Women in North Korea: At the Forefront of Social and Political Change
By Lindsey Miller
Lindsey Miller is a musical director, award-winning composer, author, and photographer originally from Glasgow, Scotland. From 2017-2019, she lived in Pyongyang, North Korea, while accompanying her husband on a diplomatic posting. For Women’s History Month, she shares a rare glimpse into the experiences of North Korean women, who are finding ways to live life on their own terms despite the circumstances.
Her name is Min Jeong*.
She’s bright, funny and has a dry and cutting sense of humour that rivals that of any professional stand-up comedian. The kind that makes you worry for the heckler in the front row.
‘Why do you keep singing? You’re terrible at singing!’ she says with a straight face to the regular punters at The Beer House, a bar in Pyongyang, before taking their glass and kindly refilling it. ‘And don’t wear those shoes, they’re ugly.’ The other punters burst out laughing while Min Jeong allows a slight silly smile to make its way across the corner of her mouth. That’s the thing about Min Jeong, she has a magnetic and honest energy about her. It was refreshing in a place where simple honesty and truthfulness felt so packed down.
Min Jeong and I spent a fair bit of time together over the two years I lived in Pyongyang. I would go to the bar mainly to just talk to her and spend time with her. She was interesting. She loved hair accessories and jewellery – an increasingly common way for North Korean women to explore self-expression. I’d show her photographs of me and tell her about my different outfits while she’d rate them. I didn’t fare very well in her opinion. I often gave her my wedding or engagement ring to try on and she’d pose with them, comparing them to other things she’d seen foreigners wear. She’d tell me about the cosmetics that she liked to wear and make herself.
One of her favourite things was a face mask which I remember involving eggs. I never tried it but she swore by it, telling me how important it was to look after my skin and reminding me that there was nothing more important than my health. Min Jeong was very bright and regularly bounced between speaking in Korean, fluent English and often Mandarin. She loved animals and we spent a lot of time looking at photographs of dogs on our phones.
Min Jeong was in her early thirties and unmarried. She’d twirl her half-tied-back beautiful shiny black hair in her fingers while telling me about how much her parents were desperate for her to ‘find a boy’. She wasn’t interested and she didn’t have much time given that she only had one day ‘off’ a week which would have been taken up in part by state-enforced self-criticism sessions among other things. Having gone on many dates, the outcomes of which she summarised with a simple wrinkled nose, she seemed to be quite content being single. It was an attitude which I was surprised to learn was shared by a couple of Pyongyang female urban elite whom I met; women who spoke openly about their lack of desire to have children, who wanted to pursue a career. This directly contradicted my understanding of North Korean women’s experiences.
But I forgot that the experience of women is diverse and North Korea is no exception.
It’s very easy to think that North Korea isn’t changing but that is not the case. To say that there have been no social changes in the country would be insulting to the creativity, tenacity and drive of the North Korean people, particularly women who continue to be a major driving force of change. Driven by necessity following the devastating famine in the 90s, ordinary women had to become more economically independent in order to survive. While North Korean men were chained to jobs in faceless party offices, women had the time to create their own economic opportunities which could feed their families and keep them alive. Even now, in spite of living in a country gripped by widespread and pervasive human rights abuses including the most extreme forms of sexual and gender-based violence, women are often the breadwinners, women are the ones driving the private markets, women are the ones winning back more agency over their own lives and futures.
I only had to go to Tongil Market to see it for myself. Every vendor standing behind every one of the stalls laid out in long rows across the indoor market hall was a woman. Every staff member taking payments from the vendors for selling in the venue was a woman. The people counting the money in the cash exchange office were women. The people unloading sacks of vegetables and meat were women. Most of the customers were women.
Through having no choice but to fight to survive, North Korean women have driven changes that few could have predicted would last.
I sit at the bar and Min Jeong passes me a cup of black tea. She starts to scroll through her phone and goes back into her own world. I think about what is going through her mind and all the things she is experiencing but cannot talk about. I think about the millions of other North Korean women with names, voices and stories to tell; who we, on the outside of North Korea, will never get to meet. I think about the world who will never get to meet this generous, kind, extraordinary woman in front of me - my friend.
