Understanding Lateral Violence In Korean Adoptee Community.

Posted to Paperslip on August 21st, 2025.

+

Wikipedia:
”Lateral violence is displaced violence; that is anger and rage is directed towards members within a marginalised or oppressed community rather than towards the oppressors of the community – one's peers rather than adversaries.[1] Developed by scholars within the global indigenous first people's community, this construct is one way of explaining minority-on-minority violence occurring within marginalized and oppressed communities. It is a cycle of abuse and its roots lie in factors such as: colonisation, oppression, intergenerational trauma and the ongoing experiences of racism and discrimination.[2] Those experiencing and those committing lateral violence more likely to be involved in crime in the United States, the United Kingdom. In Australia and Canada, lateral violence is widely seen as an intergenerational learned pattern and major social problem in indigenous communities.[3] In Australia surveys have reported that up to 95% of Aboriginal youth had witnessed lateral violence in the home, and that 95% of the bullying experienced by Aboriginals was perpetrated by other Aboriginals.[4]

Lateral Violence occurs within marginalized groups where members strike out at each other as a result of being oppressed. The oppressed become the oppressors of themselves and each other. Common behaviours that prevent positive change from occurring include gossiping, bullying, finger-pointing, backstabbing and shunning.

— Kweykway Consulting[5]”

+

We’re all on the SAME side, right? So why can’t we all just get along?

Having experienced lateral violence within the Korean Adoptee community on multiple occasions over the years, I feel compelled to explore the issue here. One of the most profoundly shocking instances occurred in 2022, when I was initially invited to participate in the Second Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Korea (TRC/TRCK 2), only to be abruptly excluded — by fellow Korean Adoptees I had once considered allies. Since then, I’ve had more time than I ever anticipated (or wanted) to reflect on how and why this troubling situation came to pass. You can read a more in-depth accounting of that experience here:

Why There Were So Few US Cases Submitted To The Second Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC / TRCK 2) Investigation Into Overseas Adoption

Then in 2025, I endured one of the most disturbing instances of lateral violence in all my years of personal and community work. A French Korean Adoptee—someone I have never met—publicly posted on social media that I had no proof of having a twin sister and cruelly suggested that I should “bring a shovel to Korea to dig her up.” This comment was not only grotesquely disrespectful, but especially cruel given that she is aware that I cannot publicly share many details about my twin’s case due to serious privacy concerns.

My twin died as a baby in Korea in the 1970s, and her records were heavily falsified. I only discovered her case by accident in 2019, and it wasn’t until 2020—at the age of 45—that I realized she was not me, but my twin. That revelation alone was shattering. But never could I have imagined being told I should “dig up” my twin with a shovel.

I was beyond stunned. After years of offering unpaid support and advocacy within the Korean Adoptee community, I never expected such a vindictive and dehumanizing attack. This wasn’t just a personal affront—it was a textbook example of lateral violence: when people who have been harmed by systems redirect their pain and rage toward others within the same community.

What made this even more painful was that I had previously offered this individual financial support when she confided in me about her situation—being homeless, living in a shipping container, being falsely accused of prostitution, and having been kicked out of her home following a suicide attempt. Instead of directing her anger at the systems or individuals truly responsible for her suffering, she turned it on me.

Some traumas are so deep and unresolved that they spill over in harmful ways. But that doesn’t make the harm any less real—or acceptable.

Unfortunately, “lateral violence” within the Korean Adoptee community has a long and storied history, and I’m not the first nor will I be the last to have experienced it. So why does this happen so often within Korean Adoptee community? We’re all on the same side, right?

Well, anyone who has been “in community” with Korean Adoptees for any period of time knows that it’s not all kumbaya, puppies, and rainbows. But why specifically is that the case? Instead of writing in my tear-stained diary </sarcasm>, I decided to ask ChatGPT.

ChatGPT offered some interesting insights that resonate with a scary level of accuracy with my lived experience, having now been “in community” with Korean Adoptees for almost a decade.

