Long Road Home: Testimony of a North Korean Camp Survivor (20 page)

If the search inside the camp yielded no results, only then would a search outside the camp begin. The camp officials would call border security, inform them of the missing prisoner, and wait for an all-points-bulletin search to be approved by the NSA. It took about fifteen days from the moment camp authorities started an outside search to the moment photos had been distributed nationwide. This meant I would have roughly twenty days to flee North Korea after leaving the camp. I had long since calculated my time line while contemplating escape. Now that I had done it, my clock started ticking. I knew I did not have much time. But in order to continue, I had to get some help and replenish my energy. Since leaving the camp, I had eaten nothing. In such condition, I would collapse on the road. So I had to get to Cheongjin as soon as possible.

Old Friends

By North Korean standards, my friend G was relatively well off. He had worked for a chemical factory and headed the department in charge of transporting medicine throughout Northern Hamkyeong province for twenty years. All the medicine and medical equipment had to go through his department to be distributed to anyone—high or low in social standing, rich or poor, old or young—in the province. When international organizations donated medicine or medical equipment, it all went to a warehouse in Hoe-ryeong that stored war supplies. G was also in charge of that warehouse. He would distribute medicine with close expiration dates to military hospitals and then restock from new supplies of donated materials, mostly from the United Nations, in the warehouse. The goods piled up in there rarely went to the people who needed them. G had access to pure alcohol, which he diluted with water and other drinks to make spirits. He would present this blend to bribe local party members to secure favors or sell it in the marketplace for cash. So even though his job was not a high-ranking position, he wielded power like a party official and was generally on good terms with the townspeople.

Back in the Revolutionary School days, we had been very close, and we became even closer after we joined the volunteers’ group to work on the port construction in Cheongjin. Then we were so young and enthusiastic, greatly concerned with how to reassure our father, the Great Leader Kim Il-sung, about the project. Soon after we arrived in Cheongjin, G fell in love. The girl was a beauty who had also recently come to town as a film projectionist. Among 1,500-odd men, there were only 100 women working on the construction project. Most of them worked in cafeterias and stores, but no matter who they were and what they did, there was huge competition to get a date with any of them. But despite such an unequal gender ratio and the subsequent popularity any girl enjoyed, the film projectionist stood out as elegantly as a snow-white crane among the others. It was impossible not to have noticed her. G had to act fast if he wanted to get her, but the competition was too stiff. As a close friend, I decided to assist my friend’s dating efforts and deterred everyone else from approaching her. Once I’d terrorized the potential suitors, I moved on to act as a matchmaker between the two. Soon after, the girl became pregnant and they got married. She was 21 and he was only 19. Every time I visited the couple, we had a fabulous time together. Even after I left Cheongjin for Kim Chaek Technological Institute in 1970, I remained a close friend and even a family member. The couple had twin boys who played Ping-Pong so well that they often visited Pyongyang for national matches. They always stayed with me and regarded me as an uncle. When they served in the military in their twenties, they would often visit me and take home all kinds of goods for their superiors or their own consumption. So I was convinced that I could trust G’s wife while hiding in their house.

From 1988 to 1990, I had worked on another port construction project in the Rajin-Seonbong area, which bordered the Russian town of Khasan at the far northeast end of the Korean peninsula and was supposed to receive lumber that North Korean laborers sent from Siberia. There I had a chance to work with my friend again. At a glance, I could see that he was financially struggling. So I presented his family with a new TV set and a sewing machine, which were highly coveted items in North Korea; this was probably equivalent to giving someone a new car as a present elsewhere. He was so grateful that he wanted to give me whatever cash he had, but I refused to take any money from a friend. He said he would not forget it, and he kept his promise. When he saw my indescribably tortured face and body in rags on his doorstep, he must have realized instantly that I was in deep trouble. But he did not ask me any questions. I simply told him that I had been unlucky with the auditors at my workplace. He said nothing. I did not tell him about the camp, because everyone in North Korea knew that prisoners simply did not escape from there. Although he was an extremely close friend, I would be asking too much if I asked him to protect a political prisoner who was on the run.

