Sad News from Russia

I'm devastated by the developments in Russia this week. One region has completely banned international adoptions, our friend Pavel recommitted to the ban on Americans adopting from Russia, and although I can't find confirmation of it, I'm told that a third orphan died in a Russian orphanage. This child was one of the 300 children who met prospective adoptive parents in December. Presumably, this child may have been saved by medical interventions available here in the US.

This morning, I thought I was getting depressed. I showed all the signs. Then I realized that I'm just sad. I'm sad for the children in Russia. I'm sad for my friend and the rest of the prospective adoptive parents caught in limbo as they fight for the children they feel in their hearts to be theirs. And I'm sad that Russia seems to be retreating from the world again, that Russians are once again being oppressed by a dictator, and that the weakest among them--the children and a picked on minority (Jews 100 years ago, homosexuals today)--are once again victims of a political tyrant.

I wanted to write more but I just can't.

Speaking Out for Russia

My heart is so sad when I think about what's going on in Russia right now. The violence against gay people is wrong, in and of itself, but it is also a piece of something larger. There is a propaganda campaign going on right now against "outsiders" and gay Russians are victims. So are the 300 children who met American parents who wanted to adopt them, but probably never will.

I don't know how far this will go. I'm not sure if we're playing into Putin's hands by protesting these laws. But this violence--state-sanctioned violence--cannot continue. I speak not only of those who have already been physically assaulted (again, a crime in its own right) but also of those who are hiding--adults who are in the closet and children who may not yet understand their sexuality, or worse, who do understand it but must live in a country where the adults express such violent hate for them, and where those adults who understand that homosexuality is just another orientation are commanded by the force of law to keep quiet.

In later years we will hear stories of the brave people who are acting in Russia right now. The teachers who are passing a quiet word or signal to their gay students letting them know that they're okay. The activists who are working quietly behind the scenes to make change, or to help people leave the country. The future martyrs who will keep fighting openly despite the danger.

I am sad for the victims. I am sad for those who are too afraid to live openly. I am sad for anyone who wants to do the right thing but doesn't know how. I am sad for the children who will never know families because of this, and for those who may lose their families if the laws keep tightening. And I am sad for the children like mine who look at the land of their birth and wonder why anyone would stop people from loving each other. Why can't adults who love each other live openly in love? Why can't families who love children adopt them?

Children don't understand "political gain." We can't explain to them that Putin is raising pogroms against gay people and keeping children from finding families to drum up support from his base. They just see the pain he is causing.

Today is the Global Speak Out for Russia. People around the world are protesting on behalf of the people of Russia who are prohibited from speaking out in favor of gay rights. I was not able to attend a protest so I am protesting here. Russia, your problems are not caused by "outsiders," but by your own politics. Give up your war against gay people and Americans wishing to adopt. Solve your own problems. The world has spoken.

Russia is pissing me off again

The most horrible thing has happened to a child who was born in Russia.

He wasn't exactly adopted, because it appears that a "gay" couple (it will become evident why I doubt their homosexuality in a bit) hired a Russian woman to be their surrogate. In the US, surrogacy does not involve adoption, as far as I know. In any case, the men-who-claim-to-be-a-gay-couple sexually abused their son in a whole variety of horrifying ways, which is an inexcusable crime and these men deserve to not only lose their son forever but also to rot in jail and then hell. (You know, if there is an afterlife, which there isn't but at moments like these I like to imagine one because there really is no way these men could suffer enough in one human lifetime.)

Russia has no jurisdiction in this case because the child in question was an American citizen at the time the crimes were discovered, the men involved were an American and an Australian, and the crimes happened in France, Germany, the US and New Zealand (I think. News reports are not consistent.) The American Judge who did have jurisdiction sentenced the men to 40 years in prison. The boy is now living with someone else, either a relative or another family (again, news reports are inconsistent.)

But here's why I'm pissed at Russia. If you have the stomach for it, read this story from an Australian news source, and then this one from Russia. For those who are easily sickened, I'll sum up: The Australian story gives us some details including the names of the convicted criminals, what happened, and what is going to happen now. The Russian story features our old friend Pavel Ashtakov, who claims the boy was purchased from his mother, that Americans sexually assault children all the time, and that the solution to the problem is to stop international adoption.

