Finally Free
I went to Southeast Asia to see where LiNK’s Field Team rescues North Korean refugees. Here’s what I found…
Refugees must cross terrain like this to reach safety in Southeast Asia
We’re on a dirt road weaving around potholes.
On one side, the rice reaches to the horizon. On the other, corn stretches higher than the van.It feels like rural Iowa, but hotter and with palm trees.
The van lurches along, swaying back and forth with the ruts in the road. We’ve been driving for five hours through dense jungle and villages so small that you’d miss them if you blinked. It’s starting to seem like we’re in the middle of nowhere.
We finally coast to a stop and LiNK’s Field Manager points to a steep ravine.
“We’re here,” she says.
“We’ve rescued North Korean refugees right here,” she continues.
For the next hour we stop every couple hundred yards. She points to a field or a patch of trees and recounts stories.Stories of screeching to a stop, sliding open the door, and pulling North Korean refugees into the van.Stories of refugees so dehydrated they barely have the words to ask for water.
Stories of people collapsing in exhaustion, caked in mud and peppered with bruises from the long trek through the jungle.“What do refugees do once they’re in the van?” I ask.“Some start crying, the tears stream down their cheeks. They’re so overwhelmed that they finally made it. Others flash smiles in triumph, soaking in every second.”
I realize we’re not on just any dirt road.
This road meanders along the border. You can’t see the line but throw a stone in a certain direction and it’s likely to land in another country.For North Korean refugees this border means everything. Cross it, and they’re safe. The North Korean regime cannot have them arrested and forcibly returned.The danger is finally gone — evaporated in the sweltering heat and suffocating humidity of Southeast Asia.
For the first time in their entire lives: they are free.
It’s a week later and I’m sitting in an air-conditioned coffee shop that sells overpriced lattes.
I’m back in South Korea to interview a North Korean woman who reached freedom through LiNK’s rescue network.It took her four tries to make it to South Korea.She was arrested twice at the North Korean border and once in China. Each time the punishments seemed unimaginable, but they’re terrifyingly common.She recounts the horrific torture she endured for trying to escape. The way they slammed her head into a nail on the wall. The torment of witnessing cellmates whither away from starvation. The heartbreak of watching her 5-year old daughter being beaten in front of her.I’m trying hard to collect the facts. But hers is one of those stories that hollows you out. Leaving you nauseous and numb.The conversation dwindles. I can see the toll that sharing these stories are having. Her shoulders start to slump. She barely looks up to make eye contact anymore.I pull out my phone and show her a video. Her eyes flash with life.
20 seconds pass and she’s still glued to the phone.
It’s a video of that dirt road. And the exact place where she finally reached freedom. There are corn stalks on the left and a small farmhouse hidden behind palms leaves on the right.“Do you remember this place?” I ask.“How could I ever forget it?” she says without looking up.She’s smiling for the first time all afternoon.
Lost Stories from North Korea — A Life With No Exit
By Jane
Jane 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.
When I was young, we lived in the countryside. Like the other kids, I had to help my mom with farming. It was hard work. From spring to fall, everything was difficult. Carrying a heavy load on my back, climbing up the mountain, my hands covered in blisters from using farming tools—I would often return home late, completely exhausted.
Our field was located at the top of a high mountain. From there, I could look down and see the Amnok River flowing, with a railway track stretching beside it. One spring day when I was around 13, I was resting at the top of the mountain, looking down at the train passing by below.
Watching it move slowly like a caterpillar, I thought to myself, "I want to get on that train and go somewhere far away." That was the first time I dreamed of escaping. We were living in a prison with no exit, no hope.
Eventually, I managed to escape from that life in that prison. But my mother must have continued climbing that mountain and working in that field for many more years. Perhaps, during her moments of rest, she would look down at the river and the railroad. Perhaps, she thought about me, who had left for a place far away.
Now, I am living well in South Korea, as a mother of one myself. I carry dreams and hope in my heart. But not everyone has been as fortunate as I have in finding a way out.
I have a friend, a North Korean defector now living in the United States, who once shared a story that moved me to tears. A few years ago, she fled North Korea with her two young daughters and eventually made her way to America. She attempted to reach South Korea twice. The first time, she set out with her daughters, ages seven and eleven. They wandered for days through the vast Baekdudaegan mountains. When their water ran out, she dug into the earth with her bare hands, squeezing out a few drops to moisten their mouths.
Along the way, they came across the bodies of two people, sitting with their backs leaning against each other in the middle of a field. From their clothes, she could tell they were North Koreans, their bodies already beginning to decompose. Fearing that she and her daughters might meet the same fate, she decided to turn back and return to North Korea.
As I listened to her story, I couldn’t hold back my tears. Who were those two souls lost in the mountains? Where had they been trying to go? How long had they wandered? They might have been so exhausted that after sitting back to back, they couldn’t get up again. What thoughts filled their minds in their final moments?
That’s why I want to be a writer—to share these stories with the world.
For the people in North Korea who still dream of breaking free from a life with no exit, and for the nameless souls who never made it to freedom.
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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 Jane.
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