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.
"And We Will Be Free" Jo Eun's Story
The Tumen River starts on the slopes of Mount Paektu. Its icy waters twist and turn for hundreds of miles before slipping off the Korean peninsula and into the East Sea. In the summer, the reeds along the river grow taller than me and yellow and white wildflowers blossom along the banks.
I was born next to the Tumen. I grew up playing on its rocky shore, splashing and swimming in its waters. In the winter my friends and I would race up and down on ice skates. For my mom’s birthday, we would catch fish and cook them under the shade of a tree. I have many fond memories of the Tumen.
But I want to tell you about the times I tried to cross it. Because those times nearly cost me my life. The Tumen is more than a river. It’s a razor that cuts its way between North Korea and China. It’s a meandering border of shallow water that you can wade across in minutes. And in the winter, you can slide across its ice even faster. Just like I did for the final time last year.
I decided to cross the Tumen for the first time 8 years ago. I did it for my daughter. Her name is Hee-Mang which means hope in Korean. As a baby she was so calm and happy. I would adore her sweet smile and when I held her it melted away the pain and heartache of life in North Korea.
When she started saying “mommy” and took her first steps I was ecstatic. Her laughter was precious and her eyes beamed with life. But I was always worried that I couldn’t be a good mother.
I wanted to give Hee-Mang a better life than I had.
I knew of friends who had defected to South Korea. They sent money back and their families seemed to be much better off. So I decided to leave North Korea to make money and eventually bring Hee-Mang to freedom.
The first time I tried to cross the Tumen I didn’t get far. The broker I hired to help me escape worked for the secret police. They dragged me out of my hiding spot and sent me off to a detention center.
That’s where I first learned how much freedom would actually cost.
It was March and a pregnant woman arrived after being arrested in China. The courtyard of the detention center was covered in snow and ice. The guard forced her to walk around on her hands and knees in the snow for hours. He mocked her, saying that you got pregnant with the baby of a dog so you have to walk like a dog. Then he’d pry open her mouth and spit in it. If any of us cried or pleaded for him to show mercy, he’d force us to do the same.
When we weren’t crammed into our cells, sleeping on a filthy floor, we were forced to work. From 5am to 11pm we’d go into the mountains to gather firewood. The labor left your hands raw with blisters and the cold bit at your fingers and toes.
We were only fed a quarter of an ear of corn per meal. It was never enough and the hunger clawed at our stomachs. People grew so hungry that the guards had to drag them from the toilets so they wouldn’t eat their own feces. Some mornings I woke up to find one of my cellmates stiff and lifeless. We’d march off to gather firewood and their pale body just laid there, their cheeks hollowed out from the hunger.
One afternoon, I decided to escape. I walked over to an unlocked window, flung myself out the opening, and started running. For 4 days I trekked through the wilderness until I reached my hometown. But from the hill above my parent’s house I could see the security agents waiting for me. I had no place to go and I was terrified of being caught. I wanted to see Hee-Mang again but it was too dangerous.
So I returned to the Tumen River. It was summer now – when the rains come up from the south and the river swells into a rage. It was pouring the night I crossed and the current swept me downstream. I waded out on the other side and into China. A Chinese family gave me food and dry clothes and when I told them I needed to go to South Korea, they connected me with a broker.
I moved south through China with a group of 12 other North Korean refugees. We were nearly to Southeast Asia when we stopped to spend the night in a small motel. There were two young boys with us. They were 9 and 10 and they were running around the motel yelling in Korean. The receptionist must have overheard them.
I was on the fourth floor when I heard police sirens outside. I raced to the window but it was bolted shut with metal bars. The Chinese police barged into the room and handcuffed all of us.
There was a teenage girl with us whose mom was waiting for her in South Korea. She wailed and pleaded with the Chinese police: “Please please, can I just go to be with my mom. She’s going to be so worried about me. I just need my mom.” She cried out over and over. As a mother I felt terrible for her. I just wanted to tell her that it would be alright. But we all knew that was a lie.
We were returned to North Korea.
