Utah’s striking landscapes draw millions of visitors each year, but the Beehive State has also become a leading destination for another type of travel — “adoption tourism.”
That’s when a birth mother, adoptive parents, or a combination of the two travels to another state to complete an adoption, according to an analyst with Utah’s Office of Legislative Research and General Counsel.
Why is it so popular here? Those who work in the industry say Utah adoption agencies offer support and housing that expectant mothers may not have at home, including financial support after their child is born.
But critics allege those agencies are isolating and exploiting women in the name of profit, taking advantage of Utah’s permissive adoption laws that allow for fast — and permanent — placements.
(Christopher Cherrington | The Salt Lake Tribune)
It’s a situation that’s inspired national and international headlines labeling Utah as a “‘human marketplace’ for adopted babies” with a “devastating cost.”
Last year, Rep. Katy Hall, R-South Ogden, decided it was time to strengthen Utah’s adoption laws. She’s proposed a slew of reforms that lawmakers are expected to debate during the latest legislative session, and the bill has early support from both adoption agencies and reform advocates.
Here’s a breakdown of the Utah laws that have helped shape the state’s rise as a leading adoption destination.
Birth mothers can receive big payments
In Utah, private domestic adoptions can be relatively expensive, costing adoptive parents anywhere from $20,000 to just under $90,000, according to Utah Adoption Rights, a nonprofit that works to empower expectant women to make informed choices.
The average starting price at Utah agencies that the group said engage in adoption tourism is about $50,000.
Comparatively, adoptions cost between $30,000 to $60,000 nationally, according to an analysis by the federal Child Welfare Information Gateway.
Utah is considered an “adoption-friendly” state not because it’s “cheaper” but because here, it’s “friendly and easy for adoptive parents and adoption professionals to get the job done quicker and easier,” said Ashley Mitchell, a co-founder of Utah Adoption Rights.
She called it a “pay-to-play system,” where “those that are willing to pay are going to get what they want out of this. Except for the [pregnant] women.”
It’s illegal to buy or sell a child in the U.S. But through adoption agencies, adoptive parents are permitted to pay for a birth mother’s medical expenses, temporary living expenses, counseling fees and travel.
There’s also no limit to how much Utah agencies can pay birth mothers for “postpartum expenses.” Many receive around $4,000, often paid in cash after the baby is placed for adoption, but some see more. That’s according to Kelsey Vander Vliet Ranyard, who helped found Utah Adoption Rights with Mitchell and serves as the director of advocacy and policy at California-based nonprofit Ethical Family Building.
That’s in addition to anywhere from $150 to $300 they are given weekly for other living expenses, like groceries or entertainment, Ranyard said.
Many come to Utah from fraught situations, often struggling with substance misuse or housing insecurity. The money can be a huge incentive.
“We absolutely want moms to have their needs met,” Ranyard said, “but at what point does this become coercion and buying a child?”
Adoptions can’t be reversed, even if fraud is alleged
A birth mother in Utah must wait at least 24 hours after she delivers her child to consent to an adoption.
That’s not necessarily unusual: At least 15 states have no waiting period, while 21 require that birth mothers wait more than 72 hours, according to data that legislative researchers presented in June to Utah lawmakers.
But here, once birth mothers formally consent, they cannot change their mind. In nearly every other state, so-called “revocation” is allowed in limited cases, such as when a woman can prove she was coerced or consented under duress.
“In Utah, once you put pen to paper on your relinquishment and consent to adoption, it’s ironclad,” said Salt Lake City-based adoption attorney Wesley Hutchins.
He pointed to Utah’s “fraud immunity” law, which essentially says that an adoption can’t be undone here even if someone was defrauded. That applies to both birth mothers who may have been lied to by an adoption agency and fathers who may not have been told about a pregnancy.
“There’s nothing you can do about it when you discover that you’ve been fraudulently misled,” Raynard said.
What about fathers?
In order for an unmarried birth father to have any say in whether his child is placed for adoption in Utah, he is required to both begin a paternity action in court and add his name to what’s called the state’s “putative father registry.”
He’s also required to show a judge that he’s helped financially support the mother and child during pregnancy, Hutchins said.
But Hutchins warned: “The requirement in Utah is that he ‘fully and strictly’ comply with all of those things.”
If the affidavit the father files in court doesn’t have the correct wording, for instance, or if a deadline is missed, the man has no standing for parental rights.
“Most people don’t understand; they think they can do it on their own,” Hutchins said. “They think they can interpret the statutes and they find that it’s not as easy.”
The putative father registry is managed by the Department of Health and Human Services’s Office of Vital Statistics. On its website, men are able to register their names and read step-by-step information about how to protect their paternity rights.
The list is kept private from public view, but adoption agencies and attorneys have access and are required to check it for a father’s name before a birth mother is able to relinquish a child for adoption.
The registry isn’t widely circulated though, and in recent years, sometimes as few as 17 men have added their names. Last year, as of Oct. 29, just 10 did.
(Christopher Cherrington | The Salt Lake Tribune)
“We know the existence of this important resource isn’t widely known,” DHHS spokesperson Charla Haley conceded.
There’s no money dedicated to making sure more people know about it, either, Haley said. But, she added, “we are committed to making sure the application process is as clear and accessible as possible for those who need it.”
What’s next?
Hall’s reform bill proposes an $8,000 cap on all birth mother living expenses, with the ability to petition for more money if needed. This would be the highest allowance in the country, according to an analysis of state laws, although most states do not set a cap.
It would also allow a birth mother to revoke her initial consent within 72 hours, with the option to waive that right.
If the bill passes as proposed, Utah agencies will also no longer be able to advertise financial incentives when trying to attract birth mothers as clients.
And the bill would require that the state’s child-placing agencies become nonprofits by 2027, opening up their finances to further oversight.
Matt Holton, a lobbyist representing adoption agencies at the Legislature, supported Hall’s efforts.
“At the end of the day, we want a better adoption process in Utah,” he said at a Nov. 19 interim hearing. “That’s [Hall’s] mission. That is our mission as well.”
Tara Romney Barber, president of the Utah Adoption Council, a nonprofit “hub” for adoption advocacy and support, also supports the bill.
She said she was “excited” about the collaboration that went into the bill and the “direction it’s taking,” so that she and others can “continue to work for an adoption process that will protect adoption in Utah and help all parties feel safer.”
Hall herself does not have any ties to adoption — she’s never adopted a child or placed any for adoption, she said, and none of her family members were adopted. But, as a registered nurse, she has taken care of postpartum women, including mothers who make that “profoundly selfless and loving decision to let someone else raise their child.”
More recently, she’s heard from other nurses that something has changed in the adoption cases they’re seeing. The women seem to come from “much poorer circumstances, some on drugs, some won’t talk to the staff very much. They’re very guarded.”
It feels less “loving,” Hall said, and more “transactional.”
“And as a nurse,” she said, “as you look at those clues, you get concerned about what’s going on.”
Hall feels good about the bill’s chances of passing this legislative session. She said everyone has worked hard so far, and the bill has seen some “good compromises.”
“I think we’re motivated,” Hall said, “to do what it takes to make sure we’re protecting moms and families in the state.”