Northern Ireland’s Truth Recovery Report: Some Reflections

The long-awaited release of the Final Report of the Truth Recovery Independent Panel (into forced adoptions within Mother and Baby Homes, Magdalene Laundries, and Workhouses in Northern Ireland) has reiterated the upsetting findings of earlier exercises (McCormick and O’Connell, 2021) and Mahon et al, 2021. Its 1276 pages will join an increasingly substantial collection of survivor testimonies, detailing the often brutal impacts of forced relinquishments across Ireland, the UK, and elsewhere (see for example recent findings from  The Netherlands, (2025) and South Korea (2025).

This latest Report comes at an interesting time however for those interested in the complexities of adoption and reparative law reform. The week just prior to its release saw an egregiously-belated apology delivered by the UK Government over the practice of historical forced adoptions within England and Wales. Notably, perhaps controversially, the Prime Minister declined to offer a blanket expression of gratitude to adoptive parents during the announcement (in response to a request from an MP to do so) stating that ‘ … this was not a situation in which anybody affected should feel or be told that they should be grateful for what happened.’ (It remains to be seen whether this latest apology will lead to the sort of redress schemes currently being rolled out on the island of Ireland).

Any sense of progress was sadly short-lived: two days after the NI Report’s release a controversial planning decision (by Ireland’s  An Coimisúin Pleanála) determined that land previously occupied by the Bessborough Mother and Baby institution (1922-1998) can now have 106 apartments built upon it, in spite of the findings of the 2021 Commission that the remains of 859 infant/children connected with this site are still yet unaccounted for. Recent discoveries at similar locations (e.g. Tuam) point to such likely practices as un-coffined burials and absent funerary rites, calling to mind any number of dark, dehumanising folkloric traditions involving unwanted, illegitimate, or unbaptised infants. This is a particularly sharp reminder of just how easily the act of child relinquishment – forced or otherwise – can work to permanently exclude and Other the most vulnerable, from conception to burial (and indeed beyond, if opportunities to memorialise or even acknowledge atrocities are being sacrificed to the pursuit of financial profit, as seems inevitable here).

Such moments as these are significant markers within adoption’s still-unfolding history. They demonstrate why there is still a sharp need for the collection, analysis, and dissemination of fresh testimony from mothers, adoptees, and ‘foundlings’ (I use this term here because relinquishment does not guarantee subsequent adoption). Much remains untold: the 2026 Report saw 238 individuals share their lived-experience narratives of the impacts of forced adoption. That there was not greater participation is perhaps down to certain factors largely beyond the control of the Independent Panel. As Recommendation 70 notes, there was a significant delay on the ‘Executive sign-off on the budget for the IP’s outreach campaign.’ Leafletting was also meant to reach every household in Northern Ireland – it did not do so – and this was supposed to be accompanied by timely ‘advertising on social media and YouTube.’  Sadly, certain initiatives did not begin until nearly two years after the Independent Panel had begun its work, by their own admission (Report, p.170).

It is no doubt challenging and costly (though not impossible) to seek out and engage meaningfully with adoption-affected diaspora in such places as England, Canada, the United States, and Australia. Encouraging survivors to participate fully and comfortably with a process that must, by virtue of its nature, involve re-livings and re-traumatisation is always going to be difficult, however. This is perhaps particularly so if the process is perceived as being somehow overseen or influenced by the very government that enabled or tolerated systemic human rights abuses, discriminatory treatment, identity removal, and familial severance. Compounding all of this is the fact that some adoptees will have also experienced reunions (good, bad, or indifferent) and/or harsh rejections by their birth relatives. Such events may have been preceded by decades-long battles with the informational brick-walls often associated with adoption records. Even in ostensibly ‘open records’ jurisdictions (such as England and Wales) there have been problems in connection with preserving accurate information and accessing those darker truths that might be found in ‘missing,’ redacted, or falsified files.

It is hardly surprising then that some adoptees will never feel able to speak freely of their Othered status, experiences, and emotions, especially perhaps to persons who have not themselves been affected by adoption. Moreover, many victim-survivors of forced adoption regimes have by now passed away or become too frail or elderly to continue searching for answers or fighting with those in power. It bears noting too that despite the deep commitment to kin-tracing shown by advocates and volunteers (suitably termed ‘search angels’ in many jurisdictions) there is always the risk that birth families will simply deny their genetic connections or refuse to admit or divulge ‘shameful’ truths and familial secrets. Some churches and de facto adoption agencies are proving equally cagey over the release of ‘their’ private information, and the question of who might access it. Kinship in the absence of legal relatedness and appropriate paperwork is perhaps best understood as more of a privilege than a right.

