Inside North Korea: People still suffer legacy of pandemic-era controls
The path to freedom is harder than ever. But the North Korean people haven’t given up. Join us this World Refugee Day in offering a way forward.
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During the pandemic, the regime took every opportunity to tighten its control under the guise of stopping the spread of COVID-19. Borders were sealed and reinforced, isolating the country and its people to an unprecedented extent. Trade was cut off, and the jandmadang—the markets that we’ve long highlighted as hotspots of change—were decimated.
Although the pandemic feels like history, the situation remains difficult as North Koreans recover from their most challenging period for a generation.
Information from inside the country has become increasingly difficult to obtain these last few years. But a landmark 2024 report from Human Rights Watch has offered some visibility into North Korea’s intensifying repression and the increased challenges North Korean people have faced.
Decimated Market Activity
“The prolonged border closures and restrictions on movement in-country have decimated the market activity that has become essential for the general population to access basic necessities.”
– Tomas Ojea-Quintana, then special rapporteur on the situation of human rights in the DPRK in March 2022 (via Human Rights Watch)
When North Korea’s socialist economy collapsed in the mid-1990s, triggering widespread famine, ordinary North Koreans negotiated their own survival through illicit trade and smuggling. Grassroots marketization was leading to opening and change in North Korea, centered around the markets—the jangmadang.
But when the regime closed its borders in 2020, almost all trade was cut off.
Human Rights Watch shares that according to official records, by 2021 North Korea was importing only 6% of what it had been importing in 2011—a staggering decrease. But these numbers still fail to fully capture the lives and needs of ordinary North Koreans, a sentiment echoed by the former North Korean traders that spoke with Human Rights Watch:
“There was a large but unmeasurable gap between what official trade numbers show and the quantities of products ordinary North Koreans need in their daily lives. This gap, previously narrowed by informal trade, became huge when informal trade and economic activity was almost completely choked off starting in 2020.”
Intensified Border Security
“We found a 20-fold increase in the number of new guard buildings or facilities since 2019, with a total of 6,820 facilities placed near new or improved fences… [and] almost 500 kilometers (over 300 miles) of new fences…”
– Human Rights Watch
Through satellite imagery analysis, Human Rights Watch reviewed 321 kilometers, or roughly one-quarter of North Korea’s northern border, to compare security measures from before and after the pandemic.
Prior to 2020, approximately 230 kilometers (71%) of the 321 kilometers analyzed were fenced. But in the years since, multiple layers of fencing have been newly constructed, along with new and upgraded guard posts. Based on 2023 satellite imagery, there is now a staggering 743 kilometers (over 460 miles) of fencing within the 321 kilometers analyzed.
Along with infrastructure, in August 2020, the North Korean government created 1-2 kilometer “buffer zones” along its border with China, and instructed guards to “unconditionally shoot” on sight any person or wild animal entering the zones without permission, as “the [COVID-19] pandemic is being spread through air and items.” There were reports of at least 14 people being shot and killed between September 2020 and July 2022.
Human Rights Watch spoke with Young Mi, a former herbal medicine trader in contact with a relative in North Korea, to hear how the extreme restrictions had affected life in border areas:
“It is more the emotional environment and fear more [than the actual physical barriers] … [My relative] is scared to leave because of… a general sense of terror much stronger than a bullet or a wire fence.”
Starvation and Food Insecurity
“North Korea is one of the poorest countries in the world and the government has persistently struggled to ensure food security, adequate childhood nutrition, and access to medicine.”– Human Rights Watch
Chronic oppression in North Korea has created one of the most impoverished countries in the world. A 2023 UN report estimated that 46% of the population face food insecurity. Those 12 million North Koreans aren’t just numbers, but people like Eunju.
Eunju escaped from North Korea in 1999, fleeing starvation during the “Arduous March,” a propagandized name for a period of widespread famine.
“When the Arduous March began, rations from workplaces were nearly cut off. At first, we managed by selling household belongings or trading them for food, but eventually, there was nothing left to exchange. People would sigh, saying, ‘We can’t even trade our empty house for a single block of tofu.’
When spring arrived, we ate every kind of wild plant we could find, even peeling bark off pine trees, boiling and pounding it for days to make it edible. Although I managed to survive, death was everywhere. Some consumed nothing but wild plants and died from poisoning. Some were shot by soldiers while trying to steal corn from farms. Some were publicly executed for slaughtering and eating a cow. Some were orphaned street children, beaten to death for trying to steal food from others.
People lost their lives in different ways, but in the end, they all died trying to survive. The root cause was the same—severe food shortages.”