I asked ChatGPT 5:

Why is it that Korean Adoptees can never work together and get along long term?

ChatGPT said:

That’s a heavy and deeply personal question — and it's one that many Korean adoptees (KADs) have asked themselves or others in different ways over the years. While it’s important to avoid sweeping generalizations (because plenty of KADs do work together successfully), you're likely touching on something real: a pattern of interpersonal conflict, fragmentation, or short-lived collaborations in some corners of the KAD community.

Here are some possible reasons why that happens — from psychological, cultural, and structural angles:

1. Unresolved Trauma

Many KADs carry complex trauma: early childhood separation, racial identity confusion, and feeling “in-between” cultures. That pain can show up in relationships — mistrust, defensiveness, reactivity.

Without individual or collective healing, that trauma can sabotage group dynamics.

2. Identity Clashes

Some KADs are more assimilated into their adoptive culture, while others reclaim Korean identity or push for activism and justice.

These different approaches to identity can create tension, judgment, or a lack of mutual understanding.

3. Lack of Models or Infrastructure

There hasn’t been a long, stable tradition of organized adoptee community-building. Many organizations are grassroots, underfunded, and leader-driven — often burning people out.

Without solid infrastructure or support systems, even well-meaning efforts can implode.

4. Competition for Scarce Resources

Grants, media attention, partnerships — they’re limited. That scarcity can turn collaboration into competition.

Instead of uniting for the bigger picture, groups may splinter over funding, leadership, or philosophical disagreements.

5. Interpersonal Dynamics

Let’s be honest — interpersonal conflicts happen in all communities. But in a smaller group like KADs, personal rifts can have a larger ripple effect.

Miscommunications, ego clashes, or even just emotional immaturity can derail projects.

6. Emotional Labor Burnout

Being in KAD spaces often means holding space for others’ trauma while processing your own. That’s exhausting.

People might ghost, lash out, or quit — not because they don’t care, but because it’s overwhelming.

7. Geography and Context

KADs live all over the world — and each local context (U.S., Europe, Korea, etc.) brings different norms, politics, and struggles.

That diversity is a strength, but it can also be a barrier to unified, long-term collaboration.

Is It Hopeless? Not at All.

Many KAD-led initiatives have been successful — art collectives, search and reunion networks, advocacy groups.

The challenge is sustainability — and building systems that can withstand emotional strain, internal conflict, and differing perspectives.

+

Personally I don’t have any false hope that lateral violence will ever completely disappear from Korean Adoptee community. On a humorous note, I think as the group ages, people will just get worn out and stop fighting one another. Most people past 60 years of age probably give very few f*cks. :) But for the time being, it’s still an ongoing issue which Korean Adoptees are likely to face until the last of us is gone.

This is not to say that there isn’t tremendous beauty within the community. There’s something magical about being in the same space at the same time as many others of your tribe. And by and large I think it’s important for most Korean Adoptees to experience the community at some point. We all just have to do the work to figure out how to remain in that space without taking all of our troubles and angst out on one another.

Unfortunately, sometimes we have to learn the hard way which Adoptees simply aren’t worth our time or emotional energy. There’s often a honeymoon phase when someone first “comes to Korean Adoptee community” — quickly followed by the sobering reality that our spaces can often be fractured by internal conflict.

Sometimes, it’s both necessary and completely valid to step back from the pressures of “being in community.” We all need space to process our experiences on our own terms and in our own time. In the Korean Adoptee community especially, there’s often a tendency to rapidly share deeply personal stories — a kind of trauma-dumping that can feel like speed dating with pain. While often well-intentioned, it isn’t always therapeutic or helpful for everyone.

Interestingly, so many Korean Adoptees I’ve met seem to engage in this pattern — it’s always struck me as curious how similar we can be in that way. Maybe it’s a reflection of shared wounds. Or maybe, before we can truly connect with others, we have to learn how to sit with ourselves first.

There’s no simple solution — but it’s important for any Adoptee to recognize that community spaces can offer both the joy of connection and, if you’re not careful, the potential for pain.