Meet Charles - A North Korean Living in the United States
Charles escaped from North Korea and made the dangerous journey through China without the help of a rescue network. We met Charles after he resettled in the United States and were able to connect him with Coding Dojo, a coding boot camp and Liberty in North Korea partner, that generously provides free programming education to North Koreans. We've become great friends with Charles and recently he was excited to share his story with you.
My name is Charles. I was born on October 1st, 1994. I grew up without the love of my parents because my father left us when I was five years old and my mother passed away six years later from starvation. For years, I had to figure out how to live alone. I begged for food from strangers on the street, battling starvation and freezing weather. One day my stepbrother came to find me and take me in. I lived with him for a while and when I was 14 years old he brought me to my father in China. Life was so much better in China and I remember thinking there would be no more starvation and no more begging for a place to sleep.
Yet nine months later, the Chinese police came to our house and arrested my family.
We begged the Chinese police to let us go but they wouldn’t listen. Instead, we were kept in a Chinese jail for two weeks. It was when I was sent back to North Korea after this two week period that I realized that no happiness existed any longer -- the happiness that I had felt had been only temporary. The North Korean government questioned me, abused me, and forced me to work as punishment even though I was only sixteen.
Each meal consisted of a single piece of corn.
After eight months, I was finally released. I was just skin and bones - I had almost starved to death.
Without any money, I knew I had to find work. I began working in a coal mine which allowed me to buy rice to eat. Work in the coal mine was very risky -- I saw people lose their arms and legs as they were smashed under the rocks. I was afraid and I couldn’t help thinking that I would soon lose an arm or a leg myself. After working in the mine for a year, I realized I couldn’t stay in North Korea any longer. I knew how long and hard escaping North Korea would be without money or food, and I understood that if I was caught I could be killed. But I wanted to take these risks instead of continue working at the coal mine. I knew I could leave - I just needed to be brave.
My journey began when I boarded a train to take me closer to the border of China and North Korea. I was riding illegally and though I managed to hide during most of the ride I was at one point caught by the train security without my birth certificate. They locked me in a room with plans to kick me off at the next stop. I felt every piece of hope inside of me break because I knew they would send me to jail. Then, as the train slowed, I realized that I might be able to escape through the window.
With my heart pounding in my throat I opened the window and jumped out.
Still, I had more to go. I walked for hours, illegally boarded a second train, and then, finally, I was at the border of China and North Korea.
I remember feeling excitement and happiness when I reached the border, but I also felt worry because I knew I had to cross the Tumen River. The land surrounding the river had constant security and if I was caught I would be shot. I hid in tall grass for six hours, waiting for darkness. Finally, I took a deep breath and stepped into the water. I was halfway across when the river picked up. I almost fell and in my fear I let out a scream before I could catch myself.
Suddenly, I felt a light on my head. A border guard screamed, “Come back here or we'll shoot you.”
I was terrified, and I thought I would never make it because the current kept pulling me under, but I just kept swimming. At last, I made it to the river’s shore.
My journey did not end when I got to China. I traveled by foot, van, bus, motorcycle, and boat. My shoes fell apart and my feet bruised and bled. I went for days without food and water and there were times when I wanted to give up. I cried many days until I couldn’t cry anymore because I was too dehydrated. When I made it to my father’s house, I expected him to welcome me, but he beat me and asked me why I had come to him. I saw that he did not want me. He asked me to leave and he sent me away with his first wife. Together, his wife and I escaped the eyes of many police officers and finally made it to Southeast Asia where I was safe. For months I stayed in a Korean embassy refugee camp and then an international refugee camp where I was finally helped to come to the United States.
In those months and years when I was struggling to survive, my dreams and hopes for a better life kept me going.
I told myself every day that I could make it better -- that one day, somehow, I would change my life, and I kept dreaming about this life. Eventually, I realized that I couldn’t just wait for this dream of a better life to come true -- I had to make it happen.
_____Charles has shared his incredible story at many events to help grow the movement of support for the North Korean people. We are honored to be able to work with him and we are grateful to you for making it all possible! Thank you.
