The Lost Daughters of China: Adopted Girls, Their Journey to America, and the Search for a Missing Past

by Evans, Karin

  You would be proud to know I don’t blame you

  You would be proud to know you gave me a chance

  You would be proud to know I am your daughter

  and you are my mama,

  you are my mum.

  —Fang Fang Lee, age fifteen, lives with her adoptive parents in

  California. She wrote the poem after a summer trip to China and

  to Yunnan, the place of her birth.

  A Conversation with Karin Evans

  About her, her book, becoming a mother, going back to China, adopting a second child, and filling in the blanks of the past

  The Lost Daughters of China is your first book. Did your background as a journalist prepare you for the task of writing it?

  All my training as a journalist went into writing the book—being interested in getting to the bottom of things, interviewing people, researching. That being said, when you tackle your first book, it’s a huge undertaking. Updating it was a big job, too, since so much had happened in the ten years since we traveled to China for our first daughter.

  In a way, writing a book was very similar to writing a journalistic feature story—the same kind of research and interviewing, choosing a structure and a way to tell the story, balancing points of view, interpreting facts, and trying to work it all into a graceful whole. Chapter by chapter, a book can be structured as a collection of smaller pieces.

  Yet a book goes beyond, I think. You have to pay attention to the cohesiveness of the whole, to the pacing, to the narrative thread that will pull people through the various chapters and issues. And the scope of a book allows for more development, and, of course, both a broader and deeper reach. My book falls in the category of narrative nonfiction, I’d say, where the writer presents a factual story but also infuses it with storytelling and other literary devices. The scope of the book, and its nature, also allowed me to pose questions as well as answer them; to leave some things unsolved and open-ended. Every year, of course, I could write another epilogue.

  It was a lot of work—more than I thought it would be when I started out—but I absolutely loved writing the book. I had to do it. I would have written it whether it found a publisher or not. I would have written it for me and for my daughters. It was a compulsion.

  The book began as a series of letters to my daughter Kelly while we were waiting for our paperwork to be finished and to be approved to adopt. The book grew out of that journal. I was just writing, writing while I was waiting for her.

  When did you decide to transform your letters into a book?

  When I returned from China with my first daughter, the profound nature of what I had experienced really hit me. Here I’d been part of this extremely emotional and meaningful exchange. And yet I didn’t know who was on the other side of it, and I probably never would.

  But here was this beautiful little girl who would have questions someday about her birth parents and birthplace. I wanted to fill in as many of the missing pieces of her story as I could. I also wanted to know what was going on in China at that time, so I could tell her something about her homeland when she began asking questions.

  So you continued working on the book when you were back in the United States?

  Yes. But it was a big challenge. My writing time changed. I was totally naive about writing with a baby around. I thought, “She’ll sit on a cushion next to me and play while I write.” There was no writing while she was around!

  So I got a wonderful part-time baby-sitter. She was a young college student, and she came in for four hours a day. My office was in the basement, and during those four hours, I’d put on Yo-Yo Ma and write big chunks at a time. While I was writing, I could hear Kelly’s feet padding across the floor upstairs. It was a comfort, but it was still hard for me to be away from her.

  I also wrote at night while Kelly was asleep or during the day while she was napping. And I always carried a notebook with me, so I could write in it in during whatever spare moments I had.

  When did you start thinking about publishing your book?

  I was in a writing group. It had dwindled to just two of us, me and a woman named Cynthia Kear. I showed her what I’d written, and she said, “I think you should really get this published.”

  I also had a good friend who is a literary agent, Barbara Moulton. She told me to come up with a proposal and sample chapters. Barbara sent it to publishers in New York, and Tarcher bought it.

  At that point I began to do a lot of research. I read everything I could on China, by authors like Jonathan Spence, Jasper Becker, Susan Greenhalgh, Maxine Hong Kingston, Jung Chang, Betty Bao Lord, Orville Schell, Ronald Takaki, Arthur Waley, Jan Wong, Pearl S. Buck, Confucius. I had a friend who was a China scholar, working in China on her Ph.D. She told me the names of leading scholars on women in contemporary China. I got piles of books and papers by them.

  I just kept reading, making notes. As I made notes, I kept footnotes about the sources. In the end, my notes file consisted of four hundred single-spaced pages!

  Then I started interviewing people whenever and wherever I could. I talked with at least a hundred people. I interviewed Chinese women writers, women’s studies scholars, cultural anthropologists, historians. I’d go to a symposium or a lecture on China, I’d meet someone, and one person would lead to another. Some people at a college in Arizona put me in touch with a woman who lived in the town where my daughter was born. We e-mailed back and forth, and she actually went and did some fieldwork, told me what things looked like in that town.

  I also interviewed people within the adoption field, people who went back and forth to China, people who’d adopted in China very early on—that is, in the late 1980s and early 1990s.

