h♥le, cont.: Upon learning that birth records would be sealed--FOREVER

About to be swallowed up by the deep                             photo by Ken Robbins

“But we’ll be able to—find each other when he’s eighteen, right—or twenty one?” I ask matter-of-factly—it’s half a statement, half a question, surely that’s the case. I am talking to the social worker at Hillside Terrace, the euphemistically named adoption agency. Her first name is Helen, but to me, she is Mrs. Mura. She is in her thirties, not that much older than me. She is my confessor, my therapist, my authoritative conduit to adoption. Other than Patrick, and an occasional visit from my lone girlfriend in town, Christy, Mrs. Mura was my only outside contact for those last months. Christy works on the afternoon paper in town; she and I were both young, ambitious and from elsewhere when we landed in Rochester, but she’s busy with her own career, and I rarely hear from her.

I am holed up in my apartment, and don’t venture much beyond a nearby
grocery store, the pharmacy across the street, and the library a few blocks away.

Challenging closed adoption records in the courts

Jane

It's time adoptees come together in a lawsuit to strike down sealed record laws. But before I go into this, some history. Over thirty-five years ago a small group of intrepid New York adoptees filed a legal action action in federal court asking the court to declare laws preventing them from examining their adoption records unconstitutional. They sought not only their original birth certificates,  but also their court records and their files at the agencies which handled their adoptions. They faced a formidable army of lawyers representing powerful interests--the City of New York, the courts, and major adoption agencies. They lost.

From that time on, adoptees have been understandably reluctant to challenge these unjust laws in the courts. Instead, they have taken their
case to unsympathetic legislators, only to be told time and time again that