I'm not exaggerating. At all. He seriously said those things, and this guy is a major influence in Russian politics AND the principal man in charge of deciding what happens to the 120,000 children currently living in Russian orphanages.

This is the same country that just made it illegal to be gay in public. Because, you know, kids won't grow up to be gay if they don't see gay people holding hands on the street and there are no Russian pedophiles.

And they gave away my friend's kid this week in defiance of a request from the European Court that no action be taken until they heard my friend's case. Honestly, I have mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, my friend is devastated and I feel her pain. It's real pain, and Pavel can go to hell for causing it. (Note the above disclaimer about hell.) But I don't think Pavel was ever going to let those 300 kids go, and that being the case, it's better for the little girl to be in a family than in an orphanage, and hopefully my friend will be able to move on now and find a child she can adopt. I hate myself for feeling that way, because it feels like I'm letting my friend down, but this is just a hateful, horrible situation and there's no way to feel good about it.

I may even have to boycott the Olympics next winter, which would be really hard for me because I am a total Olympic freak, but that country has gotten completely bonkers and I'm afraid for the safety of gay Olympians, and afraid to seem to be endorsing anything Russia is up to right now. The human rights violations are just sickening and I'm not sure there's anything we can do about it.

Update 7/1/13:

I got this comment on Facebook, and thought I'd post it here for everyone to read:

Janine Beth Howard Gorell Of course Pavlov never mentions that orphans "graduating" from orphanages are REALLY ripe pickings for exploitation. And there are a lot more of those with adoption being unilaterally closed.

What's wrong with Pavel now?

So our friend Pavel is claiming that adoption is an American plot to take the oil from Siberia. This is not really a surprise--well, the level of crazy is, but not the intent behind it--because Astakhov has been vehemently against intercountry adoption his entire career. But I'm gratified to hear that he may not succeed.

Some of the American families who were in process when the ban was enacted have filed suit in the European Court of Human Rights. I heard a rumor today that the local courts in St. Petersburg have removed all of the children previously referred to American families from the list of children available for adoption. If that is true, and if other regions follow suit, then Pavel's plan to place all of the children with Russian families will at least have to be put on hold.

I really do wonder what the Russian government is hoping to achieve with this law. Perhaps they just feel ashamed that Russia has so many children available for adoption. Maybe they are living with a Cold War mentality, and the idea that Americans can offer a better life to these children just galls them.

Honestly, I hope that there is some explanation that involves corruption or manipulation, because if they really believe the garbage they are spouting, then they are insane.

I never added up the cost of our adoption because I don't want to think about it. As far as I'm concerned, we had the money, it's gone now, and the important thing is that Boo is part of our family. The money we've spent on Boo since her arrival would I'm sure come to an astounding total, were I to add it up. Just from a financial perspective, the notion that we could have adopted Boo for any reason other than parenting her is fundamentally nonsensical. And that's just the financial perspective.

Of course I am insulted by Astakhov's accusations. I'm also afraid that Boo will hear them and have to process that information--no child should hear accusations like that. But mostly I find it shocking that an adult who is in a position of power could spout utter nonsense like that and keep his job.

We're not immune--we have birthers and the Tea Party and Sarah Palin. But for us, that's part of diversity. In the Russian government, being crazy seems to be part of the dictatorship.

Hopefully, the European Court of Human Rights will come to a decision swiftly and Russia will abide by it. At least the local courts seem to be on the side of the children. Hopefully the central government will come around.

My thoughts are with all the families and especially the children who are stuck because of this outrageous law.

Russia vs. USA

I was just reading this article (Here a Gun, There a Gun, Everywhere a Gun by Paul Waldman) which is very interesting and worth your time, and it got me thinking.

But not about gun control.

It got me thinking about the differences between the US and Russia, and the comment made by Miss Muffett on my blog yesterday. Miss Muffett proposes a number of alternate explanations for the Russian Adoption Ban in her post--explanations which come from the Russian media, yes, but which are in direct contrast to what the Russian government has been saying since the ban passed. (The Russian government has consistently said that the Adoption Ban is a response to the Magnitsky act.)

I responded to Miss Muffett's arguments in a comment last night, which you can read by following the link above, but what I want to talk about today is the American idea of freedom--an idea that makes little sense to Russians.

