A North Korean Defector’s Nine Year Journey to Freedom | Eunju’s Story
I didn’t know I was hungry until I was eight years old. Growing up, I had no concept of whether my hometown was wealthy or poor. Then when the great famine struck in the mid-90s, more people died in our city than anywhere else in the country.
That’s when I realized “Oh, this is the most difficult place to live in North Korea.”
I was born in the city of Eundok, North Hamgyong Province. Before that it was called Aoji, a destitute place infamous for its coal mines, where South Korean prisoners of war were sent to work.
In the middle of a long famine, people lose all sense of humanity. You couldn’t survive without dirtying your hands. My father was a kindhearted person, the type that was unable to hurt anyone. But towards the end, hunger drove him to steal from our own house.
On my first day of middle school, I couldn’t find my new backpack anywhere. It turns out that my dad had taken it to the Jangmadang, traded it for food, and eaten it by himself. In the end, he still died from starvation, and my mom, my sister, and I were left to fend for ourselves.
We heard that if we went to China, we could eat all the candy we wanted. With that one piece of information, my mom said she’d rather get shot crossing the Tumen river than starve in North Korea.
It was mid-February in 1999, during the bitter cold winter. The water was frozen solid and stretched over 100 meters across. My mom went first, followed by my sister, and I was in the very back. Maybe it was because I was anxious, but my shoes felt so slippery and I kept falling over as they went farther and farther ahead. We heard that soldiers would shoot anyone who tried to cross the river. But this was our only chance at survival.
My mind was racing, “What if I’m left behind and get caught?” My mom and sister probably feared the same thing.
We encountered a tributary that wasn’t frozen all the way, so my mom waited and had me go first because I was the lightest. A few steps in, the ice broke and I fell into the piercing cold water. None of us knew how to swim. At that moment, I really thought it was the end. But then my feet hit the ground. We had made it to the other side.
Not long after we had crossed into China, a Korean-speaking woman came up to us. She invited us to her house and gave us over a dozen boiled eggs, more food than we had seen in years. In North Korea, when my sister and I had a field trip for school, my mom would cut one boiled egg and give each of us half in our lunch box. To have this much at once was a true luxury. For the first time in a long while, we dared to have some hope.
But then my mom was sold off to a Chinese man. The fortunate thing was that even though my sister and I were 16 and 14 years old, we were so short that people asked if we were 7 or 8. They couldn’t sell us separately, so we were sent together with our mom.
We had been sold for 2000 yuan. When we wanted to leave, the man told us to pay him back. We worked in his house and on his farm but of course we never saw a penny. For three years, we lived in confinement, and my little brother was born.
On a quiet night before my brother was even a year old, Chinese police came to the house in the dark, knocked on the door, and arrested us.
When North Koreans get caught, sometimes they’ll roll up their money and eat it or hide it, but we didn’t have anything. We were taken back across the border with just our clothes. It’s well known that there’s a physical exam to look for hidden money. In a way, you shouldn’t even feel a basic sense of shame as a woman and as a human being. If you cry or plead for mercy, you’ll get beaten up. You cannot question them at all.
With so many people in North Korea dying of starvation, names were removed from the family register after three years without any news. We had already been declared dead. There were two minors and an adult, but our identities couldn’t be confirmed. At the time they couldn’t keep minors in prison without a ruling from the court, so we were entrusted to another person from our hometown. No one wanted extra mouths to feed, so he just let us go.
We went straight to the Tumen river and in 2002, we escaped again.
I had enough food when I was in China. Even dogs and pigs ate rice and corn. But we lived looking over our shoulders, in constant fear of the police.
When we heard about life in South Korea, where our safety and identities would be guaranteed, we decided to defect once more. We were introduced to a broker, gave them some cash upfront, and traveled through Mongolia and the Gobi Desert.
On September 1st, 2006, I arrived at Incheon airport with my mom. My sister joined us in South Korea in 2008. Nine years after first crossing the Tumen River, we were finally together in freedom.
When I was in China, my only wish was that my mom, sister, and I could sleep together, eat together, and come home from work together. I dreamed that someday we could go to the supermarket and get a whole cart full of things to share. After coming to South Korea, we achieved not only that, but everything we’ve ever wanted.
I co-authored a book about my journey, A Thousand Miles to Freedom, with a foreign journalist named Sebastien Falletti. He interviewed several North Koreans, and I agreed to share my story with him out of a sense of duty. I never thought he’d choose me.