I am very fortunate to know many adoptees and relinquished persons in NI and elsewhere: among them are those who have been unable to take part in searching or testimony-giving, for various reasons, apart from advancing age or infirmity. Some felt that to do so would amount to an expression of ingratitude or disrespect towards their adoptive parents; others did not see their adoption as having had the requisite degree of maternal coercion to fall under the heading of forced. Rather, they viewed their mother as having clearly consented to the process, often via a signature just a few days or weeks post-partum. Worryingly, one acquaintance who did want to have their story recorded had been initially turned away, and wrongly deemed ‘ineligible’ to offer testimony, due to their birth (and subsequent relinquishment) having occurred within private premises. Another did not yet feel ready to share or relive their trauma: having only learned of the existence of the Truth Recovery process in the final weeks of its existence, they needed more time to prepare or seek support.

There are no doubt others out there who have yet to discover that they were relinquished or adopted: this happens in every region where adoption is permitted to occur. Amongst those who were able to offer testimony, I know of some who wonder, understandably, how many more times they will be required to do so, before wider society (and those who hold such power over us) might acknowledge that child relinquishment, forced or otherwise, does bring permanent losses and harms. This is so whether it is framed as a historic practice which no longer happens, or as one which must even yet occur in some form to enable adoptions and legal relatedness.

The media’s treatment of the 2026 Report’s findings is telling. Though it is good to see journalists taking a break from lamenting the costs to the public purse of redress schemes and public enquiries, it is concerning that they seem to be focussing mainly upon individualised acts and wrongdoings. If the abuses associated with forced adoption are seen as having been mainly carried out by evil, abhuman villains, then this leaves room to potentially argue that blameworthy governments and churches would have had no way of knowing that such atrocities might be occurring. The Report points to rogue actors from church and state alike.  In one institution ‘Sister Z’ – conveniently deceased –  allegedly acted as ‘midwife’ to some of the expectant women and girls, perpetrating sexual assaults via internal examinations. In another, a particularly industrious social worker (‘A’) is said to have essentially engaged in organised baby-trafficking.

Though such behaviour must be exposed and investigated, there are risks in over-concentrating upon the acts of evil individuals. Such an approach can distract from the more nuanced culpabilities of those who were responsible for these harsh regimes, and who sought to justify their systemic cruelties by citing a duty to protect moral welfare. It was however the everyday, commonplace ‘wickedness’ of states, churches, de facto adoption agencies, and blind-eyed wider society operating in unison that made forced relinquishments socially acceptable (and, eventually, for some, quite profitable). This core finding must not be sidelined or obscured by the inhumanity of certain individuals.

The media will no doubt focus again on  such activities come the Public Inquiry, perhaps even taking care to portray the perpetrators as more than doubly deviant, in the sense that their acts betrayed their gender, disgraced their caring professions, and confounded the usual expectations of civilised societies that the vulnerabilities tied to maternity and infancy should be met with compassion and dignity rather than shame and inhumane treatment. There is danger too in suggesting that such extreme and unusual wrongdoing is always the preserve of the distant past. Recent, distressing scandals involving NHS maternity care and the murder of adopted infant Preston Davey suggest otherwise.

Our reliance upon the talismanic concept of permanence to smooth over adoption’s challenges also merits examination, given its role in enabling past harms. Hopefully people will read at least some of the testimonies contained in this (and other similar Reports) and reflect upon how and why such things are permitted to happen. It would be truly shameful if forced adoption continues to be dismissed or minimised as simply a thing of the past or viewed as a rarified event that few families or individuals will ever be affected by. As Recommendation 46 suggests, there is a need for a KS3 educational module covering mother and baby institutions, Magdalene laundries, Workhouses and their related pathways and practices, to be delivered as part of the Northern Ireland Curriculum, ‘with input into its design by victims-survivors’ (Executive Summary, p.17). Such awareness-raising is a welcome suggestion, but care should be taken to avoid framing child relinquishments and removals as archaic, historical events. There are still various pathways and practices that lead to familial severance: these still tend to demand the sort of permanency that can hide uncomfortable truths (e.g. the policy of redacting letters between adoptees and their birth relatives to remove any terms of endearment).

