New Realizations: An Interview with Hae Ri
Hae Ri escaped from North Korea out of fear that she would be sent to a political prison camp for watching South Korean TV shows after it happened to her friend's family. After arriving in China, she connected with our networks and made the journey to safety in South Korea. Today she is successfully resettled and has been working toward her goals. She is currently studying to be a nurse and took part in our English Teaching & Cultural Exchange Program.
Anna, one of our resettlement assistance coordinators, recently met up with Hae Ri to learn more about her life in North Korea and how she is doing now. Read the interview below:
Anna: Did you want to move to South Korea?
Hae Ri: After graduating from high school, I learned a lot of things about South Korea through CDs and DVDs and the stories from my mom and dad after their trips to China.
The crackdown on CDs and DVDs were not that harsh until I entered 4th grade. It wasn’t a sudden change, but a gradual one. When more people have access to CDs, you notice the change in their awareness.
When I saw the world outside of North Korea in those CDs and DVDs, I was amazed and I hoped I could see it before I died.
I couldn’t believe I was actually in South Korea when I got here because it felt like a dream. I often wished to go to South Korea during middle school whenever I watched foreign films at my friend’s house.
Funny thing is, officers and the elite are the ones who have easy access to these things. My friend's father’s job was security related, so I was able to watch many dramas at her house. One day her house was searched and her parents were sent away, so she stayed at our other friend's house. She could not keep herself from watching “Stairway to Heaven” though, so me, my friend, and my friend’s aunt all watched it too. She was eventually caught.
In a political prison camp, you are not treated as a human being and are beaten over and over. People were called in one by one, and this made me worried. If you come from a powerful family or have connections, you may be able to get yourself out of there, but that did not apply to me. If I went there, there was no way out and I would be blamed for everything. That made me determined to leave North Korea as soon as I could.
Anna: What would you like to tell to your friends who watched films together in North Korea?
Hae Ri: We shared everything when we were at school because we were the closest friends, but now I am the only one who is living in this place we all dreamed of going to. It is frustrating that I don’t know how they are doing while I am living my dream.
Anna: Do you think about your hometown a lot?
Hae Ri: I imagine what it is like there now. When I talk to my uncle over the phone, it hurts me to hear that people are having a hard time finding food every day. I also miss my friends. It would be great to reunite with them.
Anna: What is the first thing you want to do with your friends?
Hae Ri: I want to travel. I was told that Jeju Island is beautiful, and I would like to visit with my friends. That is what motivates me to do well until they can join me. I am sorry that I couldn’t even say goodbye to my best friend. It would be wonderful to see my friends again and enjoy this freedom together.
Anna: What is the biggest difference between North and South Korea?
Hae Ri: There are just too many to list and more differences than commonalities. Because there was no freedom in North Korea, after I finished school there, I didn't work. Even though I learned skills, there was no place to use them. I didn’t have any specific plans for what I should do or hopes for the future. I felt powerless, thinking that there was going to be nothing to receive in return for my hard work.
Anna: What have you achieved since your resettlement in South Korea?
Hae Ri: Being a nurse was one of the best jobs for women in North Korea. There was a school for that, but it's usually for people who have enough money for the tuition, which I couldn’t afford. Even if you went there, studying might not be your priority because people just need their degree and just need to know how to use a needle to work. Of course, I wanted to go there.
It was still hard for me to decide to study once I came to South Korea, but then a friend from church suggested that I should begin studying since I am still very young. I thought I really would achieve nothing if I continue to live like this. So now I am preparing for college, and I already passed the test to become a nursing assistant.
Anna: What was it like to hear that you were accepted?
Hae Ri: Well, I did feel a sense of accomplishment, but at the same time, it felt like a beginning for something new. I wasn’t satisfied to have the story end there. But you know, they say a journey of thousand miles begins with the first step. I just made my first step, and I need to continue moving forward. It’s also important that I don’t rush things too fast and work on one thing at a time, since I am new to a lot of things and there is a lot left to learn.
Anna: What was the first thing you tried after your resettlement?