When I see someone asking the questions Miss Muffett asks--why doesn't the US track Russian adoptees better? Why doesn't the US give Russian officials access to adoptive families accused of abuse? Why doesn't the US close boarding schools that are really dumping grounds for adoptees that nobody wants? (This last is an allegation for which I have found no evidence, but for the sake of argument, let's suppose it's true)--I realize that the person asking doesn't really understand the US and how we work.

We can't track Russian adoptees better because we don't track our citizens. This is less true in the age of the Patriot Act, but it's still essentially true, especially of children. Yes, the FBI now has my fingerprints on file (this is part of the international adoption process) but unless I commit a crime, or apply for a job in a school or with the police, my fingerprints aren't checked, so those fingerprints do not allow the FBI to track me.

As for the case in Florida that Miss Muffett references, in which a couple was arrested for alleged abuse, and then the charges were dismissed in court, because the charges were dropped, the US Government does not have the right to enter that person's house. They gave the family's phone number to the Russian officials, but unless the parents consent, nobody can go into that house.

Finally, there is a boarding school in Montana that advertises itself as a place that treats children with post-adoptive stress disorders. It is a Christian boarding school that has no therapy license. Miss Muffett contends that people dump their adopted children there when they can't handle them, and while I can't find any evidence to support that theory, it may well be true. I am no friend of mysterious Christian schools that seem to be indoctrinating children. However, it is a parent's right to send their children to boarding school, and the US Government can't do anything about it unless there are allegations of abuse at the school.

All of these things are protected rights in the US, and while I am ashamed to hear that some people do not complete their post-adoption reports to Russia, horrified to think that people could abuse their children and retain custody, and shocked at the notion that anyone would send an elementary school-aged child to boarding school, the alternative is a country that doesn't protect individual rights, and I value the rights of individuals, so I accept the trade-off.

A big part of the miscommunication that goes on between Russia and the US has to do with the differences in our cultures. We start from different assumptions about how the world works, and that can make negotiation difficult. Russia has one set of assumptions about how a government takes care of its children--when we adopted Boo, we had to notify the local police that she was no longer residing at the baby home and get a paper that said we had permission to relocate her, because the police are responsible for keeping track of who lives in their district, even babies. After centuries of totalitarian rule, Russians are used to the idea that government officials can enter their houses at any time. And a school that the government of Russia doesn't like is closed. But that is not our way.

Until both sides understand each other a little better, these misunderstandings will continue.

Let's do the math on Russian adoption

I haven't posted about Russian adoption in a while but I've been thinking about it daily, and following all the news. A couple of things have me wondering, so I'm going to do the math.

Let me say up front that most of the numbers I'll be using are widely documented and easy to check on Google, so I'm not going to cite them unless I think I'm using something hard to document or controversial.

We keep hearing that nineteen Russian children have died after being adopted and taken home to America. I wondered how that stacked up to the general population. Fortunately, Slate.com published this article, which explains that those 19 deaths add up to about 1.5 deaths per hundred thousand children per year, whereas the national average is 2.2 deaths per hundred thousand children per year. So the death rate for children adopted from Russia is lower than the expected rate.

Also, I've been hearing Pavel Astakhov, the Children's Ombudsman, quote a variety of numbers. First he said there were 46 adoptions in process in Russia, then 52, and now 150.

I should say that I feel progress has been made. Today, Astakhov said that families who have been through court already will be allowed to take their children home when their 30-day waiting periods end. And he's talking about families in all stages of adoption, and says he's getting reports from around the country to find out how many children there are in process. This makes much more sense than his original number of 46. After all, there are 87 regions in Russia. It's a big country. And most of the adoption records are kept by hand, so it would take a while to get the numbers. It's plausible.

But I'm wondering if 150 is close to the right number. So here comes the math:

There were 906 children adopted from Russia to the US last year. Assuming that number is fairly consistent, then that means

906/12=75.5

So about 75 children per month were adopted from Russia last year. (I'm choosing to round down so as to give Astakhov the benefit of the doubt wherever possible.)

It takes at a minimum, 2 months from the time of referral to the time a child comes home. The referral happens on the first trip, then it's about a month until court and then the 30 day waiting period. So

75 children per month x 2 months = 150

It sounds like Pavel's math is checking out. He also mentioned another dozen or so families who had submitted applications but not yet received referrals.

