“In North Korea, our fate was to farm, and then die.”
In my hometown, we joked that everyone knew exactly how many spoons and chopsticks each family had. There were only 32 households in the village, our lives fully overlapping and intertwined. Even the slightest change in someone’s expression would catch the attention of the neighborhood.
My father was often the center of this attention, because he had an unusual superpower. It started one year during the harvest season. Everyone was preparing to gather the corn, but he told them to wait — it would rain in the afternoon and through the next few days.
Bewildered, our neighbors asked, “how do you know this?”
“It will,” was his solemn reply. And sure enough, the rains did come.
The source of my father’s “power” was, in fact, a small, black radio. At night, our family would secretly turn on South Korean broadcasts and listen to the news and weather. I was only thirteen at the time, and the things I heard seemed entirely separate from life in our small village. But my father knew that in North Korea, we had no future. My grandfather had been sent to a political prison camp for criticizing Kim Il-sung’s juche ideology, making our entire family traitors to the regime.
One day, my father vanished. My mom said he had drowned at sea, but I knew he had gone to South Korea.
— Il-Lyong, escaped North Korea in 2008
My father was often the center of this attention, because he had an unusual superpower. It started one year during the harvest season. Everyone was preparing to gather the corn, but he told them to wait — it would rain in the afternoon and through the next few days.
Bewildered, our neighbors asked, “how do you know this?”
“It will,” was his solemn reply. And sure enough, the rains did come.
The source of my father’s “power” was, in fact, a small, black radio. At night, our family would secretly turn on South Korean broadcasts and listen to the news and weather. I was only thirteen at the time, and the things I heard seemed entirely separate from life in our small village. But my father knew that in North Korea, we had no future. My grandfather had been sent to a political prison camp for criticizing Kim Il-sung’s juche ideology, making our entire family traitors to the regime.
One day, my father vanished. My mom said he had drowned at sea, but I knew he had gone to South Korea.
— Il-Lyong, escaped North Korea in 2008
"I felt no fear, but it wasn’t because I was brave…"
We stood at the edge of the icy Tumen River. I felt no fear, but it wasn’t because I was brave. Everything happened so quickly — I blinked, and then we were in China.
Just a few hours prior, I had been doing homework at a friend’s house, anticipating the end of winter break. As usual, my sister called me home for dinner. I told my friend I’d see her soon and headed out.
After my grandma passed away, it had been just my sister and me. So when I saw a strange man in our house, I knew something was up. My sister greeted me and casually explained that he was a broker, and we would be leaving for China that night. Then she started preparing dinner.
We acted like it was just another day to avoid any suspicion from the neighbors. Our cousin asked if we could hang out tomorrow, and we said we wouldn’t miss it for the world. Someone came over to return a sack of rice they had borrowed, and we dutifully took it back, despite knowing it would just go bad. I had half a mind to let them keep it, but the broker insisted we couldn’t. Nobody gives away free rice in North Korea.
We crossed the Tumen River into China on January 8th, Kim Jong-un’s birthday. Personally, I like to say that it was all according to plan, one final insult against the regime.
— Vickey, escaped North Korea in 2014
Just a few hours prior, I had been doing homework at a friend’s house, anticipating the end of winter break. As usual, my sister called me home for dinner. I told my friend I’d see her soon and headed out.
After my grandma passed away, it had been just my sister and me. So when I saw a strange man in our house, I knew something was up. My sister greeted me and casually explained that he was a broker, and we would be leaving for China that night. Then she started preparing dinner.
We acted like it was just another day to avoid any suspicion from the neighbors. Our cousin asked if we could hang out tomorrow, and we said we wouldn’t miss it for the world. Someone came over to return a sack of rice they had borrowed, and we dutifully took it back, despite knowing it would just go bad. I had half a mind to let them keep it, but the broker insisted we couldn’t. Nobody gives away free rice in North Korea.
We crossed the Tumen River into China on January 8th, Kim Jong-un’s birthday. Personally, I like to say that it was all according to plan, one final insult against the regime.
— Vickey, escaped North Korea in 2014
"Would a real mom actually leave their child?"
