Finding family for Bangladesh's adopted 'war babies'

Hi everyone, 

One of the best things about writing this newsletter is the fact that I get to speak to all kinds of people and hear their stories. One of my colleagues describes herself as “professionally nosy” and I think that’s a privilege I’ve come to recognise more and more as I chat to people from around the world for The Spark.

Without someone sharing their stories, there is no journalism. But more than that, there is no connection. No shared experience. No shock, sadness, joy. 

“How was your weekend?” or “How are you doing?” might sound like standard small talk as the kettle boils or coffee brews, but these questions are so much more. They’re an opening, an invitation to share some of your life with someone who wants to hear. 

I’m awed by what I hear every week in preparing this newsletter. And I’m thrilled to be able to pass on some of these amazing stories to you, in the hope they make you feel or see the world a little differently. And the next time someone asks how your weekend was, maybe try to expand on, “Fine, yours?”. You might be surprised where it leads.

~ A quick note: The first story I want to tell today involves mentions of rape and child abduction. If that’s not for you today, you can skip to the yellow box, or come back next week – I’ll be happy to see you then ~ 

Sandwiched between the usual emails, one surprisingly personal message stood out to Thaslima Begum, a freelance journalist who has worked for the Guardian, among other publications. In just 75 words, a woman called Jane had unknowingly set in motion a two-year investigation that would lead to an award-winning podcast and – most importantly – answers for people who have been waiting decades for the truth. 

“I’m Bangladeshi and I grew up listening to war stories from the 1971 liberation war. It always shocked me how little remained known about the atrocities committed against the Birangona – a term given to Bengali women who had been raped by Pakistani troops – and I had always wanted to tell their story,” Thaslima said. 

“Jane’s email was the push I needed to set out to find these incredible women and learn what had happened to their children.”

During the war, which ended in Bangladesh’s independence from Pakistan, systematic rape was used as a weapon. Thousands of so-called “war babies” were born to the estimated 200,000 to 400,000 victims. 

In the aftermath, Bangladesh introduced a law to allow foreigners to adopt war babies left at orphanages, and thousands of adoptions took place over the 1970s. Then in 1976 and 1977, some mothers alleged that they had been tricked and that their children had been adopted without their consent – in this instance, to the Netherlands. 

“The safeguarding was so poor, it appears as though children became part of a supply chain,” said Rosie Swash, a reporter and editor who worked with Thaslima on this story. Poor parents were enticed into the scheme through promises of education and temporary care for their children. Once their trust had been gained, they say, their little ones were spirited thousands of miles away to Europe. 

Families were divided. Children grew up not knowing their birth dates or their parents’ names. Some believed their parents had abandoned them deliberately. Decades on, time is running out. Many of the parents of the children who went missing are elderly or have died.

However, there is hope.

After the series was published, the Bangladesh authorities ordered its first formal investigation into the allegations. The findings are due in August. Mothers who said their babies were taken away in 1976 and 1977 have had their testimonies recorded.  

“Adoptees from all around the world have told us how hopeful they now feel,” Thaslima told me. “Currently, the Dutch government has multiple legal cases filed against it by adoptees and many have referenced our work as evidence of wrongdoing in the country’s adoption system.” 

Shapla, an organisation that helps to reunite adoptees with their families in Bangladesh, is hearing from more and more adoptees.

Both Rosie and Thaslima hope shining the light on this atrocity will ultimately lead to justice.

“My hope is that the police investigation leads to a proper government inquiry, one that establishes the truth and officially acknowledges what the mothers have been through,” said Rosie. “This should include an official acknowledgement and apology for the wrongdoing committed against them, and compensation for their losses,” Thaslima added.

As for Jane, the person who sent the fateful email, well, she found some peace. She visited the Mother Theresa orphanage in Dhaka, where she was adopted from at a few weeks old. There was no information about who her mother was, but she got comfort from visiting the place she was born.

As she told Thaslima and Rosie:

There’s a curious link between Jane’s story and the second investigation I want to tell you about today. It hit the front pages in the UK in 1972 – the year Jane was born. And it also involved parents wronged by an authority they trusted with their children’s wellbeing. 

This story begins in the 1950s, when a new drug that helped relieve morning sickness, among other things, was released. By the middle of the decade it was on sale in nearly 50 countries. However, in 1961, a doctor published a letter in the Lancet noting “multiple severe abnormalities” in the babies of people who had taken the drug.  

By the time the link was established, 10,000 babies had been born with the effects of thalidomide. Only half survived their first months. Families around the world scrambled for justice. 

In 1968, the company that held the licence in the UK proposed settling with the families affected for just £3.25m over ten years. In 1972, the Sunday Times launched a campaign to get a better settlement for the survivors, calling the proposed amount “grotesquely out of proportion to the injuries suffered”. (The company had made pre-tax profits of £64.8m in 1971.)

The story is close to the heart of us TBIJ-ers because Elaine Potter, our co-founder, was a key part of that campaign.

“The day I was born, my dad was watching a news programme and it showed another girl – called Mandy, funnily enough – who had the same disability as me. 

I was born without arms, blind in one eye and partially sighted in the other. But due to the damage to my eye, I have been totally blind for over 30 years. 

The hospital was starting to make the link between thalidomide and these disabilities when I was born. They told my mum and dad, and also said how other parents of affected children were starting to form a group, which became the Thalidomide Society. Lady Mary Hoare, who had a trust that provided help for children born disabled, joined forces with the Society and the two groups coordinated activities.

My first memory of being different comes from when my sister was born. I realised that she had something that I didn't – arms. Mum told me it was due to a tablet that she took. 

I was about two-and-a-half when my pictures with a fellow thalidomide baby were put into a national newspaper that went abroad. They were trying to raise money for the campaign for compensation. For years and years those pictures were brought out, and I’ve been in and out of the press from then on. 

Everywhere I went people recognised me from the media. They’d say, “there goes one of those thalidomide babies”. That was quite hard. But if we hadn’t had the backing of the press, especially the Sunday Times, I don’t think people would have known about thalidomide. I think it would have been very hard to get the compensation that we did. And it still helps with getting support. 

Without this help, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I’m very lucky because I managed to leave home, run my own household, and pay for the personal help that I need. I’ve got three children and five grandchildren. 

I’m a trustee of the Thalidomide Society and still do quite a bit of press because I think we are starting to be forgotten about. At the time, it was one of the biggest disasters the NHS has seen but now, even in the medical profession, a lot of people don’t know who we are. I get asked, “What kind of accident caused this?”. 

I would like our legacy to be that we revolutionised drug testing and that we did a lot for empowering disabled people and helping others accept disability. Instead of trying to fix us with artificial arms and legs, which we all grew to hate, we should be allowed to live our lives, accept ourselves and use what we have.

I thank the media for their support. And I think it’s very important that the media has freedom to be able to report on stories that are really important. ”

Just as with Rosie and Thaslima, speaking to Mandy reminded me of the importance in looking back, bearing witness and fighting for justice. Even – or especially – when the wrongdoing happened years or decades ago. Some of the best stories uncover historic wrongs, and the very best keep triggering change long into the future. 

Speaking of older stories, if you’re a recent subscriber, you can read a full archive of every edition of The Spark here! This is number 14, so there’s a lot of life-changing stories to enjoy (one of them even includes dog pictures.)

That’s all from me this week, Sparkies! As always, I’m delighted to hear from you – just press reply.