Why some North Korean defectors return to one of the world's most repressive regimes
Why some North Korean defectors return to one of the world's most repressive regimes
Updated 0006 GMT (0806 HKT) February 19, 2022
Seoul, South Korea (CNN)He risked his life fleeing from one of the world's most repressive regimes, traversing a militarized stretch protected by barbed wire fences. Then a year later, he went back -- the way he came.
More
than one month since the man crossed the demilitarized zone from South
to North Korea, much of his life in both countries remains a mystery --
as do his reasons for returning to the isolated nation ruled by Kim Jong
Un.
South
Korean media reported that the defector -- who hasn't been officially
named, although fellow defectors say he was called Kim Woo-jeong in
South Korea -- was a former gymnast who largely kept to himself.
According to South Korean police, he was a construction worker in his
30s who earned money by doing manual labor.
The
man's case is rare -- while more than 10,000 North Korean defectors
have arrived in South Korea in the past decade, just 30 have returned
home, where they face the prospect of being put into forced labor camps,
according to official South Korean data.
But
defectors and advocates say even if the man's rationale for leaving
South Korea is unclear, the fact that some North Korean defectors are
willing to return to one of the world's most politically isolated
countries only highlights how challenging life can be in the South for
North Koreans.
Why people defect
Since the Korean War ended with an armistice in 1953, North and South Korea have been separated by an almost impenetrable border preventing anyone from crossing to the other side.
Over
subsequent decades, South Korea has modernized, becoming one of the
world's richest and most technologically developed countries. Meanwhile,
North Korea has become increasingly isolated, with citizens subject to
widespread poverty and limited basic freedoms.
So it isn't hard to see why people may want to escape.
Since
1998, more than 33,000 people have defected from North Korea to South
Korea, according to South Korea's Unification Ministry. However, numbers
have dwindled in recent years after Kim imposed even tougher border
controls to prevent Covid inflows.
On
very rare occasions, defectors -- like the former gymnast -- manage to
escape through the heavily guarded demilitarized zone separating North
and South Korea. The vast majority, like defector Kang Chun-hyuk, flee
over North Korea's lengthy border with China.
Kang's family made the trip in 1998 when he was 12 years old, before finally making it to South Korea a few years later.
In North Korea, Kang remembers barely having enough food to survive.
Sometimes, his family would make a single portion of dry noodles into a meal that would feed him and his parents for a week.
"It wasn't worth going to school, so me and my classmates stole food like corn or potatoes," he said.
According
to a survey of 3,000 people released this year by the North Korean
Refugees Foundation, food shortages are one of the most common
motivations for defection, with nearly 22% saying that was why they had
defected. The most common reason given -- at 23% -- was that people
didn't like being controlled or monitored by the North Korean regime.
Once
they arrive in South Korea, there are measures in place to support
them. Defectors undergo a compulsory, 12-week education session to help
them adjust to life in their new home. They're given financial support
and accommodation, and access to health care and employment services.
But even so, life for defectors is often a struggle.
Finding work and fitting in
Before
Kang Na-ra -- no relation to Kang Chun-hyuk -- defected in 2014 as a
teenager, she thought her life in South Korea would mirror the K-dramas
she watched in secret in the city of Chongjin.
But South Korea was a far cry from the romantic world she'd seen on screen.
Kang
Na-ra's mother defected before her -- she does not want to say why --
but their life together in South Korea was not what she'd hoped.
Her
mother worked long hours and was often away from home dancing in a
North Korean defectors performing group to make ends meet. Although Kang
Na-ra spoke the same language, she was lonely and had few friends in
South Korea.
Another
defector, who asked not to be named or further identified for fear of
repercussions for his family remaining in North Korea, said he also
struggled with culture shock when he defected a few years ago -- even
bright and colorful signs and the abundance of English words used in
language in South Korea made him feel uncomfortable.
"You don't see things like that in North Korea," said the defector. "I didn't like many things in South Korea at first."
He also said many defectors found it difficult to get a job.
Statistics for 2020
released last year by South Korea's Unification Ministry found
defectors had a higher unemployment rate than the general population,
with 9.4% of defectors unemployed, compared with 4% of the general
population in December 2020.
"Getting
a good job is important, but even South Koreans who are raised and
educated here find it difficult to get a decent job," he said. "You can
imagine how hard it can be for North Korean defectors."
Kang
Chun-hyuk's family was given a flat by the government when they made it
to South Korea in 2001 after three years in China. But his thick North
Korean accent made it hard for him to fit in at school and he dropped
out. He worked in manual labor until he was 25 years old, unsure if he
would be able to ever do anything else.
For
others, the struggle to adjust and find work can have deadly
consequences. In 2019, North Korean defector Han Sang-ok was found dead
in her apartment with her 6-year-old son after she failed to pay her
bills for months.
