Incest and adoption: the double taboo Illustrations: Chlode.

Incest is one of the most difficult forms of abuse to report. But since 2020, this taboo has begun to crack. In France, one in ten children is estimated to have been a victim. When it occurs within an adoptive family, is the barrier even more difficult to break?

Chlode chlode. CC BY-NC-ND

“I must have been 10 years old,” says Cathe1"I was adopted from Burundi. My older brother came in quietly. I pretended to be asleep. He took off the sheets, then my pajamas. He slipped a hand between my legs. And then I pretended to wake up. He also spied on me in the bathroom. I was always afraid he would rape me. My parents never believed me."

In May 2007, Cathe went to a police station in the province of Liège. A minor, she wanted to file a complaint for assault and battery against her adoptive father and hoped to report the abuse she suffered at the hands of her brother. In the official record of the interview, which Médor was able to read, she is not interviewed as a victim but as a… “suspect.” The police officer who received her asked her if she didn't feel like she was hurting her parents. “This police officer had just listed all the beatings I'd received, and all he took away from my statement was that my parents must be good people since they adopted me,” Cathe laments . “Suddenly, through the window of this small rural police station, I saw my parents' heads. They had come to get me. I realized he had called them during a break in our interview.”

Youn2The woman, adopted from South Korea, also filed a complaint. That was in 2009. It was unsuccessful: the statute of limitations had expired.

“I knew my efforts would lead nowhere. I filed a complaint against my brother, my parents’ biological child, to free myself but above all to prevent him from doing it to other children. From the age of 8, he would come to my bed and rape me. I cut ties with my family. To everyone, I was the ungrateful daughter who had gone astray.”

Cathe and Youn tell the other side of the usual story about international adoption: that of families presented as models of openness, where love transcends blood ties. They experienced incest and abuse. They encountered the violence of a system that failed to protect them – even though they are among the 4% of incest victims who dare to file a complaint, according to the federal parliamentary inquiry into sexual abuse within and outside the Church in Belgium, published last year.

#metooincest

In France, Camille Kouchner's book , *La familia grande* (2021), in which she denounces the incest her twin brother suffered at the hands of his stepfather, sent shockwaves through the country. On social media, the hashtag #metooinceste unleashed thousands of testimonies: "He was my father, my brother, my cousin, my grandfather..." In two days, nearly 80,000 people shared their stories. Two months later, the Independent Commission on Incest and Sexual Violence Against Children (CIIVISE) was established.

After three years of investigation and 30,000 testimonies collected, the findings are damning: a child is assaulted every three minutes in France. The cost of denying this violence is estimated at 9.7 billion euros per year.

Adopted individuals, however, remain largely invisible in these statistics. Full adoption makes it impossible to identify victims. "Even if it is likely that some testimonies mention it, we do not have the means to verify it," Alice Casa Grande, Secretary General of CIIVISE, told us in March 2025 via email.

However, in recent years, voices have begun to rise up to denounce this blind spot in the taboo: that of incest experienced by adopted children. And as with the French #MeTooIncest movement, it often all starts with a public statement.

In the Netherlands, the television series "De Afhaalchinees" (2023), which can be translated as "Chinese Takeaways," gave adoptees a platform to recount the ordeal they had endured. Following its broadcast, the director, Qian van Binsbergen, who is of Chinese descent, received dozens of testimonies and dedicated an episode to the sexual violence suffered by adoptees. Thanks to Qian and her team, support groups were established in Amsterdam and Rotterdam specifically for adoptees.

How big is it?

Voices are rising, groups are forming. But for now, there are virtually no reports on the subject, a key step in understanding the scope and underlying causes of a phenomenon. Yet, some studies do exist. And they are damning.

For seven decades, South Korea has been one of the main countries of origin for children adopted abroad: according to official figures, some 140,000 children have left since the 1950s, a number that some organizations estimate to be closer to 200,000. In 2022, Soongsil University, funded by the Korean National Human Rights Commission, launched a large-scale survey of Korean adoptees (658 respondents). The results showed that 13.5% reported having suffered sexual abuse within their adoptive families. More than four in ten identified the adoptive father as the perpetrator, more than three in ten identified their adoptive siblings, and more than two in ten identified relatives of the adoptive family as the perpetrator. These figures, drawn from a voluntary sample, do not claim to represent all Korean adoptees, but they illustrate the extent of a problem that has long remained unaddressed.

"A comprehensive investigation is needed in Belgium. You can't tackle a problem without properly understanding it."

