North Korean Refugee Rescues: An Update from Our Field Manager
Over the past few years, the impact of COVID-19 has had a devastating effect on the day-to-day lives of North Korean people. Pandemic-related border lockdowns, increased surveillance, and unprecedented restrictions made it impossible for North Koreans to escape and reach freedom.
After a painstakingly long pause on rescues, at the end of 2022 we were finally able to start moving people safely again. Our field team has worked tirelessly to establish new, viable routes and adapt to circumstances on the ground. Navigating unprecedented restrictions and developing new routes has led to significantly higher and extremely volatile rescue costs, but our commitment is stronger than ever to help North Korean refugees reach freedom.
We recently sat down with our field manager, Jennifer* to hear directly about the current needs, challenges, and potential of this new era of rescues.
Could you give us a general overview of the situation in China?
So much has changed since the start of the pandemic. Activists have been kicked out of the country; brokers no longer want to do this work because of the increased surveillance and restrictions. The number of underground rescue networks has shrunk significantly. Navigating these challenges puts us at higher risk, which means that we have to use more resources, including people on the ground, to guarantee that our groups move safely. Because of the increased costs, we soon might have to ask people to wait to be rescued and it’s agonizing, especially because timing is critical in the underground railroad. There are very few moments when everything aligns and it is safe to travel, but because we don’t have funds, North Korean refugees lose those rare, precious opportunities. The North Koreans I’ve been in communication with are living in constant fear because of the increased use of security technology by the state, such as facial recognition with AI. On top of that, domestic violence continues to be a serious issue for many North Korean women who were trafficked or forcibly married in China.
Is there a risk of being sent back to North Korea right now?
Refugees who are caught in China are forcibly sent back to North Korea where they are severely punished. However, because of the pandemic, North Korea sealed its borders in January 2020 and has yet to reopen them. This means that repatriation hasn’t been possible yet, but we are hearing rumors that North Korea will start receiving people again soon.
Many people who have tried to escape were arrested and we’ve heard that currently, there are a large number of North Korean refugees in Chinese prisons.
What kind of situations are people escaping from in China?
It’s mostly North Korean women who were trafficked or forcibly married to Chinese men. Some have been living in China for several years and the pandemic left them stranded with no way to escape. We had heard that some of these women were facing even worse treatment from their Chinese husbands than before. The people who arrived in China in 2019 or early 2020 only had a very short period of time to learn the language, culture, and to adjust before having to quarantine. It has been much more difficult for these people to try to escape from China.
More recently, some of the refugees we’re in communication with have serious health issues. But they can’t go to the hospital because they’re not Chinese citizens and would risk being arrested and sent back to North Korea. They are hoping to make it to South Korea to get the healthcare they need.
And what are some of the challenges that North Koreans in China face day-to-day?
They can’t go outside. There was already a lack of freedom to travel and move around freely before the pandemic, but it has only gotten worse since then. When I speak with them, it feels like they’re losing hope. The reality of how difficult and expensive the journey has become is discouraging, especially because they hear about people who attempted the journey and were caught and arrested. So for people who were connected with us recently, many were shocked to hear about our work. They said it was almost surreal because they didn’t think it was possible to get to freedom at this time.
What motivated these people to leave North Korea in the first place?
It’s different depending on the person. There are usually personal circumstances that lead them to look for better opportunities in China or South Korea. Many people are tricked into human trafficking. Some women choose to live with a Chinese husband of their own will. They believe it’s better to live in China in this way rather than live in North Korea.
What have been the biggest challenges for you?
While I'm very grateful that we've been able to resume rescues, it's a shame that we can only move a limited number of people due to increased costs and heightened security. I stay in close contact with refugees in China who are hoping to reach freedom, and some are in urgent situations. A woman who was 4 months pregnant had to make the journey before her belly got too big. Some refugees have health conditions that need immediate treatment, but they’re unable to go to the hospital. My hope is that we can rescue as many people as possible so they can experience freedom and live the full lives that they deserve.
Since restarting rescues last December, the significant increase in costs have depleted our rescue and resettlement funds, leaving many North Korean refugees waiting, once again, for an opportunity to escape. Your support is needed now more than ever.
Throughout the month of June, all one time gifts made here will go 100% towards our rescue and resettlement efforts. In honor of World Refugee Day 2023 and the countless people waiting for their rare and precious opportunity to reach freedom, give a gift today.
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*Jennifer is a pseudonym used to protect our field manager’s identity and avoid compromising this work.
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.
