New Beginnings: A Conversation with Hae Jung & Sue
Hae Jung is very familiar with loss and grief: Her mother passed away when she was a teenager, after she grew up and got married, her husband died, and three years after that, her father starved to death. Life became unbearably difficult for Hae Jung after the death of her father. With no family left and no resources to survive on, she escaped to China in search of a better life.
Hae Jung was arrested twice during her 14 years in China, but was able to evade repatriation on both occasions. Still, she lived with constant anxiety that she would be caught and sent back, and her Chinese-born daughter, Sue, grew up fearing for her mother’s life.
Seeing the devastating effects that living in hiding had on her daughter, she escaped with Sue to South Korea. Together, they made it safely through LiNK’s networks, a journey which was funded by UT Austin's Rescue Team, just before Sue’s 8th birthday.
Now safely resettled in South Korea, Sue is attending school and Hae Jung is working as a salesperson at a mobile phone company. Hae Jung also volunteers at a local welfare center to aid people with disabilities by cooking for them and cleaning their houses and helps out at her daughter’s school as a crossing guard with other parents.
Our resettlement coordinators, Jihyun and Anna, recently met up with Hae Jung and Sue to see how they’ve been doing.
While cutting up some fruit to serve, Hae Jung began to talk about what it's been like to live in freedom...
Hae Jung: Even nowadays, more than two years after I resettled in South Korea, I still pinch myself to see if this is real—that I’m free, that I live in South Korea. Although there are difficulties here, too, especially for people like me who still don’t know a lot about this society, I always try to think that I can overcome those difficulties. If I already think it is impossible to overcome, I can never overcome anything.
Jihyun: What advice would you give to a friend who just arrived in ROK?
Hae Jung: Try to learn as much technology as possible to facilitate your adjustment to this society (especially knowing how to use computers and the Internet is so necessary). You have to experience new things on your own instead of only listening to other people’s experiences. And, go to college if you are young enough.
No matter where you go, you will always face difficulties, conflicts with other people due to different cultures and customs. Some people will look down on you and you will make mistakes because you are not used to this society. Although South Koreans don’t have to adjust to this society the way resettled North Koreans do, they also deal with similar things in life. We are not that different. Try to find people you can open your heart to, share your struggles with, and laugh about the struggles with them.
Don’t be afraid of difficult things or interpersonal conflicts. Try to remember what you went through in North Korea, where you were not treated as human beings, then it will give you different perspectives on how to approach difficulties you may have.
Jihyun gave Sue a wooden pen, which she was very excited to receive, with the UT Austin crest carved into it. The pen is a gift from Julian, a former member of the UT Austin Rescue Team who now interns at LiNK HQ. Hae Jung and Sue have met Julian twice in South Korea.
Jihyun showed Hae Jung and Sue a video of Julian saying hi and telling them about what he’s doing at LiNK HQ as an intern. Hae Jung was so happy to see Julian that she actually waved and said "Hi!” twice while watching it.
Jihyun to Sue: How do you like school these days?
Sue: It’s alway fun!
Jihyun: What is your favorite subject?
Sue: “Math”
Jihyun to Sue: What are you thankful for this year?
Sue: What do you mean?
Jihyun: Well, for example, you could be thankful because you had a summer break this year, haha. You also saw Julian from the UT Austin Rescue Team again and you got to study with your tutor through our ETCE Program earlier this year. And...ah, your fractured wrist healed well and fast, too! So is there anything you are particularly thankful for, which happened this year?
Sue: “Aren’t we thankful for just the fact that we have life?”
Jihyun to Hae Jung: How do you and Sue spend time together?
Hae Jung: I try to spend as much time as possible with my daughter. We often go to the park in our apartment complex to have mom and daughter time by walking and exercising together. Sometimes we do karaoke, too. When I went to karaoke with my daughter for the first time, I was surprised to see her sing and dance to a lot of South Korean pop songs. I was like, ‘when did you learn all that?’. I realized that kids adjust faster than adults. You know, she already has a South Korean accent.
Jihyun: What kind of difficulties did you face in North Korea?
Hae Jung: Things were so difficult during the famine in the 90s, especially after the public distribution system collapsed in 1994. One time, after starving for so many days, my father and I started moving around to different towns with salt and matches to find tree roots and bark. Whenever we found tree roots and bark, we cooked them with salt and ate them. We had to do that to survive until wild, edible greens started growing in June, so we could eat the greens instead of tree roots and bark. In July and August, I got to save some greens so I could sell them at the illegal marketplaces. However, sometimes my greens even got taken away by the police whenever they cracked down on the illegal marketplaces.
Very sadly, during the famine, I lost many of my family members. I still remember the very moment when I saw my father dying of starvation while crying for corn soup and tofu that he really wanted to eat. I was also very close to starving to death. I weighed as little as 55 pounds, which was not even a half of my normal weight of 119 pounds. If my friend hadn’t brought me some kernels, I would’ve died of starvation like my father.
In order to survive during the terrible famine, the people, including myself, started eating mice, but they were so hard to catch. You might think it sounds so gross, but when you are starving for so long, your mind gets so focused on finding anything edible—and how you can skin and cook them. Whenever I caught a mouse and cooked it, it smelled strong so people living on the same block noticed the smell and could tell someone near them was cooking mouse meat. Starving kids near my house were crying because they smelled it. I tried to share the meat with those kids as much as possible, but sometimes I couldn’t because I was starving, too, and didn’t have enough to share.
Jihyun: What are some difficulties you’ve faced since resettling?
Hae Jung: When I first came to South Korea, I had a hard time understanding expressions and words that South Koreans use. Because of that, I had difficulty communicating with people at work when I was working as a caretaker and waitress.
Jihyun: What is it like living in freedom in South Korea?
Hae Jung: It is very convenient thanks to more technology. Before I left North Korea in the late 90s, in my town there was only one TV in every five households and the TV had only one channel. Now in South Korea, however, every house has at least one TV and it has so many different channels. Also, almost every household has a computer and uses the Internet.
I think the Internet makes my life so much easier. If I want to listen to my favorite songs or look up information, I just have to move my fingers.
I feel so much freedom in many parts of my life. I love that people don’t bother you as long as you don’t bother them or break the law. I also think that the freedom makes people not only more equal to one another but also more friendly to each other.
I love being able to learn new things here.
When I got my ID, after coming to South Korea, I was happy. I felt like I had become a human being again (because I lived illegally in China for so long, always hiding and being afraid of getting caught). When I was in North Korea and China, I felt like I was an animal like a dog or a pig. Since I live as a human being here with freedom, I am proud of myself and even compliment myself for living like a human, which I longed for in North Korea and China.
Freedom also enables me to be healthy since I don’t have to do a lot of physically hard labor that a lot of people still do in North Korea these days due to lack of technology and infrastructure.
Jihyun: What hopes do you have for Sue?
Hae Jung: Of course, like any other mom in the world, I want her to be successful in life. I hope she will go to a good university, study overseas, get a good job, and prosper in many ways. I know that is just my wish. It is out of my control and it depends on how much she tries/her effort.
The most important thing for me is that Sue will grow well—healthy and happy. I want to be there for my daughter whenever she needs me. I want to be positive to her all the time so I can be a good role model and influence her to also take on a positive outlook on life.
Also I want to continue telling her to appreciate what she has and to care for others who are underprivileged and have disabilities. I want her to know that we have to give back to the society because we’ve received so much from people like LiNK’s staff and supporters.
You can help more North Korean refugees escape China and resettle in a safe country here.
"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.
