Trafficking and Exploitation of North Korean Refugees
For North Koreans hiding in China, repatriation is synonymous with death. Resolved to avoid such a fate, but with few options or protections, North Korean refugees are left vulnerable to a second wave of human rights abuses.
Among North Korean women and girls who escape to China, an estimated 60% have fallen victim to human trafficking.
Here are the stories of three women who have survived the unimaginable and are now advocating for this issue in freedom.
The Fear of Forced Repatriation
After Eunju fled from North Korea in 1999, she ended up spending years in China before finally reaching freedom.
“In China, North Korean defectors are exposed to various crimes, including sexual assault, human trafficking, forced prostitution, and labor exploitation. Those who seemed kind and willing to help were either traffickers or rapists. Promises of wages to be paid in the fall were replaced with threats—’You're from North Korea, aren't you?’
There is only one reason why the victims—North Korean defectors—remain silent: the fear of forced repatriation. This fear-driven silence perpetuates a vicious cycle of human rights violations against North Koreans in China.
On our first night in China, we were confronted with a trauma that would haunt us for a lifetime. As we walked along the road, not knowing where to go, a car slowed down and pulled up beside us. The door swung open, and someone grabbed my sister. My mother and I clung to her, desperate not to let go, but we couldn’t withstand the force of the accelerating car and were thrown aside. At the time, my sister was still just a young girl who had not even gone through puberty, yet she could not escape sexual violence. My mother couldn’t even bring herself to think about reporting the incident. She knew that if she went to the authorities, the Chinese police would capture us and send us back to North Korea before they ever caught the perpetrator.”
Soon after, Eunju’s mother was trafficked into a forced marriage together with Eunju and her sister, and they were sold for 2000 RMB (~$240 at the time).
Sold on the Way to Freedom
Hannah fondly remembers growing up with a large family in North Korea. But widespread food shortages forced her to leave her beloved hometown at 15 years old. When she finally managed to cross into China, she was trafficked and sold into a forced marriage.
“Do you remember what life was like when you were 15 years old? Maybe you were stressed about highschool, or getting your driver’s license. When I was 15 years old, I was sold to a man in China who was twice my age. For the first 6 months of captivity, I stayed away from him as much as I could. But in the end, there was nothing I could do to protect myself.”
“When I became pregnant, I couldn’t accept it because it wasn’t my choice. But then my baby arrived, and it all hit me. I wanted to give my daughter the same love I had grown up with. But I couldn’t do that without legal status or freedom. So with my one-month-old baby in my arms, I escaped once again.
Even though it was a very hard and dangerous journey, we ran together towards freedom, towards a future that guarantees our safety and hope.”
A Mother’s Impossible Choice
Joy fled from North Korea when she was 18 years old. When she reached China, the broker who arranged her escape went back on their word and immediately demanded to be repaid.
“She told me my only option was to be sold into marriage to a Chinese man so the brokers could take my bridal cost as payment. I couldn't even think of refusing because I was afraid they would do something bad to me or drop me off somewhere alone to get caught by the Chinese police and sent back to North Korea. At that point, I realized that I was trapped.”
Joy was sold to an older Chinese man for $3,000. She searched for any way to escape, but soon became pregnant and gave birth to her daughter. For two years, she raised her child and began to lose hope of ever reaching freedom.
Then in 2013, Joy was connected to LiNK’s network. She felt it was her last chance to take back control of her life. But she faced an impossible decision. Her daughter was still very young, and it would be incredibly risky to escape together. Ultimately, Joy decided to leave her behind.
“I cried every day thinking of my daughter. Before we started moving to get out of China I stayed with some other defectors…I didn't want to cry in front of [them], so I cried behind a curtain. I found another North Korean woman crying there because she also left her child. We ended up hugging each other and crying together.”
Stories of Hope
Eunju, Hannah, and Joy’s stories echo that of thousands of North Korean women who were sold on the way to freedom. But they’ve refused to let their painful experiences prevent them from living full lives, instead turning them into sources of strength, fueling their work on this issue.
Eunju is now living in South Korea with her mom and sister. She co-authored a book about her journey, A Thousand Miles to Freedom, with journalist Sebastein Falletti to make sure stories like hers are not forgotten.
Hannah is also in South Korea raising her daughter, who will never know a life without freedom. In 2022, Hannah joined LiNK’s Advocacy Fellows program to develop her capacity as a leader and advocate for this issue. She traveled across the US alongside other young activists, sharing her story at universities, churches, Fortune 500 companies, and with key stakeholders on Capitol Hill.
Joy was also a LiNK Advocacy Fellow in 2019. Today, her advocacy continues in the classroom, as an educator at an alternative school for the children of North Korean mothers. Some of her students were born in China while the mothers were in forced marriages—a circumstance that is deeply personal. Joy is beloved by the children, and strives to help them navigate their complex identities and relationships with their parents.
All the while, Joy has kept in touch with her daughter through video calls and messages. Last year, she was finally able to bring her daughter to South Korea!
What You Can Do to Help
The trafficking of thousands of North Korean women and girls is one of the most rampant and egregious human rights violations happening today. Yet it often does not get enough dedicated attention amidst all the dangers and abuses that North Koreans face—an alarming reminder of the gravity of this issue.
LiNK rescues North Korean refugees without cost or condition, and provides crucial resettlement support during this period of transition. We’re one of the only organizations still doing this work since the COVID-19 pandemic. To date, we've helped almost 1,400 North Korean refugees and their children reach freedom.
