Interview with Charles - North Korean Student at Coding Dojo
Charles escaped from North Korea and made the dangerous journey to safety without the help of a rescue. He resettled to the US in 2012, completing high school and soon after taking the opportunity to participate in a rigorous coding bootcamp through a partner of Liberty in North Korea, Coding Dojo. Charles is now attending community college and pursuing his own coding project. We had a chance to meet with Charles this summer to learn more about his life in North Korea and his new coding passion. Read the interview is below. Charles is also fundraising for rescues with us!
LiNK: Why did you choose to resettle to the US?
Charles: I was born between a North Korean mom and a Chinese dad, which put me in a difficult situation. I wasn’t accepted into South Korea because my Dad is Chinese, even though I had proof of having been captured once in China for being a North Korean refugee. So I applied for refugee status through the United Nations and resettled in the US.
LiNK: You attended Coding Dojo’s coding Bootcamp earlier this year - so cool! Between coding language, English, and borrowed words in Korean, which was the hardest language to learn?
Charles: Coding was hard. You have to know the terms while learning the specific coding language, so that was a challenge. I’m still teaching myself the parts of coding that I find difficult. As for borrowed words in Korean, I didn’t know those existed at all until I started to talk to more Koreans in the US. Borrowed words frequently came up, and I would have to ask people around me to explain the words that I couldn’t understand; part of the challenge was how the same word is pronounced differently in Korean and in English. Shortened words in Korean were tough to learn as well.
LiNK: What’s your favorite thing about programming?
Charles: My favorite thing about programming is I have finally discovered what I truly want to do with my life. I used to want to be a doctor one day, a cop the next day, and maybe a week later, I would want to join the army. Coding first became my hobby and thanks to Coding Dojo, it became something I want to make a career out of. It’s a lot of fun. But aside from that, I’ve also met good friends and instructors at Coding Dojo. I think it’s safe to say coding made me pull a 180 in life. I’m set on computers for now.
LiNK: Can you tell us about a project you’ve been working on?
Charles: Sure. I’ve been working on a project using MEAN stack to make an auction platform for ideas. Users can present ideas, sell ideas, buy ideas… You could say that it’s similar to Ebay in a way, but I think at this stage it’s important to emulate what other people have made to explore and learn about various successful models rather than trying to create something entirely new and different. With the current version, users can upload an idea onto the platform, but there’s been glitches in the idea being transferred to the the auction page. So that’s something I’ve been struggling with, but I think I’m going to finish it pretty soon.
LiNK: How do you get into computer programming as a career in North Korea?
Charles: I’m not sure because I don’t have any friends who went to university, although I do have a relative who was able to go. Most students who go to university come from wealthy families or are people who have been able to make a good amount of money from market activities, and they might find that kind of job. But in North Korea a lot of occupations are passed down from your parents, for example if you’re a politician then your children will also likely become politicians.
LiNK: After coding, what do you like to do in your free time?
Charles: I’m usually at the gym working out. If it’s breezy and not too hot outside, I go to the park and listen to music. You can find me sitting on a bench with my headphones on.
LiNK: What kinds of things do you think about when you’re at a park listening to your music?
Charles: Usually I think about memories from North Korea. When I’m busy my mind is preoccupied with work, but when I have more time on my hands I often think back on my life in North Korea -- both the good days and the hungry days.
LiNK: Can you share one of your favorite memories with us?
Charles: Sure. I had a lot of friends back in North Korea, and we were always outdoors in nature. I lived near Daedong River, so every Sunday, five to six friends of mine and I would have cookouts near the river. We would get rice, a pot, and some firewood to make porridge. Would I do that here? Probably not. I could try, but I think being with my friends was what made it memorable and special. Even when we were hungry, we were hungry together.
LiNK: That sounds really nice. Have you found any foods that you like to eat here?
Charles: Subway! I love sandwiches. My go-to Korean food is Kimchijiggae. I also like Vietnamese noodles — Pho.
LiNK: Cool. What are three things you want to accomplish by the end of this year?
Charles: First is completing my programming project, the Idea Auction project that I mentioned earlier. Second is getting accepted into the community college that I’m applying to. And third would be keeping in good health!
LiNK: Those are some solid goals. You drive Uber sometimes, right? When you’re talking with riders, do you share that you’re from North Korea?
Charles: Well, not a lot of people in the US are aware about North Korea. They say, “Where are you from?” So I would say, “I’m from North Korea,” and they go, “How is it there?” Haha. So I tell them that North Korea is the counterpart of South Korea. The funny thing is that they might not be familiar with North Korea, but they know what I’m talking about when I say the name Kim Jong Un. Then, they don’t believe me and say it’s impossible to escape. When I share my story, they’re very surprised. A lot of my customers stick around to listen to my story even after we’ve arrived at the destination. Even if it’s late at night, people don’t get out of my car until I finish my story.
