A North Korean’s Promise to his Father | Joseph’s Story: Part 1
Most of you may know me as Joseph, but my Korean name is Kim Kwang Jin. It means, “walking forward with brightness.” My father gave me this name, full of the hopes and expectations many fathers have for their sons.
But hope is a hard thing to have, especially in a country like North Korea, and as a child, I certainly didn’t make it any easier for my father to believe in my brightness. Even in elementary school, I was a poor student.
The first time I remember making my father proud was through my cooking, not from studying. That day, he and my older sister had gone to the mountains to collect firewood. It was getting close to midnight, but they still hadn’t come home, so I decided to make dinner for them—rice and kimchi soup. At the end of dinner, my father said, Son, this is the best rice I’ve ever had. I had never made rice before, and I knew it was undercooked. That night I realized how much my father loves me. I promised myself that next time I would make him better rice.
But next time never came. When I was 12, my father died of starvation.
To save us from the same fate, my mother and sister left for China in search of work and food. My mom ended up in a North Korean prison. But my sister never returned. Within one year, I had lost my entire family. I was alone—helpless, homeless, and orphaned on the streets.
After three years of barely surviving, I decided to escape. The journey would be risky, but staying in North Korea would be a risk too. I knew I could die of starvation. So I took a chance. Unlike most people, I decided to escape during the daytime, thinking that the border guards would become complacent because why would anyone be crazy enough to cross the border in the middle of the day with nowhere to hide?
Fortunately, I made it to China without being caught.
In China, I slept in the mountains and went to towns begging for food to survive. One day, while crossing a bridge in Yanji, I remember it started to snow. Everyone around me started walking fast.
I remember being so envious because walking fast must have meant they had a home they were rushing toward. I, too, wanted to walk fast, but I had no home and no one waiting for me.
Later on, I was lucky enough to be taken in by a halmoni, an older grandmother. She fed me and let me live with her for six months but I still lived in hiding, fearful that at any moment I could be arrested and sent back to North Korea. The halmoni eventually connected me with Liberty in North Korea and I had an opportunity to escape China and be the first North Korean refugee minor to come to the United States.
I was placed with a foster family and began attending an American high school, which felt a bit ridiculous at first. Even in North Korea, I was an F student. I barely finished elementary school so jumping straight into high school in a foreign country felt overwhelming.
One evening, my foster mom made chicken wings. They were so good that I wanted more, but I realized there wasn’t enough for everyone to have seconds. So I held back, thinking no one would notice. As I stared at my plate, my foster dad placed his last wing in front of me. I looked up, and he smiled, urging me to eat without saying a word. In that silence, I felt the depth of his love and care.
At that moment, I thought of my biological father. Even during our hardest times, he used to share what little food he had with me. I wished more than anything that I could cook for him one last time and share one more meal together.
That night, I promised myself that I would study hard and go to college. I believed that was the best way to honor my father’s sacrifice and make him proud.
Continue reading part 2 of Joseph’s story
Years before Joseph would reach freedom, talk on the TED stage, write a memoir, and pursue his master’s at Harvard Kennedy School, Joseph’s father saw the brightness in his son. While he may not have been able to witness Joseph reach these milestones, none of it would have been possible without the depth of his love that became the foundation for Joseph’s life.
His family’s support, both in North Korea and in the US, has given Joseph the confidence to believe in and fulfill his brightness.
When recalling his past, warm childhood memories and gripping hardship are shared in the same breath. Joseph often says that North Korea is not a land of darkness, merely a land with darkness. Both can exist. But what matters is what we choose to focus on—the shadow cast by the regime or the brightness of the North Korean people.
Help more North Korean refugees reach freedom and share their brightness with the world.
I Escaped at 6 Years Old. Am I Really North Korean?
By Sean
Sean is a participant of LiNK’s Intensive English Program (LIEP), designed to build the capacity of North Korean English speakers at the intermediate level. In partnership with the British Council, LIEP aims to cultivate participants’ communication and critical thinking skills in English. LIEP is complementary to our broader LiNK English Language Program (LELP), which supports speakers of all proficiency levels.
From Fear to My Spear
Growing up, I was a very timid boy who avoided anything that made me uncomfortable. I never raised my hand in class because I was too embarrassed to speak in front of people. Just the thought of everyone looking at me made me freeze.