Lily Bruyère, SOS Incest non-profit organization

Following these revelations, President Lee Jae-myung issued a formal apology on October 2, 2025, acknowledging for the first time the "state's responsibility" in a system that allowed adoptions tainted by fraudulent practices: fictitious orphan registrations, identity falsifications, and insufficient control of adoptive families.

In Europe, the limited research available – particularly in the Netherlands – also shows greater vulnerability among children placed outside their biological families. A study conducted by Leiden University3This indicates that children placed outside their homes (in institutions and foster families) are more exposed to the risks of abuse and sexual violence than those growing up in their own homes. However, it remains difficult to draw conclusions specific to adopted children: most research does not clearly distinguish their situation due to a lack of data.

Chlode chlode. CC BY-NC-ND

In Belgium, the statistical blind spots are glaring. The report from the Belgian Health Care Knowledge Centre (KCE, 2016) points out that the true extent of child abuse is difficult to measure: police, judicial, and social service records are fragmented, definitions and coding systems vary, and the status of adopted child is not systematically indicated in reports. As a result, adopted people remain largely "invisible" in epidemiological and administrative surveys—not because the phenomenon doesn't exist, but because our tools don't measure it.

Reveal the blind spot

“A comprehensive investigation is needed in Belgium. You can’t tackle a problem without properly understanding it,” insists Lily Bruyère, coordinator of the non-profit organization SOS Inceste in Brussels. “ Last year, we recorded more than 2,000 calls and we occasionally support adopted people. But it would also be worthwhile to examine this specific issue of post-adoption more closely from a political and social perspective.”

The majority of people interviewed for this survey did not contact SOS Inceste or even the only existing post-adoption service in the French-speaking world, L'Envol. This was either because they did not identify with the term " incest " or because they feared that the interests of the adoptive parents would be prioritized over their own. They preferred to confide in peers in informal settings or in groups created by adoptees, such as the Facebook group co-founded by An Sheela, an adoptee from India, "Adoptés connectés" ( Adoptionie Schakel Connecteert in Dutch).

"In adoptive families, all the mechanisms of loyalty, confusion, and fear of rejection are exacerbated."

Samira Bourhaba, psychologist

This bilingual Belgian group has 850 members, over 500 of whom are adopted. The search for their origins is a recurring theme in their stories. It's during a conversation, or after several meetings, that the topic of sexual violence comes up. Often, it's just one of the abuses they report. "It's difficult to give figures," says An Sheela, "but it seems realistic to say that one in three people who contact us. The calls come in waves, often in winter, around the holiday season. We'd like to create support groups; the need is there, but currently, we don't have the resources."

The double silence of institutions and victims perpetuates a system where the voices of adoptees remain stifled, and aggressors go unpunished.

“This is a very lively topic of discussion among us ,” confirms Yung Fierens, president of the association CAFE (Critical Adoptees Front Europe). “Real research on these issues is necessary, as well as a thorough audit and a detailed analysis of the financial aspects of adoption.”

Double silence

All the adoptees interviewed for this article mentioned a feeling of silent debt and a constant fear of being perceived as ungrateful.

“A child who has already experienced an early rupture of attachment, and who then finds themselves in an adoptive family, is even less psychologically capable of revealing facts that jeopardize this new bond,” explains Samira Bourhaba, a psychologist . “We know that, overall, revelations of incest are rare. They are even rarer in adoptive families. All the mechanisms of loyalty, confusion, and fear of rejection are exacerbated there.”

This feeling of indebtedness is then often maintained by the family itself.

"It's thanks to us that you're here, you owe us everything, otherwise you would have stayed in your hole. I could hear that at least once a week ," Edith recalls.4, 46 years old, adopted from Brazil.

I used to call it a litany. Over time, I could even hear it without them saying it.

Today, she has no contact with her family members, though she doesn't dare block them on social media or refuse their calls. Edith doesn't feel ready to report the abuse she suffered. "I feel guilty. I'm afraid of being disloyal."

This personal guilt is compounded by a collective taboo. Adoption remains largely perceived as a "good deed," difficult to question. "In Wallonia, there's no room for criticism of adoption ," laments An Sheela, who advocates for the rights of adoptees. " You have to stay positive at all costs. Yet, it's by listening to what's wrong that we can move forward."

Despite repeated attempts to contact them as part of this investigation, the Adoption Directorate and its Flemish counterpart did not respond to interview requests.

This double silence – that of the institutions and that of the victims – maintains a system where the voices of adoptees remain stifled, and where the aggressors remain unpunished.

