South Korea adoptees endure emotional, sometimes devastating searches for their birth families

SEOUL, South Korea (AP) — They began a pilgrimage that thousands before them have done. They boarded long flights to their motherland, South Korea, to undertake an emotional, often frustrating, sometimes devastating search for their birth families.

These adoptees are among the 200,000 sent from South Korea to Western nations as children. Many have grown up, searched for their origin story and discovered that their adoption paperwork was inaccurate or fabricated. They have only breadcrumbs to go on: grainy baby photos, names of orphanages and adoption agencies, the towns where they were said to have been abandoned. They don’t speak the language. They’re unfamiliar with the culture. Some never learn their truth.

“I want my mother to know I’m OK and that her sacrifice was not in vain,” says Kenneth Barthel, adopted in 1979 at 6 years old to Hawaii.

He hung flyers all over Busan, where his mother abandoned him at a restaurant. She ordered him soup, went to the bathroom and never returned. Police found him wandering the streets and took him to an orphanage. He didn’t think much about finding his birth family until he had his own son, imagined himself as a boy and yearned to understand where he came from.

He has visited South Korea four times, without any luck. He says he’ll keep coming back, and tears rolled down his cheeks.

Some who make this trip learn things about themselves they’d thought were lost forever.

In a small office at the Stars of the Sea orphanage in Incheon, South Korea, Maja Andersen sat holding Sister Christina Ahn’s hands. Her eyes grew moist as the sister translated the few details available about her early life at the orphanage.

She had loved being hugged, the orphanage documents said, and had sparkling eyes.

“Thank you so much, thank you so much,” Andersen repeated in a trembling voice. There was comfort in that — she had been hugged, she had smiled.

She’d come here searching for her family.

“I just want to tell them I had a good life and I’m doing well,” Andersen said to Sister Ahn.

Andersen had been admitted to the facility as a malnourished baby and was adopted at 7 months old to a family in Denmark, according to the documents. She says she’s grateful for the love her adoptive family gave her, but has developed an unshakable need to know where she came from. She visited this orphanage, city hall and a police station, but found no new clues about her birth family.

Still she remains hopeful, and plans to return to South Korea to keep trying. She posted a flyer on the wall of a police station not far from the orphanage, just above another left by an adoptee also searching for his roots.

Korean adoptees have organized, and now they help those coming along behind them. Non-profit groups conduct DNA testing. Sympathetic residents, police officers and city workers of the towns where they once lived often try to assist them. Sometimes adoption agencies are able to track down birth families.

Nearly four decades after her adoption to the U.S., Nicole Motta in May sat across the table from a 70-year-old man her adoption agency had identified as her birth father. She typed “thanks for meeting me today” into a translation program on her phone to show him. A social worker placed hair samples into plastic bags for DNA testing.

But the moment they hugged, Motta, adopted to the United States in 1985, didn’t need the results — she knew she’d come from this man.

“I am a sinner for not finding you,” he said.

Motta’s adoption documents say her father was away for work for long stretches and his wife struggled to raise three children alone. He told her she was gone when he came back from one trip, and claimed his brother gave her away. He hasn’t spoken to the brother since, he said, and never knew she was adopted abroad.

Motta’s adoption file leaves it unclear whether the brother had a role in her adoption. It says she was under the care of unspecified neighbors before being sent to an orphanage that referred her to an adoption agency, which sent her abroad in 1985.

She studied his face. She wondered if she looks like her siblings or her mother, who has since died.

“I think I have your nose,” Motta said softly.

They both sobbed.

Associated Press journalist Claire Galofaro contributed to this report.

This story is part of an ongoing investigation led by The Associated Press in collaboration with FRONTLINE (PBS). The investigation includes an interactive and documentary, South Korea’s Adoption Reckoning. Contact AP’s global investigative team at Investigative@ap.org.