One time in elementary school, every student had to sing in front of the class for a music assignment. I was extremely nervous, not only because I hated standing on stage, but also because I was afraid people would laugh at my terrible singing. It felt like a kind of phobia. I ended up crying and quietly went back to my seat.
But as I grew older, things started to change.
In early 2021, I began playing the electric guitar. At first, I practiced by myself, but after a while I wanted to play with others and do something more meaningful with music. I heard that my church band was looking for a guitarist, so I asked the band leader if I could join—very unusual for someone like me, who had never wanted to be on stage before. To be honest, I wasn’t even good enough to play during a live service. But the band leader still let me join.
I made plenty of mistakes every week. Every Sunday, I was always nervous before going on stage. But this time, I didn’t run away from fear. I knew I wouldn’t grow if I kept avoiding challenges. I realized that achieving goals often comes with pain and discomfort.
Over time, I got better at guitar and became more comfortable performing in front of people. Now, I feel totally fine being in front of a crowd. That experience really changed me. Since then, I’ve tried to face challenges instead of avoiding them.
In the summer of 2023,I had the opportunity to go to England and help raise awareness about North Korea. A Christian organization invited me and some North Korean friends to speak to people in the UK about life in North Korea. My role was to translate their stories into English for the audience.
At one of the events, I was shocked by how many people were there. There were hundreds, maybe even thousands of chairs. I had never spoken in front of such a large crowd before and I had to speak in English, not my first language. I was terrified. But I reminded myself that this was another opportunity to grow. I didn’t back down. I did my job and didn’t give up. I continued translating for two weeks as we traveled across England, helping North Korean refugees share their stories.
There was another reason I had to translate. I didn’t have much of my own story to share. I was born in North Korea, but I left when I was six years old, so I don’t remember much. But during this trip, I learned a lot more about North Korea. I also saw that many people around the world truly care about what’s happening there and I realized that I care, too.
This was the first time I used my language skills for something meaningful. It was the first time I spoke, not just for myself, but for North Korea.
Growing up, I never really realized that I was from North Korea. My mother didn’t want me to interact with other North Korean kids, and I didn’t have any of the typical traits of a North Korean refugee. The way I spoke and behaved was completely South Korean. I spoke fluent South Korean, and I just lived like everyone else around me.
It wasn’t until late 2020 that I met North Korean students for the first time at an alternative school in Seoul. It was quite interesting to meet people who were born in the same place as me, but I felt different from them. Most of them had arrived in South Korea during their late teenage years. They spoke with a North Korean accent and shared detailed memories of their lives in the North. But I had nothing to share. I didn’t remember anything from North Korea. I felt like a South Korean kid surrounded by North Koreans. I couldn’t relate to their stories at all.
That’s when I started to question my identity. Am I South Korean or North Korean?
But after my experience in the UK, I can now say with confidence that I am both. I am North and South Korean.
One meaningful moment was when I shared my mother’s story---how she escaped North Korea and survived in China. She had told me this story many times, but saying it out loud myself was very different. I could feel it more deeply. It wasn’t just something I had heard anymore, it became something I carried. I realized more clearly that I am from North Korea and that my mother went through many hardships. Telling the story helped me feel more connected to my background. North Korea started to feel closer, more real, and more personal.
Now, more than anything, I want to study and learn more about North Korea. The world needs to be aware of what is happening in the North. With increasing attention and focus from the outside, we will be able to take the first step toward unification. Even if unification doesn’t happen, it could lead to the opening of borders.
Since I speak both French and English, I have come to realize that I am able to use my language skills to let the world know about North Korea. I’ve already overcome my fear of speaking on stage. That fear used to hold me back, but not anymore. Now, I feel that I need to get ready to speak up for North Korea and help the world understand its people and stories.
I’ve lived as a South Korean and connected deeply with North Koreans. I understand both sides in a way that not many people can. That’s why I believe I can become a bridge between the two Koreas.
As I continue to grow, I will keep improving my language skills and keep learning so that one day, I can stand on the global stage and speak for the people of North Korea. I want to be someone who helps the world see them not as strangers, but as part of one family.
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Opportunities like LiNK’s Intensive English Program (LIEP) are helping North Koreans find their voice, reach their goals, and lead change on this issue. Your support can help us continue to make an impact in the lives of North Korean refugees, like Sean.
