The Most Dangerous Contraband in North Korea Isn’t a Weapon. It’s a Wish.
By: Jihyun Kang
Growing up in North Korea, Jihyun took inspiration from the smuggled South Korean dramas she watched to create her own unique clothing. After reaching freedom in 2010, she has continued to pursue her interests in fashion and culture as a catalyst for change. She runs several business ventures, practices fine art under the name “Da Gyeol,” and works with the Ministry of Unification as an advisor. She’s pursuing her Masters in Entrepreneurship, Dept. of Future Science & Technology Business, at Korea University.
I grew up in North Korea, and at fifteen, I encountered a Westerner for the first time at the top of Mount Paektu. He stood over 190 centimeters tall with a thick beard, wearing ripped jeans and a frayed T-shirt. In North Korea, worn-out clothing was a symbol of deprivation. Yet my father whispered, "He is wearing that for style." With that single remark, the worldview I had been taught, began, the first time, to crack. And I thought: I want to dress like that, too.
Fashion is more than clothing. It is the moment when individual desire moves faster than collective command. People follow taste before ideology, and express themselves through what they wear long before any political declaration.
A state can enforce a dress code, but it cannot manufacture desire. That is why North Korea's fear of blue jeans was not irrational—it was the regime recognizing, however dimly, that something it could not control was already growing.
Clayton Christensen, a professor at Harvard Business School, argued that transformation always begins at the margins—in forms so crude and insignificant that those in power dismiss them entirely. Christensen built his theory around corporations, but the logic applies to any system that holds a monopoly over its people, including a state. North Korea's regime was so focused on maintaining ideological control at the centre that it ignored what was happening at the bottom.
That bottom was the jangmadang—the spontaneous, bottom-up market ecosystem created by ordinary people to survive after the collapse of North Korea's state-led distribution system. When that system imploded during the Arduous March—a famine in the mid-1990s that killed hundreds of thousands—people built informal markets out of sheer necessity: not revolution, not ideology, but survival. Yet by 2018, a CSIS study found 436 officially recognized markets operating across the country. What began as a desperate improvisation had quietly become the infrastructure keeping North Koreans alive.
These markets did not merely sell food. They became conduits for Chinese clothing, USB drives loaded with South Korean dramas, and glimpses of a world no one had taught them existed. When a system ignores what people actually want, the market finds the gap.
The act of choosing—what to eat, what to wear, what to watch—may seem trivial. But a person who has tasted choice cannot fully return to obedience.
The jangmadang was the first place where North Koreans learned they could survive without the state. That desire did not stay underground—it surfaced. People began wearing jeans, dyeing their hair, and pulling on T-shirts printed with foreign letters. The regime could no longer ignore it. Authorities branded jeans and Western fashion as 'anti-socialist infiltrations' and deployed street patrols. Teenagers caught in these sweeps were sent to re-education camps; in severe cases, their names and home addresses were read aloud on state broadcasts as public shaming (Radio Free Asia).
In 2024, state-run Korean Central Television went so far as to blur the jeans worn by British TV presenter Alan Titchmarsh during a broadcast. The ruling party's official newspaper, the Rodong Sinmun, warned that a country could 'become vulnerable and eventually collapse like a damp wall' if it failed to preserve its own way of life (Newsweek, May 2021).
Regulations cannot extinguish human desire; they only raise the price of the forbidden. This is the inflection point Christensen identified: by the time an incumbent recognizes the threat, it is already too late.
To date, more than 34,000 North Koreans have resettled in South Korea (South Korean Ministry of Unification, 2024). At the start of each of those journeys, there was something like my pair of jeans—not ideology, but desire; not a declaration, but a taste; not revolution, but the market.
No government in history has ever successfully suppressed the human impulse to trade, to choose, to want more. Not the Soviet Union. Not Cuba. Not Mao's China. North Korea will not be the exception.
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Jihyun 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.
Women’s History Month: Honoring the Bravery of North Korean Women
By: Jennifer Kim
Jennifer* is Liberty in North Korea’s Field Manager. Over the years, she’s carefully stewarded our secret rescue routes and helped countless North Korean refugees reach safety and freedom.
Approximately 70% of North Korean defectors are women. Throughout their journey, they face unimaginable challenges, including human trafficking, confinement, and sexual violence.
For Women’s History Month this year, we asked Jennifer to share her experiences supporting North Korean women who have made the brave decision to escape, and bring light to the stories of real people behind the numbers and statistics.
