One stormy night in May, Kim loaded his family into his home-made wooden boat and sailed away from North Korea, hoping to give his children a life of freedom.
Tens of thousands of North Koreans have fled to South Korea since the peninsula was divided by war in the 1950s, but most go overland to neighboring China first.
Defecting by sea is extremely rare and seen as far more dangerous than land routes, with only a handful of people making it across the de facto maritime border, the Northern Limit line.
Photo: AFP
But Kim, a 31-year-old fisherman who asked that AFP use only his surname for security reasons, was confident he could pull it off — and, after two failed attempts, he finally managed to get his family of nine out of the country.
For months, he studied border patrol patterns and waited until an opportunity arose: when North Korea started lifting its coastal blockades after the COVID pandemic lockdown.
“I studied the terrain and weather conditions and set out on the worst night when there was a sea warning in effect,” he said.
Photo: AFP
Everyone in his family — even his three-year-old — worked together to ensure the success of their escape, he said.
‘ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE’
“It feels like I was born a second time,” Kim said.
“In the North, planes flying in the sky were something I only saw in my dreams, in movies and in TV dramas, but now I can actually ride it and it feels like I’ve been born in my next life.”
After months of debriefing, Kim is now ready to move on with his new life, and attended a major job fair for North Koreans organized by authorities in South Korea — the first such event in nine years.
Some defectors have struggled to integrate. Decades of division coupled with South Korea’s rapid economic development, mean there are linguistic, cultural and practical challenges to overcome.
The job fair is one of many initiatives organized by the government that seek to assist defectors.
Kim was visibly blown away by dozens of job possibilities at the fair held at the COEX Convention Centre, in which about 100 companies and public institutions took part.
“Since I come directly from the North, I’m quite surprised that such a culture exists,” he said, clutching a pile of employment brochures.
Kim, who spent years working in North Korea’s fishing industry, said he had long dreamed of being a ship navigator — something that was impossible in his former home. North Korea’s shipping industry is tightly controlled, with access to jobs very restricted, and dependent on having the right background and connections.
“For ordinary people, (becoming a navigator) could only be a grandiose dream,” Kim said.
“But here, I heard that anything is possible if you put in a little effort, so I’m going to give it a try.”
‘ABSURD BRAINWASHING’
Kim had led a quiet, diligent life in North Korea, working towards owning his own boat one day.
He started off as a crew member on a fishing boat and then learned to dive to make more money.
Kim eventually earned enough to build a wooden boat, which he operated for around five years before setting out on his risky sea voyage to South Korea.
He said that he decided to defect after his children returned home one day from an “absurd brainwashing session.”
“I wanted them to be able to do, to say, and to see whatever they want, which basically does not exist in North Korea,” Kim said.
“I wanted to show them that there is a better world, that there is a bigger world out there,” he said.
“You can lead a stable life in North Korea now if you plan well and work hard, but there is no freedom.”
The breakwater stretches out to sea from the sprawling Kaohsiung port in southern Taiwan. Normally, it’s crowded with massive tankers ferrying liquefied natural gas from Qatar to be stored in the bulbous white tanks that dot the shoreline. These are not normal times, though, and not a single shipment from Qatar has docked at the Yongan terminal since early March after the Strait of Hormuz was shuttered. The suspension has provided a realistic preview of a potential Chinese blockade, a move that would throttle an economy anchored by the world’s most advanced and power-hungry semiconductor industry. It is a stark reminder of
May 11 to May 17 Traversing the southern slopes of the Yushan Range in 1931, Japanese naturalist Tadao Kano knew he was approaching the last swath of Taiwan still beyond colonial control. The “vast, unknown territory,” protected by the “fierce” Bunun headman Dahu Ali, was “filled with an utterly endless jungle that choked the mountains and valleys,” Kano wrote. He noted how the group had “refused to submit to the measures of our authorities and entrenched themselves deep in these mountains … living a free existence spent chasing deer in the morning and seeking serow in the evening,” even describing them as
The last couple of weeks spectators in Taiwan and abroad have been treated to a remarkable display of infighting in the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) over the supplementary defense budget. The party has split into two camps, one supporting an NT$800 billion special defense budget and one supporting an NT$380 billion budget with additional funding contingent on receiving letters of acceptance (LOA) from the US. Recent media reports have said that the Taiwan People’s Party (TPP) is leaning toward the latter position. President William Lai (賴清德) has proposed NT$1.25 trillion for purchases of US arms and for development of domestic weapons
As a different column was being written, the big news dropped that Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) caucus whip Fu Kun-chi (傅?萁) announced that negotiations within his caucus, with legislative speaker Han Kuo-yu (韓國瑜) of the KMT, party Chair Cheng Li-wun (鄭麗文), Taichung Mayor Lu Shiow-yen (盧秀燕) and Taiwan People’s Party (TPP) Chair Huang Kuo-chang (黃國昌) had produced a compromise special military budget proposal. On Thursday morning, prior to meeting with Cheng over a lunch of beef noodles, Lu reiterated her support for a budget of NT$800 or NT$900 billion — but refused to comment after the meeting. Right after Fu’s