  There was a lot of serendipity and a lot of generosity on the part of people in China and people here. One person always led to another, to more ideas, to more opportunities.

  If you could go back and write this book all over again, would you do anything differently?

  If I could have—and it just wasn’t possible at the time—I would have liked to spend a year in China and talk to everyone I could. China is such a complex, ever-changing, vastly unknowable country in so many ways. You could spend your whole life being a China scholar and just know a pittance. I would have loved to have had the opportunity to sink into the society and spend time with Chinese women. That would have been ideal. Not being able to do that, I consciously cast the book from the perspective of someone asking questions—and trying to answer them—from afar.

  I heard about birth mothers, I met people who had talked with them, but I never got the opportunity to sit down and talk with such a woman myself, and that was another thing I very much wanted to do. There were sightings of birth mothers, and friends of mine were looking for birth mothers, too. But partly because of the fear and the social structure there at the time, it wasn’t possible to find a birth mother who was willing to talk to me.

  By now, of course, there are Chinese birth families who have talked to researchers and sociologists. There are other writers, who have facility in the language, who have been at the right place at the right time. These people have managed to find birth mothers to talk to. So has filmmaker Changfu Chang, who not long ago interviewed several families on camera.

  As time goes by, I imagine more and more birth families will be found and will add their stories to the information surrounding this fateful mixing of lives.

  How much was China a part of your life before you adopted your daughters?

  Certainly not as much as it is now. In my early twenties, I’d lived and worked in Hong Kong. The minute I got there, I felt at home. I just sank into the world of smells, sights, markets, the harbor, the temples, the people. I spent a lot of time just walking. I had a wonderful Chinese friend who took me to the out-of-the-way places few foreigners went.

  My first job there was with Newsweek’s amazing old China hand, Sydney Liu. Whenever the editors needed to know what was happening in China, they’d send Sydney
out for a long lunch. He’d come back and tell everybody in great detail what he’d learned, and I would condense it into a Newsweek file. I was his rewrite person. There were so many times when I was writing this book and some question would come up that I needed to answer, and I would think, Where is Sydney?

  I’d always been attracted to Chinese art and Chinese brush painting in particular, and also Chinese music and literature. I also have many Chinese and Chinese American friends. I live in San Francisco, which is a very Asian city.

  Do you speak Chinese?

  I’ve taken some night-school Mandarin and listened to tapes, and I would love to learn. But no. When we adopted our second daughter, we knew she’d be speaking only Mandarin. She was three years old. I tried to learn phrases I’d need: “Are you hungry?” “Are you sleepy?” “Let’s go here.” But everything I said seemed incomprehensible to her. To be honest, anytime I’m asked this question, it motivates me to find another tutor, get us all started again. The girls have taken classes, but none of us has gotten very far. I would like the girls to have some facility with the language, and I would love to learn more myself. Last time we went to China the girls got a lot of mileage out of a few simple phrases. It would be wonderful for all of us to know more.

  How did Kelly first react when you told her that she would be getting a little Chinese sister?

  Kelly had been lobbying for the idea, asking, “Mom, can I have a sister?” She was wonderful on the trip to meet Franny, really helping her and watching out for her. It was a bit of a shock to her, though, that Franny had such a mind of her own. And Franny undoubtedly felt like a newcomer to a family that was already established. They moved on to the usual sibling rivalries, but I love it when I hear them giggling together.

  You, your husband, and Kelly all went to China in the summer of 2001 to get Franny. How did Kelly react to being in China?

  Kelly said it was very hot. She loved the hotel swimming pools best of all, and the dozens of kinds of dumplings. She liked the parks and watching all the activities.

  Both girls were also such an object of attention everywhere we went. The Chinese tend to reach out to children—when you’re in public places, when you’re at the park, they come right up to you and start playing with the children. Kelly got a lot of attention that way, and so did Franny.

  There was a hair salon at the hotel arcade. They do these incredible hairdos—butterflies and braids and so forth. Kelly and another girl wanted to get their hair done. While they did this, a huge crowd gathered around the hair salon, watching. The girls came out looking like Chinese opera stars.

  How did Franny respond to Kelly?

  Franny looked up to her immediately. Kelly had an empathic sense of what Franny was going through. There were times when I would try to talk to Franny in Chinese, and Kelly would say, “Mom, it’s not working.” Or Franny would cry, and Kelly would say, “I think she’s missing her people.” Franny had a hard time—she was three years old and trying to get used to strangers and a whole new life. It was a big, big transition for her. Also, she’d had heart surgery just four months before we adopted her.

  Kelly was wonderful. It was great for Franny to have an older sister. Franny related to Kelly right away, way more easily than to us. Kelly was her comforter. Still, it was also a big adjustment for both girls.

  Was it difficult for Franny to be three years old and not know any English?

