Rebecca Kimmel is seen reflected in her artwork depicting twins at her home in Seattle, Feb. 3. Kimmel believes her adoption agency switched her identity with another girl, and that she may have a twin. Thousands of South Korean adoptees are looking to satisfy a raw, compelling urge that much of the world takes for granted: the search for identity. AP-Yonhap

This past month has seen the release of two documentaries centered around Korea, specifically focusing on international adoption and adoptees. One was from the investigative news series "Frontline" on PBS, which partnered with the Associated Press, and the other is from Korean documentary filmmaker Jo Se-young, who debuted "K-Number" at the Busan International Film Festival.

What makes these two documentaries unique is that both delve deeply into adoption issues, with both adoptees' stories and in-depth research into the root cause of the problems that have affected people on both ends of the situation. They feature interviews with adoptees, former Korean social workers, former lawmakers, Korean-based organizations, researchers, whistleblowers, historical footage, decrees and newspaper clippings that document the origins and establishment of adoption in Korea. These films emphasize that adoption is not just an adoptee issue — it affects Koreans, adoptees and even other countries with similar adoption systems and faces similar historical problems such as war, famine and economic turmoil.

The "Frontline" documentary, titled "South Korea's Adoption Reckoning," was released two weeks ago and has already gained over 211,000 views, despite being 90 minutes long on YouTube. The main reporter, Kim Tong-hyung, leads us through his research and interviews, uncovering key details about the history of adoption in Korea. The documentary starts with a short intro and cuts to a Korean woman searching for her long-lost son who she believes was also put up for adoption. She recounts her yearslong search for her son, from whom she was separated around 1975.

Kim's extensive investigation explores the history of adoption, the establishment of adoption agencies and how both local and foreign governments facilitated the sending of children overseas for adoption. Former government officials admitted that adoption was at first used as a quick solution to the social issues that Korea faced after the 1950-53 Korean War and how it progressed from gathering babies that were biracial to Korean children under less ideal circumstances.

Research and interviews as well as historical news clips also reveal how adoption became privatized, and that the government was allowing agencies to operate autonomously to ensure adoptions were completed. The supply of children became irrelevant; the focus was on satisfying the increasing "demand for Asian babies" in Western countries and to cleanse the country of circumstances that could make Korea appear more idyllic in its new development. Initially, the practice started with children of mixed heritage and later expanded to include Korean children.

But where did so many children come from in such a small country? The documentary reports that "brokers" actively scouted hospitals, streets and other areas to find children, driven mostly by the financial incentives of the adoption industry. The lack of government oversight on both ends in Korea and Western countries helped foster this practice for several years.

Dee Iraca, who was adopted as a baby out of South Korea to a family in the United States, watches a YouTube video on how to make gimbap at her home in Davidson, N.C., April 6. AP-Yonhap

The AP and "Frontline" investigation also uncovered internal documents revealing that the government knew of questionable intake practices and confirmed that agencies received commissions for each child. A later audit revealed that hospitals, maternity wards and other venues where women gave birth also received payments. The viewer sees these documents on screen, serving as proof that what may have started as a thoughtful idea had turned into a business. The number of adoption agencies in Korea in the late 1970s and 1980s increased from one to four main organizations, with several others also ready to put babies up for adoption. In the 1980s alone, more than 8,000 children were sent abroad.

The documentary features interviews with adoptees of various ages, nationalities and gender identities, as well as accounts from Korean parents, some still searching for their children, and others who have been reunited. These stories, though different, share common themes of egregious errors and outright fabrications in the adoption process. One interview reveals how a father was told that his child needed life-saving surgery, which he could not afford, and that adoption was the only way for the child to survive. In reality, the adoptee's records showed he was perfectly healthy and "adoptable." Another adoptee discovered that she was still a Korean citizen despite being sent to France under the false pretense of abandonment. Her parents never formally relinquished their parental rights. She is now petitioning both France and Korea for accountability.

Yooree Kim, who was sent to a couple in France by the Holt adoption agency when she was 11, displays some old photos of her and her brother in her apartment in Seoul, May 18. AP-Yonhap

The documentary continues with the adoptees' stories of other errors, not only with their own paperwork but mixing up their cases with someone else's.

Another story highlighted an adoptee who was "reunited" with her mother, but a DNA test told them they were not biologically related. Not only were they not mother and daughter, but the adoptee's information was not even her own — it had been switched with another adoptee's.

When the agencies are confronted with cases like these, they often respond that this was a unique and rare situation. However, this leaves the adoptee often feeling confused, angry, frustrated, invalidated and alone.

The documentary reveals that these errors were more widespread than they were rare. It is seen that these stories are just a small fraction of what really happened.

