Part 1 of 4: Frustrated fathers of abducted children turn to public for support Dec. 12, 2006 By Kirsten Brown Scripps Howard Foundation Wire WASHINGTON - Four fathers quietly filed into a theater to watch "Abduction: The Megumi Yokota Story," a documentary about North Korea's kidnapping of Japanese citizens in the 1970s and 1980s. If the names Walter Benda, Patrick Braden, Chris Kenyon and Paul Toland don't sound Japanese, it's because they're not. But their children are half-Japanese, and these fathers say Japan has committed the same crime against them that Japan accuses North Korea of committing. Although the North Korean abductions stoked a national frenzy in Japan, the American fathers' cries have fallen on deaf ears both here and in Japan. "I understand the situation that Megumi's parents find themselves in," said Benda, 49, who has been separated from his children since 1995 when they were taken by his ex-wife, a Japanese citizen. "I just wanted to make a statement that Japan should maybe look inside its own borders." The fathers came with fliers bearing the faces of their children - heart-breakingly beautiful children with wide almond eyes and wider smiles. The foursome stood in the chilly night for hours handing out fliers and hoping to speak with one of the prominent Japanese officials at the screening, including Ambassador Ryozo Kato. But they were kept away. "Here they were, co-sponsoring a movie about abduction," Benda said, "yet they are condoning abduction themselves - the abduction of the children of foreign parents." "Like my daughters," he added, softly. Benda of Max Meadows, Va., has seen his two daughters three times from a distance in the 11 years since he came home to find the door locked and his family gone. He cannot obtain visitation rights to his children in Japan, so he can look forward only to far-off glimpses of them. Braden said a mixture of empathy and frustration overcomes him whenever he sees publicity for the kidnapped Japanese citizens. "Their loss is the same as our loss," he said. "It's just that they're here, asking for our help, and it's kind of a slap in our face." Many congressional hearings on international custody disputes have been held with few gains, said Rep. Tom Lantos, D-Calif., the rising chair of the House International Relations Committee. "Every single one of these cases is a tragedy," Lantos said. "They are extremely difficult to deal with, because there are differing laws and differing countries." While not the only country to overrule U.S. custody verdicts, Japan is the No. 1 offender among Asian countries. A State Department spokeswoman said parents like Benda are "severely disadvantaged" in the Japanese court systems, where joint custody is viewed as a psychological burden on the child. The system instead favors a "clean-cut" approach, in which the non-custodial parent disappears from the child's life as if that parent never existed, international family lawyer Jeremy Morley said. "The idea of both parents being involved in raising the child is foreign to the Japanese culture," Morley said. "There's been no historic role for both parents being involved, and the legal system makes no provision for any kind of visitation rights." Japanese judges also demonstrate a clear bias toward awarding their citizens full custody in international divorce cases, he said. Children born in the United States automatically have Japanese citizenship if one of their parents is Japanese. "A Japanese court will never give custody to a foreign parent," Morley said. "If the child is a Japanese national, the system will only see it as his right to be raised in Japan. They will feel it would be extremely unfair to a child to deprive him of the opportunity to live in a wonderful place like Japan." Abductors, including parents violating court orders, face up to three years in prison and $250,000 in fines under U.S. federal law, plus state prosecution. Japan does not recognize abduction by a family member as a crime. Japan remains the only Group of 7 nation to abstain from signing the Hague Convention on international child abduction, rendering the U.S. powerless to extradite Japanese citizens charged with violating U.S. courts' custody rulings. A Japanese embassy spokesman said foreign judgments are recognized in Japan if they meet certain legal criteria under Japanese law. But Japanese judges may disregard a U.S. ruling is if it is not deemed "compatible with public order or good morals of Japan." The State Department has 32 open cases involving Japanese citizens, all of them mothers. The government cannot claim any success stories, as the one child who returned to his father did so entirely on his own. Mike Gulbraa's son Chris was that child. After five years in Japan with his abducting mother, Etsuko Tanizaki Allred, Chris learned he could go to a U.S. consulate in Japan and apply for a passport. Chris slipped away on his bike the evening of Aug. 31. Hours later, he was on a plane to the U.S. When Gulbraa saw his son step off the plane, memories of the boy's birth washed over him. "I had that same type of feeling when he walked off that plane," said Gulbraa, a Columbus, Ind. businessman. "It was like a rebirth." Even pre-emptive efforts by U.S. courts to prevent abduction have failed. Braden, 46, of Los Angeles obtained a temporary restraining order meant to prevent his ex-girlfriend from taking their 11-month-old daughter, Melissa, to Japan. But on March 16, Ryoko Uchiyama got Melissa on a plane anyway. "I couldn't believe that she had really done it," said Braden, an antiques dealer. "I thought there would be police to stop her at the airport, but there was nothing." Toland, 39, a Navy commander stationed in Arlington, Va., has given up hope of help from the U.S. government in getting back his 4-year-old daughter, Erika. He has spent less than hour with his daughter since his wife, Etsuko Futagi Toland, took her from their home more than three years ago. "The State Department can't do anything for us," Toland said. "I'm kind of tired of sitting on my hands." Because he is in the military, Toland shied away from the limelight, but has decided drawing more attention to his story may be his last shot at seeing Erika again. "Maybe by getting our story out there, we can finally put pressure on the American government to do something for us," Toland said, "the same way that Megumi's parents put pressure on the Japanese government to do something for them." In the meantime, Toland and the other childless fathers continue to buy tickets to each retelling of Megumi's story.