In 2021, Kim Jong Un urged the people to “wage another more difficult ‘Arduous March.’” Yet the regime continued to restrict cross-border trade and prioritize weapons development, all while neglecting domestic food production.
In the report from Human Rights Watch, Jiro Ishimaru, the director at Asiapress, shared that “In 2021, there were reports of people with disabilities and older people dying of starvation... after over three years of extreme difficulties, in April and May, there was a spike in reports of whole families and ordinary people dying of starvation in urban areas near [North Korea’s] northern border.”
Crackdowns on Foreign Media
“Simply watching [foreign] media content can result in a sentence of forced labor of over 10 years in a forced labor prison camp… Public executions of offenders are permitted, evidently to increase a sense of fear and alarm among the population”
– Human Rights Watch
The near-absolute control of information and media is one of the key ways that the regime disempowers and represses North Korean people. During the pandemic, it imposed several new laws that increase the severity of punishments for being caught with foreign media, and go as far as to restrict how individuals can express themselves.
Human Right Watch outlines the main additions:
- Reactionary Ideology and Culture Rejection Law (December 2020) “bans people from smuggling, viewing, and distributing ‘reactionary’ and ‘anti-socialist ideology and culture’”
- Youth Education Guarantee Law (September 2021) “bans young people from copying foreign culture and reorients them to a ‘socialist lifestyle’”
- Pyongyang Cultural Language Protection Act (January 2023) “permits the authorities to punish people for using South Korean intonations or slang”
Offenders could be sentenced to 6+ years of hard labor, or “if the severity of the crime is deemed high,” the death penalty.
The timing of these new laws is no coincidence. As North Koreans face a reality that is increasingly distant from the propaganda they’ve been told to believe, foreign media has the potential to further erode the regime’s legitimacy and control.
Our North Korean friend, Yulseong, shared how foreign media impacted his perception of the the regime and his ultimate decision to leave in 2018:
“I was introduced to music and movies from other countries through my friends. For movies, I loved James Bond and other Hollywood films. While watching them, I realized that North Korea was truly a poor country, and it made me want to leave as soon as possible.
For songs, I listened to ‘Bingo’ by Turtles, ‘Pure Love’ by Koyote, and music by Jatanpung. Seeking out songs about life and love is a basic human desire. Even if people fear punishment, that desire cannot be suppressed. That’s why, even today, I believe many North Koreans continue to watch foreign content.”
Lack of Access to Healthcare
“The DPRK Socialist Constitution and the country’s Public Health Law provide for free medical care to all citizens. In reality, medical supplies and medication are unavailable to most North Koreans and only those who can afford to purchase them on the private market.”
– Human Rights Watch
North Korea’s defunct healthcare system is another example of how the regime’s constraints create unnecessary hardship for North Korean people. The majority of the country’s public health system collapsed along with North Korea’s socialist economy in the 1990s. In the aftermath, the regime only prioritized hospitals in areas like Pyongyang, leaving ordinary North Koreans to fend for themselves.
According to a 2017 UN report, an estimated 33% of the population (8.4 million people) had limited access to health services, including 50% of people in rural areas.
Human Rights Watch spoke with a former North Korean doctor and nurses who escaped after 2014, who shared that, “most local clinics were only capable of diagnosing basic diseases and setting broken bones, and had barely any working tools, supplies, medicine, or electricity… medical workers relied on market activity and what their patients gave them to eat to survive.”
For our North Korean friend Lily, the most frustrating part was that all this suffering was preventable.
“When my older sister, Hye-Joo, developed acute appendicitis, there was no emergency line to call, or cars or taxis to transport her to the hospital. We loaded her onto a cart that was meant to carry produce, moving at a terribly slow pace.
Desperate to ease my sister’s pain, we exhausted every resource we had. Any surgical or medical equipment a patient needs has to be provided by the family. Gauze, painkillers, blankets–even food and bribes–may be necessary for an operation. Even then, severe shortages made it impossible to fully prepare. The surgery was performed with minimal anesthesia and makeshift sterilization. Later, my sister told me she had felt the knife cutting into her skin, and heard the doctor’s orders during the surgery.
What should have been a simple and safe procedure was a traumatic, life-threatening experience.”
Impact on this Issue
In the face of enormous challenges, we cannot be discouraged, because this work is more important than ever.
There are still things we can and must do to strengthen forces of change. LiNK is one of the few groups still running rescue operations in the underground railroad. We’re cultivating and partnering with North Korean activists and storytellers who are leading efforts to raise global awareness for this issue. And we’re ambitiously expanding our Information Access Programs, devising new strategies and pathways to get information and technology inside North Korea to empower the people.
