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Documentary 'K-Number' explores Korea's painful history of overseas adoption

Published: 20 May. 2025, 16:17 Updated: 22 May. 2025, 18:20

Mioka Miller, left, holding a picture of herself as a missing baby, and director Jo Se-young, pose during an interview with the JoongAng Ilbo on May 15. [JOONGANG ILBO]

What does the letter K really stand for? In the new documentary “K-Number,” it’s not K-pop, K-drama or any of Korea’s globally celebrated exports — it’s the numerical tag stamped onto thousands of Korean children sent overseas for adoption, often without a trace of their origins.

“K-Number,” released last Wednesday, revisits Korea’s controversial history of international adoptions, focusing not on emotional reunions or tragic backstories, but on the broader system that once sent some 200,000 children abroad — many through a now-defunct system known as “proxy adoptions,” which allowed adoptive parents to take custody without setting foot in Korea.

The title K-Number refers to the identification numbers assigned to Korean adoptees sent overseas. Treated like items in a catalog, the children were documented by number, with key information such as birth details often missing or falsified. The film prompts viewers to reflect on the pride associated with the “K” label — and whether it is always deserved.

A still from ″K-Number,″ a documentary directed by Jo Se-young that revisits Korea's controversial history of international adoptions in the late 20th century through ″proxy adoptions.″ [MANO ENTERTAINMENT]

The documentary, which won the audience award at the Busan International Film Festival last year, follows Korean adoptees like Mioka Miller — estimated to be 59 and born Kim Mi-ok — who was adopted to the United States in the early 1970s. Their stories reveal deep flaws and contradictions in the international adoption system.

Director Jo Se-young, 46, said she was inspired to make the film after reading a 2018 article about a Korean adoptee deported from the United States. The adoptee had never been granted U.S. citizenship because the adoptive parents failed to complete the naturalization process. Jo said she was shocked to learn that around 20,000 Korean adoptees were living in the United States without legal status.

“It was a clear example of how poorly Korea handled the adoption process and its aftermath,” Jo said during an interview with the JoongAng Ilbo on Thursday at a film company office in Mapo District, western Seoul, where she was joined by Miller. “That’s when I picked up my camera and began following the journeys of adoptees searching for their birth parents.”

Miller recalled the trauma of being abused by her adoptive parents and then being kicked out at age 18.

“It’s something that has never left me,” she said. “Not many overseas adoptees grow up happy in a good environment.”

Since 2008, she has traveled to Korea seven times to search for her birth family. The process has been difficult, she said, with many facilities reluctant to release records, citing privacy concerns. Even when documents were obtained, they often included scant or unreliable information about her name or where she was found. This bureaucratic opacity is a common and significant barrier for adoptees tracing their roots.

The film traces the origin of Korea’s overseas adoption program, which began under the Syngman Rhee administration (1948-60) with the stated aim of addressing the issue of war orphans and mixed-race children. It gained momentum in the 1970s and 1980s as adoption agencies — supported by the state — sent large numbers of children to the United States and Europe.

One key mechanism behind this outflow was the “proxy adoption” system, abolished in 2011, which allowed domestic agencies to act on behalf of prospective adoptive parents abroad. In practice, this often amounted to effectively a “door-to-door delivery service” for children. International critics at the time accused Korea of “exporting children” to earn foreign currency.

As of 2023, Korea still ranks among the top three countries — behind Colombia and Ukraine — for international adoptions.

“We sent countless children overseas, but we’ve turned our backs on them,” Jo said. “It’s a shameful part of our past, but we need to recognize overseas adoption as part of our history.”

Miller, now a real estate developer in the United States, said she considers herself fortunate to have built a successful and happy life. “My roots are my history — and also my son’s history,” she said. “That’s why I must find them. I will never give up.”

Translated from the JoongAng Ilbo using generative AI and edited by Korea JoongAng Daily staff.
BY JUNG HYUN-MOK [[email protected]]