By Jay Nordlinger
Thursday, July 14, 2016
Jung Gwang-il does something unusual for a living: He
sends information via helicopter drones into North Korea. The drones bear USB
sticks and SD cards, which contain South Korean television shows, American
movies, and more. This “more” includes videos of North Korean defectors,
telling people back home what the outside world is like.
Jung himself is a defector. He survived the gulag and
escaped North Korea in 2003. In May, he was a speaker at the Oslo Freedom
Forum, where I sat down with him. I will relate his story in brief — a story
full of horror, but leavened with majesty.
He was born in China in 1963. His grandparents had
immigrated there from Korea in the 1930s. During Mao’s Cultural Revolution,
Jung’s father, a professor, was hauled away. The entire family suffered. Jung’s
mother took them to North Korea in 1969.
“This might seem crazy,” says Jung, “but when I arrived
in 1969, North Korea seemed like a heaven, compared with China. In China, you
could not eat three meals a day. In North Korea, you could.” The Jung family
believed in Communism. That included Gwang-il. And he tells me, “My younger
brother is still in North Korea, and he still believes in Communism.”
Gwang-il, however, had some doubts in the 1990s. The
country was dying of starvation. “Every morning when I went to work, I saw ten,
sometimes twenty new bodies piled up, most of them children who had lived on
the streets. City officials took them away like bags of trash.” This made Jung
wonder about what the regime had taught him: Were North Koreans really lucky to
have the Kim family and the Communist Party ruling over them?
He spent ten years in the military. Then he worked for a
trading company — a state company, of course, the only kind there is in North
Korea. He did well. In one year, 1997, he brought in $700,000 for the regime.
He was a good and productive citizen.
Then, in 1999, agents of the State Security Department
came in the middle of the night and hauled him off. Jung was bewildered. There
had to be some mistake. It transpired that one of his employees had accused him
of being a spy for South Korea. Others conspired along with the main accuser.
For Jung, there ensued ten months of torture.
I will say relatively little about this. They put him in
a torture position known as “pigeon.” He thought he would die, and he wanted to
die. He wanted to kill himself, but this was impossible, under the eye of the
SSD. He tried a hunger strike. They force-fed him. His weight dropped from 165
pounds to 80. Finally, unable to bear more torture, he confessed (falsely).
They put him in a truck and drove him to the gulag — to
Camp No. 15, known as “Yodok.” This one is for political prisoners, or, in the
parlance of the regime, “enemies of the state.” It has about 50,000 inmates.
There are multiple zones, including a punishment area, a killing area, and a
“re-revolutionizing” area. When Jung got there, the sign at the gate read,
“Let’s Sacrifice Our Lives to Protect the Revolutionary Leadership of Dear
Leader Kim Jong-il.”
“The day I arrived,” says Jung, “I saw the prisoners, and
you would not have called them human beings, because they did not look like
human beings. They had no flesh. They were walking skeletons, forced to work 16
hours a day. They were treated not like human beings, but like animals.”
I will write just one paragraph about Jung’s years in the
camp. If you wanted to skip it, that would be perfectly understandable.
In the winter, the prisoners were made to get wood from
the mountain. Many were injured or killed, as the trees fell or the logs rolled
down the mountain. Other prisoners would not pause to bury the dead. It would
have taken too much energy in the frozen ground. They carried the bodies back
to a shed next to a latrine. At night, when you went to the latrine, you could
hear moaning from the shed — some weren’t dead yet. By the spring, they were
all dead, of course. The bodies had formed a great gelatinous mass. And Jung
and the others would have to break it apart, with shovels, and bury it.
There was kindness in the camp — from certain guards and
SSD agents, one of whom told Jung that he had to survive. “You have two
children. If you died under the false charge of being a spy, they would have no
future in North Korea. Think of them. You have to keep your hopes up and live
for them.”
