"And We Will Be Free" Jo Eun's Story
The Tumen River starts on the slopes of Mount Paektu. Its icy waters twist and turn for hundreds of miles before slipping off the Korean peninsula and into the East Sea. In the summer, the reeds along the river grow taller than me and yellow and white wildflowers blossom along the banks.
I was born next to the Tumen. I grew up playing on its rocky shore, splashing and swimming in its waters. In the winter my friends and I would race up and down on ice skates. For my mom’s birthday, we would catch fish and cook them under the shade of a tree. I have many fond memories of the Tumen.
But I want to tell you about the times I tried to cross it. Because those times nearly cost me my life. The Tumen is more than a river. It’s a razor that cuts its way between North Korea and China. It’s a meandering border of shallow water that you can wade across in minutes. And in the winter, you can slide across its ice even faster. Just like I did for the final time last year.
I decided to cross the Tumen for the first time 8 years ago. I did it for my daughter. Her name is Hee-Mang which means hope in Korean. As a baby she was so calm and happy. I would adore her sweet smile and when I held her it melted away the pain and heartache of life in North Korea.
When she started saying “mommy” and took her first steps I was ecstatic. Her laughter was precious and her eyes beamed with life. But I was always worried that I couldn’t be a good mother.
I wanted to give Hee-Mang a better life than I had.
I knew of friends who had defected to South Korea. They sent money back and their families seemed to be much better off. So I decided to leave North Korea to make money and eventually bring Hee-Mang to freedom.
The first time I tried to cross the Tumen I didn’t get far. The broker I hired to help me escape worked for the secret police. They dragged me out of my hiding spot and sent me off to a detention center.
That’s where I first learned how much freedom would actually cost.
It was March and a pregnant woman arrived after being arrested in China. The courtyard of the detention center was covered in snow and ice. The guard forced her to walk around on her hands and knees in the snow for hours. He mocked her, saying that you got pregnant with the baby of a dog so you have to walk like a dog. Then he’d pry open her mouth and spit in it. If any of us cried or pleaded for him to show mercy, he’d force us to do the same.
When we weren’t crammed into our cells, sleeping on a filthy floor, we were forced to work. From 5am to 11pm we’d go into the mountains to gather firewood. The labor left your hands raw with blisters and the cold bit at your fingers and toes.
We were only fed a quarter of an ear of corn per meal. It was never enough and the hunger clawed at our stomachs. People grew so hungry that the guards had to drag them from the toilets so they wouldn’t eat their own feces. Some mornings I woke up to find one of my cellmates stiff and lifeless. We’d march off to gather firewood and their pale body just laid there, their cheeks hollowed out from the hunger.
One afternoon, I decided to escape. I walked over to an unlocked window, flung myself out the opening, and started running. For 4 days I trekked through the wilderness until I reached my hometown. But from the hill above my parent’s house I could see the security agents waiting for me. I had no place to go and I was terrified of being caught. I wanted to see Hee-Mang again but it was too dangerous.
So I returned to the Tumen River. It was summer now – when the rains come up from the south and the river swells into a rage. It was pouring the night I crossed and the current swept me downstream. I waded out on the other side and into China. A Chinese family gave me food and dry clothes and when I told them I needed to go to South Korea, they connected me with a broker.
I moved south through China with a group of 12 other North Korean refugees. We were nearly to Southeast Asia when we stopped to spend the night in a small motel. There were two young boys with us. They were 9 and 10 and they were running around the motel yelling in Korean. The receptionist must have overheard them.
I was on the fourth floor when I heard police sirens outside. I raced to the window but it was bolted shut with metal bars. The Chinese police barged into the room and handcuffed all of us.
There was a teenage girl with us whose mom was waiting for her in South Korea. She wailed and pleaded with the Chinese police: “Please please, can I just go to be with my mom. She’s going to be so worried about me. I just need my mom.” She cried out over and over. As a mother I felt terrible for her. I just wanted to tell her that it would be alright. But we all knew that was a lie.
We were returned to North Korea.
The secret police demanded the women strip naked and they searched our genitals for anything we might have hidden, slapping and whipping us and calling us whores the entire time. My interrogator wanted me to confess to trying to defect to South Korea. I begged her to understand my situation but instead she grabbed my head and slammed it against a nail in the wall. I remember thinking as she took a fistful of my hair “Is this my fate? Is this how I’ll die? The tears mixed with the blood pouring out of the gash in my forehead.
I couldn’t let go of the thought of Hee-Mang growing up without a mom. I wanted to be a good mother, I wanted to give her everything she deserved. I knew I couldn’t die here.
Everyone in my group but me was sent to a political prison camp, even those two little boys. But because I refused to confess to trying to defect, I avoided that fate and was instead transferred to another prison where I was forced to work 18 hours a day in a gold mine to earn money for the regime.