Returning Home to a Free North Korea | A Glimpse of Reunification in 2045
By: Eunsook Jang
Eunsook is a 2024 LiNK US Scholarship grantee, a Fulbright Scholar, and a North Korean defector pursuing a master’s degree in international development at Brandeis University, where she focuses on post-conflict, economic, and human development. She holds a bachelor’s degree in political science and international peace from Korea University.
In the spring of 2045, on a flight from Incheon to Pyongyang, Emma's hands tremble. Her husband Sam reaches over and, steadily, holds them without a word. She turns to the window and stares into the pale clouds below the wing.
“I’ve waited 30 years for this day,” she whispers. “But now that I’m here… it doesn’t feel real. I hope this isn’t a dream.”
“Maybe it’s both,” Sam replies. “The dream became real.”
She closes her eyes. In 2015, at just fifteen years old, she crossed the frozen Yalu River in a dark March morning, leaving without saying a proper goodbye to her mother. That guilt, its intensity, has never faded, not even after thirty years. It simply learns to live quietly beside her.
“Will Mom recognize me?” she asks. “We parted when I was fifteen. I’m forty-five now.”
“She will,” Sam answers. “How could a mother not recognize her daughter?”
Emma says nothing. Will I... be able to recognize her? She does not say it aloud this time.
An announcement comes through the cabin speakers: "This is the first return flight for North Korean defectors to their hometowns. We know how much you have endured. We will carry you safely home."
It is a rare moment of comfort from a South Korean voice. Moments later, the plane lifts into the sky.
An hour later, the plane lands in Pyongyang. Emma weeps quietly, overwhelmed by the thought that across so short a distance, lives in the South and the North had been so utterly, irreconcilably different. For thirty years, she had not been able to cross it, that gap, so small.
From Pyongyang, the journey to Hyesan continues by bus. As the skyline of Pyongyang passes past the window, its taller buildings, its broad avenues, Emma allows herself the fragile hope: perhaps Hyesan has developed too.
After five hours on the road, the bus arrives at Hyesan Station. The apartments and the lay of the land are almost entirely unchanged from when she had left thirty years earlier, as if time had refused to move, as if it had been waiting for her. Emma found herself hoping the same might be true of her mother.
A thirty minutes' walk from the station: that is where her mother's house is.
As if drawn by a magnet, her feet start moving on their own.
Sam asks if they are going the right way. Without hesitation, "Yes," Emma replies. "I used to walk this road every day as a child. It’s still in my body."
He points to a bus queue down the street. "There's a bus queue over there. Want to take it part of the way?" She shakes her head gently. "If you don't mind, I'd like to walk." "Then we’ll walk," he replies without hesitation. Emma feels another surge of gratitude, grips on his arm and follows her memory home.
Since Emma left her hometown in 2015, the North Korean regime has conducted ten more nuclear tests as of 2045. And yet the face of this neighborhood has not changed by a single detail. The freedom and human rights that should have been the people's return on those tests have been vaporized into the air.
They arrive at a fork in the road. To the left, an alley leads toward the house. A familiar-looking house comes into view, enclosed by a wooden fence. She stops and stands motionless. It is the house, it is her house.
Several minutes pass. Then the door opens. Emma feels her breath catch. For a second, she forgets how to move.
After thirty years, she is here.
This is what the micropolitics of reunification looks like. Grand narratives, speeches, and legal texts may provide its official language, but its lived realities lie in moments, in feelings, like this: a mother and daughter recognizing each other after thirty years apart.
Author’s note: I dedicate this piece to my father in South Korea, who has never once wavered in encouraging my studies, as if realizing through me the freedom to pursue the dreams that were taken from him. And to my mother, who remains in North Korea: This piece is my proof that your daughter has not turned away from your suffering, but is working, in her own small way, to fight against it. I hope to see you, even if only in my dreams tonight. I love and miss you beyond my expression.
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Eunsook is a participant of the LiNK English Language Program (LELP), which serves to not only help North Korean defectors build confidence and skills in English, but develop their capacity as advocates for this issue. To that end, we partnered with select LELP “columnists” to write and polish personal essays through multiple rounds of external feedback and revision. Our goal is to have more North Koreans share their stories directly and lead efforts to change the narrative.
We believe the North Korean people can achieve their liberty in our lifetime.
Opportunities like LELP invest in the people building that future now. Help more North Koreans find their voice, reach their goals, and lead change on this issue.
