy's mother! She was distraught, yet full of hope that she would one day hear from her daughters again. This personal contact revealed what official documents conceal: Amy was never an orphan . She had a living mother, a loving family, and memories of a home that had been taken from her on paper. Weak laws meet strong interests In the Global South, a "weak" form of adoption is common: the biological parents generally retain their rights and view adoption as temporary support. However, as soon as a child leaves their country of origin, this becomes a "strong" adoption in Western countries, severing all family ties. This is precisely where the mechanism of child trafficking comes into play. Agencies that facilitate adoption promise families care, education, and regular updates. In reality, all traces disappear—often forever. Ethiopia became a hotspot for international adoptions in the early 2000s. European and American agencies established branches, while in remote villages, so-called "scouts" searched for children in demand on the international market. Many parents signed documents they couldn't even read. Demand from wealthy industrialized nations grew faster than any possibility of reliable oversight. When Saietz published alarming articles in Copenhagen and the documentary Mercy Mercy exposed similar abuses, the system began to crumble. Denmark eventually halted all adoptions from Ethiopia, and later from Nigeria as well. But the pressure to make a profit was so intense that some intermediaries simply relocated to other countries. Humanitarian facade, profit-driven practice Dorrit Saietz shows how the well-intentioned mantra "We want to help children" could become a business model. Depending on the country, an international adoption costs adoptive parents up to €40,000. A large portion of this goes to experts, lawyers, interpreters, and adoption agencies who live off these fees. Behind the veil of charity, therefore, lie genuine economic interests. Meanwhile, the true victims, children like Amy from Ethiopia, pay an immeasurable price: the loss of their own culture, their identity, and often even their own families. Reforms and their limits In Scandinavia, the debate led to stricter controls. But even there, closed cases were rarely investigated. Worldwide, there is a lack of legal instruments to compel retrospective investigations and grant compensation. The affected children often fight for their rights without institutional support. Some adoptive parents who learned of the scandal took the step of searching for their children's origins. However, the majority remained passive, often out of fear of bureaucratic hurdles or the potential disruption of family harmony. What does this mean for future adoptions? Saietz advocates neither a blanket ban nor complacency. Instead, she calls for a paradigm shift: Every adoption should be a last resort, only after all family and regional options have been demonstrably exhausted. Furthermore, state institutions, not private agencies, must bear all costs to eliminate profit motives. As long as money is involved, the risk remains that children will become commodities and that parental distress will be exploited for a market that calls itself humanitarian. Dorrit Saietz asks you to pause and ask questions: - Is the child truly orphaned?
- Have all local aid options been checked?
- Wouldn't your support be better spent strengthening families in their country of origin, instead of uprooting a child?
Those who wish to help will find numerous alternatives, from sponsorship programs and education funds to projects that make mothers financially independent. Often, relatively small amounts of money are enough to secure a future for children in their familiar surroundings. |