Hae Ri: The first thing I wanted to eat was samgyeopsal (grilled pork). Back when I was in North Korea, I couldn’t afford to eat this so I would just eat fried vegetables. I only saw this through Korean dramas. In South Korea, you have a variety of foods to choose from, like pizza and hamburgers. My grandmother, who worked at Kaesong Industrial Complex, came back with a Coke one day. There was a picture on the bottle that looked like some kind of bread I didn't recognize—it was actually a picture of a hamburger! I didn’t like the taste of hamburger at first, but now I love it!
Anna: Did you visit your grandmother? Wasn’t Kaesong Industrial Complex far from where you lived?
Hae Ri: It took me two days to get to Kaesong. It was an arduous journey. I would go there once every three to four years by train. There is no express line to Kaesong, so the train would stop at several stations, and I had to wait for several hours at the station just standing or lying on the ground because there weren’t enough seats.
In North Korea, you need a certificate to move to different places, which is especially difficult for Kaesong because there is a lot of exchange going on there with South Korea. So one day, I walked for a full day to Kaesong. While I was climbing a mountain to get there, I came across the military. The military personnel asked where I was going and why I was going to Kaesong. Then you have to give all the food and everything you have in your bag so they will let you go. When I first came to South Korea, I wondered if South Korea is a lot smaller than North Korea because it only takes three hours to get almost anywhere here. It would take two days in North Korea to get to a place you can go within three hours in South Korea. Not only the transportation is bad, but there is always the risk of getting caught while you are on the move.
Anna: What was difficult when you got to South Korea?
Hae Ri: My accent. I hated to hear that no one would take me for a part-time worker because I am from North Korea. I hated myself for being born in North Korea, and I thought people were staring at me because I was weird. This made me think more about the reasons for others to keep a distance from me. Changing my accent was difficult.Studying was a big challenge as well. Back in North Korea, I didn’t have much hope for achieving anything because of my family background. My accent is a challenge for daily living, but learning how to study was the most difficult challenge for fulfilling my dream.
Anna: What were your first experiences with the outside world?
Hae Ri: At home, no one really had sincere respect for Kim Jong-il or Kim Jong-un. Watching the things about Kim Jong-un, I thought it was ridiculous that people actually cried for the leader. However, I was shocked to realize the truth about the Kim family. I thought Kim Jong-un lived a very modest life until I was in Hanawon and learned that he spends so much on living a luxurious life, which could instead be spent saving so many people who are starving. I watched the Korean film called, “When the Azalea Blooms” when I was in China. The film was about Kim Jong-il, and that film also opened my eyes and made me realize what was actually going on.
Anna: What did you think when you first watched the film?
Hae Ri: I didn’t believe it at first, but when I watched it again, things became clear. There is a huge difference between knowing the truth and not knowing it. I want more people to hear the message and share what I realized. People get lost in their daily lives without thinking about their dreams.
Anna: Is there any message you want to give to your friends?
Hae Ri: I believe unification will take place in the future, so I have to resettle here successfully so I can be an example for my friends later on and lead them. That keeps me working hard even when things are tough. That’s what my mom thinks too. I need to prove that my decision was right and that I can do well here. I always wish the best for my friends in North Korea. When I think about my future, I am always thinking of ways to help North Koreans, and ways to return the help I received from LiNK to society.
It is just a dream for now, but I would like to do something meaningful, like sending aid materials to support North Korea.
We are only able to provide crucial support for North Koreans like Hae Ri with your help!
A North Korean Refugee’s Journey - Pursuit of the Freedom to Learn
By Yukyung Lim
Yukyung is a participant of LiNK’s Intensive English Program (LIEP), designed to build the capacity of North Korean English speakers at the intermediate level. In partnership with the British Council, LIEP aims to cultivate participants’ communication and critical thinking skills in English. LIEP is complementary to our broader LiNK English Language Program (LELP), which supports speakers of all proficiency levels.