Min Jeong lifts her head and looks at me,
‘You really shouldn’t wear those shoes, Lindsey. They’re awful.’ She waits a moment and that same slight silly smile starts to creep across the corner of her mouth. ‘I’m kidding. They’re only a little better than yesterday’s.’
Lindsey Miller shares more extraordinary photos and stories from North Korea in her debut book, “North Korea: Like Nowhere Else," a testament to the hidden humanity and dynamism of the people. She also joined LiNK for a virtual Q&A in 2021 and continues to be a friend and advocate for this issue!
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*Name has been changed to protect the privacy and safety of the individual
My Name Is Loh Kiwan | Fictional Story, Real Lives
From a crumpled piece of paper, he copies his name onto the Application for Recognition of Refugee status. The letters flow together in neat, sloping script to spell–Loh Kiwan.
This seemingly mundane declaration of identity serves as the focal point of Netflix’s recently released movie, My Name is Loh Kiwan. Showcasing the titular character’s past and present struggles as a North Korean defector seeking asylum in Belgium, the film follows Kiwan’s journey through both hope and heartbreak while he fights for a new life in freedom. He shows unimaginable resilience in the face of tragedy, betrayal, and bureaucratic apathy, carving out a place where he can live as himself, for himself.
Though based on a fictional novel, Loh Kiwan’s story captures the real life experiences of many North Korean refugees. Whether it be the harrowing circumstances of his escape, the subsequent challenges Kiwan faces while applying for asylum, or even the emotional turmoil of contending with his trauma, My Name is Loh Kiwan derives its drama from reality when depicting the struggles of North Korean defectors.
Uprooted by an act of defiance that saves his friend’s life, Kiwan and his mother escape across the border to China and live there under constant threat of arrest and forced repatriation. With no legal status as refugees and no legal options for leaving the country without government approval, North Korean defectors in China are exceptionally vulnerable to trafficking and exploitation. They live in the shadows, concealing their identities as best they can, despite cultural and language barriers. If captured and returned to their home country, they are subject to brutal torture, imprisonment, and execution. Rather than face such inhumanity, many see suicide as a final escape and carry poison or razor blades with them, much like Kiwan and his mother.
It is ultimately his mother’s sacrifice that saves Kiwan from such a fate. Her death forces him into a position nearly every North Korean refugee recognizes–having to leave behind friends, family, and loved ones with aborted goodbyes for the sake of everyone’s safety and survival. Kiwan’s only material connection to his mother is a photo and a wallet full of blood. In reality, most leave with even less than that.
Not wanting to incriminate the people close to them if they are caught trying to escape, most North Korean refugees forgo any identifying documents or proof of their existence. They take only the bare essentials for survival, not knowing that their arrival in a new country is only the beginning of their journey, or even if they'll make it.
But this is not the narrative Liberty in North Korea believes in. No North Korean person should have to endure the struggles or celebrate the successes of resettlement alone. Much like the assistance Kiwan later receives from an advocacy group that offers legal support and a community of other North Koreans, LiNK walks with our North Korean friends on their journey to freedom. And when they begin new lives, we support their success, amplify their voices, cultivate more leaders and changemakers working on this issue together.
In this, Kiwan’s story reflects yet another reality of the North Korean people. Not only do they encounter extraordinary hardships, but also, they face them with extraordinary strength. Throughout the film, Kiwan persists in his pursuit of an earnest, honest life. Despite setbacks and situations where he’s forced into hurt or hiding, he stays true to his mother’s wish for him to live well, and in doing so, inspires the people around him to do the same.
He finds hope, love, and freedom in others, but most importantly, in himself. When placed on trial to prove his identity before the court, Loh Kiwan proclaims the name his mother gave him.
Owning one’s identity as a North Korean person is not always easy. From the start of their escape, they are forced to hide. Once they reach freedom, the stigma and prejudice people hold towards their homeland pressures many to erase their accent or change their name–sometimes as a form of self-protection, other times as a way to fit in.
What Kiwan’s story shows, however, is that there is hope at the end of hiding. There is beauty in the simple, everyday life he longs for–a life where he can work for himself and share meals with friends, have a home, have a future, and have the choice to stay or go.
This is the life the North Korean people deserve, and every day, both within the country and without, they fight towards a better future. Their courage and indomitable spirit are not just figments of fiction. With your help, their freedom will become a reality.
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