Crisis for North Korean Human Rights NGOs: Urgent Support Needed
The North Korean human rights movement is at a critical crossroads.
Unprecedented cuts to U.S. foreign aid under the Trump Administration have impacted projects around the world, including that of crucial South Korean NGOs working on the North Korea issue.
Until funding is fully resumed, these organizations face the prospect of downsizing or shutting down, threatening the entire ecosystem of groups working for the rights and freedom of North Korean people. Life-changing programs and decades of progress inside and outside North Korea are at risk of being undone.
Your immediate support is needed to help save the most critical projects of these organizations. LiNK has identified the core groups essential to preserving progress on this issue and has launched an emergency support fund—100% of donations will go directly to sustaining them through this crisis.
Historical Funding for North Korea-Focused NGOs
In the mid-1990s, reports of a devastating famine in North Korea and the first waves of refugees fleeing starvation caught the attention of South Korean activists. They travelled to the border of China to investigate and, realizing the severity of the situation, began campaigning in South Korea and internationally. For the first time, there was visibility on the humanitarian crisis and vast human rights violations happening in one of the most closed countries in the world.
In the wake of the Cold War, many politicians and governments had little interest in North Korea beyond seeing it as an emerging security problem. The widespread assumption was that the country would soon collapse, just as many other socialist countries had in the late 20th century.
To address the lack of action and attention, several groups focused on North Korean human rights emerged. Citizens Alliance for North Korean Human Rights was founded in 1996. NKnet was founded in 1998 and launched Daily NK in 2004. NKDB was established in 2003. Liberty in North Korea was founded in 2004.
From direct support for North Korean refugees, activism expanded to documenting human rights violations, raising public awareness, pressuring governments to take action, and getting outside information to people inside North Korea through broadcasts and USB smuggling. As the movement and North Korean defector population grew, new groups led by North Koreans themselves also emerged.
All organizations started with very few resources, and funding has often been an issue for groups in South Korea. Given the politicized nature of North Korea, support for activism has frequently fluctuated. When the political atmosphere aligned with this work, more funding would be available from the South Korean government. But when politics and administrations changed, grants dried up and public support would wane. In some cases, NGOs would even be subject to politically-motivated investigations, further hindering their vital work.
In late 2024, South Korean President Yoon’s martial law declaration and the subsequent impeachment proceedings once again left North Korean human rights organizations with a government unable to help, and a political environment not conducive to gaining support.
In these difficult circumstances, many groups in South Korea have come to rely on funding from international sources. As U.S. interest in the North Korea issue had grown in D.C., grants through the National Endowment for Democracy (NED) and the State Department (DRL) had become consistent and reliable sources of funding. Unlike those sometimes offered by the South Korean government, these grants covered not only the cost of activities, but also staff salaries, making it possible for these groups to operate sustainably.
U.S. government support had historically been immune to the kind of political winds that affected South Korean government funding. But recent US government disruption has left these NGOs on the brink.
U.S. Foreign Aid Freezes
The Trump administration started its second term with immediate cuts to U.S. foreign aid programs. State Department grants were frozen and the NED's funds were cut, suspending dozens of crucial grants to NGOs working on North Korea and leaving an uncertain picture of when or if funding might resume.
With the world’s largest economy, the U.S. was the biggest provider of foreign assistance by a significant margin. This loss of funding is unlikely to be replenished by other sources. Many European countries have also recently slashed their foreign assistance contributions to spend more on defense.
For South Korea-based NGOs, this funding disruption leaves a huge gap with very few options to fill it in South Korea or elsewhere. As a result, nearly all of these organizations are being forced to lay off staff, stop critical projects, and even consider the unthinkable: shutting down for good.
What This Means for LiNK & the Issue
LiNK is built on a funding model that is independent from government budgets, and is not directly affected by the recent aid freezes. But if the larger ecosystem of North Korean NGOs that we operate within diminishes or collapses, it will inevitably have an impact on the scope and efficacy of our work.
Even with an issue as big as North Korea, the community of organizations and individuals doing this work is relatively small. All our efforts are interconnected and mutually reinforcing. With many frontline NGOs now in danger, it jeopardizes progress on this issue as a whole.
LiNK relies on the research of these other groups to inform our programs. We join forces with them for international advocacy, share ideas, and consult each other on critical projects. With confidence in the vast array of work that these groups are doing, LiNK is able to be laser focused on a few select projects and maximize our impact.
Organizations like Human Rights Watch, UN agencies, global media outlets, and researchers also depend on these groups for their contacts, networks, research, and advocacy. Without their work and insights, globally we would be left in the dark about the current state of North Korea.
In South Korea, the individuals working on this issue are doing so with significant personal sacrifice. Given the unstable and politicized nature of the work, many activists have struggled to make a living wage, and face concern and criticism from their peers.
Funding through NED and DRL had just recently made it possible for some groups to pay staff a more sustainable salary. But even that relative stability is now gone. They have been left with no choice but to downsize and move out of offices. Staff have been laid off or put on unpaid leave. NGO leaders who have dedicated ten to twenty of their best years to this issue are now facing the prospect of leaving this field. Some feel that decades of work and effort may now abruptly end in failure.
