How Has the Kim Family Held on to Power So Long?
The following content is adapted from North Korea 101, LiNK’s FREE online course that explains what's happening in North Korea beyond the headlines. Start learning today.
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“This question is fundamental. To understand where we are and where we might be heading, we have to understand where we’ve come from.” – Sokeel Park, LiNK CSO
The North Korean regime is the world’s worst dictatorship, an extreme remnant of 20th century authoritarianism that has stretched across eight decades and three generations of the ruling Kim family. The regime’s all-encompassing system of control constrains the North Korean people’s agency and potential, resulting in an enforced poverty which includes physiological, material, social, informational, and cultural deprivations.
It is not easy for dictators to maintain power for long. During the Kim family’s rule, the world has seen the rise and fall of dozens of other dictatorships. Through many periods of global change and internal instability, they’ve managed to maintain power not by sheer force or luck, but through an array of adaptive strategies. But when the media portrays Kim Jong Un as crazy or irrational, it undermines our understanding and approaches to try to undermine that dictatorship.
There is a formula to their approach, and if we can understand it, then we can counteract it.
The Four Ways Dictators Lose Power
Historically, the fall of dictators can be attributed to four factors. By looking at each of them, we can see how the ruling Kim family has strategically avoided these fates.
1. Military Defeat/International Intervention
An external country or force intervening and overthrowing a dictator through military defeat.
2. Elite Challenges
An internal challenge emerging from within the country’s top political or military circles, forcibly removing the current dictator by assasination or a coup d'état,
3. Popular Uprising
An internal challenge from below, where a mass movement forces a change in leadership. In some cases, parts of the elite may join the side of the masses.
4. Death in Office
The death of the current leader, opening up an opportunity for someone else to assume control and end the dictatorship or make significant changes.
Threat #1: Preventing Military Overthrow
To prevent an external power from overthrowing their dictatorship, the Kim family first needs a strong deterrent against military force. The vast majority of mainstream news coverage of North Korea focuses on one thing: nuclear weapons. Having nuclear weapons and being seen as potentially willing and able to use them is arguably the most effective way to deter a military intervention from the outside.
Second, the Kim family has strategically managed their relations with countries like the Soviet Union / Russia, China, the United States, and South Korea. They go back and forth between periods of warmer and colder relations, effectively balancing opportunities and risks to gain support while preventing too much external influence. It’s unlikely that the Kim family has ever really trusted any of these external powers, even those that are sometimes labelled as “allies”.
Threat #2: Preventing Elite Challenges
Historically, the position of dictator can be very tempting to others within the leadership’s orbit, from competing family members to senior politicians or military leaders. To prevent anyone from building too much power and becoming a threat, the ruling Kim family carefully manages elite politics, alternating between demoting, promoting, and purging top officials.
On top of that, cross-layered surveillance between different institutions also keeps potential challengers under surveillance and in check, and prevents any one person or group of people from launching a challenge for power.
Threat #3: Preventing Popular Uprisings
The next scenario that the regime must prevent is a popular uprising.
A common conception of North Korea is that if the people wanted to rise up and revolt, they would have, and so they must be brainwashed or bought into the regime’s ideologies. While the latter may be true to some degree, it's difficult to fully grasp the extent to which the government’s system of control deprives people of their agency and potential and prevents them from challenging dictatorial rule.
North Korea is the most closed country in the world. The regime has forcibly cut off North Koreans from the rest of humanity, which serves as the baseline for their control. This centers everything—social structure, daily life, resources, information—around the regime, and eliminates sources that could undermine or threaten their authoritarian rule.
Laying the Foundation: Kim Il Sung’s Half-Century in Power
Kim Il Sung was 33 years old when he was installed into power by the Soviet Union—very young in global politics at the time, when most leaders were in their 50s and 60s. This historical happenstance has ended up being a key factor in the longevity of the Kim family’s control.
From his rise to power in 1945 to his death in 1994 at the age of 82, Kim Il Sung had 49 years to mold North Korea’s politics and systems in his image. During this time, he laid the foundation for hereditary succession by:
- Centralizing power around this dictatorship.
- Building a cult of personality around himself and his direct lineage: propaganda and myth-making that legitimized the Kim family as the only North Koreans worthy to lead the country.
- Purging anyone who could have been an alternative leader.
When it came time for Kim Jong Il to assume power, and the Kim Jong Un after that, decades of preparation smoothened the transition.
Now, after three generations of the Kim family, it would be very difficult for anyone else, even among the upper elite, to try and take power. Even if someone did manage to depose the current dictator, they would have to contend with not just managing the power vacuum, but the ideological void left by decades of propaganda and mythmaking that surrounded the Kim family.
Without the legitimacy that had been set up by the Kims, a new leader would likely find it difficult to maintain power for long. This is something that North Korean elites understand, which further discourages any rival officials from challenging the current regime.
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I Left North Korea As a Child. My Life’s Work is to Return Home to a Free Country | Rose’s Story
As a child in North Korea, I loved quiet, warm mornings. At dawn, I’d wake to the sound of breakfast being made in the kitchen. When my feet grew cold, I’d burrow deeper into my grandfather's blanket. A day that began with the smell of a home-cooked meal was nothing special then—just an ordinary morning.
Growing up, I lived with my grandparents. We worked the fields together, swam in the Yalu River side by side, and grew tomatoes, eggplants, and cucumbers in a small garden. In the summers, my cousins and I played in the mountains and gathered wild strawberries. Every fall, I always looked forward to the corn harvest.