I like the sound of this. It seems like Russia is actually thinking this process through, instead of slamming the door like they were in December. So hopefully my friend and the rest of the people waiting for children to come home will be able to bring their children home soon.

Now, there are in reality probably more than 150 people waiting, because some regions of Russia can take much longer than two months to complete an adoption, but I would estimate (with my limited knowledge) that the actual number is somewhere between 150 and 200. But I'm glad that Russia's estimates are now in the right ballpark.

Of course, the next step is to repeal this law so that international adoptions of Russian children can continue until they are no longer needed. But at least this first step seems to be in the right direction.

The unseen tragedy of the Russian adoption ban

Pavel Astakhov, Russia's Child Rights Commisioner, was quoted in this New York Times article as saying, “The children who have been chosen by foreign American parents — we know of 46 children who were seen, whose paperwork was processed, who came in the sights of American agencies,” Mr. Astakhov said in his statement. “They will not be able to go to America, to those who wanted to see them as their adopted children. There is no need to go out and make a tragedy out of it.”

He's right, I suppose. As we all learned from Dirty Dancing, a tragedy is twenty men trapped in a mine, or monks burning themselves in protest. These children are probably not going to die as a direct result of this decision. So in that sense, it's not a tragedy. 

But that is a very limited interpretation. 

Anyone who has read the post I wrote yesterday will know what Hopper and I went through when we adopted Boo. Intercountry adoption is not something to be taken lightly or done on a whim. The people who are currently in process (somewhere between 46 and 250 families) have been through a lot to get where they are. I grieve for those families. But I cannot speak for them.

But what about the children who are already here? 60,000 Russian children have been adopted by American families since 1992. On Friday, I told Boo that Russia has made it illegal for Americans to adopt Russian children. In the same breath, I assured her that this will have no effect on us: she is safe. We are a family. Nobody can change that. But she keeps asking me, "Why?" 

Boo has no memory of Russia because she was 8 months old when we adopted her. She has photos of our trip, guide books with pictures, and a book I made her about our adoption journey, but no memories of her own. Yet she is intensely proud that she was born in Russia. Her schoolmates know that fact about her. She wrote a report in first grade about Russia, and proudly brought in artifacts that we have in our home. When she had to bring a piece of art to school that hangs in our house, she chose a watercolor painting of the famous statue of Peter the Great in St. Petersburg. And she dreams of one day visiting Russia so that she can see it herself.

But that was before.

Now, Boo is hurting. She feels, I think, that our family has been seen as wanting. Her happiness, her sense of safety, her feeling of belonging in America has been judged as wrong by the Russian government. And they wish to deny those things to future children. This makes no more sense to a nine-year-old than it does to her mother.  

When I first heard that this law was pending, it was last Tuesday. It was shocking because I didn't hear of it from an adoption contact, but from a friend living in Moscow. I knew, because of that, that this wasn't a rumor like so many I have heard over the years. It was true. It was particularly painful because I have a friend who was scheduled to meet her baby the following Monday. And it was agonizing because only four days had passed since the massacre at Newtown, CT. 

As the day progressed, I read as much as I could find about the pending legislation. I spoke with my friend who was desperately trying to find out whether her adoption would continue (at that time, it seemed that it would, so my friend traveled to Russia and met a little girl whom she may now not be permitted to adopt.) And as the day progressed, I began to feel weak. While I was teaching that afternoon, a headache began. By the time I got home, it was a full-blown migraine. I vomited the pain and the anger most of that evening and had to take the following day off from work to recover.

I didn't get the connection until this week when I thought back on it. This law is punishment for the death of Dima Yakovlev, who died when his father accidentally left him in a car all day. The father in that case had a nervous breakdown when he realized what he had done. It was a tragic mistake, but it was a mistake, and this father has suffered greatly for it. Jail, a conviction, would have done nothing to add to his suffering. It would have done nothing to protect children: this man will not adopt again. This man will grieve until the day he dies, just as the parents in Newtown will. 

But because of his tragic mistake, now thousands of other children will suffer. Some will die in Russian orphanages. Many will lose out on life-saving, and certainly life-altering, therapies that are available in the US. Most will be cast out of the orphanages when they turn 16 to an uncertain future with no support and little education.