Of the many Recommendations contained within the 2026 Report, some stand out, for being too tentative. Number 54, for example, suggests that ‘a mechanism for access by adopted people to medical records of deceased parents be explored.’  Given the difficulties faced by many adoptees in accessing health information generally (see for example Mitrevska v North Macedonia 2024) it might have been more appropriate here to call for urgent implementation rather than mere exploration. As ever, there seems to be lingering concern over protecting the ‘weightier’ privacy rights of parents, via the usual balancing exercises, which so often work to discriminate against adoptees seeking key truths. Recommendation 37 will  likewise hopefully be implemented, rather than simply considered, as there is a clear need for legislative reform that to ensure that ‘giving false information in the context of the registration of a birth’ might be ‘treated as a more serious criminal offence than has been the case historically.’ (Executive Summary, p.16) It will be interesting to see how this one might play out against the strictures of Canon law.

Recommendation 67 is also disappointingly cautious, suggesting that the public inquiry should again simply ‘consider investigating the current and past experiences of victims-survivors in accessing personal records relating to the institutions from voluntary agencies’ (Executive Summary, p.22). Not all births and adoptions were recorded truthfully or accurately, if at all. As Recommendation 22 notes, certain religious orders did not co-operate with the Panel, despite their having clearly been ‘part of the pathways of the mother and baby institutions’ (nor were they investigated by the Historical Institutional Abuse Inquiry (HIAI)). It remains to be seen then how meaningful, inclusive investigations might best be carried out under such circumstances, even if some form of legislative reforms compelling the disclosure of information is eventually achieved.

Recommendation 18 does at least frame the matter of consent as a human rights issue needing further investigation, while Recommendation 13 acknowledges the existence of drug trials on infants. Significantly too, the Report highlights that the State’s systemic failures amounted to a serious human rights issue needing investigation, not least by virtue of their not having exercised

‘… effective oversight of the operation of the Good Shepherd Sisters (GSS) St Mary’s institutions, Thorndale Industrial Home, and the mother and baby institutions, as well as baby institutions, and over foster placements, boarding-out placements and adoptive placements (emphasis added).

Recommendation 12 similarly notes that there were ‘systemic deficiencies in the regime for the selection and inspection of foster homes, boarding-out placements and adoptive homes.’ These failings led to a clear lack of protection for ‘some children in these homes against abuse and neglect.’  The wording here, that such places are (rather than were) very much ‘part of the pathways,’ seems to perhaps suggest an awareness that nonconsensual adoptions are not simply something that only happened in times past. If so, this too is to be commended.

Postscript: As the in-reunion survivor of a mother and baby institution (Montreal, 1960’s, time served, 7 months) it seems beautifully apt that I spent the day of the Report’s release looking after my wriggly 8-month-old twin grandsons, while my daughter, their mother (shockingly unmarried) was away assisting her best friend (equally unwed) with the home birth of her third son. In addition to her family and pet dog, I’m told that there was also present a large birthing pool, muslin tent, comforting music, strings of fairy lights, and kindly, gentle doulas. Sometimes, the universe does manage to provide.  

The long-awaited release of the Final Report of the Truth Recovery Independent Panel (into forced adoptions within Mother and Baby Homes, Magdalene Laundries, and Workhouses in Northern Ireland) has reiterated the upsetting findings of earlier exercises (McCormick and O’Connell, 2021) and Mahon et al, 2021. Its 1276 pages will join an increasingly substantial collection of survivor testimonies, detailing the often brutal impacts of forced relinquishments across Ireland, the UK, and elsewhere (see for example recent findings from  The Netherlands, (2025) and South Korea (2025).

This latest Report comes at an interesting time however for those interested in the complexities of adoption and reparative law reform. The week just prior to its release saw an egregiously-belated apology delivered by the UK Government over the practice of historical forced adoptions within England and Wales. Notably, perhaps controversially, the Prime Minister declined to offer a blanket expression of gratitude to adoptive parents during the announcement (in response to a request from an MP to do so) stating that ‘ … this was not a situation in which anybody affected should feel or be told that they should be grateful for what happened.’ (It remains to be seen whether this latest apology will lead to the sort of redress schemes currently being rolled out on the island of Ireland).

