The Case of an Anonymous Father

A week ago, on 2 June, a large group of Dutch citizens visited a Rotterdam court. The group comprised of 22 plaintiffs - 12 adults and the parents of 10 children. The case was launched jointly by Joey Chief, Monique Aarts, Merel-Lotte, Dr Moniek Wassenaar, Tanja Koopmans and a few others. On 2 June, the Rotterdam court was expected to deliver the verdict.

Joey Chief 

Joey Chief, 30, is a sports instructor as well as a manager in a Vodafone shop. He lives in Den Helder with his partner. Joey is the middle child, with an elder brother and a younger sister. As a child, he realised he was very different from his siblings. His brother had learning difficulties. His sister was a party animal. Joey was of an enterprising nature, at 14 he started giving lessons at the gym. At 15, he left home.

His parents told him he was born through IVF. A fertility clinic had used his father’s sperm to make his mother pregnant. In grade six, he learnt that despite IVF, he was as natural a child as any.

After Joey felt attracted to a man (with whom he now lives), he began to wonder once again why he was so different. In his disturbed state, he began attending counselling sessions. The psychologist advised Joey to probe the matter of his birth further with his mother. As recently as on 23 March, 2017 he asked his mother the details of his conception.

It was a small clinic, his mother said. The doctor had done his job very well. Joey’s mother admitted it was not exactly an IVF, but artificial insemination. She had seen the straws with the seed. The vials were stored in a canister, and the name of her husband was displayed prominently on it.

Back in his car, Joey googled the words he had heard from his mother. Barendrecht. Fertility clinic. Bijdorp. The name of its director. The Google search also gave the name of Monique Aarts, a woman who had apparently initiated a case in a Rotterdam court.

Monique Aarts

Monique Aarts, 32, was born in a similar way to Joey, with her mother using the services of a fertility clinic in the Bijdorp section of Barendrecht near Rotterdam. Monique’s father was found to be infertile. He and his wife agreed they would meet Dr Jan Karbaat, known as the pioneer in the field of fertilisation. He was the director of the largest sperm bank in the Netherlands.

Dr Karbaat supported them throughout the process. The sperm of an anonymous donor was used for both Monique and her younger brother. However, the two children turned out to be different, in looks and in temperament.

In a casual conversation, Dr Karbaat had said the fertility centre often mixed the sperms of donors. Mixing the sperms of two or more donors increased the chances of conception, because it allowed competition between the sperms. It didn’t mean someone could have two biological fathers, no, that was not possible, Dr Karbaat had explained, smiling. As soon as a sperm has fertilised an egg, another sperm can’t enter the same egg. In rare instances, if a woman were to sleep with two men on the same day, she may conceive twins from two fathers, two different sperms entering two different eggs, yes that was possible. But still each child, born naturally or through sperm donation, has only one mother and one father, not a mixture of fathers. Monique’s mother had not bothered to share that explanation with Monique.

TheDutch foundation “Donorkind” (donor child) defends the interests and rights of donor children. It believes those children should have the same rights as naturally born children. One of these rights is to know your biological parents. Donorkind has set up a DNA database. A 2004 Dutch law entitles a donor child, on reaching 16, to trace its roots, to identify the anonymous father. However, children born before 2004 have no such legal privilege. Donorkind helps these children by comparing their DNA with the DNA of other children who may have been fathered by the same donor. Similarly, if a donor father is courageous enough to send his DNA to this foundation, the children can contact him - their biological father. However, many sperm donors are reluctant to announce themselves, because they fear their children may claim inheritance.

Monique decided she and her brother should send their DNA to Donorkind. To find their father. If not, possibly a half-brother or half-sister. The DNA tests were expensive, but Monique decided it was worth it.

“I am a little confused.” The doctor who had conducted the tests said to Monique. “You said you and your brother want to find your father.”

“Yes” said Monique. ‘We want to send those results to Donorkind. They compare our DNA with their database. We may find our father, or maybe someone else who has the same father.”

“I understand. But I’m afraid you and your brother don’t share a common father. The test is very clear. You have a common mother, but different fathers.”

Monique’s brother, or as it turned out her half-brother, went into depression. He often sits with the DNA results, staring blankly at the pages from the clinic. Monique went ahead and sent her results to Donorkind. To her surprise, she found four women who had the same father as she. She met two of them - her half-sisters. Monique realised she may have many half-siblings but no full brother or full sister.

Merel-Lotte

Merel-Lotte, 23, was one of the half sisters Monique had met. Merel-Lotte’s mother Esther Heij, 57, is a disabled person. After a few failed pregnancies, her husband and she had divorced. At 32, she wanted children badly. After failing to find another husband or lover, she turned to the clinic of Dr Karbaat. She needed an anonymous donor. However, she made the doctor promise that on reaching 16, the child would learn the donor’s identity. This would be done through the donor passport maintained by the sperm bank.