That, I think, is why I became physically ill from hearing this news. It felt like a punishment for being a victim. Every parent's greatest fear is that a child will die. There is nothing worse anyone can imagine than losing a child. But when you are an adopted parent, there is an added fear. If I lose my child, I will be judged. I will never be given another. To have that punishment visited not only on the neglectful parents, the violent parents, but on parents who have not even begun to parent, and to have that punishment visited on Americans just days after twenty of our precious children were murdered in cold blood was too much for me to handle. 

You see no tragedy, Mr. Astakhov, but I see many tragedies. The tragedy of loss that would-be parents will suffer over the next few months if your scheme is allowed to stand. The tragedy of lost potential among the thousands of Russian children who will be stranded in your inadequate orphanage system. And the loss of pride in their country of origin among the 60,000 Russian orphans who have already become Americans. 

Is that not a tragedy too, Mr. Astakhov?

Becoming our baby

Even before Hopper and I were engaged, I told him I wanted to adopt a child. Becoming a parent was important to me, even essential to my identity, but I never felt that biological relationship was an important part of the equation. He needed to know that if we were going to get serious.

Really, I had decided on adoption when I was fourteen. A storyline on a soap opera I enjoyed featured a couple who went to the ends of the earth to conceive a child. Even at that age, I couldn't relate to their decision. Even at that age, I knew I'd be a mother.

So after we were married long enough, when Hopper finally said he was ready too, our adoption journey began.

Being me, I researched. I read about every country on the State Department database. (I just tried to count the countries on the State Department database. I stopped at 40. I was still in the C's.) I joined an online support group. I tried (and failed) to create an in-person support group. I spoke to relatives who had adopted. I went to a conference. I researched.

We narrowed it down. Only countries where we have ancestry or relatives. (That limits us to the northern hemisphere.) Only countries with more than 1000 adoptions per year. (China, or Russia?) I don't want adoption to be the center of our family. We don't want that to be the first thing other people see when they meet us. We would adopt from Russia.

When the time came to make the first thoroughly-researched phone call to start the process, I crumpled in terror. The reality that my dream could finally come true--that after all these years of assuming I'd be a mother someday, I could just pick up a phone and make it happen--scared me. It was the beginning of a journey that would change my life forever.

But I did it. I made that call, and the next one. I got the letters of recommendation we needed and processed the paperwork. We got fingerprinted, interviewed, home studied, background checked and examined. We had shots and answered questions about our pasts, present and future. We analyzed our capacity for love, our style of discipline, and how we would raise a child in an ethical framework.

Every one of these steps cost money. It was a lot like buying a house, really. Just keep signing checks and don't think about it too much. I never added it up, because I don't want to know. We had the money. That's all that matters.

I am not a romantic. I knew that any adoption process would be out of my control, so I protected myself. I never imagined that this far-away baby was the love of my life. I always called her by her Russian name. I reminded myself at every step that she was not mine and would not be mine until the Russian judge said so.

The day we met her, all I could think about was a woman who I knew from my online chat group. She said that when she received her first referral, she and her husband spent 45 minutes trying to make eye contact with the baby. There was no response. They had to refuse the referral.

So my one goal for the day was to make eye contact with this baby. That was all that mattered.

Now, usually, I'm pretty good with babies. Boo was seven months old that day, and the best way to make "friends" with a seven-month-old is to carry her around a room and talk about whatever catches her eye. Eventually, that seven-month-old will become interested in the sound of your voice and follow the sound to your face.

I knew this from good instinct and a lifetime of being the person who held other people's babies at parties. From at least the time my cousin was born, when I was twelve, I had received compliments on my ability to amuse a baby in stressful circumstances for long periods of time.

But all that mattered was eye contact. And someone put us in a room with a mirror.

Anyone who knows Boo knows about her little mirror problem. She can't pass one. There are a lot more mirrors in the world than you think. I know. I live with Boo. If there is a mirror, she will find it and get stuck in front of it. A trip to Ikea is fraught with moments where one second Boo is walking beside me, and the next second: gone. I look back, and there she is. There was a mirror. She got stuck. I grab her by the hand, and we move on together. Until the next mirror.