At a time when North Korean people deserve more solidarity and support than ever, the community of activists working to mobilize and deliver that support is facing the worst crisis since the start of this movement in the 1990s.
Key NGOs in Crisis
Urgent Support is Needed
Our shared vision is bold. It not only deserves but will require a strong ecosystem of NGOs working together for the rights and freedoms of 26 million North Korean people.
You’ve stood with the North Korean people, and with us, and for that we’re deeply grateful. So we’re asking for your help. We have an opportunity to protect the progress we have made together on this issue, and to help save the most critical programs of these organizations.
Will you join us by making a donation today to ensure that this small community of dedicated organizations can continue their life-changing work?
Your donation could mean that a highly dedicated and skilled activist is not forced to look for other work. It could mean that a project inside North Korea, where the groundwork has already been laid, can be executed and finished. At this time of crisis, your donation will have an outsized impact. It is far more cost effective and efficient to preserve this work than to have to rebuild from scratch.
This campaign has concluded. Thank you for your support!
A North Korean Refugee’s Daring Escape By Boat | Gyuri Kang’s Story
Escaping from inside North Korea remains almost impossible today. Borders remain sealed by the legacy of pandemic-era restrictions, while surveillance in China continues to intensify. But in 2023, a group of North Koreans crossed into South Korean waters on a small fishing boat—a rare and extraordinary way to reach freedom. Abroad the vessel was 22-year-old Gyuri Kang with her mother and aunt.
You were never supposed to know my name, see my face, or hear my story. Because I was one of 26 million lives hidden inside North Korea.
I was born in the North Korean capital, Pyongyang. The first time the government decided my future without my consent, I was only a child. My family was exiled to a rural fishing village because of my grandmother’s religion.
In the system we were living in, not even your beliefs or thoughts are truly your own.
On my way to school, youth league officers would inspect my clothes and belongings, punishing me for even a hairpin or a skirt that was a few centimeters too short. At school, we were taught that “we live in the most dignified nation in the world,” but outside those walls, people were collapsing from hunger in the streets.
Careless words overheard by a neighbor could turn into a knock at the door in the middle of the night. The radio played government broadcasts all day long, and searching other frequencies was a risk no one dared to take. This is how the North Korean government maintains control over people. By convincing you that survival depends on submission.
I returned to Pyongyang as an adult. I majored in table tennis at the Pyongyang University of Physical Education and imagined myself making a new life, built on talent and hard work.
But reality was nothing like what I had dreamed. I came to understand a deep, painful truth: In the end, everything was determined by how well you obeyed, not how hard you worked.
Frustration and emptiness built up until I finally decided to leave Pyongyang.
I wanted to help support my mother and aunt, so I moved to the coast to try and build a life of my own. My mother used all of her hard-earned life savings to buy me a small wooden fishing boat so I could start a business harvesting clams.
That boat was more than a way to make a living. It was a daily reminder of her sacrifice, and the depth of their love and trust in me. If the money I earned with my own hands could put even one less wrinkle on her forehead, that was enough for me.
As a boatowner, I woke up early in the mornings to prepare supplies, get the crew together, and encourage them. I inspected the condition of the boat and hired people to help fix the engine and other faulty parts. Although I couldn’t go out to sea because I’m a woman, I was responsible for ensuring the ship operated smoothly.
But the harder I worked, the more government officials came to me—demanding baskets of clams and money. They justified their demands by saying: “The Party orders it,” threatening to punish anyone who refused. Every night I agonized over how to protect my people and keep my business going, and how I should respond. In those moments, I would remember the love and devotion my mother and aunt had poured into me and it gave me strength to persevere.
To escape my reality, at night I secretly watched South Korean TV shows on a television that was smuggled in from China.
My world turned upside down. With my friends who were also watching South Korean media, we would cautiously express our dissatisfaction together while also copying the hairstyles and outfits we saw in dramas. Sometimes, we would even try to mimic South Korean words or accents when talking or texting together.
But under Kim Jong Un, punishments became much more severe. Two people I knew were executed for watching and sharing foreign media. Our lives became harder, control over young people became more intense, and our resentment began to grow.
But no matter how much they tried to repress us, frustrated young people like me continued watching forbidden content as a way to forget reality. Foreign media has quietly found its way into North Korea for decades. As I grew up, it began spreading more than ever before, through USBs passed between friends or broadcasts picked up on illegal devices.
Many defectors, like me, can remember the exact episode of a TV show, a specific South Korean song, or even a traffic report, that planted the first seeds of doubt.
Of course, dramas and movies don’t tell the whole story, but they show a life that contradicts everything we were taught. And it makes you wonder: if life is so different out there, why does it have to be this way here?
I realized it doesn’t just show people that different lives exist. It gives them the belief that their life could be different. And that belief gives people the courage to choose a different future.
