by Dave Morrison
The first version of this story was posted on Jul 14, 1994 and gave a
very personal account of the search and reunion with all its suspense,
heartache, emotion and celebration. This version (II) tells the
administrative, legal and bureaucratic side. [Poster's note.]
At some time all adoptees wonder about their natural parents. Adoption
is a difficult concept for a young child to grasp and often the answers
are never available. Even in later life, there are the 'what if's' and
'I might have's' which will never be realized.
Starting the process of finding my natural-mother (or birth-mother) in
1981, I was 27 years old. The adoption agency through which I was
placed in 1954 had been merged with a larger Children's Center. Calling
these people, I was told under NO circumstances would ANY information be
given out to me or anybody else without a order from the court which
handled my adoption; in this case, Family Court of Monroe County, New York.
The people were very apologetic and supportive, but the law guarding the
confidentiality of the adoption papers was very explicit and thorough.
I could appreciate the concern for protecting the anonymity of the
natural-mother and I would respect that. But I also knew these people
had information about ME, not some swapped pet from 27 years ago. I
wanted to have the same knowledge that the vast majority of the pop-
ulation had, namely, who is/was my natural mother and father? What did
they look like? And what were the circumstances behind me being placed
for adoption?
My adoptive parents were very supportive of me finding my natural mother.
This was essential in that they could have felt hurt or rejected very easily
and after raising me and standing by me for all my life, being an ingrate
was the last thing I'd want to be.
I didn't have a job and was determined not to ask my parents for the money
for an attorney (THAT seemed kind of inappropriate). Going to Legal Aid and
explaining my situation, I was told that there were a very limited number of
reasons the Court would authorize unsealing adoption records and even fewer
reasons to provide any names or detailed information once they were opened.
However, there WAS an Adoption Registry overseen by the New York State
Department of Health. You paid $75 to register and you would be provided
with NON-IDENTIFYING information: no names, just physical characteristics,
ethnical backgrounds, hobbies and occupations. Not much help, but anything
was better than what was known. (The adoption papers my parents had
referred to me as 'Baby Boy Hill' and they were told my natural mother was a
Canadian Indian. This would be the only information I would have for almost
30 years.) There WAS a form for IDENTIFYING information, but this would
only be given if the natural parent had registered also and the cost was
$150. If the parent didn't register, it would be $150 thrown out the
window. I spoke with the director of the Adoption Registry and he told me,
quite frankly, the odds were very poor that most natural parents ever
registered.
I procrastinated and finally sent in the $75. Several months later, I
I received the non-identifying information. Interested primarily in my
natural mother, it told me she was indeed a Canadian Indian and she planned
to return to the reserve after my birth. It also showed she was 20 years
old when I was born, her height, weight, education and occupation. It also
told me my natural father was Polish, blonde, grey-eyed, had been in the
Army and worked on cars. Well, there was no doubt who I looked like... I
have the dark hair, eyes and skin and can get tanned under Christmas lights.
A North American Indian and my mother was from Canada. In my book, that's
as proud a background as you can get. Already, my self-esteem rose by leaps
and bounds.
By now it was 1983 and the goal of obtaining her name wasn't any closer. I
had married in 1982 and we were settling into the newlywed lifestyle and I
let things slide. I was determined NOT to 'pay' for the information that
everybody else knew as a birth-right so the barrier of needing a court order
was still in place. Curiosity gnawed away at me, and I made some calls to
the judge of Family Court. He told me that there had to be a good reason
why he should allow the records to be unsealed; not just curiosity. The
adoption records had a lot of details that were of interest and included a
medical history of my mother and her family. Was cancer a family trait?
Heart problems? Diabetes? The judge said that those were reasons to unseal
the records. THAT type of information could be released, but her name would
not be revealed. He told me it MAY not be necessary to hire an attorney for
this information. I agreed to settle for that for the time being.
I sent a detailed request to the judge's office as he had requested and
waited. I made repeated calls to check on the status of the request, but
after a few months, it was obvious that this wasn't going to be the way to
go about it. The judge, out of fear of breaching the confidentiality of the
matter, was not going to simply give an OK to release anything without a
legal petition from an attorney's office. And the retainer for an attorney
started at $500. I was back at square one.