Part 2 of 4: Abducted child speaks out about his escape from Japan Dec. 12, 2006 By Kirsten Brown Scripps Howard Foundation Wire WASHINGTON - There is a saying in Japan: "If you look back as you're departing and you see the setting sun, you will return." On his last day of summer vacation, Chris Gulbraa, 15, rode his bike away from his home in Kasugai, Japan, without looking back - he had no intention of returning. Instead, he planned to fly to a reunion with his U.S. father, five years after his mother took him and his brother to Japan. He is the only child known to have returned on his own from such a separation. On that August evening, he told his mother, Etsuko Tanizaki Allred, 45, that he was going for a short ride. But Chris took a train to Osaka. There, he felt better. He was far away from anyone who might recognize him. Chris's secret escape stemmed from an earlier getaway, when he had to leave another home in Farmington, Utah, just as quickly and furtively. On Nov. 28, 2001, Allred awakened Chris and his older brother, Michael, before dawn, urging them to pack quickly. They were moving to Japan. "She told me that we were going to go to learn Japanese there and help my grandma out because she hurt her back," Chris said. "It was just kind of weird because it wasn't like her." Although Chris didn't realize it then, Allred was running from his father, Mike Gulbraa. The couple had been divorced for several years, and Gulbraa, 42, had asked for custody after hearing that Allred's second husband, Daren Allred, had been investigated for the abuse of his own children. Gulbraa didn't know they had left until three days later, when their answering machine announced it was full. He said to himself, "Oh, my gosh, they've bolted." Allred said in an e-mail that, at the time, she felt her move to Japan was permitted. "My attorney told me legally I could go to Japan because the temporary restraining order has been expired," she said. "The boys knew exactly where we were going and they were thrilled about going to Japan finally. ... Even today I still believe it was legal." Once in Japan, the boys' contact with their father gradually dropped until it was "essentially nonexistent," said Gulbraa, a Columbus, Ind., businessman. "I can tell you for many, many months, I didn't sleep," he said. "I probably didn't eat. I lost a job over it. Devastating, I guess, is as simple as you can put it." The Allreds were charged with international parental kidnapping. International arrest warrants known as Interpol red notices were issued for both of them. Yet as long as they remained in Japan, the charges could not affect them. Japanese courts do not recognize parental abduction as a crime. Allred said she was "shocked and discouraged" to learn of the charges, contending they otherwise would have returned to the U.S. two years ago. Meanwhile, Allred told the boys their father had mistreated her. When Chris demanded to call his father, he said his mother would disconnect the phone and order him to "calm down." After Chris turned 15, his mother gave him a cell phone, which he eventually used to text message his father. After several lengthy phone conversations, Gulbraa informed Chris that if he went to the U.S. consulate in Osaka to request a passport, he would find paperwork that would allow him to leave Japan. As Chris walked off the plane in Chicago, Gulbraa noted his son wore the same gentle half-smile he had always remembered. They exchanged high-fives. Then they hugged. "You're wearing a Minnesota Vikings hat?" Gulbraa teased his son. "What's up with that?" As he got into his dad's car, Chris said he thought to himself, "OK. I'm safe, now." Chris is adjusting well to his new home, playing high school football, making friends and entertaining his twin 7-year-old half sisters. "They eat him up like chocolate," said Gulbraa, who remarried in 1997. The tables abruptly turned, Allred says she pines for a son who lives an ocean beyond her reach. "It makes me feel like part of me has died," she said. "But he's only 15 and I know he loves me. He said he will come back when he turns 18. I look forward to seeing him." Meanwhile, Gulbraa's concern has grown for Chris's brother, Michael, who still lives with his mother in Japan. "With Chris being gone, I don't think Michael has that extra buffer," Gulbraa said. "I realize in about a year he will be 18, and it doesn't really matter what I might want or think, but I want him to be safe." Chris said he's tried before to convince his brother to come to the U.S., but he receives angry e-mails in reply. "He's still on my mom's side," Chris said. "He still believes everything my mom says."

