I Watched K-Dramas Inside North Korea. They Gave Me the Courage to Escape | Hannah’s Story
How many times have you checked your phone today? Fifty? A hundred? Every time we look at the screen we are connected to the world around us and an endless stream of information—news, research, entertainment.
Now imagine waking up tomorrow in a place without the internet. A place where people are executed for sharing foreign media, and where families risk their lives just to stay in touch across borders.
For 26 million people in North Korea, this is their reality. And 7 years ago, I was one of them.
I was born in Hoeryong, a city in the northernmost part of North Korea near the Tumen River. Winters were brutal and there were frequent shortages of fuel and electricity.
My father was a high school physics teacher. He was quiet, loyal and diligent. His days started at 7am in the classroom and went late into the night, even on weekends. But despite his dedication, the monthly rations he received were not enough for our family.
So in order to survive, my mother began selling goods at the market. She wanted a better life for us, and that led her to do the unthinkable—escape North Korea. Three times she tried. Three times she was caught. Each time she was imprisoned and sent to a labor camp.
The prison camp was a living hell. My mother saw women waste away from hunger and die from simple illnesses. She was one of the lucky ones; her family brought her food and medicine, an act that made her a witness to the suffering of others.
I was just 13 when I first visited her, carrying a bowl of rice. In North Korea, it falls to families to provide for their imprisoned relatives.
Seeing my mother stand there like a criminal, her head bowed before the guard, I knew this wasn't right. I should have been in school, but instead, I was sneaking food to her, hiding from the stares of strangers.
We were being punished, but I didn't understand why. I felt wronged, and in my anger, I blamed her.
My mother had made a choice to save her family, but North Korean society saw her as a criminal. My father, who had led a quiet life as a teacher, was denied opportunities at work. Our family was labeled as traitors.
In 2013, on her fourth attempt, my mother finally escaped and made it to South Korea. She worked tirelessly to send money back to North Korea to help our family. She also slowly opened a window into another world.
Using a smuggled Chinese cell phone I was able to speak to my mother from time to time. And on our secret calls she shared with me new South Korean expressions and words she was learning. As she settled into a new society, despite numerous differences, she also recognized similarities between North and South Korea and its people, and reminded me that despite decades of division, we are still one people.
I secretly began watching South Korean sitcoms. I’ll never forget one called “High Kick 3.” In one episode, there was a story about a man who fell into debt and was being chased by collectors. But what shocked me was that his family wasn’t punished for it. In North Korea, if one person “sins” the entire family is condemned. But this showed me that in South Korea, life could be different. That even within a family, you were free to make your own choices.
This realization changed me and offered a glimpse of the vast world beyond North Korea. Information, even in the form of a sitcom, was hope. And it was worth risking everything for.
Meanwhile, I continued to face obstacles in my day to day life. I had learned how to code and use software like photoshop, and I dreamed of going to university after graduation. But because my mother had defected, I was rejected. So I used my computer skills to find work as a photographer and photo editor.
Hoping to advance my career, I volunteered for the "shock brigade," a group sent to do manual labor at dangerous construction sites. While others prayed they wouldn't get picked for this kind of work, I went willingly, thinking it could be my way to a promotion.
I was sent to the Samjiyon district, a place known for its harsh winters. For over a month, I demolished buildings in minus 40-degree weather without protective gear. Dust filled my lungs, and sweat froze my clothes solid. My only relief was being able to sleep in a crumbling basement.
When I returned, expecting the promotion I had been promised, my supervisor simply said, "Let's wait a little longer."
That was the moment I understood my mother. She had risked her life to escape because she was after something more fundamental than a better life. She wanted to live like a human being.
In 2019, I made the same choice and escaped. With the help of Liberty in North Korea, I made it safely to South Korea and reunited with my mom.
Freedom wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. In North Korea, my tech and computer skills had helped me survive. I had always thought that “no matter where I go, as long as I have a computer, I’ll be fine.” But in South Korea, I struggled with something as simple as a new keyboard layout. In school, subjects like social studies felt foreign because I had grown up in a completely different education system with distorted versions of history and philosophy. My dream of going to college suddenly felt impossible.