On my frequent journeys throughout Ontario, I'd track down government
agencies and explain my situation. I discovered an agency called Indian and
Northern Affairs Canada and learned more of how the Federal government was
involved administratively with the Indian nations throughout Canada. In
1985, I was told about a bill called C-31 and how it related to the
offspring of unmarried Native Canadian women. Bulls-eye.
Today I understand the arguments both for and against C-31. There are those
who probably would have preferred that people in my situation remain off the
band lists. There are those who felt that an injustice was righted. There
are also those who felt that they as individuals didn't have a hell of a lot
of choice in the matter of being born and adopted. All I knew was that I'd
been denied my own identity from the day I was born. Here was a chance to
establish that identity.
There was a blitz of calls and letters to INAC in Hull. After many
discussions it was determined that, yes, it certainly appeared that I was
eligible to apply for a re-instatement of my status (my WHAT?), but that my
natural mother's name was required. New York State had THAT information and
they STILL weren't going to give it to me or anybody else. I spoke again
with the Family Court judge and explained what was needed in Hull and he
groused again. This time he asked that INAC send him a request of EXACTLY
what it was they needed to know. I was the courier of these messages and I
explained to INAC what the judge wanted.
There was a lot of reluctance by INAC to do this. They were as nervous
about dealing directly with the New York State judicial system as the judge
was dealing with 'a foreign government'. I couldn't imagine a Canadian-U.S.
war starting over this thing, but it was apparent that neither side was
going to do anything. Back to square one.
I pleaded, begged and finally set the whole thing on the back burner. By
1987 my frustration level had peaked and I was getting nowhere. Yes, there
was the non-identifying information and the ray of hope with C-31, but
without my mother's name, nothing else could be done.
In 1989, my marriage began to disintegrate and I was diagnosed with severe
esophagitis and chronic esophageal reflux. Sick, depressed and discouraged
I filed for divorce early in 1990. Priorities being what they were at the
time, finding my mother's name wasn't high on the list of things to do. The
divorce went through later that year and again I was at a crossroad. After
the divorce the importance of an identity surfaced with renewed vigor. I
better understood what attorneys can do (and how much it costs for them to
do it) and I felt that I would pay almost anything to get this to
completion.
My adopted mother's health was failing due to diabetes and the 'voice
within' told me that I'd better start to move on this if I even had a chance
of finding my natural mother while my adopted mother was still alive. That
was important to me. I sat down with the same attorney from my divorce and
took cash advances from anywhere I could to come up with the retainer. I'd
heard about the Indian Child Welfare Act in New York State which basically
said I was entitled to the information in order to determine my heredity. A
definite plus for me and my attorney; the only problem was it had never been
tested in the court systems and there was no precedent to follow. So the
initially quoted attorney fee of $300 started to climb. When all was said
and done, the final fee was $900.
Throughout the remainder of 1990, I badgered my attorney to get this
petition presented to Family Court. We had to show that INAC would be the
only agency which would see my natural mother's name and that they would
promise not to divulge the name to me or my attorney. The reason her name
had to be released was to ascertain whether she was a status Indian in
Canada and whether I was eligible to apply for status under C-31. This
sounded simple enough. I was in weekly contact with the people of INAC to
let them know what was going on down here.
The petition was finally ready to present to the court and then the wait
started to get scheduled for a date in court. Weeks passed and I was
pleading with the court secretary to try and bump the priority on this as I
STILL had a wait of a some six months AFTER the name had reached INAC.
Finally, the judge read the petition and approved it; the name would be
released to Hull. On to the next step.
I realize that INAC may not be looked upon favorably all the time, but allow
me to say these were some of the most concerned government workers I've ever
worked with... definitely more so than down here. These people put a rush
on my application to determine my eligibility to apply for status and within
six weeks, it was determined that I was not only ELIGIBLE to apply for
status, I was already BANDED as an Upper Mohawk of the Six Nations of the
Grand River.
I was stunned. I had BEEN on Six Nations for several years, but I'd never
imagined it was my reserve. No time to bask; on to the next step.
I went to Six Nations the following weekend and I can't begin to explain how
I felt when I crossed the train tracks onto the rez for the first time after
finding out it was my reserve. The history and knowledge that part of me
was from here. I had found an ancestral home... someplace where I could
truthfully say my ancestors lived, died and were buried. This is something
a non-adoptee takes for granted. An adoptee has to fake it with their
adopted family because it's no secret that no part of them ever walked on
the adopted ancestral land. Roots.