Any sense of progress was sadly short-lived: two days after the NI Report’s release a controversial planning decision (by Ireland’s  An Coimisúin Pleanála) determined that land previously occupied by the Bessborough Mother and Baby institution (1922-1998) can now have 106 apartments built upon it, in spite of the findings of the 2021 Commission that the remains of 859 infant/children connected with this site are still yet unaccounted for. Recent discoveries at similar locations (e.g. Tuam) point to such likely practices as un-coffined burials and absent funerary rites, calling to mind any number of dark, dehumanising folkloric traditions involving unwanted, illegitimate, or unbaptised infants. This is a particularly sharp reminder of just how easily the act of child relinquishment – forced or otherwise – can work to permanently exclude and Other the most vulnerable, from conception to burial (and indeed beyond, if opportunities to memorialise or even acknowledge atrocities are being sacrificed to the pursuit of financial profit, as seems inevitable here).

Such moments as these are significant markers within adoption’s still-unfolding history. They demonstrate why there is still a sharp need for the collection, analysis, and dissemination of fresh testimony from mothers, adoptees, and ‘foundlings’ (I use this term here because relinquishment does not guarantee subsequent adoption). Much remains untold: the 2026 Report saw 238 individuals share their lived-experience narratives of the impacts of forced adoption. That there was not greater participation is perhaps down to certain factors largely beyond the control of the Independent Panel. As Recommendation 70 notes, there was a significant delay on the ‘Executive sign-off on the budget for the IP’s outreach campaign.’ Leafletting was also meant to reach every household in Northern Ireland – it did not do so – and this was supposed to be accompanied by timely ‘advertising on social media and YouTube.’  Sadly, certain initiatives did not begin until nearly two years after the Independent Panel had begun its work, by their own admission (Report, p.170).

It is no doubt challenging and costly (though not impossible) to seek out and engage meaningfully with adoption-affected diaspora in such places as England, Canada, the United States, and Australia. Encouraging survivors to participate fully and comfortably with a process that must, by virtue of its nature, involve re-livings and re-traumatisation is always going to be difficult, however. This is perhaps particularly so if the process is perceived as being somehow overseen or influenced by the very government that enabled or tolerated systemic human rights abuses, discriminatory treatment, identity removal, and familial severance. Compounding all of this is the fact that some adoptees will have also experienced reunions (good, bad, or indifferent) and/or harsh rejections by their birth relatives. Such events may have been preceded by decades-long battles with the informational brick-walls often associated with adoption records. Even in ostensibly ‘open records’ jurisdictions (such as England and Wales) there have been problems in connection with preserving accurate information and accessing those darker truths that might be found in ‘missing,’ redacted, or falsified files.

It is hardly surprising then that some adoptees will never feel able to speak freely of their Othered status, experiences, and emotions, especially perhaps to persons who have not themselves been affected by adoption. Moreover, many victim-survivors of forced adoption regimes have by now passed away or become too frail or elderly to continue searching for answers or fighting with those in power. It bears noting too that despite the deep commitment to kin-tracing shown by advocates and volunteers (suitably termed ‘search angels’ in many jurisdictions) there is always the risk that birth families will simply deny their genetic connections or refuse to admit or divulge ‘shameful’ truths and familial secrets. Some churches and de facto adoption agencies are proving equally cagey over the release of ‘their’ private information, and the question of who might access it. Kinship in the absence of legal relatedness and appropriate paperwork is perhaps best understood as more of a privilege than a right.

I am very fortunate to know many adoptees and relinquished persons in NI and elsewhere: among them are those who have been unable to take part in searching or testimony-giving, for various reasons, apart from advancing age or infirmity. Some felt that to do so would amount to an expression of ingratitude or disrespect towards their adoptive parents; others did not see their adoption as having had the requisite degree of maternal coercion to fall under the heading of forced. Rather, they viewed their mother as having clearly consented to the process, often via a signature just a few days or weeks post-partum. Worryingly, one acquaintance who did want to have their story recorded had been initially turned away, and wrongly deemed ‘ineligible’ to offer testimony, due to their birth (and subsequent relinquishment) having occurred within private premises. Another did not yet feel ready to share or relive their trauma: having only learned of the existence of the Truth Recovery process in the final weeks of its existence, they needed more time to prepare or seek support.

There are no doubt others out there who have yet to discover that they were relinquished or adopted: this happens in every region where adoption is permitted to occur. Amongst those who were able to offer testimony, I know of some who wonder, understandably, how many more times they will be required to do so, before wider society (and those who hold such power over us) might acknowledge that child relinquishment, forced or otherwise, does bring permanent losses and harms. This is so whether it is framed as a historic practice which no longer happens, or as one which must even yet occur in some form to enable adoptions and legal relatedness.