A teardrop rolls down the cheek of Kenneth Barthel, who was adopted from South Korea at the age of six, as he sits in a minivan in Busan, South Korea, Friday, May 17, 2024, after spending the day trying to uncover the details of his early life and find his birth family. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Jang Dae-chang hugs his daughter, Nicole Motta, and her family at the Eastern Social Welfare Society in Seoul on Friday, May 31, 2024, following their emotional first meeting. Motta, whose Korean name is Jang Hyeon-jung, was adopted by a family in Alabama, United States, in 1985. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Adoptee Nicole Motta, left, and her birth father, Jang Dae-chang, wipe tears after an emotional reunion at the Eastern Social Welfare Society in Seoul, Friday, May 31, 2024. The moment they hugged, Motta, adopted to the United States in 1985, didn't need DNA test results, she knew she'd come from this man. "I am a sinner for not finding you," he said. "I think I have your nose," Motta said softly. They both sobbed. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Nicole Motta, an adoptee visiting South Korea to look for her birth family, types "thank you for meeting me today," on her smartphone to translate it into Korean, as she meets her birth father for the first time at the Eastern Social Welfare Society in Seoul, Friday, May 31, 2024. Motta's adoption documents say her father was away for work for long stretches and his wife struggled to raise three children alone. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Nicole Motta's son, Adler, collects hair samples from his mother for a DNA test as her birth father, Jang Dae-chang, reviews the paperwork at the Eastern Social Welfare Society in Seoul, South Korea, Friday, May 31, 2024. The two were reunited for the first time since she was adopted by a family in Alabama, United States, in 1985. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Nicole Motta, left, turns to see her birth father, Jang Dae-chang, as he enters the room at the Eastern Social Welfare Society in Seoul, South Korea, Friday, May 31, 2024, as they're reunited for the first time since she was adopted in 1985 by a family in Alabama. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Nicole Motta, an adoptee visiting from Los Angeles to search for her birth family, visits Bucheon, South Korea, where she was born, Thursday, May 30, 2024. Many adoptees have grown up and are searching for their origin story. They have few details to go on. They don't speak the language. They're unfamiliar with the culture. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Nicole Motta, second from left, an adoptee visiting from Los Angeles, chats with Paek Kyeong-mi from Global Overseas Adoptees' Link, during a break from searching for Motta's birth family in Bucheon, South Korea, Thursday, May 30, 2024. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Holding a flyer asking for help to find adoptee Nicole Motta's birth family, long-time resident An Bok-rye knocks on the door of an apartment building where Motta's home once stood in Bucheon, South Korea, Thursday, May 30, 2024. Sympathetic residents, police officers and city workers of the towns where they once lived often try to assist adoptees searching for their origin story. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Nicole Motta, left, an adoptee visiting from Los Angeles to search for her birth family, visits the neighborhood where she was born in Bucheon, South Korea, Thursday, May 30, 2024. Her son, Adler, second from left, walks alongside long-time resident An Bok-rye who is helping with her search. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Nicole Motta, an adoptee visiting from Los Angeles, holds a tablet displaying a childhood picture, while traveling to search for her birth family in Yongin, South Korea, Thursday, May 30, 2024. Motta, whose Korean name is Jang Hyeon-jung, visited the site that used to be the orphanage where she stayed until her adoption. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

The flag of South Korea is displayed at the Overseas Korean Adoptees Gathering in Seoul, South Korea, Tuesday, May 21, 2024. Korean adoptees have organized, and now they help those coming along behind them searching for their origin story. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

A city employee posts a flyer with photos of adoptee Maja Andersen from various ages in life and details about her birth search on the wall of a police station in Incheon, South Korea, Monday, May 20, 2024, above another left by an adoptee also searching for his roots. Andersen was adopted to a family in Denmark when she was an infant. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Maja Andersen, an adoptee visiting from Denmark to search for her birth family, hugs Sister Christina Ahn at Star of the Sea orphanage in Incheon, South Korea, Monday, May 20, 2024, while visiting the facility to look for details of her adoption. She had loved being hugged, the orphanage documents said, and had sparkling eyes. "Thank you so much, thank you so much," Andersen repeated in a trembling voice. There was comfort in that, she had been hugged, she had smiled. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Maja Andersen, an adoptee visiting from Denmark to search for her birth family, visits the Star of the Sea Orphanage in Incheon, South Korea, Monday, May 20, 2024, where she stayed until her adoption at seven months old. She visited the facility to look for documents in hopes of finding her family. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Maja Andersen, top, an adoptee visiting from Denmark to search for her birth family, holds the hands of Sister Christina Ahn at Star of the Sea orphanage in Incheon, South Korea, Monday, May 20, 2024, during her visit to look for documents in hopes of finding her family. She stayed at the facility until her adoption at seven months old. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Maja Andersen, right, an adoptee visiting from Denmark to search for her birth family, and her daughter, Yasmin, attend the Overseas Korean Adoptees Gathering in Seoul, South Korea, Tuesday, May 21, 2024. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Photos of adoptees participating at the Overseas Korean Adoptees Gathering are displayed on a large screen during the conference in Seoul, South Korea, Tuesday, May 21, 2024. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Maja Andersen, front row third from left, an adoptee visiting from Denmark to search for her birth family, holds a South Korean flag with others while taking a group photo at the Overseas Korean Adoptees Gathering in Seoul, South Korea, Tuesday, May 21, 2024. These adoptees are among the 200,000 sent away from Korea to Western nations as children. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Maja Andersen sits for a photo in her hotel room, holding a tablet displaying her baby photo taken before her adoption to Denmark, as she visits Seoul, South Korea to search for her birth family, Monday, May 20, 2024. Andersen is among thousands of Korean adoptees who have taken a pilgrimage to their motherland for an emotional, often frustrating, sometimes devastating search for their origin story. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Kenneth Barthel, left, who was abandoned and later adopted to the United States at 6 years old, and his wife, Napela, comfort each other as they leave the Busan Metropolitan City Child Protection Center in Busan, South Korea, Friday, May 17, 2024, after searching for documents that could lead to finding his birth family. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Kenneth Barthel, right, who was adopted to the United States at 6 years old, talks with diners in the neighborhood where he remembers being abandoned by his mother, in Busan, South Korea, Friday, May 17, 2024. Barthel was posting flyers in the area featuring his photos in the hopes of finding his birth family. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Restaurant owner Shin Byung-chul looks from behind a flyer he put up of Kenneth Barthel, who was abandoned in the area as a child and later adopted to Hawaii at 6 years old, at his restaurant in Busan, South Korea, Friday, May 17, 2024. Barthel has visited Korea four times to search for his birth family. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Kenneth Barthel, left, helps Shin Byung-chul post a flyer with photos of Barthel at various ages in his life, on the wall of his restaurant in Busan, South Korea, Friday, May 17, 2024, as Barthel's daughter, Amiya, rear, looks on. Barthel's mother had ordered him soup in a restaurant in the area when he was 6 years old, went to the bathroom and never returned. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Kenneth Barthel, who was adopted by a single parent in Hawaii at 6 years old, is hugged by his wife, Napela, at the Sisters of Mary in Busan, South Korea, Friday, May 17, 2024. In the foreground, Sister Bulkeia, left, and Paek Kyeong-mi from Global Overseas Adoptees' Link discuss a flyer designed to uncover the details of Barthel's early life and find his birth family. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