Eventually I found my place in science. The formulas and equations in math, chemistry, and physics were the constant, unchanging truths I could always count on.
I decided to major in electrical engineering. It was rare for North Korean defectors to pursue this field. But I was determined to stay ahead and not fall behind in our rapidly changing world. Now my goal is to become an engineer who can help bridge North and South Korea’s science and technology industries when the two countries are one again.
More than ever, I see that information isn’t just about knowledge and convenience—it’s a lifeline. Without access to information, you can’t see a way forward, let alone build a future.
And right now, the people I left behind are more cut off than ever before. During the pandemic, North Korea closed its borders to an unprecedented extent. Soldiers along the border had shoot-to-kill orders for anyone trying to escape. Around 90% of the markets were forced to shut down, leaving families with barely enough to eat. The UN reported that nearly half the population—12 million people—faced food insecurity, while the World Health Organization rated North Korea’s access to medical care as the lowest in the world.
A few years ago, when my father became very sick, I was able to send him money for medicine and hospital care. But most North Koreans don’t have that chance. Without someone on the outside, they are not only cut off from resources and information, but from hope itself. For many, their future depends on a lifeline from the outside world.
Supporting North Korean people and protecting human rights cannot be put off.
We have an opportunity to be a lifeline for people inside North Korea today. To remind them that they have not been forgotten. With your support, we can rescue and support more North Korean refugees, and get more outside information and technology to people inside the country. And that information can empower North Koreans to not only see a way forward, but to ultimately determine their own future.
Despite the risks, North Koreans are quietly accessing foreign media and learning about life in the outside world. Increasing their access to uncensored information is one of the most effective ways to increase change inside the country.
Liberty in North Korea partners with North Korean defectors and engineers, like Hannah, to develop technology, content, and tools tailor-made for the North Korea context. Our goal is to empower North Koreans with information about the outside world, increasing their aspirations for social and economic progress, and building pressure for change and opening.
Empower North Koreans with information access.
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I am Joy: I Escaped North Korea and Survived Human Trafficking
I was born and raised in a small North Korean village near the border with China. My family was very poor, and it made life extremely difficult for us. As a child I could not attend school and didn’t have any dreams for my future, because we were just trying to survive.
When I was seven, my mother quietly left us to go to China in order to make money. It took me months to realize that she was never coming back. As a teenager, my stepmother kept trying to marry me off so they would have one less mouth to feed. I didn’t want to be married off, so I finally decided to go to China to find a better life.
I felt so sorry to my father for not being a good daughter. I left a letter for him to explain why I was leaving, and how much I loved him. I told him that I hoped to see him again someday. Next to the letter I also left behind my nicest clothes, hoping he could sell them to buy food. I sewed a secret pocket into my jacket and hid a photo of my family there, and under my shirt collar I hid enough opium to kill myself in case I was caught. The morning I left I didn’t want to raise any suspicion, so I casually said goodbye to my father and walked out like it was any normal day. I couldn’t stop crying as I walked away. I knew that I may never see my family again, especially my father, who had sacrificed so much to raise me.
I will never forget how cold it was at the river. I could feel the snow through my torn shoes and the wind blew through my thin jacket. I was shivering as I stood in the knee-deep snow, waiting for the chance to make my escape. I slid down the riverbank onto the ice. I could hear the ice cracking as I crawled on my stomach across the frozen river. I expected that at any minute, North Korean guards would see me escaping and shoot me. After I finally made it to the Chinese side, it took me hours to find the broker I was supposed to meet.
By the time I found her, my toes were frozen white. The broker took me to her home to rest and recover . But I soon realized I was trapped. She told me I had to repay her and the other brokers a lot of money for helping me escape. And, because I had no money, the only option was to be sold as a bride. I was scared that if I refused, the brokers would sell me to a brothel or I would be forced to work in online sex chatrooms. I also knew that if I ran away, I’d be caught by the Chinese police and sent back to North Korea to face imprisonment and torture.
I had no choice but to be sold as a bride. For three days, a broker paraded me around villages in northern China and crowds of men would gather to bid on me.
