Building a Bridge of Motherly Love — Healing the Lost Ties of China’s Adopted Children Abroad

Originally published in Chinese by the Hong Kong News Agency and China Times
By Ji Shuoming

In September, the historic St Martin-in-the-Fields in central London hosted “Colours of Us”, a children’s art exhibition featuring 85 artworks from China, France, and the UK. Among them, 33 paintings were sent by three special education schools in China — and some were created by Chinese children adopted overseas.

Jointly organised by the UK charity The Mothers’ Bridge of Love (MBL) and the Open House Festival, the exhibition encouraged Chinese children across the world to express life and hope through their own eyes — showcasing creativity, imagination, and a shared humanity.

Renowned artist Qu Leilei opened the “Colours of Us” exhibition with an inspiring talk.

Visitors came in steady streams. Some said it was the first time they had “heard another kind of Chinese voice” in a church. Amid the crowd stood Xinran, the well-known journalist, writer, scholar, and philanthropist who founded MBL more than two decades ago. Most people simply call her by her given name — Xinran.

“The Mothers’ Bridge of Love,” she explains, “is exactly that — a bridge built of motherly love.”

Its original purpose was simple yet profound: to help Chinese children adopted by Western families heal the emotional loss of being separated from their birth culture and mothers. For over 21 years, Xinran has walked this bridge filled with compassion. Standing in the exhibition hall, she looked quietly around — this was more than an exhibition; it was a reflection of a 21-year journey of perseverance, love, and belief.

A Bridge of Love

“To care for children is a mother’s nature; to need motherly love is a child’s,” Xinran says. “That’s the most basic understanding of humanity.”

The idea of founding The Mothers’ Bridge of Love came from a moment that changed her life. In 2002, while touring the United States to promote one of her books, she was surprised to see many audience members holding the hands of little Chinese girls — all adopted from China.

After one talk, a three-year-old girl raised her hand and asked, “Does my Chinese mummy not want me anymore?” Xinran froze. Looking into the child’s honest, puzzled eyes, she found herself unable to answer.

In 2012, MBL volunteers joined hands with UK adoption agencies to celebrate Chinese Culture Week.

In the following years, she heard the same question again and again — in America, in Europe, and once in New Zealand, at a family gathering. A five-year-old girl followed her quietly into the bathroom and whispered, “Xinran, can you tell me why my Chinese mummy didn’t want me?” Tears filled Xinran’s eyes. The child’s longing was so pure — and yet there was no answer.

“Two questions define a human life,” Xinran says. “Where did I come from? And where am I going?” Everyone hopes to reach heaven one day — but for these children, the first question has no answer. They don’t know who gave them life, or where they came from.

One tragedy that haunted Xinran was that of Emily, a Chinese baby adopted by an American couple, the Olsens, in 2002. Raised in Fairfield, Ohio, Emily took her own life in 2014 at the age of 12. Her death shocked the local community and sparked wider reflection on how Chinese adoptees growing up in white families navigate questions of identity and belonging.

A study published in the American Academy of Pediatrics by Professor Margaret Keyes from the University of Minnesota found that adopted children attempt suicide at four times the rate of non-adopted children, especially during adolescence. Feelings of abandonment can form deep, unhealed wounds.

The report urged adoptive parents to be educated about the emotional consequences of racial difference, to build friendships with people of different ethnicities, and — most importantly — to understand that “silence does not mean peace.”

In 2004, two years after that first encounter, Xinran founded The Mothers’ Bridge of Love (MBL). The name speaks for itself: to build a bridge of love connecting Chinese children scattered around the world with their origins, culture, and emotional roots.

A 21-Year Journey with No Turning Back

Xinran often says that founding MBL was a “journey of no return.” Once she had seen these children, she could never turn away.

Her research revealed staggering figures: 160,000 Chinese girls adopted by families in 27 countries. The vast majority did not know who brought them into the world. Many asked the same painful question — “Why?”

“The more you look, the bigger the problem becomes,” Xinran recalls. Over the years, she has listened to countless children’s questions, seen the helplessness in adoptive parents’ eyes, and witnessed both heartbreak and joy in the search for birth families.

MBL’s Chinese New Year celebration in London, 2025

Tracing origins and offering help remain MBL’s hardest but most essential mission.

Foreign adoptive parents typically receive an adoption file containing an “abandonment certificate,” orphanage registration, medical records, and official paperwork. Yet for many children adopted from China between 1991 and 2016, those records are unreliable — some even fabricated.

For MBL’s volunteers, the greatest challenge is often the lack of traceable information: demolished birthplaces, incomplete migration records, fragmented databases, psychological struggles on both sides, and communication barriers across languages and time zones.

“Every day,” Xinran says, “feels like walking through a dark tunnel — there might be light ahead, or maybe nothing at all. But you can’t stop, because the children are waiting for answers.”

Even when birth families are found, some refuse to meet. A few fear disrupting their current lives; others are haunted by old policies or stigma. Some mothers, crying, can only say: “I’m sorry. I can’t tell the truth.”

Reclaiming the Missing Lessons of Life

Through these long years of searching, Xinran realised that not every child can find their parents — but all need a connection to their heritage. Cultural education became another bridge.

MBL began to focus on cultural and educational exchange: supporting Chinese schools and community groups across the UK, US, and Europe; sponsoring Chinese festivals; organising annual bilingual recitation competitions; and hosting art exhibitions like “Colours of Us” in London.

In 2015, MBL supported rural school libraries in China, bringing love and care to local children.

In one classroom, when children learn the character 明 (míng) — composed of “sun” (日) and “moon” (月) — the teacher explains, “Together they mean light, tomorrow, and hope.” The children may not yet master Chinese writing, but through it, they sense a living link to their roots.

Over the past 21 years, six generations of leadership and thousands of volunteers have joined MBL — from artists in their eighties to children helping alongside their parents. Together they have extended the bridge of love.

With donations from publishing houses, schools, and adoptive families worldwide, MBL has funded 30 children’s cultural libraries in China. Many Chinese volunteers drive books and clothes to rural schools at their own expense.

Some families take their own children on volunteer trips to build bookshelves or play football in the countryside. When they return to the city, the children often say, “They have so little — I want to help them.” As parents put it, such experiences plant the seeds of kindness.

At the “Colours of Us” exhibition in 2025, some volunteers quietly wiped tears from their eyes. They knew their efforts might not change the world immediately, but they could at least send a message: someone cares about you; someone remembers you.

A Bridge that Never Ends

Although only a small number of children have successfully found their birth families — about twenty to date — the impact of MBL goes far beyond numbers.

Many more have found a sense of belonging through language, art, and cultural connection. As one adoptive father said, “We can give our daughter love in the present, but MBL gave her back the part of her past we couldn’t.”

For these children, the answer to “Where do I come from?” is not always a name or an address. It can also be a Chinese lesson, a painting, or a journey home.

“Our goal,” Xinran says, “isn’t to give every answer — but to let them know they have not been forgotten by the world.”

And as for “Where am I going?” — that answer belongs to the children themselves. But once they know their roots, they walk forward with strength.

Xinran and her fellow volunteers continue on this road with no return.

“This bridge,” she says softly, “may never be finished. But at least it lets the children know — you are remembered, and you are never alone.”