There is nothing in anyone’s life that is entirely personal. Tragedy, despair, displacement, hope, joy and love are universal. They have always been part of humanity and will always be though the conditions, the circumstances and the way we perceive and process events makes them personal. It is our upbringing, social background, intellect, religious beliefs or lack thereof, and emotional constitution that lie behind the perception of what happens to us. Writing about these experiences and sharing them with others connects us to the human family, and this has been one of the functions of writing since writing was invented. Sharing brings about the universal conclusion that intelligence or stupidity, kindness or meanness and wealth or poverty make none of us immune to suffering nor guarantee happiness ever after for anybody.
After our daughter’s death we took a tour in rural England, and I found myself attracted to country cemeteries. Examining the gravestones, curious as to the age of the dead, I saw the names of four children, ages four months to twelve years, competing with moss and lichens for recognition and remembrance. That mother suffering the fourfold loss in the 19th century, Hecuba lamenting Hector centuries ago, an African woman despairing of saving her starving child today and I, unable to save my daughter sixteen years ago, all share the same universal experience of the most intense loss. Whether in the clutches of tuberculosis, or by the hands of Achilles, or in the claws of famine, or in the hands of an indifferent driver the pain and its consequences are universal.
On the other hand, birthing a child, biologically or by adoption, is one of the greatest manifestations of hope and joy in places where boys and girls are of equal value. Children do hold expectations for the future, and for the parents, they represent the potential of accomplishing something better than they have. For every human relationship one needs to give up something of the self for the relationship to flourish, so parenting helps shed selfishness and entitlement for the chance that another human being may have a chance at a fulfilling life. This is why my book is a memorial to our daughter Irma, who did teach us what parenthood is all about and, at the same time, confirmed Francis Bacon’s statement that “When one has children and a family, one gives them hostage to fate.”
Regeneration: Made in China is a tribute to the new dignity that adoption has acquired today in this country, because our society has become more open to it and has evolved in such a way that identity and success are not solely defined by birth, wealth and place of origin. Biological births do not always guarantee that the parents will love and cherish their offspring, and cases of abuse are reported daily in the news.
Sixty-thousand Chinese girls were adopted by American families between 1995 and 2005, and many more international and domestic adoptions created families in this country. Therefore, the book is also a small sign of gratitude to those Chinese women of various ages and tribes, who defied patriarchal tradition and government policy and became determined to save their daughters’ lives. They gave them chances to live a better life in places where women and men are equally appreciated and valued. China needs to re-consider their one-child policy and instead educate their people on contraception and on the destructive effects of tradition taken too far. Instead of replicating all the ills of the West, for which we are now paying the consequences, they should be using the native intelligence and intellect of their people as well as their enormous human potential to build a system where females have as much worth as males. Their folk wisdom claims that women hold half the sky, but in practice, they are not even given the right to live.
Finally, my book is a traveling journal of our experience in China, a mysterious land of endless beauty and ancient culture, full of controversies. It is a country torn between the western kind of modernity that defines everything according to its monetary value, and tradition, which can be a blessing or an instrument of destruction of human lives. Trying to imitate the West, the Chinese have been destroying the air they breathe, their environment, the fauna and the flora and their waters. Only if they adjust their progress to only the best that modern societies have contributed, only then can China evolve into the miracle of the 21st century. It must rely on the strength of its culture, the intelligence of its people and its numbers to make this a reality.
Regeneration: Made in China is a memoir, a personal narrative. Friends and family have asked me why I decided to write about something so personal as the death of my only biological child and the adoptions of my two, younger daughters.
My first book is about loss and about the human ability to survive and give meaning and substance to the unjustifiable and irremissible workings of chance. It is also a tribute to those Chinese women forced, by tradition or government, to give up their daughters. It is my gift to them for defying unpardonable rules and laws and giving their girls the potential to be found, rescued, protected and cherished. This book is also a memorial to my daughter Irma, who planted and cultivated the idea of adoption in our minds months before she was killed.
There is nothing in anyone’s life that is entirely personal. Tragedy, despair, displacement, hope, joy and love are universal. They have always been part of humanity and will always be though the conditions, the circumstances and the way we perceive and process events makes them personal. It is our upbringing, social background, intellect, religious beliefs or lack thereof, and emotional constitution that lie behind the perception of what happens to us. Writing about these experiences and sharing them with others connects us to the human family, and this has been one of the functions of writing since writing was invented. Sharing brings about the universal conclusion that intelligence or stupidity, kindness or meanness and wealth or poverty make none of us immune to suffering nor guarantee happiness ever after for anybody.
After our daughter’s death we took a tour in rural England, and I found myself attracted to country cemeteries. Examining the gravestones, curious as to the age of the dead, I saw the names of four children, ages four months to twelve years, competing with moss and lichens for recognition and remembrance. That mother suffering the fourfold loss in the 19th century, Hecuba lamenting Hector centuries ago, an African woman despairing of saving her starving child today and I, unable to save my daughter sixteen years ago, all share the same universal experience of the most intense loss. Whether in the clutches of tuberculosis, or by the hands of Achilles, in the claws of famine, or in the hands of an indifferent driver, the pain and its consequences are universal.
On the other hand, birthing a child, biologically or by adoption, is one of the greatest manifestations of hope and joy in places where boys and girls are of equal value. Children do hold expectations for the future, and for the parents, they represent the potential of accomplishing something better than they have. For every human relationship one needs to give up something of the self for the relationship to flourish, so parenting helps shed selfishness and entitlement for the chance that another human being may have a chance at a fulfilling life. This is why my book is a memorial to our daughter Irma, who did teach us what parenthood is all about and, at the same time, confirmed Francis Bacon’s statement that “When one has children and a family, one gives them hostage to fate.”
Regeneration: Made in China is a tribute to the new dignity that adoption has acquired today in this country, because our society has become more open to it and has evolved in such a way that identity and success are not solely defined by birth, wealth and place of origin. Biological births do not always guarantee that the parents will love and cherish their offspring, and cases of abuse are reported daily in the news.
Sixty-thousand Chinese girls were adopted by American families between 1995 and 2005, and many more international and domestic adoptions created families in this country. Therefore, the book is also a small sign of gratitude to those Chinese women of various ages and tribes, who defied patriarchal tradition and government policy and became determined to save their daughters’ lives. They gave them chances to live a better life in places where women and men are equally appreciated and valued. China needs to re-consider their one-child policy and instead educate their people on contraception and on the destructive effects of tradition taken too far. Instead of replicating all the ills of the West, for which we are now paying the consequences, they should be using the native intelligence and intellect of their people as well as their enormous human potential to build a system where females have as much worth as males. Their folk wisdom claims that women hold half the sky, but in practice, they are not even given the right to live.
Finally, my book is a traveling journal of our experience in China, a mysterious land of endless beauty and ancient culture, full of controversies. It is a country torn between the western kind of modernity that defines everything according to its monetary value, and tradition, which can be a blessing or an instrument of destruction of human lives. Trying to imitate the West, the Chinese have been destroying the air they breathe, their environment, the fauna and the flora and their waters. Only if they adjust their progress to only the best that modern societies have contributed, only then can China evolve into the miracle of the 21st century. It must rely on the strength of its culture, the intelligence of its people and its numbers to make this a reality.
