Freedom Walk & Run 2026, Seoul
What Does Freedom Mean to You?
This fall, 200 people will gather along the Han River in Seoul to honor the 26 million people living in North Korea by answering one question: What does freedom mean to you?
Before setting out, every participant in Liberty in North Korea’s Freedom Walk & Run will write their own answers on the race bib they’ll wear for the 6 kilometer race.
The course is divided into three sections, each representing a different freedom: the freedom to leave, the freedom to lead, and the freedom to learn.
Each represents a different part of LiNK’s work and a different way North Korean people are pursuing greater freedom and choice in their own lives.
0-2km: Freedom to Leave
The first two kilometers represent the freedom to leave.
For North Koreans who decide to leave their country, reaching safety can mean a long and dangerous journey through multiple countries.
LiNK helps North Korean refugees navigate a secret route to safety. To date, over 1,400 North Korean refugees have reached freedom through LiNK’s networks. Every person who makes that journey has their own reason for leaving, their own hopes for what comes next, and their own idea of what freedom means to them.
Reaching safety opens the door to the next part of their journey.
2km-4km: Freedom to Lead
The next two kilometers represent the freedom to lead.
Starting over in a new country comes with countless possibilities, but just as many challenges. North Korean people resettling in South Korea or the US are learning a new system, while pursuing education, beginning careers, building relationships, or deciding what they want their future to look like.
LiNK’s programs support resettled North Koreans as they pursue education, language learning, and career development, providing mentorship, scholarships, and so much more.
And then comes the final stretch.
4-6km: Freedom to Learn
The last two kilometers represent the freedom to learn.
For people living inside North Korea, access to information from outside of the country is heavily restricted. Official media is centrally controlled, while foreign films, television, music, news, and other outside information are accessed illegally and often at significant personal risk.
Despite the government’s efforts to control information, curiosity about what freedom looks like proves impossible to suppress.
“No matter how much you try to control it, you can’t get rid of curiosity.”
Information gives someone a new point of reference. It introduces possibilities they had never encountered before. It gives them the chance to imagine a future beyond the North Korean regime.
North Korean people are finding ways to access outside media, through USB drives and microSD cards. LiNK’s Information Access Programs build on these existing channels by working with North Korean defectors and engineers to develop tailor-made technology and content that help people inside the country access more information more safely.
This is a growing part of our work, and one we believe has enormous potential to contribute to long-term change.
Get Involved: Support information access in North Korea
This fall, we’re giving supporters a closer look at this work through an upcoming documentary about information access in North Korea.
Make a gift of $30 or more to LiNK’s Information Access Programs by October 24 and you’ll receive an exclusive preview of the documentary this fall.
Your support helps LiNK enable more North Koreans to access more outside information more safely. This builds people’s resilience against regime disinformation, increases their aspirations for social and economic progress, and builds pressure for change and opening.
Donate today & get the documentary preview
Join us in Seoul
If you’re in Seoul, join us along the Han River on Saturday, October 24, for the Freedom Walk & Run. Participation is limited to 200 people, so reserve your spot today.
RSVP for LiNK’s Freedom Walk & Run
The Most Dangerous Contraband in North Korea Isn’t a Weapon. It’s a Wish.
By: Jihyun Kang
Growing up in North Korea, Jihyun took inspiration from the smuggled South Korean dramas she watched to create her own unique clothing. After reaching freedom in 2010, she has continued to pursue her interests in fashion and culture as a catalyst for change. She runs several business ventures, practices fine art under the name “Da Gyeol,” and works with the Ministry of Unification as an advisor. She’s pursuing her Masters in Entrepreneurship, Dept. of Future Science & Technology Business, at Korea University.
I grew up in North Korea, and at fifteen, I encountered a Westerner for the first time at the top of Mount Paektu. He stood over 190 centimeters tall with a thick beard, wearing ripped jeans and a frayed T-shirt. In North Korea, worn-out clothing was a symbol of deprivation. Yet my father whispered, "He is wearing that for style." With that single remark, the worldview I had been taught, began, the first time, to crack. And I thought: I want to dress like that, too.
Fashion is more than clothing. It is the moment when individual desire moves faster than collective command. People follow taste before ideology, and express themselves through what they wear long before any political declaration.
A state can enforce a dress code, but it cannot manufacture desire. That is why North Korea's fear of blue jeans was not irrational—it was the regime recognizing, however dimly, that something it could not control was already growing.
Clayton Christensen, a professor at Harvard Business School, argued that transformation always begins at the margins—in forms so crude and insignificant that those in power dismiss them entirely. Christensen built his theory around corporations, but the logic applies to any system that holds a monopoly over its people, including a state. North Korea's regime was so focused on maintaining ideological control at the centre that it ignored what was happening at the bottom.
That bottom was the jangmadang—the spontaneous, bottom-up market ecosystem created by ordinary people to survive after the collapse of North Korea's state-led distribution system. When that system imploded during the Arduous March—a famine in the mid-1990s that killed hundreds of thousands—people built informal markets out of sheer necessity: not revolution, not ideology, but survival. Yet by 2018, a CSIS study found 436 officially recognized markets operating across the country. What began as a desperate improvisation had quietly become the infrastructure keeping North Koreans alive.
These markets did not merely sell food. They became conduits for Chinese clothing, USB drives loaded with South Korean dramas, and glimpses of a world no one had taught them existed. When a system ignores what people actually want, the market finds the gap.
The act of choosing—what to eat, what to wear, what to watch—may seem trivial. But a person who has tasted choice cannot fully return to obedience.
The jangmadang was the first place where North Koreans learned they could survive without the state. That desire did not stay underground—it surfaced. People began wearing jeans, dyeing their hair, and pulling on T-shirts printed with foreign letters. The regime could no longer ignore it. Authorities branded jeans and Western fashion as 'anti-socialist infiltrations' and deployed street patrols. Teenagers caught in these sweeps were sent to re-education camps; in severe cases, their names and home addresses were read aloud on state broadcasts as public shaming (Radio Free Asia).
In 2024, state-run Korean Central Television went so far as to blur the jeans worn by British TV presenter Alan Titchmarsh during a broadcast. The ruling party's official newspaper, the Rodong Sinmun, warned that a country could 'become vulnerable and eventually collapse like a damp wall' if it failed to preserve its own way of life (Newsweek, May 2021).
Regulations cannot extinguish human desire; they only raise the price of the forbidden. This is the inflection point Christensen identified: by the time an incumbent recognizes the threat, it is already too late.
To date, more than 34,000 North Koreans have resettled in South Korea (South Korean Ministry of Unification, 2024). At the start of each of those journeys, there was something like my pair of jeans—not ideology, but desire; not a declaration, but a taste; not revolution, but the market.
No government in history has ever successfully suppressed the human impulse to trade, to choose, to want more. Not the Soviet Union. Not Cuba. Not Mao's China. North Korea will not be the exception.
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Jihyun is a participant of the LiNK English Language Program (LELP), which serves to not only help North Korean defectors build confidence and skills in English, but develop their capacity as advocates for this issue. To that end, we partnered with select LELP “columnists” to write and polish personal essays through multiple rounds of external feedback and revision. Our goal is to have more North Koreans share their stories directly and lead efforts to change the narrative.
We believe the North Korean people can achieve their liberty in our lifetime.
Opportunities like LELP invest in the people building that future now. Help more North Koreans find their voice, reach their goals, and lead change on this issue.
