North Korean Defector Economist: How We Analyze North Korea Needs to Change
By: Maria Stella
Maria is a PhD student at the Department of Economics at Korea University, specializing in theoretical economics. Her primary area of interest is developing theoretical models of the North Korean economy. She’s been a participant of the LiNK’s English Language Program since 2022.
When I think about my past, I often feel a great sense of loss and sorrow for the people I left behind in North Korea. As a PhD student studying North Korean economics here in South Korea, I feel a strong desire to use my research to help improve the lives of North Korean people. In many ways, helping those I left behind also gives meaning to my own journey.
Whenever I watch the news or read academic papers on North Korea, I feel saddened by the way North Korean people are discussed and represented. Over time, I have come to believe that the way we analyze North Korea needs to change.
I believe there is a fundamental limitation in existing research on the North Korean economy, as much of it has traditional socialist planned economy analysis. Earlier studies have suggested that North Korea would either collapse or undergo a system transition as other socialist countries have done. However, after the breakdown of the Public Distribution System (PDS) in the mid-1990s and the emergence of the shadow economy (including through the Jangmadang—illegal markets), these approaches began to reveal their limitations.
As a result, the North Korean economy came to be understood not as a simple planned economy, but as a mixed economy in which state control and market activities coexist. However, these studies do not sufficiently explain why the North Korean regime allows marketization to persist at a certain level instead of completely suppressing it.
In order to explain the interaction between the government and ordinary North Korean citizens, who are the primary actors in Jangmadang activities, I divide the North Korean system into three groups: the regime, the elites, and ordinary citizens.
In particular, elites are important economic actors because they function as intermediaries between the regime and the people. My argument is that this phenomenon can be better understood by analyzing how these three groups strategically interact with one another.
These three groups pursue their interests in different ways, and their goals also differ significantly. The leadership wants to continue dynastic rule and ensure stable succession, the elite seek to secure their positions and avoid political risks such as purges, and ordinary citizens primarily seek survival and improved living conditions.
The interests of these three groups sometimes conflict with one another and sometimes align. In my opinion, these three groups in North Korea are currently remaining in a state of equilibrium.
This equilibrium means that these three groups can achieve their maximum interests under the current conditions in North Korea. Precisely because of this equilibrium, North Korea has been able to maintain both regime stability and limited marketization simultaneously.
That is why I believe we must identify what kind of shocks could cause this equilibrium to collapse. If such a change were to occur, it could become a new turning point for North Korea.
A new turning point for North Korea could lead the country toward a new political and economic order. The important thing is that we must identify what kinds of shocks could trigger such a transformation.
I hope for a North Korea that has changed—a place where its people can live freely. For me, North Korea is not just a state; it is my hometown, where I was born and raised, and where my family still lives. This is precisely why I am committed to a different approach to the North Korean issue—because my only goal is to see genuine change in North Korea, and I truly want to help bring about that change.
I want my article to inspire you to see something different the next time you watch the news or media coverage about North Korea. The next time you come across a piece of media about North Korea, I hope you take a moment to think about the real North Korean people. And perhaps you may also reflect on this article and consider what kinds of shocks could transform the current equilibrium of North Korea.
I hope you will join me on this journey.
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Maria 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.
I Left North Korea As a Child. My Life’s Work is to Return Home to a Free Country | Rose’s Story
As a child in North Korea, I loved quiet, warm mornings. At dawn, I’d wake to the sound of breakfast being made in the kitchen. When my feet grew cold, I’d burrow deeper into my grandfather's blanket. A day that began with the smell of a home-cooked meal was nothing special then—just an ordinary morning.
Growing up, I lived with my grandparents. We worked the fields together, swam in the Yalu River side by side, and grew tomatoes, eggplants, and cucumbers in a small garden. In the summers, my cousins and I played in the mountains and gathered wild strawberries. Every fall, I always looked forward to the corn harvest.
This was the world I knew, and I was quite happy with it.
My mother's work as a broker—helping families separated by the border reunite or at least connect via phone—and her other job selling smuggled CDs containing Korean dramas eventually led to her arrest. She was released quickly but was placed under close surveillance. With no other way to support our family, she made the difficult decision to defect. It was a choice made easier, she later told me, by the countless South Korean dramas she had watched over the years that offered a glimpse into a life outside North Korea.
One winter vacation, my mother said, "Let’s go on a trip." I could barely contain my excitement. I had rarely ventured far from my hometown and thought I was finally traveling somewhere new. My grandmother gave me a warm boiled egg and told me to be safe. I didn’t know that would be the last time I would ever see her.
The journey never stopped. We left in winter and ended up in Southeast Asia, where summer never ends. Only then did I realize this trip was an escape. And it was only one-way.