Compared to North Korean defectors who live special lives, I don’t actually dream of being a human rights activist. There are times when I don’t want to share anymore and I feel like I have to repeat myself.
But then I think about my best friend in North Korea. Her name is Sunhwa and I don’t think she’s here yet. I imagine that she would want to live like me — to attend college, pave her own way, and explore the vast world we live in. But she is still stuck in the darkness. Until Sunhwa can live a life of freedom, I feel a sense of responsibility to continue to share.
When I think of North Korea, the dark image of my hometown floods my memories. But I would still like to go back just once and visit my dad’s grave. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that he was also a victim of the North Korean regime. I have hope that in this lifetime, North Korea will open up. I’ll return with my mom and my sister, and together we’ll visit my dad’s resting place and prepare a huge meal for him.
For North Koreans to share their stories with audiences around the world, retelling and reliving some of the most harrowing experiences, is an act of exceptional courage. They’re working towards the day when others no longer have to go through the same painful experiences.
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Creating home: An Interview with our U.S. Resettlement Assistance Manager
While the majority of the North Koreans who come through our rescue network wish to resettle in South Korea, a small group choose to come to the United States. Drawn by family, friends, and new opportunities, they resettle all across the country. Because resettlement to the U.S. comes with its own set of unique challenges—mainly the language barrier—we have programs specially designed to help North Koreans find their footing in their first few years. Our U.S. resettlement manager Kris explains the details of the resettlement process and her work with LiNK in more detail.
Describe a normal day at your job.
What’s cool about my job is that no work day is the same. From helping a North Korean register for school to purchasing bikes for a family (both are things I have done very recently), every day is different. I travel quite often to visit refugees and to meet with partner organizations. I also spend a lot of time researching government and community benefits, changes in immigration laws, and educational resources. I will say that the two services I provide almost every day are translation and interpretation.
What do you enjoy most about your job?
The North Korean friends we work with are pretty awesome. It really is my privilege to be able to work with such an amazing group of people. I get to help them but I also learn so much. My job never gets boring. They challenge me to do more and be better. My colleagues at LiNK are pretty cool, too. =)
What is the most difficult part about your job? What was most surprising about the work you do?
The number of North Korean refugees who have resettled in the US is pretty small so people tend to put them in one group and form generalized opinions about them. But what I learned over the years and what some people might find surprising is that each person is so unique in their backgrounds, family dynamics, worldviews, reasons for defection, life goals and dreams. It’s challenging to be able to assess and meet their differing needs and help them reach not only self-sufficiency but also the eventual self-actualization and fulfillment. But I’m proud of the individualized and flexible case management that we have been able to offer to the people we serve. As we expand our work, I hope we will continue to have capacity to offer individualized care.
What are some of the challenges that our North Korean friends face as they resettle here in the US?
There are so many. Most common ones would be language and cultural barriers. Access to transportation is a huge challenge because although many states offer driver’s license exams in Korean, there are some that don’t, so the refugees have to learn English first in order to take the driver’s license exam. Some of the more recent and regionally-specific challenges are lack of affordable housing and immediate employment opportunities.
What are some of the challenges in running a North Korean refugee post-resettlement program here in the United States?
The fact that the people we work with are scattered all over the country makes it difficult to do anything in-person. Geography has always been the biggest challenge for me because I’d love for us to be more accessible to the refugees and do more in-person programs with them. Most refugee agencies serve local communities because it’s difficult to be a direct service provider from afar. We have to be creative to stay connected to the people we serve. One good thing that the pandemic did was normalizing virtual communication, and we were able to successfully execute an entrepreneurship program and a mentorship program virtually during the pandemic.
What was one of your most memorable events in this role?
Not long after one of our clients died in a car accident, I flew out to see her minor children. I knew that no words would bring comfort to them at that point. I took them out to see a movie and we went to get our nails done. Of course, we got some boba afterwards. Then per their request, we went out to a hot pot restaurant for dinner, and there we ran into some people from their church. The people assured me that the children will be taken care of and the community will be there for them. I went out there to bring some comfort for the children, but instead, I was the one that was comforted more than anyone. It’s just one of those days that I’ll always remember.
What is something you wish the world knew about North Korea or the North Korean people?
Maybe I can just say something about the North Korean refugees, rather than the entire country of North Korea or the North Korean people inside the country. North Korean refugees, in their defection and resettlement process, have gone through so many unimaginable obstacles and have overcome them with such incredible resilience and determination. I believe that they have this amazing potential to overcome any barriers and to succeed in their new life. I hope the whole world understands this and welcomes the refugees with open arms.