For slightly more than a week, he and his family took care of me as best as they could, making me feel comfortable and serving me food so that I could recover some strength. But like everywhere else in North Korea, everyone was watching one another, so there would be visitors from the leaders of the neighborhood committee. During the time I was hiding at his place, there were a couple of visitors. G emptied his closet and let me hide in it whenever they came. I crawled into a tiny space like I had in the train and silently waited for them to leave. G often took the guests to the opposite side of the room so that they would not detect my presence by any chance. While I was hiding at G’s I thought about what my next move would be. Time was running out, and I had to make a decision soon. After much contemplation, I decided to escape to Russia. Back when I worked in the National Security Agency, I had been to Russian towns across the border a few times to sign trade documents, so I was familiar with the region. By the time the all-points-bulletin search was about to be issued, I had decided to go again to Rajin-Seonbong. The area was a special economic zone, and entrance required a special permit. Since G was the head of the distribution department, he had one. He visited several times a month and knew most of the security guards at the checkpoints. The guards asked him favors, to get them all kinds of medicines and vitamins, every time he drove by. G let me hide in a tank that he would load with carbide in Rajin-Seonbong. It was a three-hour drive from Cheongjin. I breathed through a rubber pipe attached to a gas mask I was wearing. G had secured it from a warehouse where medical supplies were stored. I gasped for air, but more importantly, I was cautious not to be detected by security guards who checked the truck twice on the road. Hiding in the tank was a good idea since it was marked with red letters indicating
DANGER, EXPLOSIVE MATERIALS
, and no guards bothered to check inside. We departed at night, and by the time we had passed all the security checkpoints and arrived in the border region, it was pitch dark. G stopped the truck by the Duman River and let me out of the tank. Before our departure he had given me a survival kit consisting of 6 pounds of dried cornmeal, 500
won
,
¹
a military flask made of rubber filled with drinking water, cough medicine, and a breathing tube for swimming across to Russia.

But the river that divided North Korea and Russia turned out to be wider than I had imagined, and the water temperature in November was too cold for anyone to swim. It was on the verge of freezing. So I had to change plans and go to Unggi, a rural town close to the Sino-Korean border. I would wait there until the water froze and I could cross on the ice. G led me to another mutual friend of ours named W. The three of us had become very close when working on the port construction project. One time we found a floating radio sent from South Korea and together we listened to a South Korean radio program. This was illegal and dangerous, and we made a pledge to keep it among us. Since that episode we had been friends who shared a secret. W also asked me no questions when he saw me. He lived in a border town, so it must have been obvious why I had to travel all the way up to the Sino-Korean border. I could not tell him of my plans, nor could he ask me about them. As a close friend, he was determined to help me no matter what the circumstances were, and it was easier not knowing the details. As old friends reunited, the three of us sat down together at W’s dilapidated house, which looked more like a hut. We drank and wept bitterly that night. We celebrated our good memories and wept at the possibility of not seeing one another again.

“No matter what happens in the future, I promise I won’t betray you. I cannot promise anything else, but I will never betray you,” I told them, swallowing tears.

“I also promise not to betray you.”

“I won’t betray you either.”

In our hearts, we were back to the old days when we were closer than brothers tied by blood, but our circumstances were about to separate us forever. We could not say anything further but wept all night.

For three days I stayed at W’s house. Like most North Koreans in 1999, W was poor. He made his living by raising pigs and selling them to the government for corn, on which his entire family survived. Because famine was prevalent in North Korea, he could not leave the pigsty unguarded at night, so in addition to putting three large locks on the gate, he built a small room under the roof and above the sty and slept there every night, away from his family, guarding the only source of his livelihood. I volunteered to guard the pigs while hiding and spent three nights there. But I could not stay at his place too long. Even though it was a rural area with a small population, for that precise reason, I could be easily spotted. So I bid farewell to W and headed out toward the uncertain future.