The media’s treatment of the 2026 Report’s findings is telling. Though it is good to see journalists taking a break from lamenting the costs to the public purse of redress schemes and public enquiries, it is concerning that they seem to be focussing mainly upon individualised acts and wrongdoings. If the abuses associated with forced adoption are seen as having been mainly carried out by evil, abhuman villains, then this leaves room to potentially argue that blameworthy governments and churches would have had no way of knowing that such atrocities might be occurring. The Report points to rogue actors from church and state alike.  In one institution ‘Sister Z’ – conveniently deceased –  allegedly acted as ‘midwife’ to some of the expectant women and girls, perpetrating sexual assaults via internal examinations. In another, a particularly industrious social worker (‘A’) is said to have essentially engaged in organised baby-trafficking.

Though such behaviour must be exposed and investigated, there are risks in over-concentrating upon the acts of evil individuals. Such an approach can distract from the more nuanced culpabilities of those who were responsible for these harsh regimes, and who sought to justify their systemic cruelties by citing a duty to protect moral welfare. It was however the everyday, commonplace ‘wickedness’ of states, churches, de facto adoption agencies, and blind-eyed wider society operating in unison that made forced relinquishments socially acceptable (and, eventually, for some, quite profitable). This core finding must not be sidelined or obscured by the inhumanity of certain individuals.

The media will no doubt focus again on  such activities come the Public Inquiry, perhaps even taking care to portray the perpetrators as more than doubly deviant, in the sense that their acts betrayed their gender, disgraced their caring professions, and confounded the usual expectations of civilised societies that the vulnerabilities tied to maternity and infancy should be met with compassion and dignity rather than shame and inhumane treatment. There is danger too in suggesting that such extreme and unusual wrongdoing is always the preserve of the distant past. Recent, distressing scandals involving NHS maternity care and the murder of adopted infant Preston Davey suggest otherwise.

Our reliance upon the talismanic concept of permanence to smooth over adoption’s challenges also merits examination, given its role in enabling past harms. Hopefully people will read at least some of the testimonies contained in this (and other similar Reports) and reflect upon how and why such things are permitted to happen. It would be truly shameful if forced adoption continues to be dismissed or minimised as simply a thing of the past or viewed as a rarified event that few families or individuals will ever be affected by. As Recommendation 46 suggests, there is a need for a KS3 educational module covering mother and baby institutions, Magdalene laundries, Workhouses and their related pathways and practices, to be delivered as part of the Northern Ireland Curriculum, ‘with input into its design by victims-survivors’ (Executive Summary, p.17). Such awareness-raising is a welcome suggestion, but care should be taken to avoid framing child relinquishments and removals as archaic, historical events. There are still various pathways and practices that lead to familial severance: these still tend to demand the sort of permanency that can hide uncomfortable truths (e.g. the policy of redacting letters between adoptees and their birth relatives to remove any terms of endearment).

Of the many Recommendations contained within the 2026 Report, some stand out, for being too tentative. Number 54, for example, suggests that ‘a mechanism for access by adopted people to medical records of deceased parents be explored.’  Given the difficulties faced by many adoptees in accessing health information generally (see for example Mitrevska v North Macedonia 2024) it might have been more appropriate here to call for urgent implementation rather than mere exploration. As ever, there seems to be lingering concern over protecting the ‘weightier’ privacy rights of parents, via the usual balancing exercises, which so often work to discriminate against adoptees seeking key truths. Recommendation 37 will  likewise hopefully be implemented, rather than simply considered, as there is a clear need for legislative reform that to ensure that ‘giving false information in the context of the registration of a birth’ might be ‘treated as a more serious criminal offence than has been the case historically.’ (Executive Summary, p.16) It will be interesting to see how this one might play out against the strictures of Canon law.

Recommendation 67 is also disappointingly cautious, suggesting that the public inquiry should again simply ‘consider investigating the current and past experiences of victims-survivors in accessing personal records relating to the institutions from voluntary agencies’ (Executive Summary, p.22). Not all births and adoptions were recorded truthfully or accurately, if at all. As Recommendation 22 notes, certain religious orders did not co-operate with the Panel, despite their having clearly been ‘part of the pathways of the mother and baby institutions’ (nor were they investigated by the Historical Institutional Abuse Inquiry (HIAI)). It remains to be seen then how meaningful, inclusive investigations might best be carried out under such circumstances, even if some form of legislative reforms compelling the disclosure of information is eventually achieved.