Every time Esther Heij visited the clinic for artificial insemination, she needed to wait. Dr Karbaat was proud his clinic supplied “fresh seed”, not frozen sperm lying in vials. Esther often felt curious about the anonymous man in some other room of the clinic donating his fresh semen. A possible father of her future child, but she never saw any such donor. She quite understood the need for the clinic to maintain a donor’s anonymity.

The exercise was expensive, costing 1000 guilders per donation. Indeed, after a few unsuccessful attempts, Merel-Lotte was born. When she reached 16, Esther wrote to Dr Karbaat requesting the details of the donor as was agreed. The Karbaats were on vacation. After a few weeks, Merel-Lotte got the information about her anonymous father on an A4 page. He was slim, fair, blue-eyed, optimistic, lover of camping and nature, hated dishonesty and had a happy childhood. The clinic regretted the man hadn’t left his name. (It wasn’t a legal requirement before 2004 to take down names).

What struck Merel-Lotte in the description were the blue eyes. Her eyes were brown with no trace of blueness.

Dr Moniek Wassenaar

Moniek Wassenaar, 36, is a psychiatrist. As a teenager she learnt sperm donation was the source of her birth. Since then, she was keen to find her nameless biological father. In 2010, a newspaper article had appeared with her photo alongside. The article mentioned Dr Moniek Wassenaar was looking for her donor father.

In a few days, a reader wrote to her. He said she bore an uncanny physical similarity to a gentleman he knew. The letter mentioned the address. Moniek decided to make a visit.

On the morning of 7 Jan. 2011, Moniek reached the address. It was a stately yellow brick house in the Bijdorp section of Barendrecht near Rotterdam. It used to be a sperm bank but the government had shut it down in 2009. The door was opened by Mrs Karbaat. Dr Moniek introduced herself and said she wished to see Dr Jan Karbaat. Moniek thought Mrs Karbaat looked reluctant to call her husband out, but she eventually did.

Dr Jan Karbaat, 84 years old, came out and shook hands with Moniek. “If you plan to have a child, sorry, our sperm bank is now closed.”

Moniek looked at Dr Karbaat in disbelief. Both of them had large teeth and mouths, a high forehead, high cheekbones and droopy eyelids. She marvelled at nature’s ability to clone features from a parent into a child.

“My mother had a fertility treatment in your clinic, doctor. I believe you are my biological father.”

Dr Karbaat narrowed his eyes. “Let me see your hands” he said. On examining the large hands, he said. “You could be a kid of mine.”

Moniek then requested Dr Karbaat to agree to a DNA test. The test would confirm the relationship.

“Why would I do that?” Dr Karbaat said. “To organise a family Christmas party?” He went on to say he has fathered at least 60 children by giving his own sperm. “What’s wrong with it? I am in good health and intelligent. I can certainly share my genes with the world. It’s a noble thing.” (As per records revealed by the case, Dr Karbaat was 81 years old, when he fathered his latest child).

Dr Moniek cordially ended the meeting with her presumed father. However, she understood he didn’t wish to see her ever again.

The case against Dr Karbaat

In 2015, Dr Moniek learnt from Monique Aarts that several children similarly suspected Dr Karbaat to be their father. The Karbaat clinic, the country’s biggest sperm bank, was shut down for falsifying data and analyses, fictitious donor descriptions and exceeding the permitted limit per donor. Dr Jan Karbaat had often swapped the donor’s sperm with his own to fill the Netherlands with his DNA.

Moniek Wassenaar said, “I fear I’m his daughter, and hope I’m not. A DNA test will make it certain. It’ll be sad to learn I’m a crook’s daughter, but at least this uncertainty would end.”

Tanja Koopmans, mother of the 18-year old Gioachino, said, “I feel like Dr Karbaat raped me.” That sentiment was echoed by many mothers, who were given false descriptions of imaginary donors.

Monique Arts had managed to get together 22 plaintiffs. All of them had large teeth and mouth, a high forehead, high cheekbones and droopy eyelids. The case against Dr Karbaat was to force him to take a DNA test. Each child was entitled to know its biological father.

Joey Chief, Monique Aarts, Merel-Lotte, Dr Moniek Wassenaar, Gioachino Koopmans and others, their children, were not supposed to exist. (Could they sue Dr Karbaat for coming into this world with his genes?)

The case was launched. Dr Karbaat’s lawyer denied any wrongdoing on his part. Because unless his DNA link to all the children was proven, what crime could he be charged with?

Before the trial reached its end, however, in April 2017, Dr Jan Karbaat died at the age of 89. In his will, he clearly specified nobody should be allowed to take his DNA in any manner.

2 June 2017

Dr Karbaat took his crime to his grave. He remained unpunished. That was the general sentiment among the plaintiffs.

Dr Karbaat’s toothbrush, nose hair trimmer and compressed stockings are preserved under a court order. On 2 June, the Rotterdam court ordered that these items can be used for conducting a DNA test. The court has overruled Dr Karbaat’s will. However, another court needs to decide whether the results of the DNA test can be made available to the plaintiffs.

If and when that happens, the 22 children, their own children, and perhaps many more children in Netherlands will become 100% certain that they are the off-spring of a depraved scoundrel.

Ravi