It would take a heart of stone not to sympathise with the plight of North Korean defectors, desperately fleeing the world’s most totalitarian dictatorship across the border into the prosperous, free South. They leave behind everything they know: their families, their friends, and however harsh, a sense of home that the North provides; all for the unknown promise of milk and honey.
The journey alone is a do-or-die affair; particularly if one chooses the direct route across the DMZ (de-militarised zone), rather than going up through China. Defectors must scale the 3M barbed-wire fence, dodge the landmines for two and a half miles (not to mention the soldiers who will shoot them on sight), and hope that those watching the security cameras have had a heavy lunch (a big ask in the North, where malnutrition is the norm). It is a risk, many end up regretting.
My wife (who is Korean) has actually been to the North, way back in 2003 when relations between the two countries were better. In those days, South Korean multinationals like Hyundai were organising entertainment events in the North’s capital, Pyongyang, and she spent the best part of a week there, working as a celebrity stylist.
The picture she paints is bleak. Before embarking, she was given a two-hour training course on how to behave in the North. She was advised not to leave the hotel (which sold 10-year-old snacks); to be extremely careful in what she said (western words are a red flag), and essentially, not to talk to anyone.
Upon arrival at the border, she was transported on an old bus, along roads without asphalt or concrete. She described the capital as an odd contrast between the relative opulence of old Mercedes cars and Sanyo radios, and the grinding poverty of most of the North’s 26M people. The people, she notes, are a little thin, dressed in hamboks (traditional Korean dress) or working clothes, and completely devoid of enthusiasm in their work – not much of a surprise, when the government simply takes everything you make.
But it was her overall sense of the place which is so sad: she tells me that the buildings have no colour, just an ash grey (colour apparently is generally reserved for Dear Leader), and that an overwhelming sense of despair is palpable.
So the case of Kim Woo-joo, who defected from the North 16 months ago is nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that is, until he decided to make the reverse journey in January, and return to his homeland. On the surface, this may appear borderline insane. Kim will knowingly face possible incarceration, torture and even death – and that’s assuming he survives the journey. And yet, he is one of a growing number of North Korean defectors who have become disillusioned with life in the South. In fact, an estimated 18% of current defectors want to go home. How can this be?
One of the major factors which contributes to an unhappy life for North Koreans, is ironically their improved financial situation. While the government subsidies in Korea are nothing like those offered by Britain; in a low-tax country like South Korea where the welfare state is almost an unknown quantity, they are extremely generous. Yet, it is the relative situation which seems crucial – back home, everyone is equally poor; in South Korea, defectors feel exclusively poor.
Another major issue is the treatment they receive in South Korea. Upon arrival, they are faced with a 3-month debrief / re-education program; initially to determine whether or not they are spies, and instruction on how to adjust to life in a free society. This is no simple task. Even the most successful North Koreans talk bitterly about the problems adjusting to a ragingly competitive nation, when your life has always been run by the state. The language too, takes years to fully master, being as it littered with western influence (Konglish) and dialects which are almost impossible for North Koreans to understand.
Perhaps worst of all, is the overwhelming sense of isolation that North Koreans often feel. Kim for instance, was a gymnast back home, but a night-time cleaner in the South, where he had no friends. For all their many virtues (and I mean that sincerely), South Koreans can be brutally honest. I have been in restaurants before where the waitress will struggle with the order, and my colleagues would comment rather too loudly as she leaves, ‘She’s from North Korea.’
One of the things it takes a long time to realise as a foreigner in South Korea, is that no matter who you are or where you come from, you are a second-class citizen. It’s a subtle distinction, but over time it grinds on you. I don’t just mean that in a practical sense: you can’t vote, you get no furlough during the pandemic, and the police won’t respond to you properly. I mean in a more emotional sense: Koreans call their homeland Our Country – there was a time when that phrase spoke for North Koreans too, but I believe that time has passed.
It is perhaps for these three reasons that life for North Korean defectors is so miserable, even in a free country. Their income is way below that of South Koreans. They have high rates of unemployment, alcoholism and depression (47% report experiencing mental anguish). South Korea already has a high suicide rate, but for North Korean defectors, it accounts for 15% of deaths, three times the national average.
One of the saddest things I noticed when researching this piece, is the clear generational shift which has taken place. While my middle-aged friends and colleagues are still very sympathetic to defectors, that sympathy has not filtered down to millennials. Those my age still have strong connections with family members who remember the war, but the young do not. Despite the fact that defectors number a few hundred per year, the young increasingly view them as tax thieves, usurping the jobs and opportunities which ought rightfully to be theirs.
Back in the 1980’s defectors were welcomed with fanfare in South Korea. Famous cases, like that of Kim Man Cheol, a doctor who escaped North Korea with a family of 11, were something to celebrate. And while there are still success stories of North Koreans who escaped to the West, like Jihyun Park who told The New Conservative of her burgeoning political career in the UK, they are less frequent.
Nowadays, the situation is less fanfare and more caution. One issue, is the growing concern of North Korean spies, who are undoubtedly a genuine feature of the landscape. These fears have not been helped by the recent case of Chun Hye-sung (or Im Ji Hyun, as she was known in South Korea). Chun became a celebrity in the South in 2017, and was a regular feature of talk shows, until she suddenly disappeared back home. Many South Koreans believe she simply ran up debts and fled, or was a spy. Alternative reports are that she was abducted by North Korean authorities. In actual fact, she may just have been homesick. According to her boyfriend, she fully intended to return home, cutting her hair short (a clear sign of intent) before disappearing.
Cases like Chun’s, highlight the extreme complexities of life in South Korea for defectors. And because of each nation’s propaganda machines working full-blast, gauging what is truly going on is a minefield. Double defectors are paraded by North Korean television as the ultimate coup – ‘Look how good your life is when you don’t have any choice’ it seems to say. On the other hand, South Korea quite understandably needs to protect its citizens from possible northern interference, but is also desperate to save face. The government’s estimate of a mere 30 double defectors for instance, is a ludicrous understatement.
The great tragedy for North Korean defectors, is that life back home for some may actually be better. The choice between North and South is not quite Scylla and Charybdis, but a rock and a hard place, certainly. The harsh reality for defectors, is that they face a life oscillating between mistrust, resentment as a tax burden, and indifference. South Koreans do not have hearts of stone, but there is of course only so much they can do to assimilate those who are now, almost 70 years on from the Korean War, genuinely from a foreign country.
My own take, for what it’s worth, is that there is some truth to the hackneyed saying, ‘home is where the heart is’. No matter how awful – we all need somewhere to belong to, and we get no choice where that place is. For many defectors, South Korea simply does not fulfil that sense of belonging.
This piece was first published in the spring edition of The Salisbury Review, and is reproduced here by kind permission.
