A North Korean Mom and Son’s Harrowing Escape | Harry’s Story
The town I grew up in was surrounded by mountains. When the season was right, my friends and I would hike up to look for pears. Fresh fruit was a luxury in North Korea, but the mountainside was covered in orchards. One day we snuck in when the fruit was still green, hoping to avoid the guards.
I hid in a tree, passing down pears to my friends, when we heard a whistle blow. My heart was pounding; it was like a heist movie. I rolled away and ran out of danger. Somehow, we got away with it. It didn’t even matter that the fruit we ate was not ripe and made our stomachs hurt—we felt unstoppable.
Little did I know that just a few years later, I would be running for my life once again… but this time, it was not a game. I would be escaping from North Korea.

Life in North Korea was normal to me. I went to school and spent time with my friends and older sister. All I knew about South Korea was from the movies I’d secretly watched. It seemed like a scary place, where they trafficked drugs and stole your organs.
My mom was often busy with work. She had a job that connected North Koreans to China, wiring money between families. With her income, we were able to live comfortably. But it was risky. She could usually bribe the guards to let her cross the border safely, but it wouldn’t work forever. One day, she was caught and sent to one of North Korea’s brutal prison camps.

My mom spent two years in the prison camp, forced to do intense labor every day while barely being fed. She told us later that she had shared a concrete cell with 50 other people and they lacked basic things like soap, toilet paper, and sanitary products. Guards would abuse their power and find any reason to assault them.
Many people in the camp were also women who had been arrested for crossing the border, trying to find ways to make a living and take care of their children. Dying in prison meant your crimes would be passed on to your family. And so, many of those women endured faithfully until they were released, and then passed away afterward.
When my mom finally left the camp, she quit the work she was doing and told her clients she was done. But one of them refused to hear it.

He was a South Korean fisherman whose boat had been thrown off course by a typhoon, and North Korean authorities refused to let him return home. One night, he showed up drunk at our house and threatened my mom. If she didn’t take him across the border, he would turn her in. So she had no choice. None of us did.
My mom took me with her and brought the old man to the border of North Korea. We were supposed to meet some brokers who would take him across, but they couldn’t agree on a price or a place. After a few days of waiting, everything went wrong.
The police had discovered our plan. They had our photos and were already putting up wanted posters for our capture. There was no way we could go home now. The choice was made for us. We had to flee the country with the old man.

I thought I would die that night. Armed soldiers patrol the river bordering North Korea and China, and are told to shoot defectors on sight.
If caught, my mom would have faced life in prison for her second offense—no better than a death sentence. But somehow, we made it to the other side.
In China, we waited three days in the mountains for our brokers. Every moment spent at a standstill was a huge risk, because Chinese authorities pay local citizens to report North Korean refugees. When it became clear that help wasn’t coming, we headed for a nearby village, laying low in the grass until the cover of night.
By nightfall, we took our chances and entered the village. Luckily, we met a kind woman who introduced us to a new broker. This broker helped us get to another city where the old man was picked up by South Korean officials and flown home to his family. As for me and my mom, we couldn’t go back to North Korea. So we went to see my middle sister, who had already been in China for quite some time.

Before I was born, my mom took my two sisters to China with her. She wanted them to stay there safely, but my oldest sister refused and returned to North Korea with my mom. My middle sister was left behind, sent to live with a trusted friend. But the unthinkable happened. At 12 years old, she was trafficked and sold to be married to a much older man. Every night, she would stand by the water well, threatening to hang herself if the man came near her.
But one year later, the inevitable happened. When she was just 13 years old, she had a baby.
Like many other young North Korean women, my sister went across the border seeking a better life, but ended up living her teenage years in captivity, with no laws or family to protect her. Every day she had imagined running away, until finally she did. She reunited with my mom in North Korea when she was 20.
But not everything went as hoped. Though she was happy to be together with our family again, it turned out life was just as hard in North Korea. In the end, my sister returned to her daughter in China just a few years later.

It had been years since we last saw my sister, and it was my first time meeting her daughter, my niece. We were the same age. For a month, we all enjoyed the bittersweet reunion. Then my sister connected us with another broker, and my mom and I finally escaped for good.
We eventually reached South Korea and it turns out, it wasn’t the dangerous country I had seen in movies.
Still, the memories of everything we had been through tormented me. I was angry at the old man who pressured us into his escape plan. I hated that my mom chose such a risky job in the first place.
Later we found out my oldest sister had been tortured by North Korean authorities when we left, leaving her devastated by mental illness. They wanted her to confess that our family had helped the old man escape. Someone had to take the blame. My older sister, who was once strong and reliable, would never be the same again.

When I first reached South Korea, I hid my past. Everything was terrifying and different—the culture, the lifestyle, and even the language. My new friends would hang out at internet cafes and I didn’t even know how to use a computer.
But I started learning. I studied hard in school and got a job to support myself. I began reading books to develop my own philosophy for my new life. I even started playing video games and for better or for worse, became just as obsessed as everyone else.
When I got to high school, I finally told my friends the truth about my life. Their response was so different from what I had expected. I found that rather than being cruel, they were curious. I realized the importance of my story, and how sharing my family’s painful experiences could change people’s perspectives about North Korea.