When we finally arrived in South Korea, I couldn’t accept my new reality. I was only a child, but in my heart, I knew I’d never see my grandparents again. It felt like a cruel trick.
But life carried on, and I found myself adapting to South Korean society pretty quickly. I changed my accent and learned things by asking friends. Even at a young age, I instinctively felt the need to fit in. I was proud of myself for not looking or sounding like a North Korean.
Then one day in our elementary school classroom, the topic of North Korea came up. At that moment, I felt everyone’s eyes on me.
Although no words were spoken, the silence between me and my classmates felt like a wall.
As much as I tried to push it away, that feeling continued to follow me. In middle school, while watching a soccer game with friends and cheering for South Korea, someone said, “Shouldn’t you be rooting for North Korea?” I felt the color drain from my face. Once again, I felt the gap between me and them. And I wondered if I could ever close the distance.
Years later, in university, a professor mistakenly thought my South Korean friend was North Korean. She strongly denied it and took great offense, demanding a formal apology from the professor. Seeing her reaction, I wondered what it said about me. This incident left a deep scar on my heart.
As time went on, I realized that I wasn’t as well-adapted as I thought. I had been living my life avoiding who I was. Whenever the topic of North Korea came up in conversation, I cringed and tried to change the subject. When my family in North Korea would secretly call us, I would hang up the phone after a brief greeting, afraid I’d burst into tears. I couldn’t face how much I missed them, because I didn’t want to accept that I may never see them again.
Amidst these complex emotions, I began my work on North Korean human rights. I wanted to change how North Koreans were portrayed as “pitiful,” or “dangerous.”
But doing this work scared me at first. If I shared my story, would people look at me again with those silent, disapproving eyes? Then I began to understand something important—those fears came from my own hidden prejudice. If I believed that North Koreans would only be seen in a certain way, didn’t that also mean it was how I saw them?
Confronting the deepest parts of myself allowed me to finally embrace who I was. I stopped hiding, and began to explore the thoughts and feelings I had suppressed for so long.
In 2022, I took part in Liberty in North Korea’s Co-Creators program. It’s a unique opportunity for North and South Korean students to work together on advocacy projects. Our team’s project was called “North Korea Travel.” We highlighted different regions of the country and shared facts about life there, leading naturally into conversations about human rights.
As I worked on this project, it occurred to me how much I actually didn’t know about my own country. Due to the regime’s strict restrictions on movement, I never traveled beyond my hometown until the day I left North Korea for good. When I explained this to participants, they listened attentively and said it was their first time learning about it.
Their sincerity caught me off guard. I realized that prejudice often does not come from malice, but simply from a lack of knowledge and understanding.
After that experience, I knew I wanted to continue creating moments of connection and understanding about North Korea. I figured the perfect way to reach people would be through the medium I know best: architecture.
For my graduation project, I designed a North Korean Human Rights Memorial Hall. I chose Imjingak, near the DMZ, as the symbolic location. The space I conceptualized commemorates the sorrow of separation, and allows visitors to experience the "surveillance," "chaos," and "oppression" North Koreans face in their daily lives.
The Pantheon in Rome directs our gaze toward the sky. I turned that idea upside down. In my design, the ceiling collapses into the ground, trapping people beneath, like the crushing weight of the regime’s oppression.
On the opposite wall, the names of loved ones are carved into stone, representing those we miss dearly. Before politics, before ideology, these are mothers and fathers, grandparents and children. This is a space where people can freely miss and yearn for the people they left behind. And it is a reminder that North Korea is home to our families, friends and neighbors.
Last year, when I visited the Holocaust Memorial in Washington DC, I felt that it was more than just a commemorative site. It was a space that showcased how to confront humanity's darkest history to ensure that such things are never repeated again.
Standing there, I hoped that one day, the human rights abuses faced by North Koreans would also just be a memory for us to reflect on.
I no longer hide my identity. My story began in North Korea, in a beautiful city by the Yalu River. Even now, on quiet mornings, my thoughts drift back to my grandparents’ house. I want the world to see North Korea like I do—through the warmth of ordinary days and the humanity of its people.
I dream of returning home one day, when all North Koreans can live free and full lives. Until then, I will continue to speak through the language of space and the power of stories.
The Universal Declaration of Human Rights begins with this: "all human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights." These aren’t just words on paper, but a reality that we can create together.
Please join me today to advance freedom and human rights for all North Koreans.
In 2025, Rose traveled across the US, sharing her story and advocating for the North Korean people as a LiNK Advocacy Fellow. Our capacity-building programs are cultivating the next generation of North Korean activists and leaders who are bringing change to their homeland.
Help empower more North Korean refugees with opportunities to grow, like Rose.