A Transformative First Mission
When I first began this line of work, I was filled with both excitement and anxiety. “Will I be able to connect well with these people?” “Will the field be too dangerous?” Even in my position as a staff member, there were times when the situations we encountered felt riskier because I was a woman.
On my first mission, the group we brought to safety were all women. From their small requests, like asking for sanitary pads, to moments where they cautiously shared their harrowing experiences of human trafficking in China, I found that we could connect on a deeper level because I was also a woman. I realized my role wasn’t just to be a staff member, but to stand by these people as they needed me, as a fellow woman. From then on, the fear I had initially felt about this work transformed into conviction.
North Korean Women At the Forefront of Resistance and Survival
After meeting many North Korean women defectors, I’ve come to learn that there are unique challenges and experiences that only they face. Women in North Korea are not as restricted to job assignments as men, so they’re the ones actively engaged in informal economic activities. They’re running their own black-market businesses and trading smuggled goods, shifting economic power from the regime into the hands of the ordinary people.
Women also make up the majority of North Korean defectors at over 70%. In freedom, they’re leading advocacy efforts and raising awareness for this issue.
I've come to think that perhaps women in North Korean society were the first and most desperate to stand up in resistance.
At the same time, the reality is that women are more vulnerable to gender violence and crime. The moment they cross the North Korean border and set foot on Chinese soil, their precarious legal status and the fact that they are women become risk factors that can lead to human trafficking, sexual exploitation, and forced prostitution. If these dangerous situations lead to pregnancy and childbirth, women often remain in China for years, even decades, weighed down by the conflicting emotions of their longing for freedom and their maternal instincts.
All of the women I met during my first rescue mission were survivors of being trafficked into forced marriages. While there are some cases where these women meet kind families and live in a relatively less dangerous environment, most have to endure difficult lives. One woman who we rescued in 2024 said that in the early stages of her life in China, she was confined and tied up in a single room by the man who bought her. Others had to do forced labor in one of China’s many factories.
Not a News Story, But a Person’s Story
About ten years ago, I watched a video of a woman my age testifying about the hardships and sexual violence she experienced during her defection from North Korea. As a South Korean, I couldn't believe that such things were happening just across the border. Shocked and ashamed of my indifference, I cried for a long time, then resolved to do something.
North Korea used to be something I only saw and heard about through a TV screen. Now those distant news stories have become the personal experiences of the North Korean mothers and friends I’ve met in the field.
At first, I simply wanted to help as best I could. But as time went on and I met more North Koreans, my perspective gradually changed. Now, I feel like I'm not so much ‘helping’ as I am meeting incredible superwomen who have overcome tremendous adversity.
My role is to constantly remind them of their resilience and potential, so they don't forget it themselves.
“This is My First Time Being Treated Like a Queen”
After a successful mission, our team ensures our newly arrived North Korean friends have a proper meal, get some rest, and receive basic necessities. On one occasion, one woman told me, “This is the first time in my life that I have been treated like a queen.”
She had just reached freedom after ten years in a forced marriage to a Chinese man. Her words resonated with me deeply. I realized once again that our work isn't simply about helping people achieve physical freedom; it's about restoring a person's forgotten dignity.
That woman has since resettled in South Korea and runs a small shop. She’s continued to stay in contact with LiNK, sharing updates about her life. One day, she shyly announced her marriage. She’s starting a new chapter with a person she chose and wanted.
Walking Together In Solidarity
Through the friendships I’ve made and stories I’ve witnessed in the field, my connection to this issue has deepened over time. These women aren’t just “nameless” North Koreans, but people like us, living their daily lives; someone’s daughter, sister, or mother. I didn’t set out to do this work for over a decade. But day by day, hearing each story, meeting each person, and holding their hands has naturally led me down this path.
Listen to their stories, and I believe that you too will encounter a heart for the North Korean people.
– Jennifer Kim, LiNK Field Manager
*Jennifer is a pseudonym used to protect our field manager’s identity and avoid compromising this work.
Help North Koreans Win Their Freedom
From inside the country to on the global stage, North Korean women are driving change on this issue. Driven by necessity, desire to care for their loved ones, and aspirations to forge their own path in this world, their pursuit of freedom is both intentional and instinctive.
Liberty in North Korea doesn't just extend a helping hand to North Korean refugees—we’re cultivating the next generation of North Korean leaders, entrepreneurs, and advocates, and doing this work alongside them.
Become a monthly donor today at $20 per month to help more North Koreans reach safety and gain full authorship of their lives in freedom.
