The DMZ and North Korea
What Is the DMZ?
The Korean Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) is a strip of land running 160 miles (250km) across the Korean Peninsula that serves as a buffer zone between North Korea and South Korea. It passes just 30 miles north of Seoul but is one of the most heavily guarded borders in the world. It divides the Korean Peninsula approximately in half roughly near the original border at 38°N (the 38th parallel), the line that divided North and South Korea at the end of World War II. The Demilitarized Zone incorporates territory on both sides of the cease-fire line as it existed at the end of the Korean War (1950-1953), and was created by pulling back the respective forces 1.2 miles along each side of the line.
The armistice that ended hostilities was signed here in 1953, but, as an official peace treaty was never signed, the two sides have officially been at war for over seven decades.
A Brief History of the DMZ
With Japan’s surrender to the Allies ending World War II in 1945, Korea gained its independence after 35 years of colonization by Japan. The United States and the Soviet Union agreed to a joint temporary occupation of the Korean Peninsula with the US administering the southern part and the USSR administering the northern part.
The zones were split at the 38th parallel, an arbitrary line on the map chosen because it divided the country roughly in half. The division and international administration was supposed to be temporary until Koreans were considered ready to govern by themselves, but with the onset of the Cold War and growing suspicion between the US and USSR the two sides failed to come to an agreement that could establish a unified Korean government and state.
Instead the Republic of Korea (ROK), supported by the United States, was established in 1948 in the south while the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, supported by the Soviet Union, was established soon after in the north, with both sides claiming sovereignty over the whole peninsula.
On June 25th, 1950, the new North Korean Army invaded across the 38th parallel in an attempt to quickly reunify the Korean peninsula by force. They nearly succeeded, but US-led international intervention changed the course of the war. The conflict devastated the Korean peninsula for three years and killed three million people. After the conflict reached a stalemate close to the 38th parallel, the Korean Armistice Agreement was signed on July 27th, 1953 between the United Nations Command, North Korea, and China to establish a ceasefire.
Each side agreed to move their troops back 2,000m (1.24 miles) from the front line to create a demilitarized zone, establishing a 2.5 mile wide buffer with established rules of conduct. The Military Demarcation Line (MDL) runs through the middle of the DMZ and indicates where the front was when the agreement was signed.
More than seven decades later, both sides still stand guard on either side of the DMZ, two large armies on constant alert for potential aggression from the other side. The arbitrary division that in 1945 everyone thought would be temporary has ended up with one of the most impermeable borders in human history.
The Security Status at the DMZ
The border between North and South Korea is one of the most heavily guarded stretches of land in the world. The DMZ, littered with scores of mines and barbed-wire fences, is almost impossible to cross, except at the Joint Security Area (JSA). The JSA is a special zone inside what is known as the "truce village" of Panmunjom, about 35 miles north of Seoul. Every year, when it is open to tourists, thousands of people visit the JSA for a chance to see North Korean soldiers standing at attention just dozens of feet away and to officially step into North Korean territory inside a United Nations Command administered conference room that straddles the military border.
A visit there feels like military theater, with stern warnings from the South Korean soldiers under United Nations Command not to make gestures at their counterparts. Since demarcation, the DMZ has had numerous incidents and incursions by both sides, although the North Korean government typically doesn’t acknowledge direct responsibility for any of these incidents.
Human Rights and Repression in North Korea
North Korea is one of the world's most repressive states. The government restricts all civil and political liberties for its citizens, including freedom of expression, assembly, association, and religion. It prohibits all organized political opposition, independent media, civil society, and trade unions. The government routinely uses arbitrary arrest and punishment, torture in custody, forced labor, and executions to maintain fear and control across the country. Beyond the DMZ, North Korea is a highly controlled country where human rights are routinely violated.
The international community has continued to press the North Korean government to expand its engagement with United Nations human rights mechanisms, including action on findings of the UN Commission of Inquiry (COI). The COI report shows that the country has committed crimes against humanity including extermination, murder, enslavement, imprisonment, rape, sexual violence, forced abortion, and other heinous crimes. The citizens of North Korea require a lot of help and support from the international community in order to attain a better life.