The day we met, I cared only about eye contact. And Boo cared only about the mirror. It took up an entire wall. It might have been the first time she saw her whole body at once.

Finally, I got the idea of making her fly. I actually remember my mother flying me. She would lie on her back with her knees tucked to her chest, and I would lie with my belly on her shins. She'd hold my hands and I'd fly above her.

You have to modify it a bit for a seven-month-old, but only a bit. She loved the flying. She laughed, she smiled--and there was nowhere to look but into my eyes. At last, we made eye contact. My baby was okay.

But she wasn't my baby yet. We signed a form, played with her a few more times, and had to return to New Jersey to wait for court. They told me not to cry in front of the baby when we left. It makes it harder for the babies if they see their parents cry, they said. So I had to run out of the room before the translator was done conveying my thanks for the excellent care not-yet-Boo was receiving.

At work a few days later a woman came to visit. She was on Maternity Leave and had brought her baby for a visit. Everyone surrounded the baby, cooing and asking questions. "My baby is doing that already," I thought. (Not my baby--not yet. Not until the Judge says so. But she is--she's doing that. Even in the Baby Home she's big, and she's fat, and she's developing just fine.)

When we got back to Russia I couldn't believe that Boo recognized me. A big smile came over her face when we walked into the room. (Not my baby. Not yet my baby. She isn't my baby until the Judge says she is.) We went to Court and presented our case to the Judge. Then we waited.

It takes about 20 minutes for the Judge to render her decision. She has to type it before she comes back and announces it. So we waited in the small courtroom with our Translator, the Director of Boo's Baby Home, the Social Worker, and the Prosecutor, who was there to speak for the interests of the State. Finally, the Judge returned and said that Boo was ours. Finally and forever Boo.

When we arrived at the Baby Home that afternoon, a caregiver asked me in stilted English, "What is her name?" She had obviously practiced this phrase for use with new parents. It would be my first act as Boo's mother: to introduce her by her newly given name to the women who had cared for her all her life.

I balked. Could I answer such a question? Did I have the audacity to tell them that her name was no longer what it had been for all her eight months of life?

I looked back at our Translator, who looked back at me, baffled. The question had been asked in English: there was nothing to translate.

Finally, I blurted it out, "Boo," I said. The Caregiver beamed, and immediately Russified the name. "Boolashka," she cooed. Babies in Russia are never called by their given names. There must be a diminutive added. And there she was: my baby, but not-yet-my-baby. We left her again, for the last time. For us, the Mandatory Waiting Period had been waived. That was common in those days. We would be able to pick Boo up the very next day and bring her first to Moscow, then home.

I remember feeling as if I were floating down the street. Nothing seemed real. Still, sometimes, I wonder that we went to Russia and they gave us a baby. Also, the 8-hour time difference and the things we had to do--get her re-issued birth certificate, get permission from the Police for Boo to leave the district where she was born--made it impossible to call my mother until 6PM local time. If my mother didn't know I had a baby, then I didn't have a baby.

We shopped and bought formula and diapers and baby food and spoons and cake and tea for Boo's caregivers. I carefully packed the outfit I had purchased a few days before with my mother and Hopper: an adorable overalls set. I also grabbed a fleecy romper in case it was cold.

Friends of mine who gave birth to their babies are always shocked about what happened next. They handed me a naked baby, and then watched to see what I would do. There were no lessons in diapering or feeding or how to hold the baby. But that was okay. I was, after all, the person who held everyone's babies at parties. My aunt had taught me to change a diaper when I was twelve. I had friends who would hand me their crying babies. I deftly put on Boo's diaper, the adorable little shirt, and then tragedy struck. The overalls were shorts!

There is no greater sin for a Russian mother than underdressing her baby. Boo had been dressed in three layers and a hat to go from one room in the Baby Home to another. And here I was preparing to take her outside. OUTSIDE--where it was only seventy degrees! In shorts. I was horrified. The Caregivers were unsure what to do. So I dutifully took out the fleece romper and stuffed her into it. Everyone relaxed. (Except Boo, who had to ride home in the car in her fleece romper, sweating mightily.) We stepped out into the sunshine, and Hopper took a picture. Boo leaving the Baby Home forever.

Becoming our baby.