My name is Eun-hye Choi, a 27-year-old woman who was born and raised in North Korea and now lives in South Korea. Until now, I have lived quietly, almost in hiding, always fearing that my defection and life in South Korea might bring harm to the family I left behind in North Korea. Then I recently received devastating news — my younger brother had passed away last year due to an illness. I was overcome with anger and grief — at my own helplessness, and at the North Korean regime that created such circumstances. I still carry a heavy heart when I think of my family and fellow North Koreans who continue to suffer in silence. It is for them that I wish to share my story.
I was born as the second daughter in an ordinary family in North Korea. Our family was happy—until it was torn apart by the disastrous currency reform in 2009. Overnight, our savings became worthless paper, and my parents were forced to live day-to-day to survive. At just 15 years old, I had to give up school and help with housework and selling goods at the market. I learned what it meant to survive at a young age.
Later, I found out that some better-off families survived thanks to money sent by relatives who had defected. That was when “defection” became a real possibility in my mind. When I turned 18, I asked myself, “Must I live like this forever? Eating corn gruel with no dreams, no future?” My answer was clear: “No.” I could no longer find a reason to stay in North Korea.
One night in 2016, I crossed the Yalu River with my childhood friend, Eunsung Park, leaving behind my home, family, and everything I had known. The icy waters reached our waists, but all I could think about was survival. After reaching Mount Baekdu, we hid in the mountains for three days, battling hunger and fear, waiting for a broker to come.
But the reality that awaited us in China was a nightmare. To the broker, we were commodities to be bought and sold. We were given two choices: get married, or go back to North Korea. And going back meant death. One day, my friend Eunsung suddenly disappeared. The broker said she had been married off. That’s when I realized my own fate.
Because I was young and small, I was rejected by many men and ended up working like a servant at the broker’s house. Eventually, when he couldn’t sell me, he made a new offer: “Work and pay off your debt.” Desperate to survive, I agreed. But the place he took me to was another hell — a webcam sex chat room.
It was a world I couldn’t comprehend. I cried every night, forced into this against my will. I was crushed by despair. Later, I faced the risk of being arrested and forcibly repatriated by Chinese police, but luckily, I was handed over to another broker who offered me a new chance: the possibility of going to South Korea.
Going to South Korea brought a new fear. I knew nothing about it, and I was terrified I might never see my family again. But I had no choice. Taking a dangerous journey through a third country, I finally made it to South Korea with the help of missionaries and the Korean embassy.
When I first arrived, it didn’t feel real. But as I began living here, I realized just how much oppression and abuse I had suffered — both in North Korea and in China. I finally understood what "human rights" meant. In South Korea, I could live with dignity. I could learn, choose, speak — all things I once thought impossible. It felt like a miracle.
Despite enjoying a life of freedom, I can never forget the family and people I left behind. I send small amounts of money so they can at least eat, but it never feels like enough. So many people in North Korea still live under oppression, hunger, and without any freedom. I hope that one day, North Korea will become a free land. I want to be a small part of that change.
I ask you, from the bottom of my heart, to pay attention to the human rights crisis in North Korea. Please help make sure that North Koreans can one day, like me, find freedom. I hope my small voice can become a powerful echo in your hearts.
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