Quest for Freedom: Struggling for Democratic North Korea

Comrades

This map shows the main areas of operation for the democratization movement of North Korea being undertaken by Young-hwan Kim and his team of activists.

CHAPTER 1

NATIONAL SECURITY

BUREAU OF CHINA:

PERPETRATOR

BELT

Blindfolded, I had no idea where they were taking me, north or south. Darkness all around, no light made its way inside the blindfold, even though it had to be well past sunrise. Is this the way the condemned feels when he is blindfolded before he is hung? I squirmed, seeking to feel the heat of the sunlight. The men on both sides pushed my shoulder down. I felt the cold metal handcuffs on my wrists.

I had been arrested yesterday morning. I had entered China via Beijing six days before on March 23 and met with my acquaintances, then had gone on to Dalian by train on the 27th. This had been my routine for the past ten years. I did not have any particular reason to be there. As usual, I was there to discuss the state of affairs with my colleagues, review the ongoing projects, and decide on future plans. I routinely traveled to China four, five times per year. If there was anything different about the previous visit, it was that we discussed and analyzed the quickly changing events in and outside North Korea since the death of Kim Jong-il on December 17, 2011.

Our meeting on March 28th lasted the whole day in my hotel room, with Yoo Jae-gil, Kang Jin-sam, and Lim, core members leading the North Korea activities. That day, each of us was to hold follow-up meetings with the members of our own cell units.

I left my hotel around 8:20 or 8:25 am for a 9:00 meeting. It was a clear spring day, but the air was still chilly. I walked a few minutes before I hailed a taxi, observing our rule of never taking a cab in front of the hotel. I did not catch on to the fact that I was being followed. About five minutes later, the taxi stopped at a signal in a crowded downtown area. Three, four men surrounded my cab. One of the men talked with the driver, while the other two opened the doors from both sides of the cab and rushed in. The one from the right grabbed my cell phone out of my hand.

"Shay ya, nimon?" I yelled. Who are you?

They dragged me out of the cab and asked for my I.D.

I asked them again, Who are you? and they replied, Public safety.

I asked them, If you are public safety, show me your I.D.

They sneered and quickly twisted my arm and pushed me to the ground in an expert fashion.

I looked around. It was rush hour and the street near the Dalian train station was crowded with passersby. A crowd of about thirty gathered instantly.

I yelled, They are robbers. Someone please call the police!

I looked to the side and saw two uniformed policemen. They were holding back the crowd as they glanced at my direction. The uniforms didn’t intervene, and from their non-action, I surmised that the men in plain clothes were police themselves or close to the police.

A man with his knee on my back yelled toward the crowd, We are the police! Go on your way! He sounded authoritative. And he immediately whipped out my belt and tied my arms with it. If they were police, they would have handcuffs, I thought. I was suspicious. Then they put me into another car. Actually, they tossed me into the car. They lay me on my side into the narrow space in between the front and the back seat and the two men kept me there. No one could see me from outside. I did not know where we were headed.

The car stopped in front of a small hotel after about 20 minutes. The men pulled me out of the car and put a bag over my head and dragged me somewhere. I found out later that it was a hotel that the Chinese security bureau often used. The South Korean intelligence agency also used hotel rooms to investigate certain select perpetrators. I can say that from my personal experience. The Chinese security agents did the same. Maybe they had reasons why they couldn’t take me to their headquarters building.

They first took me to a warehouse space and asked about me. They took out my passport from my bag and asked me how to pronounce my name written in English, KIM YOUNG-HWAN. They wanted to know its Chinese pronunciation. They had arrested me not knowing who I was.

Three of them patted me down. The leader of the group asked me, Why did you resist when we arrested you? suggesting that I should have obeyed them if I were innocent.

I laughed aloud and said, Who would obey you when you attack all of a sudden? I didn’t think you were policemen.

He nodded without an expression.

They took me to a room, an ordinary room with two twin beds and a small table by the window. It felt small, about 530 square feet. I sat on the edge of one bed, and an interrogator sat on the other. I was not sure what was going on, whether I was being investigated. I thought these agents were grossly mistaken and that they got the wrong man. There was no reason why the Chinese police would arrest me.

Why did your group meet? What is your job? Why did you come to China?

The man kept asking me these questions over and over.

I was concerned that he was asking about the meeting we had held in my hotel room the day before. How about my colleagues? Are they safe? I felt a headache coming on, as if everything turned upside down. I focused on his questions and answered them. I had only three things to say to them—Who are you? Show me the warrant for arrest. Give me the right to consult a lawyer and arrange a meeting with the South Korean consulate. And I told him that I was not going to respond to any investigation unless they met my requests.

The interrogator replied, one, I did not need to know who they were, two, they did not need any arrest warrant, three, I had no right to a lawyer. But he would allow me to meet with the South Korean consulate when the time came.

I knew that human rights conditions in China were backward and they had a long way to go, but I could not understand how they could refuse my requests in such a nonchalant manner. They were out of order, but it was evident that they were some kind of policemen.

I gave them my prepared answer, I operate an English academy. I came to China to look for investment opportunities in setting up an academy.

The interrogator flashed a smile at me, suggesting that he did not buy my story. His demeanor was such that he knew everything about me, which was typical of interrogators. I did not pay mind to his know-it-all attitude because I had learned about interrogators in South Korea before. I kept repeating my alibi. Actually, it was not a complete lie. We have had experience in operating English academies in the Philippines, and we were operating legitimate businesses in China. My status in China was a shaky one, but all my colleagues maintained official status as an employee of a franchise in good standing, as a CEO of a trading company, or a registered student.

The interrogator kept asking me to answer the questions properly.

I countered him with I am answering you correctly.

Then he came back with, You will pay if you don’t tell us the truth. Your comrades, too.

