North Korean Women's Football Team Arrives in Suwon: Propaganda vs Real People
⏱️ 30-Second Summary
- Inter-Korean Women’s Soccer: The AWCL semi-final between Suwon FC Women and North Korea's Naegohyang Women's Football Club has been confirmed for May 20th at Suwon Sports Complex. This visit by a North Korean sports delegation will be the first of its kind in nearly eight years.
- High-Stakes: In North Korea, social advancement is nearly impossible if one’s “songbun” (political status) is unfavorable. The realm of sports is a rare exception. A win in an international competition secures a jump in social standing. On the other hand, the cost of failure is just as high.
- The Women Behind the Uniform: Two documentaries by Director Brigitte Weich, Hana, Dul, Sed and Ned, Tassot, Yossot offer a glimpse of the passion, friendship, and subsequent lives of North Korean athletes.
The First North Korean Sports Delegation to Visit South Korea in Eight Years
On May 20th, Pyongyang-based Naegohyang Women’s FC and South Korea’s Suwon FC Women will be facing off in the semi-finals of the AFC Women’s Champions League. The match will take place in South Korea at the Suwon Sports Complex. This visit by a North Korean sports delegation will be the first of its kind in nearly eight years. The last time a North Korean women’s football team competed on southern soil was at the 2014 Incheon Asian Games.
The North Korean women’s football team has consistently demonstrated world-class strength. Expectations for their upcoming match are high, naturally leading to questions about the individuals representing the world’s most closed country: How did North Korean women’s football reach this level? Under what conditions are these athletes playing? And how will their lives continue after the match ends?
World-Class Athleticism: North Korean Women's National Football Team
As of April 21, 2026, the North Korean women's national football team is 11th in the FIFA rankings, placing it in the top tier globally. Comparatively, South Korea is ranked 19th. The North Korean team has maintained its status with multiple wings in international tournaments, including the U-17 and U-20 Women’s World Cups.
Naegohyang Women's Football Club is the reigning champion of North Korea's top-tier women's football league, celebrating its 10th anniversary in 2022. In the quarterfinals of the AFC Women’s Champions League, they defeated Vietnam's Ho Chi Minh City Women’s FC to secure their ticket to Suwon.
This strong performance is not limited to just the Naegohyang club. North Korean women’s football has also won the U-17 and U-20 Women’s World Cups multiple times. At the 2025 U-17 tournament held in Morocco, the team once again claimed the title by defeating the Netherlands 3-0.
From Elementary School to Pyongyang
In an interview with Kyunghyang Newspaper, Professor Hyun In-ae of Ewha Women’s University attributed the strength of North Korean women’s soccer “not the the popularization of athletic activities, but rather to state-led selection and development.”
The development of athletes in North Korea begins at a very young age. North Korean authorities reportedly "bring football prodigies from across the country to Pyongyang starting in elementary school and train them systematically." Recognizing that performance in international competitions contributes to the national image, the state provides support ranging from European-style training systems to even overseas training camps.
Medals, Apartments, and Coal Mines: A System Where Winning and Losing Determine One’s Life
In North Korea, social advancement is nearly impossible if one’s “songbun” (political status) is unfavorable. The realm of sports is a rare exception. Winning a medal at an international competition secures a jump in social standing.
For competitions like the Asian Games, individuals who bring home a medal are awarded the title of "Merited Athlete.” For events at the level of the Olympics or World Championships, the “People’s Athlete” honor is bestowed. Decorated athletes with many medals may receive the title of “Labor Hero,” and potentially even the highest distinction of all: "Hero of the Republic." On top of such recognition, unique comforts like athletic pensions, luxury apartments, and imported cars may be rewarded.
On the other hand, the cost of failure is just as high. After losing to a South Korean competitor at the judo finals of the 1990 Beijing Asia Games, Ri Chang-su, a North Korean “Merited Athlete" was sent to labor in a coal mine. He testified as follows: "I truly lived my life working hard for my country, yet simply because I took second place, they sent me to a coal mine and wouldn't even let me quit the sport." After a loss in the 2010 World Cup in South Africa, the entire North Korean men’s national team was summoned to Pyongyang and subjected to a six-hour public criticism session in front of 400 people.
North Korean Sports as a Tool for Propaganda
When it comes to understanding North Korean sports, glory and punishment are inextricably bound together because it serves as a form of propaganda. The regime sees it as a tool to "promote the regime internationally and publicize its achievements domestically."
Following the North Korean women's national football team's victory at the 2024 U-20 tournament, Sin Yong-chol, Chairman of the Football Association under the Ministry of Physical Culture and Sports, remarked in Rodong Newspaper that "sports are precisely a war without the sound of gunfire waged against enemies in peacetime."
