I will not give up on him. Any parent would fight till the end.
In the space between two nations' legal systems, at least twenty infants were allegedly purchased in Indonesia and channeled into Singaporean homes through forged documents and false identities — a trafficking network that neither country's safeguards caught in time. The case, now unfolding in a West Java courtroom with nineteen defendants, forces a reckoning not only with criminal culpability but with the structural conditions — poverty, stigma, inadequate support — that make children vulnerable to commodification. At its human center are adoptive families who built their lives around children they may now be asked to surrender, and children whose futures hang in the balance of a verdict still to come.
- A trafficking ring allegedly bought Indonesian newborns for as little as $290 from desperate parents, then sold them onward for roughly $14,000 each to Singaporean adoptive families — turning infancy itself into a transaction.
- Singapore's reputation for rigorous oversight proved hollow: adoptions involving allegedly trafficked children were approved, agencies remain registered and active, and authorities have declined to confirm whether local collaborators are under investigation.
- Nineteen defendants stand trial in West Java, including an alleged ringleader who claims she believed the entire operation was legal — a defense that child rights activists say misses the deeper systemic failure driving the trade.
- Official Indonesian data shows trafficked young children nearly tripled between 2021 and 2024, while activists warn that social media has become an open marketplace where brokers recruit vulnerable parents with promises of free childbirth and cash.
- Adoptive families who raised these children for years now face the possibility of forced separation, with psychologists warning that removal could cause lasting developmental and emotional harm to the very children the law seeks to protect.
David and Ally came to adoption after years of loss. With Singapore's domestic waiting list numbering in the hundreds, they turned to an agency specializing in Indonesian infants. When they saw Marcus on a video call — a tiny baby who smiled at the screen — the decision was made. They paid tens of thousands in fees, received swift approval, and were preparing his citizenship application when immigration officials summoned them. Marcus's file had been suspended. He was believed to have been trafficked.
Marcus is one of at least twenty babies allegedly purchased in Indonesia and funneled into Singapore through a sophisticated forgery operation. The alleged ringleader, Lie Siu Luan, admitted to supplying infants to Singaporean contacts for around $14,000 each. Her network recruited brokers who scoured social media for parents willing to surrender children, housed infants in a Pontianak safe house, and employed someone to fabricate birth certificates and adoption papers. Some ring members even posed as biological parents on video calls with prospective adopters.
The BBC found Marcus's Indonesian name in court documents among the allegedly trafficked children. The woman accused of falsely claiming to be his biological mother appears in his adoption paperwork. The Singaporean agency that processed his adoption is the same one identified by Interpol's Indonesian branch in connection with the trafficking — and it remains an active registered business. Singapore's Ministry of Home Affairs declined to comment on whether local collaborators are under investigation.
The case is not isolated. Indonesia has uncovered at least seven suspected baby trafficking syndicates in recent years, with one allegedly handling sixty-six infants. Trafficked young children nearly tripled in official counts between 2021 and 2024. The conditions enabling the trade are structural: poverty, cultural stigma around children born outside marriage, and an informal tradition of informal child transfers that traffickers exploit. One witness, Dani Hidayat, was bankrupt when a broker offered him the equivalent of $290 for his newborn fifth child. When a second payment never arrived, he went to police — and investigators found dozens more babies on the broker's phone.
Defendants have argued they believed they were helping families and did not understand the illegality. Child rights activists reject that framing. "Children end up being treated as commodities," said one West Java activist. "What must be explored is the cause." Indonesia has child protection laws, but enforcement is inconsistent, and the country lacks safe surrender facilities — a vacuum traffickers fill openly through social media.
For David and Ally, the wait is unbearable. They have received no official confirmation, though the evidence in court documents is clear. Both governments have yet to declare what will happen to the children. Indonesian officials have argued the trafficked babies should be returned on principle; Singaporean psychologists warn that separation after years of bonding could cause lasting developmental harm. David has vowed to fight. "I will not give up on him," he said. "Any parent would fight till the end."
David and Ally had waited years to become parents. After Ally suffered multiple miscarriages, they turned to adoption, but the queue for a Singaporean child stretched impossibly long—they were number 142 on a waiting list. So they looked abroad, as roughly two-thirds of Singapore's adoptive parents do each year, and found an agency specializing in Indonesian babies. When they saw Marcus on a video call—a tiny infant who smiled at them—they knew. "For me it was love at first sight," David said. They paid tens of thousands of dollars in agency fees, legal costs, and what they were told was a token sum for the biological parents. Within months, Marcus was in their arms in Singapore. His adoption was approved swiftly. They were preparing to apply for his citizenship when immigration officials called them in for a meeting. Instead of congratulations, they learned that Marcus's citizenship application had been suspended. He was believed to have been trafficked into Singapore.
Marcus is one of at least twenty babies allegedly illegally purchased in Indonesia and brought to Singapore for adoption in recent years. Nineteen people are now on trial in West Java, accused of buying children and transferring them overseas while forging documents to disguise the transactions as legitimate adoptions. The ringleader, prosecutors allege, is an Indonesian woman named Lie Siu Luan, who admitted to supplying babies to at least four Singaporean contacts for roughly $14,000 each. She recruited brokers who trawled social media for parents willing to give up their babies, hired nannies to care for the infants in a house in Pontianak, and employed someone to forge birth certificates and adoption documents. Some members of the ring even posed as biological parents on video calls with prospective adopters, their false names appearing in the forged paperwork. Prosecutors are seeking sentences of five to ten years for the defendants.