Kenneth Barthel, adopted from South Korea to Hawaii in 1979 at 6 years old, holds a tablet showing his childhood photo in Busan, South Korea, Thursday, May 16, 2024. Barthel is looking for his birth family in Busan where he believes he was abandoned when his mother ordered soup for him in a restaurant and never returned. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

DETROIT (AP) — The union representing 45,000 striking U.S. dockworkers at East and Gulf coast ports reached a deal Thursday to suspend a three-day strike until Jan. 15 to provide time to negotiate a new contract.

The union, the International Longshoremen’s Association, is to resume working immediately. The temporary end to the strike came after the union and the U.S. Maritime Alliance, which represents ports and shipping companies, reached a tentative agreement on wages, the union and ports said in a joint statement.

A person briefed on the agreement said the ports sweetened their wage offer from about 50% over six years to 62%. The person didn’t want to be identified because the agreement is tentative. Any wage increase would have to be approved by union members as part of the ratification of a final contract.

The union went on strike early Tuesday after its contract expired in a dispute over pay and the automation of tasks at 36 ports stretching from Maine to Texas. The strike came at the peak of the holiday shopping season at the ports, which handle about half the cargo from ships coming into and out of the United States.

The walkout raised the risk of shortages of goods on store shelves if it lasted more than a few weeks. Most retailers, though, had stocked up or shipped items early in anticipation of the dockworkers' strike.

“With the grace of God, and the goodwill of neighbors, it’s gonna hold,” President Joe Biden told reporters Thursday night after the agreement.

In a statement later, Biden applauded both sides “for acting patriotically to reopen our ports and ensure the availability of critical supplies for Hurricane Helene recovery and rebuilding.”

Biden said that collective bargaining is “critical to building a stronger economy from the middle out and the bottom up.”

The union's membership won't need to vote on the temporary suspension of the strike, meaning that giant cranes should start loading and unloading shipping containers Thursday night. Until Jan. 15, the workers will be covered under the old contract, which expired on Sept. 30.

The union had been demanding a 77% raise over six years, plus a complete ban on the use of automation at the ports, which members see as a threat to their jobs. Both sides also have been apart on the issues of pension contributions and the distribution of royalties paid on containers that are moved by workers.

Thomas Kohler, who teaches labor and employment law at Boston College, said the agreement to halt the strike means that the two sides are close to a final deal.

“I’m sure that if they weren’t going anywhere they wouldn’t have suspended (the strike),” he said. “They’ve got wages. They’ll work out the language on automation, and I’m sure that what this really means is it gives the parties time to sit down and get exactly the language they can both live with.”

Industry analysts have said that for every day of a port strike it takes four to six days to recover. But they said a short strike of a few days probably wouldn’t gum up the supply chain too badly.

Kohler said the surprise end to the strike may catch railroads with cars, engines and crews out of position. But railroads are likely to work quickly to fix that.

Just before the strike had begun, the Maritime Alliance said both sides had moved off their original wage offers, a tentative sign of progress.

The settlement pushes the strike and any potential shortages past the November presidential election, eliminating a potential liability for Vice President Kamala Harris, the Democratic nominee. It's also a big plus for the Biden-Harris administration, which has billed itself as the most union-friendly in American history. Shortages could have driven up prices and reignited inflation.

Thursday's deal came after administration officials met with foreign-owned shipping companies before dawn on Zoom, according to a person briefed on the day's events who asked not to be identified because the talks were private. The White House wanted to increase pressure to settle, emphasizing the responsibility to reopen the ports to help with recovery from Hurricane Helene, the person said.

Acting Labor Secretary Julie Su told them she could get the union to the bargaining table to extend the contract if the carriers made a higher wage offer. Chief of Staff Jeff Zients told the carriers they had to make an offer by the end of the day so a manmade strike wouldn't worsen a natural disaster, the person said.

By midday the Maritime Alliance members agreed to a large increase, bringing about the agreement, according to the person.

AP Writers Darlene Superville and Josh Boak in Washington and Annie Mulligan in Houston contributed to this report.

Dockworkers from Port Miami display signs at a picket line, Thursday, Oct. 3, 2024, in Miami. (AP Photo/Marta Lavandier)