Recommendation 18 does at least frame the matter of consent as a human rights issue needing further investigation, while Recommendation 13 acknowledges the existence of drug trials on infants. Significantly too, the Report highlights that the State’s systemic failures amounted to a serious human rights issue needing investigation, not least by virtue of their not having exercised

‘… effective oversight of the operation of the Good Shepherd Sisters (GSS) St Mary’s institutions, Thorndale Industrial Home, and the mother and baby institutions, as well as baby institutions, and over foster placements, boarding-out placements and adoptive placements (emphasis added).

Recommendation 12 similarly notes that there were ‘systemic deficiencies in the regime for the selection and inspection of foster homes, boarding-out placements and adoptive homes.’ These failings led to a clear lack of protection for ‘some children in these homes against abuse and neglect.’  The wording here, that such places are (rather than were) very much ‘part of the pathways,’ seems to perhaps suggest an awareness that nonconsensual adoptions are not simply something that only happened in times past. If so, this too is to be commended.

Postscript: As the in-reunion survivor of a mother and baby institution (Montreal, 1960’s, time served, 7 months) it seems beautifully apt that I spent the day of the Report’s release looking after my wriggly 8-month-old twin grandsons, while my daughter, their mother (shockingly unmarried) was away assisting her best friend (equally unwed) with the home birth of her third son. In addition to her family and pet dog, I’m told that there was also present a large birthing pool, muslin tent, comforting music, strings of fairy lights, and kindly, gentle doulas. Sometimes, the universe does manage to provide.  

The long-awaited release of the Final Report of the Truth Recovery Independent Panel (into forced adoptions within Mother and Baby Homes, Magdalene Laundries, and Workhouses in Northern Ireland) has reiterated the upsetting findings of earlier exercises (McCormick and O’Connell, 2021) and Mahon et al, 2021. Its 1276 pages will join an increasingly substantial collection of survivor testimonies, detailing the often brutal impacts of forced relinquishments across Ireland, the UK, and elsewhere (see for example recent findings from  The Netherlands, (2025) and South Korea (2025).

This latest Report comes at an interesting time however for those interested in the complexities of adoption and reparative law reform. The week just prior to its release saw an egregiously-belated apology delivered by the UK Government over the practice of historical forced adoptions within England and Wales. Notably, perhaps controversially, the Prime Minister declined to offer a blanket expression of gratitude to adoptive parents during the announcement (in response to a request from an MP to do so) stating that ‘ … this was not a situation in which anybody affected should feel or be told that they should be grateful for what happened.’ (It remains to be seen whether this latest apology will lead to the sort of redress schemes currently being rolled out on the island of Ireland).

Any sense of progress was sadly short-lived: two days after the NI Report’s release a controversial planning decision (by Ireland’s  An Coimisúin Pleanála) determined that land previously occupied by the Bessborough Mother and Baby institution (1922-1998) can now have 106 apartments built upon it, in spite of the findings of the 2021 Commission that the remains of 859 infant/children connected with this site are still yet unaccounted for. Recent discoveries at similar locations (e.g. Tuam) point to such likely practices as un-coffined burials and absent funerary rites, calling to mind any number of dark, dehumanising folkloric traditions involving unwanted, illegitimate, or unbaptised infants. This is a particularly sharp reminder of just how easily the act of child relinquishment – forced or otherwise – can work to permanently exclude and Other the most vulnerable, from conception to burial (and indeed beyond, if opportunities to memorialise or even acknowledge atrocities are being sacrificed to the pursuit of financial profit, as seems inevitable here).

Such moments as these are significant markers within adoption’s still-unfolding history. They demonstrate why there is still a sharp need for the collection, analysis, and dissemination of fresh testimony from mothers, adoptees, and ‘foundlings’ (I use this term here because relinquishment does not guarantee subsequent adoption). Much remains untold: the 2026 Report saw 238 individuals share their lived-experience narratives of the impacts of forced adoption. That there was not greater participation is perhaps down to certain factors largely beyond the control of the Independent Panel. As Recommendation 70 notes, there was a significant delay on the ‘Executive sign-off on the budget for the IP’s outreach campaign.’ Leafletting was also meant to reach every household in Northern Ireland – it did not do so – and this was supposed to be accompanied by timely ‘advertising on social media and YouTube.’  Sadly, certain initiatives did not begin until nearly two years after the Independent Panel had begun its work, by their own admission (Report, p.170).