The North Korean people face a brutal and repressive government that isolates them from the world and denies their most basic human rights. But you can help to create change. At Liberty in North Korea (LiNK), we help North Korean refugees escape through a 3,000-mile secret rescue route and empower North Koreans who have reached freedom to be changemakers, advocates, and leaders on this issue.
You can help make a difference in the lives of North Korean citizens by learning more about our organization, raising funds, advocating for the people of North Korea, starting a rescue team, or making a donation today!
Returning Home to a Free North Korea | A Glimpse of Reunification in 2045
By: Eunsook Jang
Eunsook is a 2024 LiNK US Scholarship grantee, a Fulbright Scholar, and a North Korean defector pursuing a master’s degree in international development at Brandeis University, where she focuses on post-conflict, economic, and human development. She holds a bachelor’s degree in political science and international peace from Korea University.
In the spring of 2045, on a flight from Incheon to Pyongyang, Emma's hands tremble. Her husband Sam reaches over and, steadily, holds them without a word. She turns to the window and stares into the pale clouds below the wing.
“I’ve waited 30 years for this day,” she whispers. “But now that I’m here… it doesn’t feel real. I hope this isn’t a dream.”
“Maybe it’s both,” Sam replies. “The dream became real.”
She closes her eyes. In 2015, at just fifteen years old, she crossed the frozen Yalu River in a dark March morning, leaving without saying a proper goodbye to her mother. That guilt, its intensity, has never faded, not even after thirty years. It simply learns to live quietly beside her.
“Will Mom recognize me?” she asks. “We parted when I was fifteen. I’m forty-five now.”
“She will,” Sam answers. “How could a mother not recognize her daughter?”
Emma says nothing. Will I... be able to recognize her? She does not say it aloud this time.
An announcement comes through the cabin speakers: "This is the first return flight for North Korean defectors to their hometowns. We know how much you have endured. We will carry you safely home."
It is a rare moment of comfort from a South Korean voice. Moments later, the plane lifts into the sky.
An hour later, the plane lands in Pyongyang. Emma weeps quietly, overwhelmed by the thought that across so short a distance, lives in the South and the North had been so utterly, irreconcilably different. For thirty years, she had not been able to cross it, that gap, so small.
From Pyongyang, the journey to Hyesan continues by bus. As the skyline of Pyongyang passes past the window, its taller buildings, its broad avenues, Emma allows herself the fragile hope: perhaps Hyesan has developed too.
After five hours on the road, the bus arrives at Hyesan Station. The apartments and the lay of the land are almost entirely unchanged from when she had left thirty years earlier, as if time had refused to move, as if it had been waiting for her. Emma found herself hoping the same might be true of her mother.
A thirty minutes' walk from the station: that is where her mother's house is.
As if drawn by a magnet, her feet start moving on their own.
Sam asks if they are going the right way. Without hesitation, "Yes," Emma replies. "I used to walk this road every day as a child. It’s still in my body."
He points to a bus queue down the street. "There's a bus queue over there. Want to take it part of the way?" She shakes her head gently. "If you don't mind, I'd like to walk." "Then we’ll walk," he replies without hesitation. Emma feels another surge of gratitude, grips on his arm and follows her memory home.
Since Emma left her hometown in 2015, the North Korean regime has conducted ten more nuclear tests as of 2045. And yet the face of this neighborhood has not changed by a single detail. The freedom and human rights that should have been the people's return on those tests have been vaporized into the air.
They arrive at a fork in the road. To the left, an alley leads toward the house. A familiar-looking house comes into view, enclosed by a wooden fence. She stops and stands motionless. It is the house, it is her house.
Several minutes pass. Then the door opens. Emma feels her breath catch. For a second, she forgets how to move.
After thirty years, she is here.
This is what the micropolitics of reunification looks like. Grand narratives, speeches, and legal texts may provide its official language, but its lived realities lie in moments, in feelings, like this: a mother and daughter recognizing each other after thirty years apart.
Author’s note: I dedicate this piece to my father in South Korea, who has never once wavered in encouraging my studies, as if realizing through me the freedom to pursue the dreams that were taken from him. And to my mother, who remains in North Korea: This piece is my proof that your daughter has not turned away from your suffering, but is working, in her own small way, to fight against it. I hope to see you, even if only in my dreams tonight. I love and miss you beyond my expression.
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Eunsook 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.