It is more urgent and important than ever that we carry on this work. Right now, our field team is actively in communication with North Korean refugees hiding in China, many of them women who were trafficked or sold into forced marriages, and coordinating their escape. Help bring them to safety and freedom.
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A North Korean Defector’s Nine Year Journey to Freedom | Eunju’s Story
I didn’t know I was hungry until I was eight years old. Growing up, I had no concept of whether my hometown was wealthy or poor. Then when the great famine struck in the mid-90s, more people died in our city than anywhere else in the country.
That’s when I realized “Oh, this is the most difficult place to live in North Korea.”
I was born in the city of Eundok, North Hamgyong Province. Before that it was called Aoji, a destitute place infamous for its coal mines, where South Korean prisoners of war were sent to work.
In the middle of a long famine, people lose all sense of humanity. You couldn’t survive without dirtying your hands. My father was a kindhearted person, the type that was unable to hurt anyone. But towards the end, hunger drove him to steal from our own house.
On my first day of middle school, I couldn’t find my new backpack anywhere. It turns out that my dad had taken it to the Jangmadang, traded it for food, and eaten it by himself. In the end, he still died from starvation, and my mom, my sister, and I were left to fend for ourselves.
We heard that if we went to China, we could eat all the candy we wanted. With that one piece of information, my mom said she’d rather get shot crossing the Tumen river than starve in North Korea.
It was mid-February in 1999, during the bitter cold winter. The water was frozen solid and stretched over 100 meters across. My mom went first, followed by my sister, and I was in the very back. Maybe it was because I was anxious, but my shoes felt so slippery and I kept falling over as they went farther and farther ahead. We heard that soldiers would shoot anyone who tried to cross the river. But this was our only chance at survival.
My mind was racing, “What if I’m left behind and get caught?” My mom and sister probably feared the same thing.
We encountered a tributary that wasn’t frozen all the way, so my mom waited and had me go first because I was the lightest. A few steps in, the ice broke and I fell into the piercing cold water. None of us knew how to swim. At that moment, I really thought it was the end. But then my feet hit the ground. We had made it to the other side.
Not long after we had crossed into China, a Korean-speaking woman came up to us. She invited us to her house and gave us over a dozen boiled eggs, more food than we had seen in years. In North Korea, when my sister and I had a field trip for school, my mom would cut one boiled egg and give each of us half in our lunch box. To have this much at once was a true luxury. For the first time in a long while, we dared to have some hope.
But then my mom was sold off to a Chinese man. The fortunate thing was that even though my sister and I were 16 and 14 years old, we were so short that people asked if we were 7 or 8. They couldn’t sell us separately, so we were sent together with our mom.
We had been sold for 2000 yuan. When we wanted to leave, the man told us to pay him back. We worked in his house and on his farm but of course we never saw a penny. For three years, we lived in confinement, and my little brother was born.
On a quiet night before my brother was even a year old, Chinese police came to the house in the dark, knocked on the door, and arrested us.
When North Koreans get caught, sometimes they’ll roll up their money and eat it or hide it, but we didn’t have anything. We were taken back across the border with just our clothes. It’s well known that there’s a physical exam to look for hidden money. In a way, you shouldn’t even feel a basic sense of shame as a woman and as a human being. If you cry or plead for mercy, you’ll get beaten up. You cannot question them at all.
With so many people in North Korea dying of starvation, names were removed from the family register after three years without any news. We had already been declared dead. There were two minors and an adult, but our identities couldn’t be confirmed. At the time they couldn’t keep minors in prison without a ruling from the court, so we were entrusted to another person from our hometown. No one wanted extra mouths to feed, so he just let us go.
We went straight to the Tumen river and in 2002, we escaped again.
I had enough food when I was in China. Even dogs and pigs ate rice and corn. But we lived looking over our shoulders, in constant fear of the police.
When we heard about life in South Korea, where our safety and identities would be guaranteed, we decided to defect once more. We were introduced to a broker, gave them some cash upfront, and traveled through Mongolia and the Gobi Desert.
On September 1st, 2006, I arrived at Incheon airport with my mom. My sister joined us in South Korea in 2008. Nine years after first crossing the Tumen River, we were finally together in freedom.
When I was in China, my only wish was that my mom, sister, and I could sleep together, eat together, and come home from work together. I dreamed that someday we could go to the supermarket and get a whole cart full of things to share. After coming to South Korea, we achieved not only that, but everything we’ve ever wanted.
I co-authored a book about my journey, A Thousand Miles to Freedom, with a foreign journalist named Sebastien Falletti. He interviewed several North Koreans, and I agreed to share my story with him out of a sense of duty. I never thought he’d choose me.
Compared to North Korean defectors who live special lives, I don’t actually dream of being a human rights activist. There are times when I don’t want to share anymore and I feel like I have to repeat myself.
But then I think about my best friend in North Korea. Her name is Sunhwa and I don’t think she’s here yet. I imagine that she would want to live like me — to attend college, pave her own way, and explore the vast world we live in. But she is still stuck in the darkness. Until Sunhwa can live a life of freedom, I feel a sense of responsibility to continue to share.
When I think of North Korea, the dark image of my hometown floods my memories. But I would still like to go back just once and visit my dad’s grave. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that he was also a victim of the North Korean regime. I have hope that in this lifetime, North Korea will open up. I’ll return with my mom and my sister, and together we’ll visit my dad’s resting place and prepare a huge meal for him.
For North Koreans to share their stories with audiences around the world, retelling and reliving some of the most harrowing experiences, is an act of exceptional courage. They’re working towards the day when others no longer have to go through the same painful experiences.
You can help rescue more North Korean refugees and support them as they begin their new lives in freedom.