This was the world I knew, and I was quite happy with it.
My mother's work as a broker—helping families separated by the border reunite or at least connect via phone—and her other job selling smuggled CDs containing Korean dramas eventually led to her arrest. She was released quickly but was placed under close surveillance. With no other way to support our family, she made the difficult decision to defect. It was a choice made easier, she later told me, by the countless South Korean dramas she had watched over the years that offered a glimpse into a life outside North Korea.
One winter vacation, my mother said, "Let’s go on a trip." I could barely contain my excitement. I had rarely ventured far from my hometown and thought I was finally traveling somewhere new. My grandmother gave me a warm boiled egg and told me to be safe. I didn’t know that would be the last time I would ever see her.
The journey never stopped. We left in winter and ended up in Southeast Asia, where summer never ends. Only then did I realize this trip was an escape. And it was only one-way.
When we finally arrived in South Korea, I couldn’t accept my new reality. I was only a child, but in my heart, I knew I’d never see my grandparents again. It felt like a cruel trick.
But life carried on, and I found myself adapting to South Korean society pretty quickly. I changed my accent and learned things by asking friends. Even at a young age, I instinctively felt the need to fit in. I was proud of myself for not looking or sounding like a North Korean.
Then one day in our elementary school classroom, the topic of North Korea came up. At that moment, I felt everyone’s eyes on me.
Although no words were spoken, the silence between me and my classmates felt like a wall.
As much as I tried to push it away, that feeling continued to follow me. In middle school, while watching a soccer game with friends and cheering for South Korea, someone said, “Shouldn’t you be rooting for North Korea?” I felt the color drain from my face. Once again, I felt the gap between me and them. And I wondered if I could ever close the distance.
Years later, in university, a professor mistakenly thought my South Korean friend was North Korean. She strongly denied it and took great offense, demanding a formal apology from the professor. Seeing her reaction, I wondered what it said about me. This incident left a deep scar on my heart.
As time went on, I realized that I wasn’t as well-adapted as I thought. I had been living my life avoiding who I was. Whenever the topic of North Korea came up in conversation, I cringed and tried to change the subject. When my family in North Korea would secretly call us, I would hang up the phone after a brief greeting, afraid I’d burst into tears. I couldn’t face how much I missed them, because I didn’t want to accept that I may never see them again.
Amidst these complex emotions, I began my work on North Korean human rights. I wanted to change how North Koreans were portrayed as “pitiful,” or “dangerous.”
But doing this work scared me at first. If I shared my story, would people look at me again with those silent, disapproving eyes? Then I began to understand something important—those fears came from my own hidden prejudice. If I believed that North Koreans would only be seen in a certain way, didn’t that also mean it was how I saw them?
Confronting the deepest parts of myself allowed me to finally embrace who I was. I stopped hiding, and began to explore the thoughts and feelings I had suppressed for so long.
In 2022, I took part in Liberty in North Korea’s Co-Creators program. It’s a unique opportunity for North and South Korean students to work together on advocacy projects. Our team’s project was called “North Korea Travel.” We highlighted different regions of the country and shared facts about life there, leading naturally into conversations about human rights.
As I worked on this project, it occurred to me how much I actually didn’t know about my own country. Due to the regime’s strict restrictions on movement, I never traveled beyond my hometown until the day I left North Korea for good. When I explained this to participants, they listened attentively and said it was their first time learning about it.
Their sincerity caught me off guard. I realized that prejudice often does not come from malice, but simply from a lack of knowledge and understanding.
After that experience, I knew I wanted to continue creating moments of connection and understanding about North Korea. I figured the perfect way to reach people would be through the medium I know best: architecture.
For my graduation project, I designed a North Korean Human Rights Memorial Hall. I chose Imjingak, near the DMZ, as the symbolic location. The space I conceptualized commemorates the sorrow of separation, and allows visitors to experience the "surveillance," "chaos," and "oppression" North Koreans face in their daily lives.
The Pantheon in Rome directs our gaze toward the sky. I turned that idea upside down. In my design, the ceiling collapses into the ground, trapping people beneath, like the crushing weight of the regime’s oppression.
On the opposite wall, the names of loved ones are carved into stone, representing those we miss dearly. Before politics, before ideology, these are mothers and fathers, grandparents and children. This is a space where people can freely miss and yearn for the people they left behind. And it is a reminder that North Korea is home to our families, friends and neighbors.
Last year, when I visited the Holocaust Memorial in Washington DC, I felt that it was more than just a commemorative site. It was a space that showcased how to confront humanity's darkest history to ensure that such things are never repeated again.
Standing there, I hoped that one day, the human rights abuses faced by North Koreans would also just be a memory for us to reflect on.
I no longer hide my identity. My story began in North Korea, in a beautiful city by the Yalu River. Even now, on quiet mornings, my thoughts drift back to my grandparents’ house. I want the world to see North Korea like I do—through the warmth of ordinary days and the humanity of its people.
I dream of returning home one day, when all North Koreans can live free and full lives. Until then, I will continue to speak through the language of space and the power of stories.
The Universal Declaration of Human Rights begins with this: "all human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights." These aren’t just words on paper, but a reality that we can create together.
Please join me today to advance freedom and human rights for all North Koreans.
In 2025, Rose traveled across the US, sharing her story and advocating for the North Korean people as a LiNK Advocacy Fellow. Our capacity-building programs are cultivating the next generation of North Korean activists and leaders who are bringing change to their homeland.
Help empower more North Korean refugees with opportunities to grow, like Rose.