For the North Korean athletes coming to compete in Suwon on May 20th, the weight resting on their shoulders is far more than just the outcome of the match.
The Lives of North Korean Women Athletes: Documentary Hana, Dul, Sed
Despite the circumstances under which they play, North Korean athletes cannot be defined solely by the role assigned to them by the regime. Beyond the language of propaganda, there are ordinary people who genuinely love football.
In 2009, Austrian filmmakers Brigitte Weich and Karin Macher released Hana, Dul, Sed (One, Two, Thee), a documentary that closely chronicles the lives of four athletes from the North Korean women's national team: Ri Jong-hui, Ra Mi-ae, Jin Byeol-hui, and Ri Hyang-ok. These women played a pivotal role in elevating North Korean women’s football to world-class status. However, after their elimination in the qualifiers for the Athens Olympics, the careers of the four athletes came to a sudden end.
The film’s protagonists are not the North Korean regime, but the players themselves. Towards the end of the film, Ra Mi-ae, known for her lively personality, and Ri Hyang-ok, known as “the beauty of the team,” reminisce over the friendship they forged during their training days. They mention that since being dismissed from the team, they rarely get to see each other anymore.
Attempting to articulate the allure of soccer, Ri Hyang-ok chokes up, “The moment I stepped into the stadium, my heart opened wide—it felt as though I could embrace the whole world."
Through rare personal accounts, Hana, Dul, Sed offers a humanizing perspective of the athletes who take the field on behalf of North Korea. These individuals are not just tools of the regime, but people driven by the love of the game, just like the members of the teams they face.
The Universal Experience of Women
Five years after Hana, Dul, Sed, Director Weich returned to Pyongyang to meet with the same four athletes featured in her original documentary. She shares the story of how their lives had evolved in the sequel, Ned, Tassot, Yossot (Four, Five Six): The Legends of North Korean Women’s Football (2023).
Even after retirement, the former national football team players have remained close to the sport. They have each established themselves as FIFA-affiliated referees, coaches, or mentors, dedicated to nurturing the next generation of athletes.
The documentary also captures the muti-dimensional nature of these women’s lives. Lee Jung-hee, former goalkeeper of the team, is shown juggling life as a student and as a mother of a young daughter. Anxieties surrounding marriage, pregnancy, childbirth, and raising a family—all while struggling to sustain one’s career—are common themes.
While telling the unique stories of these women in North Korea, the film also conveys a deeper truth, that their lives are not so different from those of women in any other country.
What’s Next: Potential Rematch at the 2027 Brazil World Cup
The AWCL semi-final on May 20th will be the first time North and South Korean athletes face each other on South Korean soil in eight years. Both teams have already secured their spots in the 2027 Women’s World Cup finals. South Korea advanced to the semifinals of the 2026 Asian Cup, while North Korea secured a ticket to Brazil by defeating Taiwan 4–0 in the March playoffs. Depending on the results of the group stage draw, the possibility of a national team rematch remains open.
Beyond the Score, the Right of Twenty-Two Players to Live an Ordinary Day
The upcoming match on May 20th is an opportunity for the world to see this issue—typically treated as political—from a more universal perspective: that of women and sports. The North Korean athletes playing that day are more than subjects of a news report or the public faces of a political regime. They are fellow human beings, taking the field with passion and love for the game.
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I Watched K-Dramas Inside North Korea. They Gave Me the Courage to Escape | Hannah’s Story
How many times have you checked your phone today? Fifty? A hundred? Every time we look at the screen we are connected to the world around us and an endless stream of information—news, research, entertainment.
Now imagine waking up tomorrow in a place without the internet. A place where people are executed for sharing foreign media, and where families risk their lives just to stay in touch across borders.
For 26 million people in North Korea, this is their reality. And 7 years ago, I was one of them.
I was born in Hoeryong, a city in the northernmost part of North Korea near the Tumen River. Winters were brutal and there were frequent shortages of fuel and electricity.
My father was a high school physics teacher. He was quiet, loyal and diligent. His days started at 7am in the classroom and went late into the night, even on weekends. But despite his dedication, the monthly rations he received were not enough for our family.
So in order to survive, my mother began selling goods at the market. She wanted a better life for us, and that led her to do the unthinkable—escape North Korea. Three times she tried. Three times she was caught. Each time she was imprisoned and sent to a labor camp.
The prison camp was a living hell. My mother saw women waste away from hunger and die from simple illnesses. She was one of the lucky ones; her family brought her food and medicine, an act that made her a witness to the suffering of others.
I was just 13 when I first visited her, carrying a bowl of rice. In North Korea, it falls to families to provide for their imprisoned relatives.
