The Orphans: Saved or Lost?

Bewildered orphans strapped inside flying boxcars; tearful parents straining to catch a first glimpse of their adopted infants; travel-weary but happy tots settling in at their new homes--such were the images that touched the public's heart last week (see color). Not since the return of the prisoners of war two years ago had there been a news story out of Viet Nam with which the average American could so readily identify, one in which individuals seemed able to atone, even in the most tentative way, for the collective sins of governments.

The genuine humanitarian sentiments underlying the airlift did not spring up overnight. For the adoptive parents, the process of bringing Vietnamese children to the U.S. had been under way for months, if not years. The precarious status of the Saigon regime triggered an outpouring of sympathy for the orphans that made possible their quick evacuation.

Yet the continuing stain of the Viet Nam tragedy left its mark. Inevitably, the issue became politicized. To some, the phrase "Operation Babylift" became associated with a government policy less noble than the words implied. Cynical suspicion mounted that the Administration was seeking to build political capital, a view bolstered by the sight of the President cradling a newly arrived orphan. "Seeing Jerry Ford walking down the runway with that baby in his arms, I wanted to throw a shoe at the TV," said Mrs. Blair Cooter, the mother of a nine-month-old Vietnamese boy adopted last year.

Critics of the airlift also questioned the assumption that Vietnamese orphans would be better off if they were adopted by Americans. Traditionally, Vietnamese orphans are cared for by members of their extended family, or by friends from their community or village; the children's milieu is thus altered as little as possible. When the evacuation began, many South Vietnamese found it doubly repugnant that their waifs were being transplanted into an utterly alien culture and given American names. Many Americans were not surprised when Saigon announced last week that with 1,700 children already gone, it would tighten up its temporary easy-exit policy to prevent the quick departure of large groups. Said Martin Teitel, director of the American Friends Service Committee's Asian program: "It is insulting to the Vietnamese to suggest that they are unable to care for their own children."

There were some troublesome practical considerations too. Some of the still traumatized survivors of the horrible C-5A crash (TIME, April 14) were put aboard airplanes the very next day. Some skeptics wondered whether all the new adoptive parents would be comfortable with the psychological and financial burden they had taken on, and would be capable of catering to the special needs of children from another culture. The rush to save the Vietnamese children also raised questions about Americans' humanitarian priorities: there are at least 100,000 orphans in the U.S.--many of them members of racial minorities, physically or mentally handicapped, or older than is generally desirable--who are waiting for adoption; the takers are few.

Elitism v. Death. Quite predictably, the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong assailed the U.S. for "kidnaping" the orphans. But more measured misgivings came from a variety of other international corners. The International Red Cross declared that the foreign adoptions violated a Geneva Convention requirement that war orphans, whenever possible, be educated within their own culture. Caritas, the Vatican's relief organization, called the airlift "a deplorable and unjustified mistake," and instructed Roman Catholic agencies not to participate.

Advocates of the babylift insisted that they have the children's best interests in mind. "I disagree with psychiatrists who say this is a means of comforting the nation's guilt," said Presidential Assistant Theodore C. Marrs. "I'm fully convinced it is the basic decency of the American people. When they see a child in trouble, they want to help." For many, that impulse overrode concerns about cultural displacement or political motivation. Said Democratic Congressman Paul Tsongas, a Massachusetts freshman who would like to see 18,000 more orphans evacuated: "Very simplistically, it is better to live in elitism in the United States than to be dead in Viet Nam." And surely life for almost any child in Viet Nam now is more dangerous and uncertain. Daniel Parker, the President's coordinator for international disaster relief, who managed the airlift for the U.S. Government, added that though adoption is not a common practice in Viet Nam, "with the war, the extended family concept simply breaks down," and children must be looked after in other ways.

Impressive History. On the most basic human level, the airlift controversy boils down to a crucial central question: How real a threat do the remaining orphans of Viet Nam face? Since either a negotiated peace or an all-out Communist takeover seems likely, it is appropriate to explore what might happen to Vietnamese orphans under these circumstances.

The Communists seem to have a rather impressive history of caring for children. Douglas Hostetter, an Asia specialist with the United Methodist office at the U.N., last fall revisited an area once under Saigon's control, which had been taken over by the Viet Cong. He discovered that children he had known in the past to be beggars and even youthful prostitutes were being well educated and looked after. North Viet Nam treats needy children in public clinics and maintains thousands of day-care centers. Said Tom Miller, co-founder of Children's Medical Relief International, who served as a consultant to UNICEF in the North in 1973: "It is not necessary to rescue the children from the Communists."

Many airlift advocates argue, and even some opponents concede, that orphans fathered by American G.I.s --particularly black ones--would face discrimination under a Communist regime. The number of interracial children in Viet Nam is not known, but it is thought to be considerable. A sizable number of children sired by French soldiers and colonials--some of them black--were treated reasonably well by the Vietnamese after Paris pulled out. But nobody can predict how the offspring of U.S. soldiers would fare.

Leaving the children in Viet Nam also ensures that none of them will be irreversibly separated from their parents--and the fact is that a number of the "orphans" flown out in recent weeks had been deposited in orphanages by their own parents, sometimes under pressure from welfare workers, often with the understanding that they would be reclaimed some day.

From its outset, the orphan lift suffered from haste and insufficient administration. Between 1970 and the beginning of the current babylift, more than 2,700 Vietnamese orphans entered the U.S. quietly, under normal procedures; no controversy accompanied their arrival. But when the rush began to evacuate as many as possible of those whose adoption processes had already been started, the system was short-circuited. Joshua Eilberg, chairman of the House Judiciary's Subcommittee on Immigration, charged the agencies behind the airlift with "a total lack of direction, leadership and coordination."

Now, thanks to the South Vietnamese clampdown, there is a lull in the mass evacuation of orphans--and some time to weigh the complex issues involved. On balance, perhaps the best assistance the U.S. can render would be to funnel money to concerned international agencies. For the children left in Viet Nam, there is at least one heartening prospect: they may soon find themselves, for the first time, living in a country without war.

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