The Most Dangerous Contraband in North Korea Isn’t a Weapon. It’s a Wish.
By: Jihyun Kang
Growing up in North Korea, Jihyun took inspiration from the smuggled South Korean dramas she watched to create her own unique clothing. After reaching freedom in 2010, she has continued to pursue her interests in fashion and culture as a catalyst for change. She runs several business ventures, practices fine art under the name “Da Gyeol,” and works with the Ministry of Unification as an advisor. She’s pursuing her Masters in Entrepreneurship, Dept. of Future Science & Technology Business, at Korea University.
I grew up in North Korea, and at fifteen, I encountered a Westerner for the first time at the top of Mount Paektu. He stood over 190 centimeters tall with a thick beard, wearing ripped jeans and a frayed T-shirt. In North Korea, worn-out clothing was a symbol of deprivation. Yet my father whispered, "He is wearing that for style." With that single remark, the worldview I had been taught, began, the first time, to crack. And I thought: I want to dress like that, too.
Fashion is more than clothing. It is the moment when individual desire moves faster than collective command. People follow taste before ideology, and express themselves through what they wear long before any political declaration.
A state can enforce a dress code, but it cannot manufacture desire. That is why North Korea's fear of blue jeans was not irrational—it was the regime recognizing, however dimly, that something it could not control was already growing.
Clayton Christensen, a professor at Harvard Business School, argued that transformation always begins at the margins—in forms so crude and insignificant that those in power dismiss them entirely. Christensen built his theory around corporations, but the logic applies to any system that holds a monopoly over its people, including a state. North Korea's regime was so focused on maintaining ideological control at the centre that it ignored what was happening at the bottom.
That bottom was the jangmadang—the spontaneous, bottom-up market ecosystem created by ordinary people to survive after the collapse of North Korea's state-led distribution system. When that system imploded during the Arduous March—a famine in the mid-1990s that killed hundreds of thousands—people built informal markets out of sheer necessity: not revolution, not ideology, but survival. Yet by 2018, a CSIS study found 436 officially recognized markets operating across the country. What began as a desperate improvisation had quietly become the infrastructure keeping North Koreans alive.
These markets did not merely sell food. They became conduits for Chinese clothing, USB drives loaded with South Korean dramas, and glimpses of a world no one had taught them existed. When a system ignores what people actually want, the market finds the gap.
The act of choosing—what to eat, what to wear, what to watch—may seem trivial. But a person who has tasted choice cannot fully return to obedience.
The jangmadang was the first place where North Koreans learned they could survive without the state. That desire did not stay underground—it surfaced. People began wearing jeans, dyeing their hair, and pulling on T-shirts printed with foreign letters. The regime could no longer ignore it. Authorities branded jeans and Western fashion as 'anti-socialist infiltrations' and deployed street patrols. Teenagers caught in these sweeps were sent to re-education camps; in severe cases, their names and home addresses were read aloud on state broadcasts as public shaming (Radio Free Asia).
In 2024, state-run Korean Central Television went so far as to blur the jeans worn by British TV presenter Alan Titchmarsh during a broadcast. The ruling party's official newspaper, the Rodong Sinmun, warned that a country could 'become vulnerable and eventually collapse like a damp wall' if it failed to preserve its own way of life (Newsweek, May 2021).
Regulations cannot extinguish human desire; they only raise the price of the forbidden. This is the inflection point Christensen identified: by the time an incumbent recognizes the threat, it is already too late.
To date, more than 34,000 North Koreans have resettled in South Korea (South Korean Ministry of Unification, 2024). At the start of each of those journeys, there was something like my pair of jeans—not ideology, but desire; not a declaration, but a taste; not revolution, but the market.
No government in history has ever successfully suppressed the human impulse to trade, to choose, to want more. Not the Soviet Union. Not Cuba. Not Mao's China. North Korea will not be the exception.
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Jihyun is a participant of the LiNK English Language Program (LELP), which serves to not only help North Korean defectors build confidence and skills in English, but develop their capacity as advocates for this issue. To that end, we partnered with select LELP “columnists” to write and polish personal essays through multiple rounds of external feedback and revision. Our goal is to have more North Koreans share their stories directly and lead efforts to change the narrative.
We believe the North Korean people can achieve their liberty in our lifetime.
Opportunities like LELP invest in the people building that future now. Help more North Koreans find their voice, reach their goals, and lead change on this issue.