Uninvited Guest

Soon after leaving W’s house, I bumped into an old acquaintance on the street. I had met him some thirty years before, in 1970, when we belonged to the same military sports team. Despite the long years that separated us, we recognized each other immediately. He was glad to have run into me and told me that he was earning hard currency in a trading department for the military unit in the region. This was the kind of job I used to have before my downfall. I was more concerned than glad to have been recognized by him. Although I was wearing the clothes that G had given me, I was still a runaway prisoner desperately seeking to escape. It did not take long for him to notice signs of illness and anxiety on my face.

“What brings you to this area?” he asked me with great concern.

“I have been gravely ill lately and came here to seek medical treatment while staying with a friend,” I replied slowly. I hadn’t anticipated having to give such an explanation to anyone, so I had to say the first thing that came to my mind. Although I was wearing the military coat and trousers my friends had given me, I still must have looked terribly weak and ill from my days at the camp. I was glad that he seemed to believe what I said.

“Then let’s go to my friend’s house and ask for help. He is a good fellow who can help you with anything. His wife is a good friend of my wife.”

I refused, but he was persistent. After a few more refusals, I gave in because he was genuinely trying to help and I was afraid that turning him down would only invite suspicion.

So unwillingly, I followed him to see his local friend, who was the vice-director of the Rajin-Seonbong Maritime Department. He held the rank of lieutenant colonel in the navy. His wife, whose name was L, was the political instructor for the family members of the local military personnel. My friend presented me as a foreign-currency earner from Pyongyang, which naturally made a favorable impression on the couple.

“So what brings you here to this remote area?” the husband asked.

“Well, I’ve fallen gravely ill and I am seeking medical treatment. And also there are some things I want to sell.”

I had prepared this answer as my newfound acquaintance led me to this house. This explanation would pass the test because everyone knew that people with the right connections could obtain advanced medical treatment in China, although such travel was nominally forbidden for most North Koreans. In addition, the Rajin-Seonbong area was a special economic zone where trade between China and North Korea took place liberally, as many Chinese and Korean-Chinese merchants came there and crossed the border to trade. So did North Koreans, in order to sell their merchandise in China. Such border crossings were prohibited, but everyone did it in order to survive and supplement their meager income.

“Oh, what is it that you want to sell?” the husband replied with a sparkle in his eyes.

“I have some small but valuable pieces of Korean celadon.”

“Ah, they are very popular in China.” He seemed satisfied with this answer.

“If that’s the case, I can help you sell your stuff. I have so many connections in the market on both sides of the border,” his wife chimed in.

L, as she was called, was a charming woman full of energy and ideas. She was a typical political educator—very outgoing, eloquent, and persuasive.

“That’s a good idea. We also have some celadon we want to sell in China,” said her husband. He seemed to trust me completely. Indeed, what I said was nothing extraordinary since many Koreans went to China to sell celadon, as its price was far higher on the other side of the border. I was relieved to see the possibility of receiving their aid to cross into China emerge so openly and naturally. Because the mutual friend who had led me to their house was very close to the couple, the husband and wife seemed to have no doubts at all.

L suggested that I carry some of her merchandise and also promised to pair me up with an experienced guide who had crossed the border many times. I gladly agreed and thanked them for their help. They must have been doing their best to get on friendly terms with me, as I was supposed to be a high-flying NSA officer from Pyongyang who could return the favor when they needed it. The couple urged their children to introduce themselves to me and also treated me to a meal. I was grateful but felt increasingly uncomfortable playing a dangerous imposter game. So as soon as the meal was over, I took their small celadon, which I promised to sell together with my imaginary pieces in China. The couple invited me to stay longer at their place, but I absolutely did not want to linger. So I persistently asked them to take me to the final destination in North Korea, from which China was within a hand’s reach.