A stone’s throw from the DMZ, a North Korean refugee tells her story

North Korean refugee Han Song-mi speaks to a group of travelers from the U.S. at Imjingak, near the DMZ, on June 24. Seated beside her are Freedom Speakers International co-founders Casey Lartigue (left) and Lee Eun-koo (right). Courtesy of Freedom Speakers International

“Are you in contact with your family in North Korea?" "What happened to your family after you left?" "Do you regret anything about escaping?" “What do you miss about North Korea?”

I’ve heard those same questions at almost every North Korean refugee event I’ve moderated or spoken at over the past 12 years. Those questions are perfectly reasonable — if the questioners were asking somewhat similar questions to someone who had moved from North Carolina, North Dakota, or Northern Ireland.

But those questions are being asked of people who escaped from North Korea. The tone of these questions often suggests the refugee had simply relocated from one “North” after a semester abroad.

I don’t blame the questioners. Many are encountering a North Korean refugee for the first time. They come from places where phones are accessible, they can cross borders freely, and governments don’t punish people for contacting their relatives.

Before blaming others, I ask myself: what changes can I make as the moderator and keynote speaker? Could I offer context? Will doing so stifle discussion? Sometimes I will ask in my introductory remarks, “Would you try to contact a family member if it meant verifying that you escaped and that it could put family at risk? What if it meant your family could be jailed as a result of your desire to be in touch?” They still often ask the most common questions, then with the context of understanding the risks.

Those usual questions were especially sensitive on June 24, when North Korean refugee author Han Song-mi gave a speech near the DMZ, at Imjingak. Although she had visited the area before, this was her first time speaking there. Just a few stone’s throws from the country she once fled, she stood in freedom and shared her story — something she never would have been allowed to do inside North Korea.

After her talk, the usual questions began. In this case, I wasn’t asked to give introductory remarks so I didn’t have the option to provide context. I have heard Han, co-author with me of her memoir “Greenlight to Freedom,” answer those questions many times over the years. She had been in contact with some of her relatives shortly after she escaped in 2011, but around 2014 or so it became more difficult to contact them. Growing up in the countryside, far from the border, it had already been difficult and expensive for her family to make the trip to the North Korea of China to receive a phone call. The border crackdown after COVID made everything even more difficult and expensive.

She doesn’t know if her family members are alive or suffering. She thinks about them every day, but a single (difficult to make and expensive) phone call from her could put them in danger. Han doesn’t know if previous contact put them in danger. As usual, with North Korea, there are more questions than answers.

One point I usually mention in following up her comments: Let’s remember to blame North Korea, which forces people into all-or-nothing decisions — choosing between family in a totalitarian state and freedom. Because North Korea has set up a system in which people are directed to spy on each other, they can’t even share the news of their planned departures from the country.

These questions become even more complicated when death is involved. Several years ago, I wrote about a North Korean refugee whose grandmother in North Korea passed away around the same time my grandaunt passed away in Texas. She, her sister, and her mother cried during their brief phone call to relatives in North Korea. Unlike people who leave North Carolina, there is no risk of punishment for making a phone call.

In my case, I dropped everything and flew from Seoul to Texas to attend the funeral. In contrast, who could blame them for reflecting as a family on the price they paid for that freedom? What North Korean refugees say they miss are the people they left behind — their families, neighborhoods, the familiar rhythms of life they once knew — not the political system that forced them to flee. It’s about the goodbyes they couldn’t utter, funerals they can’t attend, final words they’ll never get to say.

The pain of separation is real — but for some North Korean refugees, so is the desire to make their voices count. Later that same day, after our visit near the DMZ, I checked with Han to see how she felt about the experience. She loved it. She was visibly moved and got excited when she looked through the binoculars and saw North Korean farmers and cows. Would she be interested in future events like this? Without a doubt. It took her 11 years before she began speaking out. As long as people are willing to listen, she’ll keep speaking out to raise awareness about what is happening in North Korea.