They Will Never Stop the Humming Birds

At one time, the earth was ruled by animals who lived peacefully together.  Centuries passed and the animals gradually began squabbling with one another until the clamour grew so loud that the earth's creator could stand it no longer.  To quiet the animals, the creator spread a great big blanket of midnight blue across the sky, cloaking the earth in darkness.  The animals were quiet at once, not knowing what to do.  Growing restless with not being able to see anything, the biggest and strongest of the animals took turns trying to climb up to the blanket to tear it down.  This was to no avail.  Finally, tiny little humming birds cluttered the sky and began poking the slightest holes through the dark, woven fabric with their beaks until tiny, bright white beams of light sparkled through the blanket in brilliant patterns.  Before long, the animals, humbled by the effectiveness of the tiny humming birds and calmed by their ability to see more clearly through the darkness, stopped quarreling.  They were stunned by the clarity brought by the light as well as the beauty of the new night sky.  Pleased, the creator pulled back the blanket so that the sun ruled the sky once again; he returned the blanket with the intricate dots of light for a few hours each day to remind the animals of what they had learned.

Whenever anyone asks me "what made the difference? What made you change your views on adoption?" I give a few main reasons. What happened was more or less a series of events that broke down a wall, or penetrated a fog rather, that lead to me being able to listen to and accept the viewpoints of other people.  As I see it, closed records, closed adoption, and little-to-no-information about my origins, surrounded by a largely non-adopted society, and thus, with no information, accepting stereotypes as truth, these things were the threads of that blanket.  Woven tightly together, I couldn't see.  I could not read my own records.  I could not see my own original family or original mother.  I could not so much as reach out and touch a face that reflected my own.  I could not ask nor could I hear a voice that could tell me the truth about who I was before I was adopted.  What I could see was what was closest to me: what my parents knew about my adoption via the agency and what I noticed and made sense of social issues around me in my tiny community.  What you must realize is that they could not see either.  This is what closed records does: it expects you to make important resolutions regarding something as significant as your origins on this planet with little-to-no-information, if not complete hearsay.

Then came my humming birds.  People who, whether I liked it or not, caught my attention and began poking holes in the tightly woven blanket of adoption secrecy.  First, a health scare.  Then, pregnancy and childbirth.  Later, arguing on a parenting website about abortion and adoption and coming across my first non-sunshine-and-roses article about adoption.  Then, finding the Adoptee Rights Coalition logo on a message board when I was learning about information on reunions.  Finally, I was blogging, trying to find my original mother and found other blogs through my first visitors here, like Von and Susie.  The holes in my blanket allowed me to see the adoptee next to me and open my eyes to new information.  I now had enough knowledge to find books and read research that pointed me to factual information, not stereotypes.  More holes appeared and I could see not only the women standing next to me and begin, as a mother and adoptee, to understand the disservice adoption-done-wrong is to women in the community, our nation, and the world.  I saw past myself and my own desire to feel positively about adoption as a whole for my own validation and to global feminism and how adoption is, is not, could be, and should be serving vulnerable populations.  I was empowered by my adult adoptee and allies friends.  I was comforted by the original parents who shared their stories with me while I was waiting to reunite and by the adoptive parents who weren't ones who would say the words "my kid won't be like you" when I stood up and spoke out about reunion, rights, identity, stereotypes, and respect as an adopted person. 

At this point, I had gathered many holes in my blanket and I finally unsealed my records, unsealed my original birth certificate, and reunited.  I had my own story and my own truth.  I owe it all to the humming birds, really.  People, I've illustrated as humming birds using an old Boy Scout campfire tale, who changed my life.  Without them, the stir to find my roots would have gone without comforting, I would have never found validation and empowerment, and I never would have known how to find my information.  Essentially, it was the humming birds that gave my mother back to me and a daughter back to my mother.  They returned to my adoptive parents a daughter who really knew herself, was proud of what she believed in, and felt whole.

People ask me, when did I decide to change my views?  The truth is, I never decided.  Yes, there were moments when a light tearing through the sky shone brighter than the others, so much so that I felt myself squinting in pain: the first research article by an adoption agency I ever read, watching the only newborn pictures I had ever seen of myself tumble from a government file into my lap, birthing the first genetic relative I had ever known, and seeing the letter my mother wrote to the confidential intermediary telling them that they must give me everything that is in my file and her name because it is mine.  My views and opinions formed because information was within my reach to become informed: my personality and worldview dictate what beliefs are formed after reviewing that information.  Is that what the agencies and lobbyists who fight us are afraid of?  Is this why they demand to continue to be the middle-men, the intermediaries, the keepers of our identities?  What would happen if every adoptee had unhindered access to everything that transpired: their original mother and family, the ability to review the adoption process and records, and the ability to therefore apply those things to greater ethical issues in the world?  Perhaps they fear the empowerment that could come from respecting our rights and allowing us to be totally informed; it stands to challenge conventional wisdom and the uneven balance of power too much.  Perhaps the resulting collective voice would become too loud.  While adoption professionals squabble as the animals did, as they do in our Adoptee Rights hearings, as to who has it right and what mega adoption entity does adoption the right way, do they see the humming birds collecting in the sky?  Do they worry that our collective voice will lead to us having more of a say in how things are run--instead of the bureaucracies whose goal is to first and foremost stay in business and out-do the adoption bureaucracy next door?

They can work night and day to keep our records under lock and key but they will never stop the humming birds.

Photo credit: suphakit73