They worked us so hard and fed us so little. But I had a daughter waiting for me. And now more than ever, I wanted her to live in freedom. Life in prison was so difficult that I considered killing myself many times. There is a saying in North Korea “Women are weak, but mothers are strong”. Being Hee-Mang’s mother gave me the strength to withstand the pain. For two years, I endured the back-breaking work hoping for the day I would reunite with Hee-Mang.
3 years after I was released I stood next to the Tumen again, staring north and dreaming of freedom. This time I had Hee-Mang with me. She was 4 years old now and I wanted her to have a happy, fulfilling life. I wanted her to see the world and learn about other cultures. There was nothing for her in North Korea except pain and misery. So I scooped her up from her bed and carried her out of the house.
I put her on my back, her head nestled on my shoulder, and waded into the river. I was almost to the middle of the river when her foot touched the water.
Hee-Mang woke up and whimpered “Oh it’s cold.” That’s all it took.
The border guards heard her and raced down to the water. I waded faster and faster with Hee-Mang’s little arms wrapped tightly around my neck. I lunged with each step trying desperately to get away. Then I felt a hand grab my hair. Hee-Mang started screaming as I tried to fight them off. But when they ripped her from me, I had no choice. I surrendered.
They dragged us back to shore and started kicking me and stomping on my head. And then they kicked my daughter. My precious, beautiful, Hee-Mang. An innocent 4-year old girl. She was sobbing in pain and her cries for mommy were muffled by the blood spilling out from her mouth.
I jumped on top of her to cover her little body from the soldiers’ boots. I pleaded with them to beat me instead. She didn’t know what was going on.
It wasn’t her fault. “It was me, I did this! Punish me, not her!” I screamed.
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Last year I crossed the Tumen for the final time. I could see my breath as I shuffled across the ice on my hands and knees. I crawled up the other bank into China, bent back the barbed wire, and ran for the van that was waiting for me on the other side. From the van, I looked back at North Korea and wondered if I’d ever come back or see Hee-Mang again.
This time I connected with someone that knew a group helping North Korean refugees reach safety. The group turned out to be Liberty in North Korea and they helped me move quickly out of the border region and then we headed south. I couldn’t eat or sleep until we made it out of China because I was so scared of getting caught. Every time the bus stopped, I was certain that the police had found me again.
But soon I found myself crossing the border into Southeast Asia. When LiNK’s field staffer told me I was finally safe I was overwhelmed. I had endured so much to make it this far - hard labor, imprisonment, and torture. And even though I was overjoyed to make it to freedom, I was deeply saddened that Hee-Mang wasn’t with me.
I left her with my family because I couldn’t bear the thought of her getting caught again and sent to a political prison camp. I question that decision every day.
Today I owe it to my daughter to tell my story. Hee-Mang is like a lighthouse to me. She gives me light and a reason for why I need to keep living and working hard for freedom. I hold onto the dream that one day we will live together again.
Before I left last year I bought us matching watches. It’s just a cheap watch, but to me it has more value than any jewel. When I miss her, I wear it and I have hope that each minute that passes is one minute closer to the day I will see her again.
I wouldn’t be telling this story today without the support of people like you. Thank you for helping me escape and finally reach freedom. Your willingness to help North Koreans even though you do not know our names or see our faces, is unbelievable. Your generosity has changed my life and the lives of so many others.
But most of all, you give me hope that one day I will be able to return to the Tumen River and walk hand in hand with Hee-Mang.
And we will no longer have to be afraid. Because we will be together.
And we will be free.
Thank you.
An Exclusive Interview With LiNK’s Field Manager
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Over 1,200 North Korean refugees have reached freedom through our secret rescue routes. Michael Kim* is LiNK’s Field Manager and has overseen dozens of rescue missions, helping hundreds of these refugees safely reach freedom. Here is an exclusive interview with Michael, only for Liberty Donors like you! *Name changed for security reasons
Why did you want to work on the North Korean issue?
Michael: I went to university in South Korea and there I met North Koreans for the first time. I became really good friends with them without knowing they were from North Korea. As we grew closer, I grew more aware and informed. I also studied Political Science and International Relations, so I wanted to be more involved in the North Korean issue..
After college I went to serve in the South Korean military. The mandatory military service is a constant reminder of the “other” Korea – a Korea where people have drastically different living standards. Basically everything you do in the military is preparing for a potential war with North Korea. They were seen as “the enemy.” But I had friends who were from North Korea. I realized I should do something to change the situation on the Korean peninsula.
What made you want to work in the field?
Michael: I planned to go to graduate school but then a position in the field opened. I realized it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and a really meaningful role. I ultimately decided to apply because I trusted LiNK and the work. It was a special opportunity because I would get to meet North Korean refugees during the most vulnerable state of their journeys and represent LiNK and the supporters who care about them.