In the final village, I sat cowering in the corner of a house. My cheeks were still red from the night I had crossed the river. There were many older Chinese men walking around me, and staring at me. I stared at the floor to avoid looking into their eyes. I did not understand what they were saying, but I could tell they were talking about me. I felt so humiliated. I was treated like an animal in a zoo. The North Korean broker finally found a man who was willing to pay enough for me. I was sold for three thousand dollars. In that moment, I was overcome with hopelessness, sorrow, and loss. I felt like I was losing everything, including my own body, to someone I had just met.
I was only 18.
The man who bought me lived with his parents. They were afraid I would run away so they were always watching me. I was not even allowed to go to the bathroom without their permission. One morning, I started feeling sick so they took me to a local hospital.After some medical tests, the family brought me back to the house and everyone was smiling and talking. I was so confused. Someone called a North Korean woman who lived in my village and asked her to interpret the news for me. I was pregnant. As everyone celebrated, I felt even more hopeless.
This pregnancy would make my escape impossible. In North Korea, I had heard that if you jump off a high place or carry heavy things while you’re pregnant, you’ll have a miscarriage. So I tried to jump off the highest tree in the backyard, and carried around heavy buckets of water. But nine months later, I gave birth to a healthy baby daughter.
For the first few days after her birth, I didn’t even want to look at her. I was sorry and ashamed for feeling that way, but I couldn’t help resenting her. But as the days passed, my daughter began to recognize my face, and she would greet me with a big smile and open arms whenever I walked into the room. Her smile and joyful laughter began to melt away my troubles and hardships.
For the next two years, my daughter became my only reason to live.
Then one day, a North Korean woman who had also been sold into the same village introduced me to a South Korean man. He told me about South Korea, and the possibility of a free life, and said he offered to help me get there. But he warned me that the journey through China and Southeast Asia would be too dangerous for a young child. I was so torn. This was my chance to finally be free from this man and from the constant fear of being caught and sent back to North Korea. But how could I leave my child, the only joy in my life?
I was afraid I would never get an opportunity like this again , so I made the extremely difficult decision to go to South Korea, and I vowed to come back to China as soon as I could to get my daughter. In the early morning of my departure, I held my daughter in my arms as she slept and cried. I thought about the moment she would wake up and cry because I was not there. It reminded me of the day that my own mother had left me. I had felt so lonely and wondered for so long why she had abandoned me. I resented her for giving birth to me if she wasn’t interested in raising a child. And now I had to do the same thing to my own daughter.
I clenched my fists as hard as I could to hold back the tears, and I told the family I was making a trip to the market. I grabbed the bag of clothes I’d hid in the bush the day before, and headed to the bus station. I cried every day for the next three months thinking about my daughter. During my journey out of China, there were many nights when I woke up thinking I’d heard my daughter’s voice calling out “mommy.” One night, I didn’t want to wake everyone up so I went behind the curtain to cry, and I found another woman who was already there crying. She had also left her child behind to escape with my group. We sat behind that curtain in the safe house, weeping and hugging each other.
I finally made it to South Korea in 2013 with the help of Liberty in North Korea. I am currently in my last year of studying social work, and I want to devote my life to helping North Korean women who have endured the same trauma that I have. Although adjusting to a new society is difficult at times, I am determined to work hard so that one day I can bring my daughter to South Korea to be with me.
I should not be here today - I am one of the lucky ones.
At this very moment, women are being treated like a commodity and are being sold to older Chinese men. A recent report estimated that 60% of the North Korean female refugees in China are trafficked into the sex trade. 50% of those trafficked are forced into prostitution, 30% are in a forced marriage, and 15% are working in the cyber sex industry.
I am here as a survivor to share the darkest moments from my past so that I can help bring an end to the exploitation of other North Korean women refugees.
For North Korean women, escaping from North Korea is not the end of their journey but the beginning of their fight for freedom.
Please extend your love and give your support so that more North Korean people will find true freedom and safety. Thank you. I am grateful and hopeful. I am Joy.
See what life is like for North Korean women who are sold in China in the short film "Sleep Well, My Baby". Based on true stories from women rescued through LiNK.
Read Joy’s full journey from escaping North Korea to being sold in China, and finally reaching freedom through LiNK’s rescue routes in our 3-part series here!