The case has exposed a machinery of exploitation that thrives in the gap between two countries' systems. Singapore, known for meticulous regulatory controls, somehow approved adoptions that may have involved trafficked children. The BBC found Marcus's full Indonesian name listed in court documents as one of the allegedly trafficked babies. A woman on trial, accused of falsely declaring herself the biological mother of some infants, is listed as Marcus's mother in his Indonesian adoption papers. The Singaporean adoption agency that handled Marcus is the same one identified by Interpol's Indonesian branch as having processed the trafficked babies. It remains registered as an active business in Singapore. When asked whether it was investigating the agency and Lie's alleged Singapore collaborators, Singapore's Ministry of Home Affairs declined to comment, citing ongoing Indonesian court proceedings.
The case is not an isolated incident. Indonesia has investigated at least seven suspected baby trafficking syndicates in recent years. One operating out of Yogyakarta allegedly handled at least sixty-six babies. Official figures show the number of trafficked young children nearly tripled between 2021 and 2024, from twenty-seven to seventy cases—though authorities acknowledge the actual number is likely far higher. The root causes are structural: poverty, inadequate maternal support, lack of access to state assistance, and cultural stigma around children born outside marriage. In rural Indonesia, there is an informal tradition of giving young children to relatives or neighbors without formal adoption processes, a practice traffickers exploit. Some biological parents were coerced into selling their children; others were desperate. One witness at trial, Dani Hidayat, was bankrupt and jobless when his wife was about to give birth to their fifth child. A woman claiming she could not have children approached him through a Facebook adoption group and offered him five million rupiah—roughly $290—with a promise of two million more. Hidayat needed the money for his wife's recovery. He agreed. The woman was a broker for the trafficking ring. When Hidayat did not receive his second payment, he went to the police alleging his son had been abducted. Police caught the woman and found dozens more babies on her phone, procured for adoption in Singapore and Indonesia.
The defendants have argued they were helping families and did not know what they were doing was illegal. Lie Siu Luan told the court she "didn't know it was wrong" to send babies overseas for adoption and believed her Singapore partner had assured her it was legitimate. Child rights activists say the problem runs deeper than individual culpability. "It's not just a matter of finding out who's selling the babies and then punishing them," said Eko Kriswanto, a child rights activist in West Java. "Children end up being treated as commodities. So what must be explored is the cause." Indonesia has numerous laws protecting children and outlawing trafficking, but enforcement is inconsistent. The country lacks "baby boxes"—safe facilities where parents can surrender unwanted children—leaving a vacuum that traffickers fill. "Traffickers openly use social media to offer solutions to people's problems: free childbirth, go home with money, while the baby comes with them," said Ai Rahmayanti, head of the Indonesian Commission for Child Protection.
For David and Ally, the uncertainty is agonizing. They have not received official confirmation from authorities that Marcus is one of the trafficked babies, though the BBC found clear evidence in court documents. Both countries have yet to state what will happen to the children. Indonesian rights activists and officials argue that as a matter of principle, the allegedly trafficked children should be returned to their biological parents—one Indonesian police official even framed it as a matter of national pride. But by the time a verdict is reached, these children will have spent years in the care of their adoptive families in Singapore. Jeremy Heng, a senior clinical psychologist with the Singapore Children's Society, warned that multiple disruptions early in a child's life could "negatively affect brain development, emotional regulation, learning and attachment security," with increased risks of trauma-related symptoms and mental health difficulties. David said he would fight to keep Marcus. "We will go to whatever lengths we can legally abide to, to keep our child," he said. "If Marcus has to return to Indonesia, I will find a way to adopt the boy legally. I will not give up on him. Any parent would fight till the end."
Citações Notáveis
The anxiety is always there, at the back of our minds. There's always the thought that Marcus might be taken away.— David, adoptive parent
It's not just a matter of finding out who's selling the babies and then punishing them. Children end up being treated as commodities. So what must be explored is the cause.— Eko Kriswanto, child rights activist
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
How does a system as rigorous as Singapore's miss something like this entirely?
They didn't miss it entirely—they approved adoptions that turned out to involve trafficked children. The question is whether the checks were thorough enough, or whether the forged documents were simply too convincing. David and Ally did everything they were asked to do. They went through the process. The government signed off. Then months later, it all unraveled.
What made the trafficking ring so effective?
They understood the desperation on both sides. Parents in Indonesia who couldn't afford their children, and couples in Singapore waiting years for a baby. The brokers used social media to find vulnerable people. They posed as adoptive parents to convince biological parents to give up their babies. They hired people to forge documents so convincing that government officials approved them.
Is there any chance Marcus stays with David and Ally?
That's the question no one can answer yet. Legally and morally, there's a case for returning him to his biological parents—he was allegedly trafficked, after all. But he's spent years with David and Ally now. Separating him could cause serious psychological harm. The two countries haven't even said what they're going to do.
What would it take to stop this from happening again?
The activists are clear: you have to address why parents sell their children in the first place. Poverty. Lack of maternal support. No safe, legal way to surrender a child you can't raise. Indonesia has the laws. What it lacks is the infrastructure and the will to enforce them consistently.
Do the people running the ring see themselves as criminals?
Some of them claim they didn't. Lie Siu Luan told the court she thought what she was doing was legitimate, that her Singapore partner had assured her it was above board. Whether that's true or a defense, I don't know. But it reveals something: in the spaces where the law is weak or unclear, people convince themselves they're helping.