What is the hardest part of your job?
Michael: It’s hands down the isolation. For security reasons, we can’t be open about our work. In Southeast Asia, we meet people but can’t reveal why we’re there or what we do. We have to come up with cover stories and when people ask too many questions, we shut them down. “Ah it’s just work. It’s boring. You don’t want to know.” It makes it hard to build meaningful connections outside of work.
Sometimes it takes a toll. Because there are times you do want to share your life with people. But this is why the field team is so close. Everyone shares everything so it’s like a family.
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What is your favorite part of the job?
Michael: Meeting our North Korean friends. When we meet, we tell them, “We’re honored to meet you.” And we mean it. We’re thankful and thrilled they made it this far and had the courage to seek freedom.
When you meet North Korean refugees in the field, what do they need the most?
Michael: When we meet them in person for the first time, they’re physically and mentally exhausted because of the long and dangerous journey they just went through. The fact that they made it to Southeast Asia is such a feat.
We focus on three things.
First, we want to support them physically and mentally. We make sure they get rest and create a safe space for them to recuperate.Even just meeting us gives the North Korean refugees a sense of relief. Throughout their journeys, they get directions over the phone or through people to go to pick up spots. So when they reach the final destination and hear the South Korean accent for the first time, it’s like a sign of freedom. They’ve only heard the accent in South Korean movies and dramas.Many of them have not been able to speak their native language freely since they left North Korea so they can finally relax and speak freely. As they share their journeys with us, we build personal relationships with them and it gives them so much encouragement and support.
Second, we do a quality control check. We ask them if anyone on their journey demanded money from them or treated them without dignity or respect. Because of our donor’s generous support refugees do not have to pay to be rescued by LiNK and we want to ensure refugees were not asked to pay by anyone on their route.
Lastly, we give them information. We let them know what to expect during the resettlement process and answer their questions. In some cases, refugees don’t know where they’re going because they’re trying to reunite with family members. We try to fill in the blanks and help them gain a fuller picture of what’s next.
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What are some questions you get from North Korean refugees?
Michael: If there’s a refugee who just left North Korea, they might ask really random questions. Everything is so new to them. They ask about the traffic lights or the names of trees in Southeast Asia. Many of them want to learn how to speak in a South Korean accent.
They also ask really pragmatic questions like, “What should I do in South Korea to make money so that I can bring my children out of North Korea?” This is a really common question.
One question someone asked was, “Can I travel abroad? And how long can I do that before the government wants me back in the country?” We explain to them that as long as they have a visa to the country they’re going, the South Korean government doesn’t care how long they’re gone!
What are surprising things you hear from North Korean refugees about North Korea?
Michael: The living conditions in North Korea are so bad. It shouldn’t surprise us anymore but every time you hear about it, it’s not easy. For example, they tell us that they were working for the government but were basically forced into slave labor. They’re doing this hard labor but they’re not getting paid by the government. In order to survive, they have to do something on the side.
Another grim reality is military life. North Korean men have to serve 10 years in the military and it’s not like life is easy there. People have said that they defected because they think about their little boys' futures. They know that once their son turns 18, he has to go to the military. By the time he returns, he’ll be 30. And they will miss out on all their time together.
What do most North Korean refugees want to do once they reach freedom?
Michael: It depends. Parents just want a better future for their children. Most people really want to learn. They’re hungry for knowledge. They want to learn how things are outside of North Korea and in the world. When we ask them what they want to do, most will tell you that “I don't know enough to know what I want. I just want to go there and see what options I have.”
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What field experience has stayed with you?
Michael: Refugees don’t fully grasp the idea of having donors supporting the North Korean people unconditionally. They end up asking, “What do they really get out of this? Why are they doing this? Is this the government?” It’s really hard to understand that individuals on the other side of the world care enough to support them.
But occasionally, we have people who fully understand and they feel so moved and inspired that they in turn want to participate in this movement. And that is really powerful. Seeing them go from a position of getting help to wanting to do something is always powerful to witness. It’s one thing to be grateful, but it’s another to say, “Now it’s my turn. Once I get to South Korea, this is what I’m going to do. I’m going to find ways to contribute.” They tell us that our work has opened their minds and they want to help.
Is there anything you want to say to our donors?
Michael: We can solely focus on what is best for the North Korean refugees only because we have so many generous people who support what we’re doing in the field. We do our best to be good stewards, but the fact that we can just focus on our work and what we can do better instead of worrying about funding is liberating. Because we’re in the field, we don’t really get to meet donors, but everything that we do - it reminds us that it’s only possible because of our donors and their support. We feel the support and we are so grateful!
Thanks to your monthly gift, Michael and his team are able to help rescue North Korean refugees at a moment’s notice. We’re so thankful for your continued support! Thank you for standing alongside the North Korean people!