I went to INAC on St.Clair East in Toronto to get my status card on 2
August, 1991. It was a great summer day and there must have been a lot of
Torontonians who wondered what the hell that guy was grinning about. Even
if I couldn't find my mother at least I was now and forevermore known as a
Native Canadian. It meant a lot to me then; it means more to me now.
The CNE that year was special; VERY special. Going to the Ontario First
Nations display with pride and a definite sense of belonging, I spoke with
whoever would listen. The dancers and singers now meant more to me; I had
started a learning process which will last the rest of my life.
Not knowing where or how to start finding my mother (if she were alive AND
living on Six Nations) I went to the Administration Building in Oshweken.
With a last name of Hill, it would be tough to find my family. I worked
with a very supportive social worker who suggested I take out an ad in the
reserve paper, The Tekawennake. Ten days passed after the classified ad
first appeared and in October of 1991, my mother saw it and responded. We
were reunited a week later and I began to meet the family, MY family.
There was one more thing I wanted to do which many people (including my
mother) have a difficult time understanding. Since my mother wasn't a U.S.
citizen at the time of my birth, I was born a Canadian 'citizen' even though
I was born in Rochester, New York. I wanted to have, or at least be able to
claim, Canadian citizenship. I understand that I'm a member of the
Haudenoaunee (Iroquois) Confederacy and as such, I may not have to consider
myself either an American or Canadian. Over here the government says I'm an
American, period. I'm not a Native American because my reserve is in Canada
and the status card is not accepted because it's issued by a 'foreign'
government. I need to show a letter from my Council stating that my mother
is at least 50% Indian. I say that's bull. I know of no other ethnic group
who needs a 'letter from the principal' to determine that they're whatever
they are. Insults are provided free of charge to Indians here.
Citizenship Canada required a copy of my mother's birth certificate showing
she was born in Canada. My mother found her certificate and I made copies
to send to Sydney, Nova Scotia for my Proof of Citizenship certificate.
Since I was already a Canadian citizen I wasn't actually going for a 'grant'
of citizenship but rather 'proof' of citizenship. It could have been
interesting had I been required to take an oath of alligiance to the Queen.
That would be considered grounds for expatriation or loss of my U.S.
citizenship. (Her Majesty and I have a secret.) I have a copy of my
Canadian citizenship certificate along with a Mohawk calendar prominently
displayed at work. The original is at home framed in birds-eye maple.
What did I learn from this whole bureaucratic challenge? Patience and
perseverence. 'Red tape' is easier to deal with than 'white tape'. Canada
is more open and amenable to Native issues than the United States. Don't
become discouraged and give up when someone tells you, 'You can't'. Native
Canadians are a proud, organized, lively and fascinating society with a
heritage that's as rich and colorful today as it's ever been. These are the
things I learned.
To those adoptees who are thinking about beginning a 'search', I'd say above
all, be sensitive. My reunion was one of the greatest joys of my life. I
was welcomed 'back' to a warm, loving family. Not all reunions are
pleasant.
Even though I live in Rochester the pride I have of being even a small part
of the fabric of Native Canadians borders on obnoxiousness. My focus and
orientation is North. There'll come a time when I'll be able to make the
move and live in a place where I think, look and act like the people around
me.
Dave
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Comments from NativeNet co-moderator, Gary Trujillo (gst@gnosys.svle.ma.us):
I recently spoke with Dave Morrison, the author of this article, and
have exchanged a few e-mail messages with him. I have just added his
name to the NATIVE-L and NATCHAT mailing lists in order that he can
follow any subsequent discussion, which I suggest anyone interested in
talking about this subject send to the NATCHAT list (send to the address
"natchat@gnosys.svle.ma.us"). Dave can be reached using the address
"lockovm2.593807@kodako.kodak.com" To get a copy of the first article
in this series, which tells the very touching human story of how Dave
located his Mohawk birth parents, send a message to the address
"listserv@tamvm1.tamu.edu" containing the text:
// job echo=no
database search dd=rules
//rules dd *
select * in native-l.8058
print all
/*
(that's the numeral "1" in "tamvm1" and the letter "l" in "native-l").
Gary