The Chinese government has just announced that it would no longer allow foreign adoptions of Chinese children, except by blood relatives or step-parents. The move reflects China’s changing perspective on population growth, with anxiety about overpopulation supplanted by fears that a rapidly aging, shrinking population threatens the country’s future.
For decades, adoption was critical to China’s one-child policy. Additional pregnancies were either terminated, or the baby was given to a childless couple.
In 1981, when I was in elementary school, officials gave an infant who had survived a forced abortion in a neighboring village to an infertile couple in mine. (The baby died soon after, owing to injuries related to the abortion attempt and a premature birth.)
Illustration: Mountain People
A couple of my relatives, threatened with huge fines and confiscation of farmland and livestock, had to give up children for adoption. They were still fined for illegally giving birth, but they managed, and at least their babies were safe.
The same cannot be said of the children of families who could not afford the fines, as they were often left on roadsides. Although their parents might tuck some cash into their blankets in the hopes that someone would take in their abandoned newborn, such a happy outcome was rare, not least because families with children were not eligible to adopt.
Illegally born babies’ chances of survival improved in 1992, when the government began allowing international adoptions, effectively exporting the “burden” of “excess” children. With that, China’s government not only relieved itself of the financial pressures associated with supporting orphans, but also gained a new revenue stream: donations from foreign adoptive families.
International adoptions were so lucrative, with foreign families paying thousands of dollars to adopt a Chinese child, that some local governments started “confiscating” babies. In one case, twins were separated; one was sent to an adoptive family in the US, and the other remained in China with her biological parents.
When it came to supplying children for adoption, China was tough to beat. An abundance of babies and a centralized, predictable and relatively affordable adoption process — about half as much as adopting in the US — quickly turned China into a leading country-of-origin for international adoptions, which reached 160,000 over the past three decades, peaking in 2005, at 13,000.
The US is a leading destination: From 1999 to 2022, US families adopted 82,658 Chinese children — nearly one-third of all US adoptions from foreign countries. Including pre-1999 adoptions, it is estimated that US families have adopted more than 100,000 Chinese children, some of whom were taken from their parents by family-planning officials.
Girls have been more likely to be put up for adoption than boys, reflecting Chinese parents’ preference for sons. That preference has not been nearly as pronounced as the international community seems to believe, and it was clearly the one-child policy that fueled it.
In 2000, across the country, there were 120 boys up to four years old for every 100 girls.
However, where a two-child policy had been piloted since the mid-1980s, the ratio was far more balanced, with 103 boys for every 100 girls in Yicheng County and 110 boys for every 100 girls in Jiuquan. That is in line with the global average: across human populations, there tend to be 103 to 107 male babies for every 100 female ones.
In any case, other countries also tend to prefer sons over daughters. In 10 Gallup surveys conducted between 1941 and 2011, about 40 percent of respondents in the US said that, if they would have one child, they would prefer for it be a boy, while about 28 percent said they would prefer a girl. The difference is that, in China, the one-child policy forced parents to make cruel choices.
China’s foreign-adoption machine could not run forever. The country’s fertility rate dropped from 2.3 children per woman in 1990 to 1.6 to 1.7 in 2010, naturally reducing the number of children available for adoption. At the same time, the infertility rate rose from 1 to 2 percent in the 1970s to 10 to 15 percent in 2010 and 18 percent in 2020, increasing domestic demand for adoption.
Meanwhile, fertility rules were loosened: A “selective two-child policy” was introduced in 2014, which was made universal in 2016, with a three-child policy following in 2021. As a result, far more Chinese families became eligible to adopt.
These developments, together with the tightening of international adoption rules in 2007, contributed to a sharp decline in US adoptions of Chinese children, from 7,903 in 2005 to 6,492 in 2006, 2,696 in 2012 and just 819 in 2019. (China suspended international adoptions during the COVID-19 pandemic.)
This can be viewed as part of a broader shift away from international adoption. Some receiving countries — including Denmark, the Netherlands and Norway — have restricted or suspended the practice, largely over ethical concerns about adoption procedures.
Remarkably, while the US has not introduced such restrictions, foreign adoptions by Americans have declined precipitously, from 22,987 in 2004 to just 1,517 in 2022.
However, the goal of easing domestic demographic pressures is probably the main motive for the Chinese government’s decision to ban foreign adoptions, despite speculation by international media that it is politically motivated.
Not long ago, Russia took a similar step. From 1992 to 2012, Russia was among the leading countries-of-origin for international adoptions, with Americans adopting 60,000 Russian children. In 2012, it banned adoptions by US families. While there was a political dimension to the decision, Russia’s rapidly declining fertility rate — from 2 in 1989 to 1.16 in 1999 — was probably a leading factor.
As for China, its fertility rate continues to fall, despite the implementation of the three-child policy and other government efforts to encourage childbirth. Last year, it was 1 across China and just 0.6 — the lowest in the world — in areas such as Shanghai and Heilongjiang Province.
Given the severity of China’s demographic crisis, ending international adoption amounts to a mere drop in the bucket. Still, it is a welcome change, as it highlights the Chinese government’s recognition, at long last, that people should not be viewed as a burden. One can only hope for a broader shift toward policies that respect life and protect human rights.
Yi Fuxian (易富賢), a senior scientist at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, spearheaded the movement against China’s one-child policy and is the author of Big Country with an Empty Nest, which went from being banned in China to ranking first in China Publishing Today’s 100 Best Books of 2013 in China.
Copyright: Project Syndicate
As it has striven toward superiority in most measures of the Asian military balance, China is now ready to challenge the undersea balance of power, long dominated by the United States, a decisive advantage crucial to its ability to deter blockade and invasion of Taiwan by the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). America expended enormous treasure to develop the technology, logistics, training, and personnel to emerge victorious in the Cold War undersea struggle against the former Soviet Union, and to remain superior today; the US is not used to considering the People’s Liberation Army Navy (PLAN)
Since the end of the Cold War, the US-China espionage battle has arguably become the largest on Earth. Spying on China is vital for the US, as China’s growing military and technological capabilities pose direct challenges to its interests, especially in defending Taiwan and maintaining security in the Indo-Pacific. Intelligence gathering helps the US counter Chinese aggression, stay ahead of threats and safeguard not only its own security, but also the stability of global trade routes. Unchecked Chinese expansion could destabilize the region and have far-reaching global consequences. In recent years, spying on China has become increasingly difficult for the US
The annual summit of East Asia and other events around the ASEAN summit in October and November every year have become the most important gathering of leaders in the Indo-Pacific region. This year, as Laos is the chair of ASEAN, it was privileged to host all of the ministerial and summit meetings associated with ASEAN. Besides the main summit, this included the high-profile East Asia Summit, ASEAN summits with its dialogue partners and the ASEAN Plus Three Summit with China, Japan and South Korea. The events and what happens around them have changed over the past 15 years from a US-supported, ASEAN-led
Lately, China has been inviting Taiwanese influencers to travel to China’s Xinjiang region to make films, weaving a “beautiful Xinjiang” narrative as an antidote to the international community’s criticisms by creating a Potemkin village where nothing is awry. Such manipulations appear harmless — even compelling enough for people to go there — but peeling back the shiny veneer reveals something more insidious, something that is hard to ignore. These films are not only meant to promote tourism, but also harbor a deeper level of political intentions. Xinjiang — a region of China continuously listed in global human rights reports —
RSS