A
water meter inspector noticed a foul smell coming from the apartment
and called the police, who found two heavily decomposed bodies and an
empty fridge, leading the police officer to note starvation as the
suspected cause of death.
Separation pains
But not all defectors have dreams of a bright life in South Korea.
Kim Ryon-hui is a rare case of a defector who arrived almost by accident.
The
54-year-old, who lived a relatively upscale life in North Korea, went
to China in 2011 to visit relatives and seek medical care for liver
disease. But when she arrived, she found Chinese doctors wanted payment
upfront.
Kim
said a broker told her Chinese people often went to South Korea to earn
money. So, she signed up for a journey to South Korea and left her
North Korean passport with the broker group -- not realizing that meant
she would never be able to return home.
Kim
feels hostility from South Koreans, especially when North Korea's
leader fires missiles. She told CNN she struggled to adapt to a
capitalist society governed by market pressures and to understand what
she sees as a dog-eat-dog world.
"It's like we're oil and South Korea is water, so we can't mix," she said.
That's
a common sentiment for defectors. According to the North Korean
Refugees Foundation survey, while most people are happy in South Korea
because they can live a free life and earn relative to how much they
work, many are unhappy with the level of intense competition.
But
the hardest part for Kim is the separation from her family. South
Korean law prevents any communication with people in North Korea and
South Koreans cannot travel there. Unless Kim sneaks back into North
Korea, or the two Koreas reach a peace agreement, she has little chance
of seeing her family again.
Kim
last saw her daughter when she was 17 -- now her daughter is 28. Kim is
only able to communicate with her family through journalists who take
letters and gifts for her to North Korea, but that hasn't been possible
since North Korea closed its borders due to the Covid-19 pandemic in 2020.
"It's
scary to be alone," she said. "When I see lights on in other apartments
in the evening, I imagine families having dinner together. That's the
saddest and loneliest feeling."
Why defectors return
Despite
the difficulties of being in South Korea, the vast majority stay put.
For most, that's because the benefits of staying in South Korea are far
greater than the risks they face if they return.
Seo
Jae-pyeong, the director of the Association of the North Korean
Defectors, defected in 2001. In the 20 years he's lived in South Korea,
he's only known one defector personally who returned to North Korea.
She was a doctor with a family back in North Korea who didn't realize her brother was bringing her to South Korea, he said.
"She didn't have a reason to defect and she couldn't get used to life in South Korea," Seo said.
He
questioned how many of the 30 defectors who returned to North Korea had
left of their own free will. He said some may have been blackmailed or
kidnapped near the border between China and North Korea.
Others might have had major financial difficulties that left them with few other choices.
Lee
Na-kyung, a defector activist for single parents and people with
disabilities from the North, said by the time many defectors arrive in
South Korea they already have major debts to brokers who helped them
cross the border.
Some
defectors pay their government settlement money to the brokers, and
then sink further into debt as they struggle to find work, according to
Lee, who defected from North Korea in 2005 after her husband was framed
for a crime she says he didn't commit.
For
some, the hardship of life in South Korea doesn't meet their
expectations. She knows of one man who was a high-ranking military
officer in North Korea who could only find work in a junkyard in South
Korea. "He said that he would rather die at home instead of dying as a
junkman," she said.
What next?
A month after the gymnast Kim crossed back into North Korea, it's unclear whether he is still alive.
Although
the South Korean military spotted him on surveillance footage crossing
the barbed wires into the demilitarized zone, they failed to stop him,
the South Korean military's Joint Chiefs of Staff chairman Won In-choul
said in a briefing in January.
He
was seen four times on security camera on the south side of the border,
and once after he crossed the Military Demarcation Line.
At
one point, soldiers mistook him for a defector coming from the North.
At another point, they went to find him. Later, they found no trace of
him except a feather caught on a wire that they suspected had come from
his puffer jacket.
There
were "no unusual movements" of the North Korean military over the
incident, South Korea's Defense Ministry spokesman Boo Seung-chan said
last month at another briefing.
And
while North Korean state media has crowed about past defectors
returning home, there has been no mention of last month's defector in
state news publications.
For
those in South Korea, it's a reminder that the country's policies to
help defectors could still be improved. Last week, the South Korean
government announced it was launching a new team to improve the safety
of defectors, noting that despite its current efforts, some defectors
were still "experiencing difficulties settling into our society."
But
defector advocates were dubious about how effective those new steps
would be, pointing out that support measures are in place -- they just
don't work.
Even defectors who appear to have successfully made their transition sometimes struggle with the pull back to North Korea.
Two
years after she defected, Kang Na-ra told her mother she wanted to go
back. But she didn't want to risk her life after going through so much
to get to South Korea.
Now
Kang, 25, is a television personality and YouTuber with more than
300,000 subscribers who watch her clips about life in North Korea. Her
income is unstable, but at least she's enjoying life.
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