Yoon Ha's Story: Part 1 - Life in North Korea
Yoon Ha resettled to South Korea through LiNK’s network about a year ago. She recently shared her story with us. This is part one of three. Continue to part two.
When I was asked, “How was your life in North Korea?” for the first time, I just started crying because my life there was so hard. It was so hard.
When I was a little kid my mom left me, my younger sister, and my dad, because of our financial struggles. I felt so abandoned and unloved.
And even though I was young, I had to start working to contribute to my family’s finances. My sister and I would forage for plants in the mountains and riversides. We carried the herbs, roots, and pinecones on our backs, walking for three hours to get to the marketplace. We sold our stuff so we could get corn powder to eat. And then we would walk the three hours back to our house. It was very, very hard.
In my late teens my father passed away. I was devastated. After a few years of living with relatives, my sister and I moved back to live with our mom again. But we were still very poor. People would make fun of us for being so poor and not having a father around. I felt a lot of shame about my family and living situation.
When I was 22, my mom asked me to start living with a man much older than me to lessen the financial burden on my family. I didn’t like living with him at all.
I decided to leave my hometown to find a better life somewhere else. I walked for a few days to get to Hamhung, one of the biggest cities in North Korea, hoping I could find work there.
In the city, I did a lot of things to make money. I would sell gas lighters and secondhand vinyl. I had to do it secretly because it was illegal. And it never paid well--just enough to buy food. I was staying at homes, cheap inns, empty houses, and even sleeping on the streets and next to graves when I had to. Sometimes I got beaten by people from the city because they didn’t like that I was making money but wasn’t from there.
I worked there for many months, but I couldn’t save any money so I decided to go back to my mom’s place. My mom and my sister were still struggling, and having me back was a burden to them. So I left home again and walked to Pyongyang to find work. In North Korea you need a special permit to move to different cities, and I didn’t have one. I got caught and sent to jail for 10 days.
After I was released, I started walking to other cities again to find work. I knew I might get caught by the police again, but I couldn’t go home. I walked a lot. Walking was the only way I could travel to where I needed to go.
I made it to another town and found work crushing ore to extract gold. The work was illegal and we would do it secretly in people’s houses. In one of these houses, I got beat up and got kicked out. I didn’t do anything wrong; they just didn’t want to pay me. Even after that incident I continued to do the same work in other houses. For the first time in my life, I had made a decent amount of money--enough to buy 100 kg of corn.
I was so happy. I would be able to bring some money to my mom and sister so we could eat food for a while. I also missed my family, so I started heading home.
At a bus station on the way home, a woman and her daughters asked me to get water for them. They stole all of my money and ran away.
I couldn’t handle all the bad things that kept happening to me. It felt like my life was hopeless and pathetic. I went to a river near the bus station to commit suicide. But right when I was about to jump into the river, all of sudden a thought came over me.
“Why do I have to die? Why? I've not done anything wrong. I'm still only in my early 20s.” I made the decision to live and make the better life I wanted.
Instead of going home, I started walking again. I just kept going north. Even though I was so hungry, the hope for a better life drove me to keep walking.
After walking for days, I somehow arrived in Hyesan, a city on the border with China. I saw many people like me, who had been wandering around in search of food and work. I had travelled to many different parts of North Korea, and came to the conclusion that life was difficult everywhere in my country.
A couple in their 30s or 40s approached me and asked how old I was. I told them my age, 23. They asked if I wanted to go to China. They said I could have a better life there.
“A better life? Yeah, I would do anything to have a better life.”
So I decided to go to China with them. I was so focused on having a better life; I didn’t ask many questions. A few days later, in the darkness of night, we crossed the river into China.
Continue reading with part two.
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.