Part 3 of 4: Restraining order doesn’t stop mother from taking 1-year-old Dec. 12, 2006 By Kirsten Brown Scripps Howard Foundation Wire WASHINGTON - Patrick Braden spent only the first 11 months of his daughter's life with her before she was taken across the Pacific by her mother, Ryoko Uchiyama. The night before their disappearance, Braden received a peculiar phone call from his ex-girlfriend, Uchiyama, who asked if he would like to spend a little time with their infant daughter, Melissa. "It was strange of her, because she would never, ever cooperate when I wanted to see Melissa," said Braden, 46, of Los Angeles. "I knew something was weird, but I was hoping that maybe it meant Ryoko was finally coming around." On March 16, Uchiyama, 33, took Melissa to Japan, despite a restraining order that was supposed to prevent them from leaving Los Angeles. Uchiyama, who was entrenched in a custody dispute with Braden, has been charged with unlawful flight to escape prosecution. She's listed as wanted by the FBI. Two days after Uchiyama arrived in Japan, she filed a restraining order against Braden under a Japanese stalking law. Tetsuya Ogawa, who served as Melissa's lawyer in California, said it would not have been difficult for Uchiyama to obtain the order. "Since nobody appeared on Patrick's behalf, the court had no reason to question Ryoko's statements and requests," said Ogawa, an American lawyer admitted to the Japanese bar. Another left-behind father, T. A. Miklia, 37, tried to warn Braden. Miklia said he stumbled upon an alarming post on a Japanese Web site. He said a woman named Ryoko wrote that she faced a pending child custody court decision that she believed she would lose. "She wanted to know what she could do," Miklia said. "Some of the Japanese posting responses told her she should obey the law, but others told her that she should get an emergency passport from the Japanese embassy and go to Japan, because there they would not recognize the U.S. custody ruling." Police said they couldn't intervene based on a Web posting. So Miklia embarked on a frantic search for the father, but he had no name. By the time Miklia and Braden met, it was too late. Nine months later, all Braden has left of his daughter are photographs, which he totes everywhere. Melissa's cat-shaped eyes and pouty smile beam up at him from the pictures. "I know everyone always thinks their baby is adorable, but just look at her," said the antiques dealer as he sifted tenderly through piles of pictures. "I really think she's something special." Neither Uchiyama nor her lawyer could be reached for comment. Aside from missing his daughter, Braden also fears for her well-being. He said when he and Uchiyama attended couples counseling, she revealed she had been sexually abused by her father. Braden, who has talked to Uchiyama on the phone, said she is now living with her father in Japan. "I can't allow what happened to Ryoko to happen to my daughter," Braden said. "I think it's worse than a child dying, because when a child dies, you know it's over. I don't know how I would live with it if I found out she was molested."

Part 4 of 4: Japanese laws ‘erase’ American father Dec. 12, 2006 By Kirsten Brown Scripps Howard Foundation Wire WASHINGTON – One of the last times Brett Weed saw his 6-year-old son, Takoda, the pair was driving in Weed's black Ford pick-up, the one that his son liked to call, "Daddy's big truck." That was also the day Takoda cheerfully announced, "I have a Japanese daddy." Takoda's babyish words threw Weed, 42, but it confirmed what he had long suspected: his ex-wife, Kyoko Oda, was slowly replacing him not only as a spouse but also as a father. Oda, 38, completed her replacement of Weed on Jan. 15, 2004, when she moved to Japan with Takoda and their 2-year-old daughter, Tiana, severing all contact. Oda moved to Japan with the consent of a U.S. court but was ordered to allow frequent visitation between Weed and his children as well as communication through Web cams and phone calls. None of these agreements was ever followed, Weed said. As a result, a court in Portland , Ore., granted Weed full custody. Even so, he has been unable to make contact with them since that day in the truck. Compounding the problem, Japan's Ministry of Justice officials made little effort to serve Oda with the court documents, said Bradley Lechman-Su, Weed's attorney. "They have more or less boxed out any attempts to serve court documents, if the person doesn't want to be served," Lechman-Su said. "Any Japanese official is not going to go out of their way to serve court documents on a Japanese national when those court documents are from another country." Takoda turned 9 in November. Weed wanted to send his son a present, but he has no idea where he is. "When they left, he was just starting to get to the age where he would show interest in hobbies," Weed said, "the kinds of things that I wanted to share with him and support. We could have worked in the shop together. But by the time I ever see him again, he will be past all that." Weed grasps at these thin memories he retains of his children, who never age in his mind. He remembers how Tiana's petite face would blossom into a big grin when he came into view. Now Weed fears that Oda may be telling Tiana and her brother that he is dead or, worse, that he doesn't love them. Abducting parents often make such excuses for the absent parent, said Geoffrey Greif, University of Maryland professor of social work. "They will say something like, ‘If Daddy loved you, he would call you,' or, ‘Your father was not treating you well. Only I know how to treat you,'" said the co-author of "When Parents Kidnap." Greif said that Weed's apprehension for his children's future emotional health is not unfounded. "There is a range of stories that leave the abducted child unable to trust the parent and unable to trust the environment in general," Greif said. "When they become adults, they are unable to feel comfortable falling in love with people and trust them." Until or unless Japan revamps its judicial system to better enforce its feeble civil laws, Lechman-Su said, it's up to U.S. courts to familiarize themselves with the consequences of sanctioning a divorced Japanese national's move to Japan. "If they allow a Japanese national to return to Japan with children ... it just completely leaves it in their hands," he said. In the end, Tiana and Takoda are cut off from not only half of their family but also half their background, Weed said. "These kids are 50 percent Japanese, 50 percent American," Weed said. "Half their culture is being wiped out. It's basically being erased."