It is no doubt challenging and costly (though not impossible) to seek out and engage meaningfully with adoption-affected diaspora in such places as England, Canada, the United States, and Australia. Encouraging survivors to participate fully and comfortably with a process that must, by virtue of its nature, involve re-livings and re-traumatisation is always going to be difficult, however. This is perhaps particularly so if the process is perceived as being somehow overseen or influenced by the very government that enabled or tolerated systemic human rights abuses, discriminatory treatment, identity removal, and familial severance. Compounding all of this is the fact that some adoptees will have also experienced reunions (good, bad, or indifferent) and/or harsh rejections by their birth relatives. Such events may have been preceded by decades-long battles with the informational brick-walls often associated with adoption records. Even in ostensibly ‘open records’ jurisdictions (such as England and Wales) there have been problems in connection with preserving accurate information and accessing those darker truths that might be found in ‘missing,’ redacted, or falsified files.

It is hardly surprising then that some adoptees will never feel able to speak freely of their Othered status, experiences, and emotions, especially perhaps to persons who have not themselves been affected by adoption. Moreover, many victim-survivors of forced adoption regimes have by now passed away or become too frail or elderly to continue searching for answers or fighting with those in power. It bears noting too that despite the deep commitment to kin-tracing shown by advocates and volunteers (suitably termed ‘search angels’ in many jurisdictions) there is always the risk that birth families will simply deny their genetic connections or refuse to admit or divulge ‘shameful’ truths and familial secrets. Some churches and de facto adoption agencies are proving equally cagey over the release of ‘their’ private information, and the question of who might access it. Kinship in the absence of legal relatedness and appropriate paperwork is perhaps best understood as more of a privilege than a right.

I am very fortunate to know many adoptees and relinquished persons in NI and elsewhere: among them are those who have been unable to take part in searching or testimony-giving, for various reasons, apart from advancing age or infirmity. Some felt that to do so would amount to an expression of ingratitude or disrespect towards their adoptive parents; others did not see their adoption as having had the requisite degree of maternal coercion to fall under the heading of forced. Rather, they viewed their mother as having clearly consented to the process, often via a signature just a few days or weeks post-partum. Worryingly, one acquaintance who did want to have their story recorded had been initially turned away, and wrongly deemed ‘ineligible’ to offer testimony, due to their birth (and subsequent relinquishment) having occurred within private premises. Another did not yet feel ready to share or relive their trauma: having only learned of the existence of the Truth Recovery process in the final weeks of its existence, they needed more time to prepare or seek support.

There are no doubt others out there who have yet to discover that they were relinquished or adopted: this happens in every region where adoption is permitted to occur. Amongst those who were able to offer testimony, I know of some who wonder, understandably, how many more times they will be required to do so, before wider society (and those who hold such power over us) might acknowledge that child relinquishment, forced or otherwise, does bring permanent losses and harms. This is so whether it is framed as a historic practice which no longer happens, or as one which must even yet occur in some form to enable adoptions and legal relatedness.

The media’s treatment of the 2026 Report’s findings is telling. Though it is good to see journalists taking a break from lamenting the costs to the public purse of redress schemes and public enquiries, it is concerning that they seem to be focussing mainly upon individualised acts and wrongdoings. If the abuses associated with forced adoption are seen as having been mainly carried out by evil, abhuman villains, then this leaves room to potentially argue that blameworthy governments and churches would have had no way of knowing that such atrocities might be occurring. The Report points to rogue actors from church and state alike.  In one institution ‘Sister Z’ – conveniently deceased –  allegedly acted as ‘midwife’ to some of the expectant women and girls, perpetrating sexual assaults via internal examinations. In another, a particularly industrious social worker (‘A’) is said to have essentially engaged in organised baby-trafficking.

Though such behaviour must be exposed and investigated, there are risks in over-concentrating upon the acts of evil individuals. Such an approach can distract from the more nuanced culpabilities of those who were responsible for these harsh regimes, and who sought to justify their systemic cruelties by citing a duty to protect moral welfare. It was however the everyday, commonplace ‘wickedness’ of states, churches, de facto adoption agencies, and blind-eyed wider society operating in unison that made forced relinquishments socially acceptable (and, eventually, for some, quite profitable). This core finding must not be sidelined or obscured by the inhumanity of certain individuals.

