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.
A North Korean Refugee’s Journey - Pursuit of the Freedom to Learn
By Yukyung Lim
Yukyung 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.
I was born in North Korea—a place where identities are imposed, voices are silenced, and dreams are tightly confined. There, schooling is not a pathway to opportunity but a means of indoctrination, designed to enforce obedience and suppress individuality. But thanks to my mother’s courage, I never had to undergo that system. She made the bold decision to keep me out of school in North Korea. At age eight, I escaped to China to reunite with her, beginning a journey that would define not only my identity but also my deep, lifelong yearning to learn.
In China, my mother obtained a false identity for me so I could enroll in school. That first day in a rural classroom marked the beginning of a different kind of life. I was behind, anxious, and constantly aware of our fragile situation.
For the first time, however, I was learning not to obey—but to think.
A year later, we moved to Beijing. There, I stepped into a world I had never imagined—one of academic rigor, intellectual freedom, and cultural diversity. It was in that environment that I first witnessed how learning can transform a person. Each lesson, each classroom conversation, opened doors not only to knowledge but also to self expression, confidence, and hope.
One winter afternoon in 2010, I was on my way to the bookstore, backpack heavy on my shoulders. Beijing was bleak and cold that year. Snowflakes fell softly, only to be crushed by cars and vanish into the grime of the streets. That scene reflected my life: I bore a name I couldn’t speak aloud, fears I couldn’t share, and a fragile existence that felt quietly lonely.
Inside the bookstore, warmth greeted me. I wandered through the aisles, searching for a quiet corner to rest. Then, I saw it—a book with a black-and-white cover, its portrait etched in solemn ink. The man’s composed expression exuded a power I longed for. I picked it up, almost unconsciously.
“I Have a Dream.”
“I have a dream that one day... people will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”
“This is the time to make real the promises of democracy.”
“We will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.”
These weren’t just words. They were light, seeping through a crack I hadn’t known existed. In a world that had taught me to stay small and silent, they spoke to a part of me I had hidden away. For the first time, I felt truly seen—not for where I was from or what I looked like, but for my thoughts, my voice, and the quiet strength I carried within.
Later, after arriving in South Korea, I faced new challenges. Though I had returned to my cultural roots, I felt out of place. I was older than my classmates, unfamiliar with many social norms, and unsure of how to fit in. But with time, I began to build friendships and navigate this new society. Again, learning was central—it provided not just academic skills but also the social space to grow and belong.
During university, I studied abroad in Texas. It was my first experience in a Western classroom. I was struck by the openness, the individuality, and the value placed on diverse opinions. Being among students from different backgrounds showed me how perspectives can differ—and how that difference enriches everyone.
Wherever I was—in China, Korea, or the United States—the classroom was where I grew the most. It was where I stepped outside my comfort zone, gained confidence, and slowly came to understand who I was becoming.
Across all these countries, I’ve developed not just a global perspective but a deep appreciation for the transformative power of learning. In each setting, the classroom became both a battlefield and a sanctuary. I struggled, but I also discovered. I learned new languages, absorbed new worldviews, and came to realize that I was more than a refugee or survivor. I was a thinker, a student, and a human being with agency.
And then I understood something deeper: My story is rare—but it shouldn’t be. There are still millions of children in North Korea growing up without the right to question, to dream, or to imagine a world beyond their borders. They deserve more than silence or sympathy. They deserve the same chance I had—to envision a different future and be equipped to pursue it.
That’s why I’m sharing my story through Liberty in North Korea. Because stories hold power. They build bridges, shatter stereotypes, and create connections.
North Korean people are not just victims. They are potential scholars, leaders, creators, and changemakers—if only they are given the freedom to grow.
My dream is to one day build a global school for children who, like me, come from hardship but brim with promise. I want to help others discover the same sense of identity and possibility that learning gave me. Until then, I will continue to advocate, teach, and connect.
If you’re reading this, I hope you’ll join me. Learn more. Speak up. Share stories. Support organizations like LiNK that are fighting to empower North Korean people with freedom, dignity, and opportunity.
Because when you invest in a child’s education, you’re not only changing one life—you’re challenging an entire system and planting seeds for a freer world.
Opportunities like LiNK’s Intensive English Program (LIEP) are helping North Koreans succeed in resettlement, 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.