The thing about information is once you learn something, you cannot unlearn it. I remember watching people on my screen speak freely, laugh openly, and pursue their dreams—things that were unimaginable in North Korea. For the first time, I wondered if everything we were taught might be wrong. That doubt led to questions, and my curiosity became too strong to ignore. Now that I had seen the truth, I could never go back to the person I was before.
Escaping North Korea cannot be explained by the simple word “leaving.” This was especially true for me because I escaped together with my mom and my aunt. They had placed their trust in me when they gave me money for that boat. And now I was placing my trust in that boat to carry us across the sea to freedom.
I planned our escape in complete secrecy.
I bought a smuggled GPS device from China, carefully traced our route, observed the currents and tides, learned the patrol schedules of the guard boats, and figured out the blind spots of the coastal guard posts. I meticulously checked the condition of the boat and quietly prepared all the food and supplies we would need. I trained my body for the wind and the waves, and my mind for the terror of being caught.
Some nights I woke up in a panic. Other times my confidence crumbled and I thought, maybe I should give up and just accept the life I have. But in those moments, I imagined what waited at the end of the journey.
I wasn’t leaving just to stay alive. I was leaving so that I could live like a human being.
On the night we left, we climbed into my boat and pushed off into the dark water. I gripped the rudder and let the current carry us south, carefully navigating around the guard posts and patrol boats who were on the water looking for people like us.
I knew what would happen if we were caught. Arrest. Endless investigations. Humiliation. Public trials. Political prison camp. And the possibility that I might lose the people I loved most in the world.
My mother and aunt were trembling with fear. I had to hide my own fear to tell them what I could only hope. We will survive. We spent the night being tossed back and forth on the East Sea. Black waves lifted our boat like a toy before smashing it down again. Every crash sent water over the sides and threatened to swallow us up.
Suddenly, a patrol ship appeared. Its lights stabbed the water, blinding us, and started coming closer and closer. It was coming for us. My chest pounded so hard I felt it might burst. I thought of the sleeping pills we had brought.
We had agreed that if capture became inevitable, we would rather take our own lives. It was a fate we preferred to execution or prison camps. As the coast guard closed in, I wondered, is it time for the pills?
But I refused to give in. We were so close. I steered away from the searchlights, surrendered the boat to the churning water, and pushed on forward.
Suddenly, the patrol vessel stopped and turned back around. They could no longer chase us. We had reached the maritime border. The sea calmed, as if it was welcoming us to freedom. And as the sun rose, we saw the outline of land.
A South Korean fisherman, hearing radio reports that North Korean patrols were in pursuit, realized we were the boat being chased. He steered his boat toward us and said, "Welcome. You are safe now."
It’s been almost two years since we arrived in South Korea.
I still remember moving into our apartment and using a showerhead for the first time, experiencing hot water flowing straight from the tap. I couldn’t believe it. That day, my mother, my aunt and I took turns showering, laughing, and saying to each other, “So this is what a human life feels like.”
For the first time in my life, I could choose my studies, my job, my clothes, my hobbies—even the way I spoke—for myself. It felt like an entirely new world. We were being reborn, leaving behind a past of silence and control for a life with dignity and a future we could choose ourselves.
My mother began studying for a professional certification. And my aunt enrolled in social welfare classes to help others. I studied hard and was recently accepted into Ewha University. I have also been active in North Korean human rights activism and I even started a YouTube channel to show the world what it looks like to start a new life in South Korea.
Hope is dangerous for the North Korean government. Millions of people live with anger and sadness, but even more live in resignation. Most do not realize their rights are being violated—they don’t know what “rights” are. I once believed it was normal for the state to control every part of our lives. I thought every country lived this way.
But the moment you realize life could be different, hope begins to take root. And once hope exists, change is no longer unimaginable.
My dream is that someday North Korea will be a place where young people choose their own paths, where no one is punished for their words, and where every person lives as the true owner of their life. While so much of North Korea’s reality is dark, change is already happening. And what sparks that change is information. A single truth from the outside world, a glimpse of what life could be, can plant a seed of doubt, or ignite a spark of hope.
That’s why I speak out. If I don’t tell my story, who will tell it for me? If I stay silent, will the death of my friends, and the suffering and starvation my family endured be forgotten?
Right now, in North Korea, there is someone just like me—sitting in a dark room, secretly watching a South Korean broadcast, quietly wondering: Could I also live like that?
I want my story to prove that this hope can become a reality. I want to stand in the middle of that change. Not just as someone who escaped to enjoy freedom, but as someone determined to one day share that freedom with all North Korean people.
Freedom is not given, but it is something we can achieve. With your support, we can write a future where all North Korean people are free.
Foreign media gave Gyuri a glimpse of the outside world—and the courage to seek freedom.
Increasing North Korean people’s access to outside information is one of the most effective levers for change in the country. And that is exactly what we’re doing at Liberty in North Korea
In partnership with North Korean defectors and engineers, LiNK develops tailor-made technology, tools, and content that help people inside the country access more information more safely. These glimpses into the wider world build people’s resilience to the regime’s propaganda, and emboldens them to imagine a different future for themselves and their country.
Help fuel work that’s directly supporting North Koreans driving change on the inside.
