When Blaine Harden wrote his shocking 2008 profile of Shin Dong Hyuk for the Washington Post, Shin was living in Seoul, South Korea, and already a published author. He had written Escape to the Outside World, a 2007 Korean-language account of his horrific upbringing.
Shin was born in a North Korean forced-labor camp and then found his way to freedom. There were some problems with playing back this account verbatim. So Harden’s dramatic front-page article, “North Korean Prison Camp Escapee Tells of Horrors, Worries About Those Left Behind,” took care to include a disclaimer: “Shin’s story could not be independently verified, but it has been vetted and vouched for by leading human-rights activists and members of defector organizations in Seoul,” the Post article said.
Unfortunately, the disclaimer turned out to be necessary. As Harden now acknowledges in Escape From Camp 14, his blunt, best-selling book about Shin’s life, Shin had built his own memoir upon a gigantic lie.
In his account Shin claimed to have been a helpless innocent witness to the execution of his mother and brother when Shin was only 14. He had indeed been helpless, and he had the torture marks to prove it.
But, as Harden discovered about a year into the interviewing process for this book, Shin’s original account omitted a crucial detail: He was responsible for the executions. He had snitched to a prison guard about an escape his mother and brother were planning, knowing full well that escape plans were punishable by death.
Shin admitted to Harden that he had made this trade-off to get more food and an easier job at school. And he said he had done it without regrets. He thought that his mother and brother deserved to die.
“In writing this book, I have sometimes struggled to trust him,” Harden writes understandably in Escape From Camp 14. Harden tries to fathom a cryptic, troubled and not entirely sympathetic young man whose circumstances lend themselves to exaggeration.
What’s more, the new book uses dialogue borrowed from Shin’s disingenuous 2007 version. Escape From Camp 14 also includes simple line drawings (as Shin’s book had) that give the most traumatic parts of his story — torture, imprisonment, maiming, executions — the look of action comics. The most benign of these pictures carries this caption: “Children in the camps scavenged constantly for food, eating rats, insects and undigested kernels of corn they found in cow dung.”
Readers may well be won over by the sharp, declarative, young-adult style of Harden’s adventure writing. They will respond to urgent concern about conditions in North Korean prison camps, which are now visible via satellite photographs. And most misgivings about Escape From Camp 14 will be outweighed by the power of a fast, brutal read.
Shin did not spend his imprisonment missing love, joy, civilization or comfort, because he had never experienced such things. As the spawn of a “reward marriage” — considered “the ultimate bonus for hard work and reliable snitching” — he had no real family ties.
The book says that he regarded his mother as a rival for food and was right to do so; she once beat him with a hoe for eating her lunch. As a young child, he saw schoolmates maimed or even killed for minor transgressions and he learned to obey the camp’s totalitarian rules.
Much of this book’s impact comes from its nonstop parade of ghastly details. Harden writes of how prisoners harvested frozen human excrement — chipped from toilets — to make up for North Korea’s shortage of other fertilizer; how eating rats could help stave off pellagra; how Shin once, despairing, jumped down a coal mine shaft.
But “Shin’s misery never skidded into complete hopelessness,” Harden writes in typically plain, forthright style. “He had no hope to lose, no past to mourn, no pride to defend. He did not find it degrading to lick soup off the floor. He was not ashamed to beg a guard for forgiveness. It didn’t trouble his conscience to betray a friend for food. These were merely survival skills, not motives for suicide.”
Not even the peremptory chopping off of part of Shin’s middle finger was enough to set Shin’s escape plans in motion. What did it was the arrival of a worldly prisoner who made him realize what he was missing.
“He explained that the world was round,” the book says of Park Yong Chul, the first person to tell Shin about a North Korean city called Pyongyang and about what it was like to eat grilled meat. “He fantasized about escaping with Park because he wanted to eat like Park.”
The escape provides one of the book’s grisliest stories, which is saying a lot. But Escape From Camp 14 offers no easy answers about how Shin can deal with a newly guilty conscience, a lack of introspection, a checkered work history and the difficult adjustment to post-traumatic life. He had remarkable powers of endurance against the toughest physical torment. Those powers are being tested still.
A few weeks ago I found myself at a Family Mart talking with the morning shift worker there, who has become my coffee guy. Both of us were in a funk over the “unseasonable” warm weather, a state of mind known as “solastalgia” — distress produced by environmental change. In fact, the weather was not that out of the ordinary in boiling Central Taiwan, and likely cooler than the temperatures we will experience in the near-future. According to the Taiwan Adaptation Platform, between 1957 and 2006, summer lengthened by 27.8 days, while winter shrunk by 29.7 days. Winter is not
Taiwan’s post-World War II architecture, “practical, cheap and temporary,” not to mention “rather forgettable.” This was a characterization recently given by Taiwan-based historian John Ross on his Formosa Files podcast. Yet the 1960s and 1970s were, in fact, the period of Taiwan’s foundational building boom, which, to a great extent, defined the look of Taiwan’s cities, determining the way denizens live today. During this period, functionalist concrete blocks and Chinese nostalgia gave way to new interpretations of modernism, large planned communities and high-rise skyscrapers. It is currently the subject of a new exhibition at the Taipei Fine Arts Museum, Modern
March 25 to March 31 A 56-year-old Wu Li Yu-ke (吳李玉哥) was straightening out her artist son’s piles of drawings when she inadvertently flipped one over, revealing the blank backside of the paper. Absent-mindedly, she picked up a pencil and recalled how she used to sketch embroidery designs for her clothing business. Without clients and budget or labor constraints to worry about, Wu Li drew freely whatever image came to her mind. With much more free time now that her son had found a job, she found herself missing her home village in China, where she
In recent years, Slovakia has been seen as a highly democratic and Western-oriented Central European country. This image was reinforced by the election of the country’s first female president in 2019, efforts to provide extensive assistance to Ukraine and the strengthening of relations with Taiwan, all of which strengthened Slovakia’s position within the European Union. However, the latest developments in the country suggest that the situation is changing rapidly. As such, the presidential elections to be held on March 23 will be an indicator of whether Slovakia remains in the Western sphere of influence or moves eastward, notably towards Russia and