Jang Dae-chang hugs his daughter, Nicole Motta, and her family at the Eastern Social Welfare Society in Seoul, May 31, following their emotional first meeting. Motta, whose Korean name is Jang Hyeon-jung, was adopted by an American family in Alabama in 1985. AP-Yonhap

In a separate event that was also shown in the documentary, more than 300 adoptees from Europe and the U.S. also submitted information in 2022 to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) claiming that their documents had been falsified citing similar findings. The adoptees demanded an immediate investigation and reform because of these issues.

According to the adoptees, the documents submitted show more evidence of adoptees' information being switched or fabricated, or that their statuses and documents were also falsified to give them an "abandoned" status so that they could be adopted.

Representatives of the TRC who were also interviewed said that they were working diligently to make sure that these records are carefully examined to come up with a proper conclusion. They have until 2025 to report their findings to the government. More evidence was compiled, but because this is still ongoing there is no conclusion to the findings that were presented in the documentary.

Nonetheless, one cannot deny the mountains of evidence showing that it may only be a matter of time before any institution or ministry in Korea can continue to claim that there are only a "few adoptees" who are having these issues.

Even if adoption reunions and searches rarely end well for adoptees, the continuing denial of this situation makes it even more difficult for adoptees to be able to receive any type of conclusion to their story. Instead, they are left with even more questions and frustration at a system that has hurt them on all levels.

Although the documentary ends on a somewhat uplifting note, with the mother who was shown in the beginning of the story going to the airport to reunite with her long-lost son, many things still feel raw for many adoptees around the world. AP and "Frontline" also believe that because Korea's adoption industry established a blueprint that many countries followed, a lack of reform not only hurts Korea and Korean adoptees, but adoptees and adoptions of all ethnicities around the world — especially vulnerable countries that have lost a huge portion of their population.

The overall reaction of adoptees are frustration, sadness and helplessness over the given situation and the lack of changes that come from the government over this issue. However, after being gaslit and told for so long that these are just minor errors, many adoptees felt that the documentary provided a sense of validation and that they are relieved that this situation is being expressed in a more open forum and on a larger scale.

On the adoptee-led website paperslip.org, one user named Andrea shared:

"For me, these articles and documentaries confirm what so many have suspected. Korean adoptees are a product of supply and demand. There were good intentions, but also complete negligence in considering the impact on a human's life."

Another commenter, Kim Dong-hee, whose family experienced a similar situation to that of the father and son in the documentary, expressed:

"My family and I still struggle every day with this question: How do we build a family life when we grew up years and worlds apart? I cannot imagine how heartbreaking it must have been for my father, who thought for years that I had passed away at 6 weeks old."

Nam, who works with Korean adoptees and their families, added:

"I have known about these issues for years, but it took (the documentary's) reporting to bring it to a wider audience and give it the weight backed by indisputable evidence. Adoption is a humanitarian issue, which it is often not seen as."

In one striking moment, Park Geon-tae, who leads a team with the TRC, stated:

"To put it simply, there was supply because there was demand. Were there really so many abandoned children in South Korea? We have yet to see this."

In the YouTube comments, one viewer shared a story about how their father was nearly taken off the streets of Seoul by adoption agents.

Michaela Dietz, an adoptee from the U.S. who was featured in the documentary, stated in a recent communication with The Korea Times: "It's empowering to see the wide reach that Kim Tong-hyung, Claire Galofaro and Lorah Moftah's research have had in the U.S. and beyond. I also feel relieved, like finally! People know that my story of being switched isn't an anomaly — it's indicative of systemic issues. I think the AP and 'Frontline' did a brilliant job of weaving our stories amongst the historical backdrop of Korea's international adoption industry. To know that both the AP and 'Frontline' wanted to uncover truths about the program and how it has impacted so many families — adoptive and biological — was a relief, even validating."

Kenneth Barthel, left, who was abandoned and later adopted to the United States at age 6, and his wife, Napela, comfort each other as they leave the Busan Metropolitan City Child Protection Center, May 17, after searching for documents that could lead to finding his birth family. AP-Yonhap

Despite the growing evidence, adoption agencies avoid giving any direct statements and still maintain that these are exceptions. However, with the overwhelming evidence gathered by "Frontline," AP, whistleblowers and other organizations, how much more proof is needed before it is no longer considered an exception? When hundreds of lives have been affected in Korea and abroad, can this still be classified as an isolated incident?

The TRC and other local organizations continue to push for reform, accountability and prevention, with the commission expected to release its findings to the government in 2025. Many adoptees are seeking different outcomes, but most hope for systemic change to ensure that no other country makes the same mistakes Korea has made.

The AP also continues to further highlight the adoptees mentioned on its website in extensive, individual interviews.

Antonia Giordano is a freelance photographer and writer based in Seoul. An adoptee, Antonia deeply understands and connects with the issues surrounding adoption and post-adoption. Visit giordanoantonia.myportfolio.com and follow @antonia_creative_services on Instagram.