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
From North Korea to Seoul National University | Noah’s Story
The house was too small. There was nowhere to hide, and so we had to leave.
I was only 8 years old when my parents divorced. My father was a violent alcoholic, and every day he would beat my mother, sister, and me. North Korea’s laws didn’t protect us from him, so my mother tried to protect us instead. My father stabbed her in the lungs for it.
We were suffocating, but there was no one to save us. The police, the law, and the regime didn’t care. So we left.
First, from our hometown. We moved to a remote city to escape our father’s shadow, but North Korea is a patriarchal society so families like ours are looked down upon. All people saw was a divorced woman and her fatherless children. They didn’t see my mother, who came back from the brink of death to protect her children at all costs. They didn’t see my older sister, who ran her own business and worked away from home to support our family.
All we had was each other, and everything we had, we shared. I remember the snacks we used to buy, the delicious things my sister would bring home and split three ways. We endured 8 years like this, surviving hardships and prejudice with little bits of sweetness.
With no social welfare or food rations to depend on, we had no hope of escaping extreme poverty and hunger. We tried our best, but there were days when I went to school starving. One time, while the other kids were getting ready to eat lunch, I snuck out to forage in a nearby mountain. I found some unripe apricots and ate them to satisfy my hunger. After school that day, I ran home and found some rice porridge leftover in the pot. Without thinking, I ate it all, only to find out later that my mother had sold her clothes in exchange for the rice.
That was worse than the hunger–the helplessness as I watched my mother sell her beloved belongings one by one.
We were still suffocating in a country that told us to be small and silent. To live so invisibly, perhaps they hoped we’d disappear altogether. And so we did. We left North Korea, in search of somewhere with breathing room. Somewhere we wouldn’t have to run from again.
That was eight years ago. My family lives in South Korea now. Today, my mother, who fought hard to protect her two children in a place with no freedom or human rights, works as a school teacher for other refugee children. My sister has since graduated from nursing school and works as a full-time ICU nurse. They’ve never stopped being the strongest, most loving people in my life.
I’m here because they protected me. And now, I can protect them too.
I used to be a terrified, 8 year-old boy, who could only rely on his mother. Now, I’m her proud son, studying politics at Seoul National University – the most prestigious college in South Korea.
As I learn and grow, I’m able to understand my past and leverage it for a better future. The politics and systems that people live under, the environments and experiences that people carry with them – all of these things can be different. But in the end, we are all people. We set the standards for our freedom. We can be the ones who bring change.
When I think about how my family used to live and how we live now, it’s actually easier to remember the bright, happy moments in North Korea, because they were so few and far between. Now, happiness is happenstance – it’s everyday and mundane. And I realize that’s what it must mean to be free. That I know this sweetness will stay, and I can too.
Noah was part of our 2022 class of Advocacy Fellows, a program that supports and develops the next generation of North Korean leaders, storytellers, and advocates. For three months, he traveled across the United States, sharing his story at universities, Fortune 500 companies, embassies, thank-tanks, and The White House. Ultimately, Fellows are working to bring a greater focus to the North Korean people and human rights issues rather than just politics.
We’re only able to sustain these life-changing programs because of your support.