Join us in reaffirming our commitment to a free North Korea.
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Change has never been a linear process. But one thing we can always be certain of is the resilience and strength of the North Korean people.
A North Korean Refugee’s Daring Escape By Boat | Gyuri Kang’s Story
Escaping from inside North Korea remains almost impossible today. Borders remain sealed by the legacy of pandemic-era restrictions, while surveillance in China continues to intensify. But in 2023, a group of North Koreans crossed into South Korean waters on a small fishing boat—a rare and extraordinary way to reach freedom. Abroad the vessel was 22-year-old Gyuri Kang with her mother and aunt.
You were never supposed to know my name, see my face, or hear my story. Because I was one of 26 million lives hidden inside North Korea.
I was born in the North Korean capital, Pyongyang. The first time the government decided my future without my consent, I was only a child. My family was exiled to a rural fishing village because of my grandmother’s religion.
In the system we were living in, not even your beliefs or thoughts are truly your own.
On my way to school, youth league officers would inspect my clothes and belongings, punishing me for even a hairpin or a skirt that was a few centimeters too short. At school, we were taught that “we live in the most dignified nation in the world,” but outside those walls, people were collapsing from hunger in the streets.
Careless words overheard by a neighbor could turn into a knock at the door in the middle of the night. The radio played government broadcasts all day long, and searching other frequencies was a risk no one dared to take. This is how the North Korean government maintains control over people. By convincing you that survival depends on submission.
I returned to Pyongyang as an adult. I majored in table tennis at the Pyongyang University of Physical Education and imagined myself making a new life, built on talent and hard work.
But reality was nothing like what I had dreamed. I came to understand a deep, painful truth: In the end, everything was determined by how well you obeyed, not how hard you worked.
Frustration and emptiness built up until I finally decided to leave Pyongyang.
I wanted to help support my mother and aunt, so I moved to the coast to try and build a life of my own. My mother used all of her hard-earned life savings to buy me a small wooden fishing boat so I could start a business harvesting clams.
That boat was more than a way to make a living. It was a daily reminder of her sacrifice, and the depth of their love and trust in me. If the money I earned with my own hands could put even one less wrinkle on her forehead, that was enough for me.
As a boatowner, I woke up early in the mornings to prepare supplies, get the crew together, and encourage them. I inspected the condition of the boat and hired people to help fix the engine and other faulty parts. Although I couldn’t go out to sea because I’m a woman, I was responsible for ensuring the ship operated smoothly.
But the harder I worked, the more government officials came to me—demanding baskets of clams and money. They justified their demands by saying: “The Party orders it,” threatening to punish anyone who refused. Every night I agonized over how to protect my people and keep my business going, and how I should respond. In those moments, I would remember the love and devotion my mother and aunt had poured into me and it gave me strength to persevere.
To escape my reality, at night I secretly watched South Korean TV shows on a television that was smuggled in from China.
My world turned upside down. With my friends who were also watching South Korean media, we would cautiously express our dissatisfaction together while also copying the hairstyles and outfits we saw in dramas. Sometimes, we would even try to mimic South Korean words or accents when talking or texting together.
But under Kim Jong Un, punishments became much more severe. Two people I knew were executed for watching and sharing foreign media. Our lives became harder, control over young people became more intense, and our resentment began to grow.
But no matter how much they tried to repress us, frustrated young people like me continued watching forbidden content as a way to forget reality. Foreign media has quietly found its way into North Korea for decades. As I grew up, it began spreading more than ever before, through USBs passed between friends or broadcasts picked up on illegal devices.
Many defectors, like me, can remember the exact episode of a TV show, a specific South Korean song, or even a traffic report, that planted the first seeds of doubt.
Of course, dramas and movies don’t tell the whole story, but they show a life that contradicts everything we were taught. And it makes you wonder: if life is so different out there, why does it have to be this way here?
I realized it doesn’t just show people that different lives exist. It gives them the belief that their life could be different. And that belief gives people the courage to choose a different future.
The thing about information is once you learn something, you cannot unlearn it. I remember watching people on my screen speak freely, laugh openly, and pursue their dreams—things that were unimaginable in North Korea. For the first time, I wondered if everything we were taught might be wrong. That doubt led to questions, and my curiosity became too strong to ignore. Now that I had seen the truth, I could never go back to the person I was before.
Escaping North Korea cannot be explained by the simple word “leaving.” This was especially true for me because I escaped together with my mom and my aunt. They had placed their trust in me when they gave me money for that boat. And now I was placing my trust in that boat to carry us across the sea to freedom.
I planned our escape in complete secrecy.