I had very few friends when I was in China, but there was another North Korean unni [older sister figure] in the neighborhood who had also been trafficked. One day, she invited me on a day trip close to the North Korean border. By then my daughter was 3 years old, and the man I had been sold to stopped monitoring my every move. Trusting that I would return to my child, he let me go.
It turned out to be the town where I had been separated from my mom. While conducting some business in China, she had left with some trusted family acquaintances. But they tricked me into being trafficked. We found their house and I got my hopes up — at long last, someone who could reconnect me with my mom! But they had since moved. Another dead end.
My friend said I should write a letter to my mom, since we had come all this way. I was so young when I had left North Korea that I couldn’t even remember my home address. But by some miracle, that unni was from the same hometown. She mailed our letters together, hoping her parents could deliver mine.
The day I received a reply, I went all over town and bragged about it. I read each precious word over, and sent back my photo and a phone number. The next time my mom was in China, she called me right away. I immediately went to see her.
Would a real mom actually leave their child? But I was also just a child, barely 16 years old, who wanted her mom. At the time I had no second thoughts, but now, the thought of having left my daughter breaks my heart.
— Haneul, escaped North Korea in 2012
It turned out to be the town where I had been separated from my mom. While conducting some business in China, she had left with some trusted family acquaintances. But they tricked me into being trafficked. We found their house and I got my hopes up — at long last, someone who could reconnect me with my mom! But they had since moved. Another dead end.
My friend said I should write a letter to my mom, since we had come all this way. I was so young when I had left North Korea that I couldn’t even remember my home address. But by some miracle, that unni was from the same hometown. She mailed our letters together, hoping her parents could deliver mine.
The day I received a reply, I went all over town and bragged about it. I read each precious word over, and sent back my photo and a phone number. The next time my mom was in China, she called me right away. I immediately went to see her.
Would a real mom actually leave their child? But I was also just a child, barely 16 years old, who wanted her mom. At the time I had no second thoughts, but now, the thought of having left my daughter breaks my heart.
— Haneul, escaped North Korea in 2012
"For 3,000 miles, it felt like I was holding my breath."
My heart was pounding so loudly in my chest, I was sure the policeman could hear it. At that moment, I just wanted it to stop beating altogether.
The sleeper bus I was on had been selected for a random inspection. To most passengers, it was simply a routine check. As the policeman made his way towards the back, everyone dutifully pulled out their IDs and exchanged pleasantries. But I had no papers to show. I didn’t even speak Chinese — one word out of my mouth and I would have been revealed as a North Korean on the run.
When the policeman finally got to me, all I could do was act like I was asleep. He poked me and said something, but I ignored him. He poked me a second time; still I did nothing. The third time, I braced myself for a confrontation, but instead he checked the old man in the bunk above me. Fortunately for me, there was a problem with that man’s papers. They talked back and forth for the longest time — so long that perhaps I had been forgotten — and then the policeman got off the bus. I was safe again.
That was the most harrowing moment of my journey to freedom. For 3,000 miles, it felt like I was holding my breath. One misstep or mistake, and I knew my life could have ended.
— Doohyun, escaped North Korea in 2009
The sleeper bus I was on had been selected for a random inspection. To most passengers, it was simply a routine check. As the policeman made his way towards the back, everyone dutifully pulled out their IDs and exchanged pleasantries. But I had no papers to show. I didn’t even speak Chinese — one word out of my mouth and I would have been revealed as a North Korean on the run.
When the policeman finally got to me, all I could do was act like I was asleep. He poked me and said something, but I ignored him. He poked me a second time; still I did nothing. The third time, I braced myself for a confrontation, but instead he checked the old man in the bunk above me. Fortunately for me, there was a problem with that man’s papers. They talked back and forth for the longest time — so long that perhaps I had been forgotten — and then the policeman got off the bus. I was safe again.
That was the most harrowing moment of my journey to freedom. For 3,000 miles, it felt like I was holding my breath. One misstep or mistake, and I knew my life could have ended.
— Doohyun, escaped North Korea in 2009