  Yes. Just imagine, not only are you picked up by people you’ve never seen before, but you can’t understand most of what they are saying. And when you ask for something, they haven’t a clue what you need. Fortunately, we had sign language and Chinese companions who could translate. After we got home, Franny learned English quickly. Children seem to learn faster than we do, of course, plus really young children seem to naturally know how to make do when they are trying to play with each other, even if they don’t speak a common language.

  What’s been happening in Kelly’s and Franny’s lives since you wrote the book? How old are they now?

  Kelly is eleven, Franny is nine. Kelly is in sixth grade, middle school, and loving it. Franny is in third grade. They are both just wonderful girls, and I could not imagine life without them. Kelly plays the flute and loves to read. Franny is taking several different kinds of dance—West African, ballet, modern. They both love animals, swimming, reading, art.

  How aware is Kelly of her background, where she came from, how she came to be with you and your husband, and so forth? And Franny?

  We made memory books for each girl, photos, souvenirs, laced together with a narrative of how we first heard about them, when we came to get them, the journey through various places in China before we came home. When Kelly was little, she’d bring the book to anyone who came to visit and show it to them, narrating her story, and saying things like, “I was born in China and then Mom and Dad came to get me and I was soooooo cute.” As she has gotten older, she seems more matter of fact about it all.

  Franny, from the beginning, has talked more about China. She was older and clearly remembered caregivers and another life before we came along. She talks about her Chinese mother frequently and has a lot of unanswered questions.

  We have told each girl as much as we know about her story, and if we can help them later to find out more, we will. I think it helps that the girls have very close friends who are also adopted and that they have a Chinese “auntie” who has taken them under her wing. We keep ties with the families who were with us when we adopted each girl, and I think it helps the girls to know that they have close friends who have shared some of the same experiences.

  The truth is, we don’t really know what happened with either girl’s birth parents. Individual circumstances can vary so wildly. All I can do is to tell the truth as I know it, with all the gaps in information, be open to their questions, and be as compassionate as possible toward everyone involved. But we also need to accept our daughters’ feelings, whatever they are.

  When it comes to this process, children often lead the way. When they’re ready to know more, they bring it up. Or if they seem preoccupied with something, you try to create openings for discussion. You have to keep your antenna up. You can’t ever assume that the kids are okay and their questions are all settled. There will always be new little pieces coming forth. You have to keep talking. And sometimes you all need help.

  What sorts of reactions do you get from strangers on the street when they see you, a Caucasian woman, with two Asian-looking girls?

  We live in northern California, which is very multicultural. In the San Francisco Bay Area, there are so many families like ourselves, or other combinations of transracially mixed families, that we hardly get a second glance.

  But just when you are feeling comfortable, the questions pop up. Supermarket checkout lines seem to be particular mine-fields, when some curious adult starts looking at the children and looking at me and then fires comments or questions at us. “Well, aren’t they just like little China dolls!” Or, “Are they real sisters?” Or, “Is their father Chinese?” I’ve learned over time to always think of the girls first, and how they are going to take what I say, rather than thinking I owe a stranger an explanation. If it persists, I get the girls out of there. You have to be prepared to handle such comments. Chinese restaurants can also present challenges. I’ve had curious waiters ask how much we paid, that sort of thing. Again, I always think, What would the girls want to hear me say? And I’ve gotten pretty skilled at shutting down such a line of questioning: “They’re priceless. Now, can you tell me what kind of dumplings are on the menu?” That sort of thing. I’ve always admired the woman whose remark was passed around—and maybe it’s an urban legend—but when some stranger asked whether her daughter’s father was Chinese, she shot back, “I don’t know. I didn’t get a good look at him.” But it’s not always easy to have such a ready comeback. And you always have to think of your children’s feelings first.

  Do you worry about Franny and Kelly facing
racism and discrimination?

  Yes. There’s racism out there, no question, and there’s also a lot of insensitivity about adoption. Even in films made for children, the adoption theme seems such a popular plot device, and there are often remarks and assumptions that can be painful for an adopted child to hear.

  It’s good to be proactive at your children’s schools, to do some gentle educating, about birth parents and adoption, all the while making sure that you are convincing others that your child is wanted and loved and special. Teachers still assign family tree projects and ask kids to write reports on their ancestors, often not realizing, I guess, that not every kid has this information. You have to be your child’s advocate, and sometimes offer to help teachers come up with curriculum ideas that focus on different kinds of families.

  These are real issues. As a parent who loves her kids, you want the world to be tolerant and loving, and you wish people didn’t think and behave in cruel or ignorant ways, but they do.

  We hope to give the girls enough self-esteem and the ability to speak for themselves, so that they’re not dragged down by negative comments. As a parent who’s not a minority, you don’t really know what your child is going to go through out there in the world. But you want to help her and prepare her the best you can. You don’t want her to be surprised or caught off guard by an insensitive remark. You want your children to feel comfortable and confident enough to shake off these sorts of comments and be proud of who they are. Sometimes I think it’s good to role-play and let them practice some responses before they get blindsided on the playground.