I was born in North Korea—a place where identities are imposed, voices are silenced, and dreams are tightly confined. There, schooling is not a pathway to opportunity but a means of indoctrination, designed to enforce obedience and suppress individuality. But thanks to my mother’s courage, I never had to undergo that system. She made the bold decision to keep me out of school in North Korea. At age eight, I escaped to China to reunite with her, beginning a journey that would define not only my identity but also my deep, lifelong yearning to learn.
In China, my mother obtained a false identity for me so I could enroll in school. That first day in a rural classroom marked the beginning of a different kind of life. I was behind, anxious, and constantly aware of our fragile situation.
For the first time, however, I was learning not to obey—but to think.
A year later, we moved to Beijing. There, I stepped into a world I had never imagined—one of academic rigor, intellectual freedom, and cultural diversity. It was in that environment that I first witnessed how learning can transform a person. Each lesson, each classroom conversation, opened doors not only to knowledge but also to self expression, confidence, and hope.
One winter afternoon in 2010, I was on my way to the bookstore, backpack heavy on my shoulders. Beijing was bleak and cold that year. Snowflakes fell softly, only to be crushed by cars and vanish into the grime of the streets. That scene reflected my life: I bore a name I couldn’t speak aloud, fears I couldn’t share, and a fragile existence that felt quietly lonely.
Inside the bookstore, warmth greeted me. I wandered through the aisles, searching for a quiet corner to rest. Then, I saw it—a book with a black-and-white cover, its portrait etched in solemn ink. The man’s composed expression exuded a power I longed for. I picked it up, almost unconsciously.
“I Have a Dream.”
“I have a dream that one day... people will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”
“This is the time to make real the promises of democracy.”
“We will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.”
These weren’t just words. They were light, seeping through a crack I hadn’t known existed. In a world that had taught me to stay small and silent, they spoke to a part of me I had hidden away. For the first time, I felt truly seen—not for where I was from or what I looked like, but for my thoughts, my voice, and the quiet strength I carried within.
Later, after arriving in South Korea, I faced new challenges. Though I had returned to my cultural roots, I felt out of place. I was older than my classmates, unfamiliar with many social norms, and unsure of how to fit in. But with time, I began to build friendships and navigate this new society. Again, learning was central—it provided not just academic skills but also the social space to grow and belong.
During university, I studied abroad in Texas. It was my first experience in a Western classroom. I was struck by the openness, the individuality, and the value placed on diverse opinions. Being among students from different backgrounds showed me how perspectives can differ—and how that difference enriches everyone.
Wherever I was—in China, Korea, or the United States—the classroom was where I grew the most. It was where I stepped outside my comfort zone, gained confidence, and slowly came to understand who I was becoming.
Across all these countries, I’ve developed not just a global perspective but a deep appreciation for the transformative power of learning. In each setting, the classroom became both a battlefield and a sanctuary. I struggled, but I also discovered. I learned new languages, absorbed new worldviews, and came to realize that I was more than a refugee or survivor. I was a thinker, a student, and a human being with agency.
And then I understood something deeper: My story is rare—but it shouldn’t be. There are still millions of children in North Korea growing up without the right to question, to dream, or to imagine a world beyond their borders. They deserve more than silence or sympathy. They deserve the same chance I had—to envision a different future and be equipped to pursue it.
That’s why I’m sharing my story through Liberty in North Korea. Because stories hold power. They build bridges, shatter stereotypes, and create connections.
North Korean people are not just victims. They are potential scholars, leaders, creators, and changemakers—if only they are given the freedom to grow.
My dream is to one day build a global school for children who, like me, come from hardship but brim with promise. I want to help others discover the same sense of identity and possibility that learning gave me. Until then, I will continue to advocate, teach, and connect.
If you’re reading this, I hope you’ll join me. Learn more. Speak up. Share stories. Support organizations like LiNK that are fighting to empower North Korean people with freedom, dignity, and opportunity.
Because when you invest in a child’s education, you’re not only changing one life—you’re challenging an entire system and planting seeds for a freer world.
Opportunities like LiNK’s Intensive English Program (LIEP) are helping North Koreans succeed in resettlement, reach their goals, and lead change on this issue. Your support can help us continue to make an impact in the lives of North Korean refugees.