Seeing my mother stand there like a criminal, her head bowed before the guard, I knew this wasn't right. I should have been in school, but instead, I was sneaking food to her, hiding from the stares of strangers.
We were being punished, but I didn't understand why. I felt wronged, and in my anger, I blamed her.
My mother had made a choice to save her family, but North Korean society saw her as a criminal. My father, who had led a quiet life as a teacher, was denied opportunities at work. Our family was labeled as traitors.
In 2013, on her fourth attempt, my mother finally escaped and made it to South Korea. She worked tirelessly to send money back to North Korea to help our family. She also slowly opened a window into another world.
Using a smuggled Chinese cell phone I was able to speak to my mother from time to time. And on our secret calls she shared with me new South Korean expressions and words she was learning. As she settled into a new society, despite numerous differences, she also recognized similarities between North and South Korea and its people, and reminded me that despite decades of division, we are still one people.
I secretly began watching South Korean sitcoms. I’ll never forget one called “High Kick 3.” In one episode, there was a story about a man who fell into debt and was being chased by collectors. But what shocked me was that his family wasn’t punished for it. In North Korea, if one person “sins” the entire family is condemned. But this showed me that in South Korea, life could be different. That even within a family, you were free to make your own choices.
This realization changed me and offered a glimpse of the vast world beyond North Korea. Information, even in the form of a sitcom, was hope. And it was worth risking everything for.
Meanwhile, I continued to face obstacles in my day to day life. I had learned how to code and use software like photoshop, and I dreamed of going to university after graduation. But because my mother had defected, I was rejected. So I used my computer skills to find work as a photographer and photo editor.
Hoping to advance my career, I volunteered for the "shock brigade," a group sent to do manual labor at dangerous construction sites. While others prayed they wouldn't get picked for this kind of work, I went willingly, thinking it could be my way to a promotion.
I was sent to the Samjiyon district, a place known for its harsh winters. For over a month, I demolished buildings in minus 40-degree weather without protective gear. Dust filled my lungs, and sweat froze my clothes solid. My only relief was being able to sleep in a crumbling basement.
When I returned, expecting the promotion I had been promised, my supervisor simply said, "Let's wait a little longer."
That was the moment I understood my mother. She had risked her life to escape because she was after something more fundamental than a better life. She wanted to live like a human being.
In 2019, I made the same choice and escaped. With the help of Liberty in North Korea, I made it safely to South Korea and reunited with my mom.
Freedom wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. In North Korea, my tech and computer skills had helped me survive. I had always thought that “no matter where I go, as long as I have a computer, I’ll be fine.” But in South Korea, I struggled with something as simple as a new keyboard layout. In school, subjects like social studies felt foreign because I had grown up in a completely different education system with distorted versions of history and philosophy. My dream of going to college suddenly felt impossible.
Eventually I found my place in science. The formulas and equations in math, chemistry, and physics were the constant, unchanging truths I could always count on.
I decided to major in electrical engineering. It was rare for North Korean defectors to pursue this field. But I was determined to stay ahead and not fall behind in our rapidly changing world. Now my goal is to become an engineer who can help bridge North and South Korea’s science and technology industries when the two countries are one again.
More than ever, I see that information isn’t just about knowledge and convenience—it’s a lifeline. Without access to information, you can’t see a way forward, let alone build a future.
And right now, the people I left behind are more cut off than ever before. During the pandemic, North Korea closed its borders to an unprecedented extent. Soldiers along the border had shoot-to-kill orders for anyone trying to escape. Around 90% of the markets were forced to shut down, leaving families with barely enough to eat. The UN reported that nearly half the population—12 million people—faced food insecurity, while the World Health Organization rated North Korea’s access to medical care as the lowest in the world.
A few years ago, when my father became very sick, I was able to send him money for medicine and hospital care. But most North Koreans don’t have that chance. Without someone on the outside, they are not only cut off from resources and information, but from hope itself. For many, their future depends on a lifeline from the outside world.
Supporting North Korean people and protecting human rights cannot be put off.
We have an opportunity to be a lifeline for people inside North Korea today. To remind them that they have not been forgotten. With your support, we can rescue and support more North Korean refugees, and get more outside information and technology to people inside the country. And that information can empower North Koreans to not only see a way forward, but to ultimately determine their own future.
Despite the risks, North Koreans are quietly accessing foreign media and learning about life in the outside world. Increasing their access to uncensored information is one of the most effective ways to increase change inside the country.
Liberty in North Korea partners with North Korean defectors and engineers, like Hannah, to develop technology, content, and tools tailor-made for the North Korea context. Our goal is to empower North Koreans with information about the outside world, increasing their aspirations for social and economic progress, and building pressure for change and opening.