In 2003, after three years in the camp, Jung was
released. Why? Because his former employee and the others who had conspired
against him were found to have committed crimes themselves. This led officials
to believe in Jung’s innocence. Something else weighed in his favor: In that
trading company, he had done well for the regime.
Before Jung left the camp, they made him sign a vow of
secrecy: He was never to talk about what he had seen and experienced. When he
went home, there was no home. They had given his house to another family. And
they had made his wife divorce him. Jung figured, “There’s nothing left for me
in this country. I cannot function here.”
So, he rested for a week and a half — then swam the Tumen
River into China. From there, he went to Vietnam, and then Cambodia, and then
Thailand, and finally to South Korea, his new home. His daughters joined him
there. One of them is now married, with a child.
Jung looks good: a youngish grandfather — 53 — with a
proud head of hair. As we sit together, he laughs frequently. Sometimes the
laughter is grim and gallows-like. Other times it is lighthearted. I ask him
whether he suffers physical effects from his treatment. Yes. But more important
are the mental effects. “I still have nightmares. I had nightmares last night,
here in Norway.”
When he made it to South Korea, he said to hell with the
vow of secrecy he had signed. He vowed to dedicate his life to telling the
world about North Korea, and in particular its gulag. He vowed to do whatever
he could for his former countrymen, especially the gulag prisoners. He has
testified before the European Union, the U.S. Congress, and the United Nations.
And he adopted a name for his e-mail address — and his
bank account and his Twitter account and anything else requiring a handle. That
name is jauin, which means “free
man.”
In 2012, he founded an organization called “No Chain.”
Jung thinks of North Korea as a giant prison camp, with a chain around it. He
endeavors to break this chain. His group is funded by private donors, and operates
on a shoestring. But Jung and his partners are making inroads. They send their
storage devices — USB sticks, SD cards — into North Korea via their drones.
There are contacts on the inside, waiting for the drones.
But what can North Koreans do with the storage devices?
They can insert them into Notels, which are Chinese-made media players
available on the black market. There are also newer, smaller players, which
take a micro–SD card. These little cards are handy because they are easy to
hide, or, if necessary, swallow.
I ask Jung, “Do North Koreans know they live in the worst
place on earth? Do they know how abnormal, how psychotic and wretched their
lives are?” In general they do not, he says. They have long been deprived of
information. Not only are they not allowed to travel abroad, they cannot travel
within the country, except with state permission. And they are propagandized —
brainwashed — out of the womb.
“Before they eat something, children are told to thank
the Leader for giving them the food. When I got to South Korea, I was amazed to
see Christians thanking their heavenly father, in much the same way I observed
in North Korea.”
When you see and listen to Jung Gwang-il, you can tell
that he’s about a business that he is compelled to do. “Even after I resettled
in South Korea,” he says, “I could not forget the images of the fellow inmates
I left behind. I can never forget the looks they gave me when I walked out of
the camp.”
I ask whether he has any survivor’s guilt, however
unreasonable. “Of course I do. When I was in Yodok, I was lucky enough to
become a supervisor of a work group. In this position, I had to punish people,
because that’s what I was ordered to do. If I did not punish them, I would be
punished myself. And because of my actions, some people didn’t get enough food,
and they ended up dying, and when I think about those prisoners, I’m so sorry.
I feel guilty, but I had no choice.”
Even before he got to the camp, as you know — when he was
being tortured by State Security agents and made to confess — he wanted to kill
himself, and would have if he could. Today, is he glad that he did not kill
himself? Yes, very. “I’m glad to be alive, lucky to be alive, so that I can do
what I’m doing.”
The North Korean government is furious with him, of
course, and doing all they can to discredit him: telling CNN, for example, that
Jung is an impostor who was never in the camp and stole someone else’s
identity. Jung laughs at this, more determined than ever to fight the regime.
He wishes he could thank, publicly, the SSD agent who
showed compassion to him in the camp. He cannot, however, because that would
land the agent in trouble. To name the agent would be to imperil him. But
perhaps Jung will be able to thank him as he wishes someday.
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