The media will no doubt focus again on  such activities come the Public Inquiry, perhaps even taking care to portray the perpetrators as more than doubly deviant, in the sense that their acts betrayed their gender, disgraced their caring professions, and confounded the usual expectations of civilised societies that the vulnerabilities tied to maternity and infancy should be met with compassion and dignity rather than shame and inhumane treatment. There is danger too in suggesting that such extreme and unusual wrongdoing is always the preserve of the distant past. Recent, distressing scandals involving NHS maternity care and the murder of adopted infant Preston Davey suggest otherwise.

Our reliance upon the talismanic concept of permanence to smooth over adoption’s challenges also merits examination, given its role in enabling past harms. Hopefully people will read at least some of the testimonies contained in this (and other similar Reports) and reflect upon how and why such things are permitted to happen. It would be truly shameful if forced adoption continues to be dismissed or minimised as simply a thing of the past or viewed as a rarified event that few families or individuals will ever be affected by. As Recommendation 46 suggests, there is a need for a KS3 educational module covering mother and baby institutions, Magdalene laundries, Workhouses and their related pathways and practices, to be delivered as part of the Northern Ireland Curriculum, ‘with input into its design by victims-survivors’ (Executive Summary, p.17). Such awareness-raising is a welcome suggestion, but care should be taken to avoid framing child relinquishments and removals as archaic, historical events. There are still various pathways and practices that lead to familial severance: these still tend to demand the sort of permanency that can hide uncomfortable truths (e.g. the policy of redacting letters between adoptees and their birth relatives to remove any terms of endearment).

Of the many Recommendations contained within the 2026 Report, some stand out, for being too tentative. Number 54, for example, suggests that ‘a mechanism for access by adopted people to medical records of deceased parents be explored.’  Given the difficulties faced by many adoptees in accessing health information generally (see for example Mitrevska v North Macedonia 2024) it might have been more appropriate here to call for urgent implementation rather than mere exploration. As ever, there seems to be lingering concern over protecting the ‘weightier’ privacy rights of parents, via the usual balancing exercises, which so often work to discriminate against adoptees seeking key truths. Recommendation 37 will  likewise hopefully be implemented, rather than simply considered, as there is a clear need for legislative reform that to ensure that ‘giving false information in the context of the registration of a birth’ might be ‘treated as a more serious criminal offence than has been the case historically.’ (Executive Summary, p.16) It will be interesting to see how this one might play out against the strictures of Canon law.

Recommendation 67 is also disappointingly cautious, suggesting that the public inquiry should again simply ‘consider investigating the current and past experiences of victims-survivors in accessing personal records relating to the institutions from voluntary agencies’ (Executive Summary, p.22). Not all births and adoptions were recorded truthfully or accurately, if at all. As Recommendation 22 notes, certain religious orders did not co-operate with the Panel, despite their having clearly been ‘part of the pathways of the mother and baby institutions’ (nor were they investigated by the Historical Institutional Abuse Inquiry (HIAI)). It remains to be seen then how meaningful, inclusive investigations might best be carried out under such circumstances, even if some form of legislative reforms compelling the disclosure of information is eventually achieved.

Recommendation 18 does at least frame the matter of consent as a human rights issue needing further investigation, while Recommendation 13 acknowledges the existence of drug trials on infants. Significantly too, the Report highlights that the State’s systemic failures amounted to a serious human rights issue needing investigation, not least by virtue of their not having exercised

‘… effective oversight of the operation of the Good Shepherd Sisters (GSS) St Mary’s institutions, Thorndale Industrial Home, and the mother and baby institutions, as well as baby institutions, and over foster placements, boarding-out placements and adoptive placements (emphasis added).

Recommendation 12 similarly notes that there were ‘systemic deficiencies in the regime for the selection and inspection of foster homes, boarding-out placements and adoptive homes.’ These failings led to a clear lack of protection for ‘some children in these homes against abuse and neglect.’  The wording here, that such places are (rather than were) very much ‘part of the pathways,’ seems to perhaps suggest an awareness that nonconsensual adoptions are not simply something that only happened in times past. If so, this too is to be commended.

Postscript: As the in-reunion survivor of a mother and baby institution (Montreal, 1960’s, time served, 7 months) it seems beautifully apt that I spent the day of the Report’s release looking after my wriggly 8-month-old twin grandsons, while my daughter, their mother (shockingly unmarried) was away assisting her best friend (equally unwed) with the home birth of her third son. In addition to her family and pet dog, I’m told that there was also present a large birthing pool, muslin tent, comforting music, strings of fairy lights, and kindly, gentle doulas. Sometimes, the universe does manage to provide.  

Dr Alice Diver is a Senior Lecturer at Queen’s University Belfast