Destructive links

Edith recounts: “I can’t have a normal relationship with my adoptive father. If we’re both in the same room, it’s like falling back into that relationship where, in a manner of speaking, I was the star and where, at least, I received attention. Those moments when someone takes care of me, and then I just take what’s there.” Edith has been in therapy for several years. She went through a period of depression with suicidal thoughts. Adopted from Brazil, she suffered sexual abuse at the hands of her adoptive father from the age of 7 to 16.

For Lisa Enik, a trauma and sexologist and contributor to the Dutch documentary series "De Afhaalchinees" (The Abandoned), a void in the family system makes a child more vulnerable. "When a parent isn't fully present—physically or emotionally—to meet the child's needs, it creates a void ," she explains. This void becomes a weakness that predators know how to exploit. "A child who has already experienced abandonment desperately seeks to be seen, loved. They will do anything to get attention ," she adds. " But a child never asks for sex. They ask for love."

In Belgium, psychologist Samira Bourhaba, a trainer and, from 2001 to 2023, director of the Kaléidos service (Liège), confirms: “In adoptive families, the mechanisms are the same as in other families, but as if under a magnifying glass.” For adopted children, as for others, the quality of the attachment bond plays a crucial protective role, even more so than the biological link. If this bond is fragile, it offers less protection and, in this respect, becomes an additional risk factor for the children. Conversely, for some perpetrators with flawed perceptions (such as “it’s not my biological child, so…”) that lead them to downplay the seriousness of their actions, the absence of a biological link can lower the internal inhibitions that normally prevent them from acting out. Furthermore, this dimension of the quality of the attachment bond also comes into play from the very first instances of violence suffered by the child, whose silence is often reinforced. “An adopted child may fear, even more than others, that by speaking out, their family will side with the perpetrator and not with them,” continues Ms. Bourhaba. “ The fear of being rejected or abandoned again becomes stronger than the need to protect themselves.”

This unhealthy atmosphere also reflects the experience of Jackie, adopted from Cameroon in 2004. “I slept in my adoptive parents’ bed until quite late, until I was 13, at my adoptive father’s request. Together, we watched films with sex scenes, like Les Valseuses, for example. He would grope me when I moved around the house, so I developed a whole strategy to carefully choose where I went. At home, it was forbidden to close the doors. There was no privacy, but there was so much racism that it overshadowed everything else.”

It's because of me

“The first time my adopter called me ‘nigger,’ I was 15 years old. He said he wanted to kill me and my black race. I lost it. When he saw that it had affected me, he called me ‘the nigger’ for several months,” Jackie continued.

Chlode chlode. CC BY-NC-ND

Psychologist Samira Bourhaba, after twenty years of working with victims of sexual violence, distinguishes between two forms of violence. In some cases, the intention is explicit. In other families, without conscious intent, frustration, rage, and disappointment are turned against the child, perceived as responsible for the failed bond. Added to this are situations where the initial intention remains to welcome a child, without any intention of harming them. But the mechanisms specific to incestuous violence can nevertheless be deployed. As she emphasizes, there are situations where "the child becomes a victim because the incestuous dynamics at work in the family find a foothold in them, precisely because of their vulnerability and dependence as a child." The child who experiences incest, like other child victims of incest, tries to understand what is happening to them and searches for a reason. However, many survivors reach the same conclusion: "If he did this to me, it's because of who I am."

This psychological process, already common in cases of incest, becomes even more powerful among racialized adoptees. Their visible difference provides an immediate basis for interpreting what they have endured. They end up situating it within a pre-existing racial stigmatization, fueled by postcolonial narratives in which the adopted child embodies a fantasized otherness.

Stop adoption?

How could violent, abusive, sometimes alcoholic or unstable individuals obtain the right to adopt? This is one of the questions we would have liked to ask the Belgian Adoption Directorate or its Flemish counterpart. Since neither authority responded, here is the publicly available information. Belgian adoption law underwent significant reform in 2005 to comply with the Hague Convention on International Adoption. Applicants must undergo preparation and be deemed "qualified and suitable" by the family court.

But this selection process for prospective adoptive parents is not enough to fully protect children. For psychologist Samira Bourhaba, identifying at-risk situations remains extremely difficult: “Even if adoptive families are assessed, there are blind spots. What matters is information and awareness. We need to break down taboos and make the short-, medium-, and long-term impact of incest visible.” The lack of resources and specific training for social workers is also a major obstacle to child protection.

For Yung Fierens and the members of the CAFE collective, the solution is more radical: a complete halt to transnational adoption. “We talk about monitoring visits, but they would have no effect: once a child is adopted, they fall under the sole authority of the parents. And the problem is systemic. All international investigations have shown it: transnational adoption carries a high risk of fraud, corruption, and human rights violations. Why continue to expose vulnerable children to this system?”