In 2019, at the end of high school, I met someone from Liberty in North Korea. I was so curious how she spoke about North Korea. She invited me to attend their Changemakers Summit and I had never experienced anything like that before—South Koreans, North Koreans, and even foreigners who were all young, open-minded, and interested in how to make an impact on this issue.
Truthfully, I never saw myself as an activist. I didn’t think I had what it takes.
But if I could change how just one person saw North Korea—to see the people and their resilience, bravery, and hope instead of the regime—I realized I was already acting as an advocate.
These days, I’m working and studying full time. After coming to South Korea my mom got her masters degree and is now writing a book about her life. My middle sister eventually escaped and joined us in South Korea too. She got remarried and finally gets to live a normal life. Even though we’re all pursuing different things, we’re still together, holding tightly to the hope that we will someday reunite with my older sister.
Today, I can be my own person. I can buy fresh fruit whenever I want, or walk along the Han river anytime. After all of the running and all of the pain, I am finally free to choose my own life.

Harry’s story echoes that of many North Korean refugees, who live with the weight of their past while grasping onto hope for the future. After what happened to his oldest sister, Harry says he has nothing left to lose. That’s why he chooses to speak openly about the horrific things he and his family have experienced, hoping to bring change and one day reunite with her in a free North Korea.
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Lunar New Year in North Korea | What is Seollal (설날)?
North Korea has several major holidays, the most prominent being centered around the birthdays of Kim Il-Sung and Kim Jong-il. But there are some holidays that predate the regime, and continue to be celebrated in both North Korea and South Korea.
Seollal (설날) is one of these traditionally significant days. Known more broadly as Lunar New Year, it marks the first day of the lunar calendar and is observed in many Asian cultures. While January 1st marks New Year’s Day on the Gregorian calendar used by many western countries, the exact date of Lunar New Year differs every year. It typically falls at the end of January or beginning of February, and is celebrated over a period of three days.

Seollal in South Korea
In South Korea, Seollal is a time for families to gather and honor their ancestors. With people across the nation traveling back home, roads are packed and train, bus, and plane tickets are all booked months in advance.
Long hours are spent preparing traditional foods like tteokguk (떡국), or rice cake soup, and jeon (전), a savory pancake-like dish usually made with green onions. The act of eating tteokguk symbolizes turning one year older in Korean, and is believed to bring good luck and health for the year ahead.
Food is also an important component of Charye (차례), a memorial service to honor one’s ancestors. Led by the family’s eldest son, an assortment of dishes are set out on a table as an expression of gratitude, and rites are performed for the last four generations of one’s ancestors.

Another well known Seollal tradition is Sebae (세배). Younger members of the family, often while wearing traditional hanboks (한복), do a deep bow to their elders with the greeting “새해 복 많이 받으세요,” which translates to “May you receive good fortune and blessings in the new year.” In return, elders share words of wisdom and sebaetdon (세뱃돈), new year’s money in a colorful envelope.
The rest of the holiday is usually spent exchanging stories, reflecting on the past year, and playing Korean traditional games like Yutnori (윷놀이), which involves four wooden sticks that are tossed like dice to move tokens around a board.

Seollal in North Korea
In North Korea, the celebration of Seollal is encouraged by the state to emphasize Korean folk traditions. Historical programs are broadcast on TV, and local authorities organize mandatory activities such as kite flying and spinning tops. North Koreans gather with loved ones over the highly anticipated three day rest from work.
But unlike in South Korea, January 1st is actually considered the more important holiday to celebrate the New Year. This is when North Koreans do Sebae. Instead of the South Korean greeting, it’s customary to say “새해를 축하합니다,” or “Congratulations on the new year.”
On New Year’s morning, it is compulsory for all North Koreans to visit statues or portraits of Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il. After that, respects must be paid to town leaders, particularly the person in charge of one’s unit, such as the company president or homeroom teacher. Finally, greetings are exchanged between in-laws and neighbors, and families gather for ancestral rites, sharing food, and other traditional festivities.
Another key difference between New Year’s celebrations in North and South Korea is that there is no widespread travel. The lack of freedom of movement inside the country means it is extremely difficult for North Koreans to go from one city to another for any reason. Any requested travel requires a specific stated purpose, proper identification, and documentation that must go through several levels of approval, including from the head of the neighborhood watch (inminban), local People’s Committee, local district office, and a relevant police officer. Permits for restricted areas, such as Pyongyang and the border regions, require more complex issuing processes.
Yet both New Year’s Day and Seollal in North Korea are still celebrations of life and community. Many North Korean refugees fondly remember the holiday, recalling not the state enforced displays of propaganda, but precious time spent with loved ones.
“I grew up with a lot of aunts and uncles and they all lived in the same area, so on Seollal…everyone would get together to make rice cakes, noodles, and dumplings. After making a lot of food, we’d play Yutnori and everyone would start squabbling. Then we’d find out everyone’s fortune. I miss it now.”
- Hannah, escaped from North Korea in 2015

On Seollal, North Koreans don’t do a separate bow because they have already greeted the New Year. Depending on the region, North Koreans enjoy a variety of dishes like tteokguk (떡국), manduguk (만두국), dwejigukbap (돼지국밥), songpyeon (송편), nokdujijim (녹두지짐), and noodles.
“North Korea is a very communal society, so everyone gets together on Lunar New Year. The adults would play card games and Yutnori, we’d eat delicious food, and spend time together until the sun went down. I would wake up especially early to visit the homes of the neighborhood elders and they’d share the food they made with me… Later in the afternoon, I’d go to my homeroom teacher’s house with all my friends, and we’d play there until late in the evening.”
- Yulseong, escaped from North Korea in 2017

All around the world, the New Year is a highly anticipated time of reflection, gratitude, and turning the page. It’s a universal experience, one that is shared with the North Korean people as well!