The secret police demanded the women strip naked and they searched our genitals for anything we might have hidden, slapping and whipping us and calling us whores the entire time. My interrogator wanted me to confess to trying to defect to South Korea. I begged her to understand my situation but instead she grabbed my head and slammed it against a nail in the wall. I remember thinking as she took a fistful of my hair “Is this my fate? Is this how I’ll die? The tears mixed with the blood pouring out of the gash in my forehead.
I couldn’t let go of the thought of Hee-Mang growing up without a mom. I wanted to be a good mother, I wanted to give her everything she deserved. I knew I couldn’t die here.
Everyone in my group but me was sent to a political prison camp, even those two little boys. But because I refused to confess to trying to defect, I avoided that fate and was instead transferred to another prison where I was forced to work 18 hours a day in a gold mine to earn money for the regime.
They worked us so hard and fed us so little. But I had a daughter waiting for me. And now more than ever, I wanted her to live in freedom. Life in prison was so difficult that I considered killing myself many times. There is a saying in North Korea “Women are weak, but mothers are strong”. Being Hee-Mang’s mother gave me the strength to withstand the pain. For two years, I endured the back-breaking work hoping for the day I would reunite with Hee-Mang.
3 years after I was released I stood next to the Tumen again, staring north and dreaming of freedom. This time I had Hee-Mang with me. She was 4 years old now and I wanted her to have a happy, fulfilling life. I wanted her to see the world and learn about other cultures. There was nothing for her in North Korea except pain and misery. So I scooped her up from her bed and carried her out of the house.
I put her on my back, her head nestled on my shoulder, and waded into the river. I was almost to the middle of the river when her foot touched the water.
Hee-Mang woke up and whimpered “Oh it’s cold.” That’s all it took.
The border guards heard her and raced down to the water. I waded faster and faster with Hee-Mang’s little arms wrapped tightly around my neck. I lunged with each step trying desperately to get away. Then I felt a hand grab my hair. Hee-Mang started screaming as I tried to fight them off. But when they ripped her from me, I had no choice. I surrendered.
They dragged us back to shore and started kicking me and stomping on my head. And then they kicked my daughter. My precious, beautiful, Hee-Mang. An innocent 4-year old girl. She was sobbing in pain and her cries for mommy were muffled by the blood spilling out from her mouth.
I jumped on top of her to cover her little body from the soldiers’ boots. I pleaded with them to beat me instead. She didn’t know what was going on.
It wasn’t her fault. “It was me, I did this! Punish me, not her!” I screamed.
--
Last year I crossed the Tumen for the final time. I could see my breath as I shuffled across the ice on my hands and knees. I crawled up the other bank into China, bent back the barbed wire, and ran for the van that was waiting for me on the other side. From the van, I looked back at North Korea and wondered if I’d ever come back or see Hee-Mang again.
This time I connected with someone that knew a group helping North Korean refugees reach safety. The group turned out to be Liberty in North Korea and they helped me move quickly out of the border region and then we headed south. I couldn’t eat or sleep until we made it out of China because I was so scared of getting caught. Every time the bus stopped, I was certain that the police had found me again.
But soon I found myself crossing the border into Southeast Asia. When LiNK’s field staffer told me I was finally safe I was overwhelmed. I had endured so much to make it this far - hard labor, imprisonment, and torture. And even though I was overjoyed to make it to freedom, I was deeply saddened that Hee-Mang wasn’t with me.
I left her with my family because I couldn’t bear the thought of her getting caught again and sent to a political prison camp. I question that decision every day.
Today I owe it to my daughter to tell my story. Hee-Mang is like a lighthouse to me. She gives me light and a reason for why I need to keep living and working hard for freedom. I hold onto the dream that one day we will live together again.
Before I left last year I bought us matching watches. It’s just a cheap watch, but to me it has more value than any jewel. When I miss her, I wear it and I have hope that each minute that passes is one minute closer to the day I will see her again.
I wouldn’t be telling this story today without the support of people like you. Thank you for helping me escape and finally reach freedom. Your willingness to help North Koreans even though you do not know our names or see our faces, is unbelievable. Your generosity has changed my life and the lives of so many others.
But most of all, you give me hope that one day I will be able to return to the Tumen River and walk hand in hand with Hee-Mang.
And we will no longer have to be afraid. Because we will be together.
And we will be free.
Thank you.