I bought a smuggled GPS device from China, carefully traced our route, observed the currents and tides, learned the patrol schedules of the guard boats, and figured out the blind spots of the coastal guard posts. I meticulously checked the condition of the boat and quietly prepared all the food and supplies we would need. I trained my body for the wind and the waves, and my mind for the terror of being caught.
Some nights I woke up in a panic. Other times my confidence crumbled and I thought, maybe I should give up and just accept the life I have. But in those moments, I imagined what waited at the end of the journey.
I wasn’t leaving just to stay alive. I was leaving so that I could live like a human being.
On the night we left, we climbed into my boat and pushed off into the dark water. I gripped the rudder and let the current carry us south, carefully navigating around the guard posts and patrol boats who were on the water looking for people like us.
I knew what would happen if we were caught. Arrest. Endless investigations. Humiliation. Public trials. Political prison camp. And the possibility that I might lose the people I loved most in the world.
My mother and aunt were trembling with fear. I had to hide my own fear to tell them what I could only hope. We will survive. We spent the night being tossed back and forth on the East Sea. Black waves lifted our boat like a toy before smashing it down again. Every crash sent water over the sides and threatened to swallow us up.
Suddenly, a patrol ship appeared. Its lights stabbed the water, blinding us, and started coming closer and closer. It was coming for us. My chest pounded so hard I felt it might burst. I thought of the sleeping pills we had brought.
We had agreed that if capture became inevitable, we would rather take our own lives. It was a fate we preferred to execution or prison camps. As the coast guard closed in, I wondered, is it time for the pills?
But I refused to give in. We were so close. I steered away from the searchlights, surrendered the boat to the churning water, and pushed on forward.
Suddenly, the patrol vessel stopped and turned back around. They could no longer chase us. We had reached the maritime border. The sea calmed, as if it was welcoming us to freedom. And as the sun rose, we saw the outline of land.
A South Korean fisherman, hearing radio reports that North Korean patrols were in pursuit, realized we were the boat being chased. He steered his boat toward us and said, "Welcome. You are safe now."
It’s been almost two years since we arrived in South Korea.
I still remember moving into our apartment and using a showerhead for the first time, experiencing hot water flowing straight from the tap. I couldn’t believe it. That day, my mother, my aunt and I took turns showering, laughing, and saying to each other, “So this is what a human life feels like.”
For the first time in my life, I could choose my studies, my job, my clothes, my hobbies—even the way I spoke—for myself. It felt like an entirely new world. We were being reborn, leaving behind a past of silence and control for a life with dignity and a future we could choose ourselves.
My mother began studying for a professional certification. And my aunt enrolled in social welfare classes to help others. I studied hard and was recently accepted into Ewha University. I have also been active in North Korean human rights activism and I even started a YouTube channel to show the world what it looks like to start a new life in South Korea.
Hope is dangerous for the North Korean government. Millions of people live with anger and sadness, but even more live in resignation. Most do not realize their rights are being violated—they don’t know what “rights” are. I once believed it was normal for the state to control every part of our lives. I thought every country lived this way.
But the moment you realize life could be different, hope begins to take root. And once hope exists, change is no longer unimaginable.
My dream is that someday North Korea will be a place where young people choose their own paths, where no one is punished for their words, and where every person lives as the true owner of their life. While so much of North Korea’s reality is dark, change is already happening. And what sparks that change is information. A single truth from the outside world, a glimpse of what life could be, can plant a seed of doubt, or ignite a spark of hope.
That’s why I speak out. If I don’t tell my story, who will tell it for me? If I stay silent, will the death of my friends, and the suffering and starvation my family endured be forgotten?
Right now, in North Korea, there is someone just like me—sitting in a dark room, secretly watching a South Korean broadcast, quietly wondering: Could I also live like that?
I want my story to prove that this hope can become a reality. I want to stand in the middle of that change. Not just as someone who escaped to enjoy freedom, but as someone determined to one day share that freedom with all North Korean people.
Freedom is not given, but it is something we can achieve. With your support, we can write a future where all North Korean people are free.
Foreign media gave Gyuri a glimpse of the outside world—and the courage to seek freedom.
Increasing North Korean people’s access to outside information is one of the most effective levers for change in the country. And that is exactly what we’re doing at Liberty in North Korea
In partnership with North Korean defectors and engineers, LiNK develops tailor-made technology, tools, and content that help people inside the country access more information more safely. These glimpses into the wider world build people’s resilience to the regime’s propaganda, and emboldens them to imagine a different future for themselves and their country.
Help fuel work that’s directly supporting North Koreans driving change on the inside.
