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
A North Korean Father Risks Everything for Family | Doohyun’s Story
I lived in North Korea for over 20 years, and for much of that time, I believed my life was normal. I grew up in a big city by the river. When the wind blew, I could smell the water on the breeze, and on holidays, I played along the banks with my friends.
The river ran along the border between North Korea and China. I could see across the water into a different world–one where cars lined the streets, and buildings stretched high into the sky.
But I didn’t realize that life should be different, until the day they took my father away.
My father was a great businessman. He provided for our family despite being forcibly discharged from the military when his Minister of Defense was executed by Kim Il Sung. Labeled as a “traitor,” he was banned from decent jobs and opportunities.
Still, my father was a clever man and found success within the private market system that many North Koreans rely on to survive. Until one day, the police came to investigate him.
Without reason or warning, my father was arrested and imprisoned. They tortured him for a year. When he was released, my father weighed only 66 pounds.
Even after surviving the unimaginable, he was defiant. He wrote 20 pages of complaints to the Central Party about the human rights abuses he endured. My family was terrified of the consequences, but we couldn’t stop him. He fought for his voice to be heard.
On a warm Spring day, a Mercedes-Benz, license plate number 216, arrived at our home. February 16th was Kim Jong Il’s birthday, and cars with this number were only given to his closest aides. My father spoke with the man for hours about his letter. The man apologized and promised something like this wouldn’t happen again. This gave us a bit of hope for the future – for the possibility of change.
But the man left for Pyongyang. And then the police returned. I never saw my father again.
For two years, my family and I lived in unknowing agony, receiving no news on my father. Eventually, we heard from my father’s friend, who was a police officer, that he had passed away in prison.
At the very least, we wanted to send him off properly, so we asked that same friend how we could get my father’s body. Three days later, he returned. He told us they would not return my father’s body. My father had been sentenced to eight years in prison. He’d passed away after two. He still had six more years to serve – as a dead body. As a corpse.
For the first time I wondered whether this was the way normal people lived.
In 2009 I decided to escape from North Korea. Life had become near impossible for me after my father’s death, and I continued to face discrimination due to our family’s status in society.
By then, I had been married to my wife, Jiyeon, for two years. Most of our relationship before marriage was through the phone, because we lived far apart, and traveling in North Korea is difficult. So we called each other every night and talked for hours.
Now, I didn’t know if I was going somewhere she would never be able to reach. I told her it was a business trip. Two weeks. I’ll just be gone for two weeks.
She still cried at the train station, thinking about those two weeks. I couldn’t cry with her because then she would know the truth. So I boarded the train without a word, and watched it take me away from her.
From the moment I escaped North Korea, it felt like I was being chased by a grim reaper. There were multiple close-calls where I felt death breathing down my neck.
I was once hiding in a corn field near the Chinese border. Lying on my stomach, I watched soldiers patrol the area when suddenly, one of them walked towards me. It was too late to run or hide.
I had brought poison with me in case something like this happened - I knew it would be better to kill myself rather than be captured. But as I prepared to take the poison, I thought of my wife. I thought about how she would never know what happened to me.
In that moment of sheer terror, I heard the sound of water. The soldier stood right beside me but he hadn’t seen me. He had only walked over to relieve himself. For the next few minutes, I couldn’t move. The soldier had left, but my body held onto the terror of that moment. I remained hunched and hurried for the rest of the journey.
Eventually, I made it safely to South Korea. I started working as soon as possible – 12 hour days to pay back the broker fee, and save up money for my wife’s escape. My schedule was just working and sleeping, working and sleeping. It was hard, but for the first time in a long time, I had hope.
I was able to find a broker who put me in contact with my wife. It had been ten months since I’d defected at that point – ten months of her not knowing whether I was dead or alive. The call couldn’t be made in the city because the signal could be intercepted, so my wife and the broker hiked to the top of a mountain.
When we heard each other’s voices again, all we could do was cry. But we didn’t have much time, and so I asked her, you’re coming, right?
She said she was.
On December 27th, 2011, Jiyeon crossed the river to escape North Korea on the same route that I took.
As soon as my wife arrived in South Korea, I went to meet her. I was so excited. I couldn’t stop crying. When my wife came into the room, she was crying too – but do you know what’s the first thing she did when she saw me?
She punched me – crying, calling me a liar. And I deserved it.
We live in Utah now with our two beautiful sons. We go fishing, camping, and enjoy the outdoors together. Every time I see them, I realize I’m living in a different world, one where we can finally dream and decide our own future.
This is the life I’ve made for my children. This is the life my father envisioned for me and for all North Koreans when he made his act of defiance. My father died fighting for his voice to be heard – and now, finally, he’ll be heard by the world.
Doohyun risked everything to create a future where his family could live together in freedom. Their story isn’t unique - there are many more North Koreans waiting and hoping for the day when they can reunite with loved ones. Help make freedom part of every North Korean’s story.
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Since resettling in the United States, Doohyun has completed his undergraduate studies and now works for a North Korean human rights organization. He considers helping the North Korean people to be his life’s mission, continuing his father’s legacy.