I felt alarmed whenever he mentioned your comrades, feeling the cold sweat running down my back. Did they arrest my colleagues, too? Or, are they going to arrest them? Is he just threatening me?

We went back and forth like that for several hours, and when we ran out of things to say, we stared at the ceiling without saying anything. They brought a meal in between, and I ate a third of it, not sure if it was lunch or dinner. So, I spent the first day without any intention of answering their questions. I watched in between curtains the darkness gathering outside the window.

The young man who had taken my things to another room came in and broke the silence and yelled I found it! He entered the room jubilantly, holding my laptop computer. I knew, though, that there weren’t any secret documents stored in my computer. All the sensitive material related to our project had been secured. No average investigator could compromise their safety. Besides, I never save them on my hard drive. What the jubilant young investigator found were mere word files, such as articles I had written for magazines and the related material. Of course, they dealt with human rights for North Koreans or democratization movement of North Korea.

Are you really saying you are operating an English language academy? The interrogator asked with renewed energy.

I replied without hesitation, What’s the crime? All Koreans are interested in North Korean issues. The documents are just my opinions on political matters. What’s wrong with that?

They were not interested in what I said. They seemed happy that they were able to connect me to North Korea and that they had finally gotten something on me. They started to compose a document. I learned later that they were putting together a request for an arrest warrant. They arrested me first before they secured a warrant.

WORRIES

The investigation that began in the morning lasted until dawn next morning. I wouldn’t really call it an investigation, though. The so-called one-month investigation that took place later when I was transferred to Dandong National Security Bureau was a sham. They did not present any evidence per se but merely insisted on a confession by me. The interrogators kept asking me to speak but I had no idea what they wanted me to speak about. I repeatedly exercised my right to remain silent and requested legal representation and permission to confer with the Korean consulate. I made this request at least several hundred times, even when they were transferring me to the prison following the investigation.

I didn’t sleep that night. Come seven in the morning, they put a mask on me again. What are they doing? Where are they taking me now?

I didn’t know until I returned to Korea that none of my colleagues saw me getting arrested. Comrade Yoo Jae-gil was arrested alone in front of the Dalian City Gymnasium while he was waiting for other comrades for a meeting. Comrade Lim, who was on his way to the meeting, saw Yoo get arrested some distance away. Lim turned around and headed back to his hotel where he was sharing a room with Comrade Kang Shin-sam. When he reached the hotel, he saw a number of police cars in front, along with a group of policemen by the entrance. Shortly, he witnessed comrade Kang being dragged out of the hotel. Lim alerted all the team members about the emergency situation and asked for their status. Everyone responded, with the exception of Lee Sang-yong and myself. Lim surmised that Lee and I were in trouble. By that time, I was already undergoing interrogation in the Security Agency’s hotel room. Lee was arrested as soon as he got off the bus to Dalian on his way to attend the meeting. Our fellow Chinese comrades who had been helping us were arrested in Dandong.

The news of our disappearance was immediately delivered to South Korea, to the shock of our families and colleagues. They didn’t know whether we had been arrested or kidnapped or were just missing. What they most worried about was a kidnapping by North Korean agents.

I suppose that our friends and relatives were sufficiently justified in worrying about the North Korean agents at the outset, but they were somewhat relieved to hear through the unofficial communication channel with the Chinese government three days later that the Security Agency had arrested us for investigation purposes.

But our families back home had new worries that the Chinese intelligence would hand us over to the North Korean authorities on some concocted criminal charges.

While my family worried about my well-being, I worried about my comrades—if they were safe and how far-reaching this police operation was. For more than a month of interrogation, I had no idea who was arrested and how many. I just guessed that maybe six or seven Korean comrades were involved in the round-up. Not knowing about the status of my comrades drove me crazy, and I was so happy to catch a glimpse of Kang and Lee as we passed each other on my way to an interrogation. I was elated, although I did not show any sign of recognizing them.

I concluded that chances for me getting shipped off to North Korea were almost nil. Notwithstanding odd behaviors concerning human rights that the Chinese government display at times, it would not bode well for them to turn over an internationally known human rights activist to North Korea, to his peril. The Chinese would be committing a political suicide if they did that.

However, I was concerned that the Chinese were cooperating with North Korean agents. That possibility had occurred to my colleagues in Korea at the time as well, albeit not for me specifically because I was a publically known individual. However, they were very concerned that the Chinese would turn over Yoo and Kang to North Korea, the core individuals who had been working undercover for ten years. Especially Kang, who had been under surveillance by the North Korean agents for a long time, as it was discovered later during the interrogation, and that North Korean agents had in place the plans to kidnap him.

Back in my hotel, they put a mask over my head and put on handcuffs for the first time. I wondered at the time why they put on the cuffs instead of the belt. My theory is that the Chinese agents didn’t know who I was, and that they were going to release me if I was not involved with the others. Like I said, they had been watching the others for some time and they put on handcuffs on them from the beginning after they verified their names. They also seemed to have accumulated some evidence against them.

On the other hand, they did not know my name nor my involvement with my comrades, only that I was scheduled to attend the Dalian meeting on March 28. The Chinese were not certain about the nature of my involvement with the individuals under surveillance. They arrested me first and interrogated me to find out whether my presence was accidental or related to the underground movement they had been following. I surmised that was why they used the belt on me at first rather than the handcuffs meant for real criminals. In a sense, the Chinese security agents made some effort in distinguishing real criminals from inferred criminals.

Back in the car, flanked by agents, I went over the recent events in my mind. I could feel the warmth of the sunlight through the hood over my head.

One of them asked me, Do you know where you are going?

I wasn’t sure why the agent would ask me that question, but I thought that he wanted to scare me.

I just replied, I don’t know. At the time, I guessed that we were going to either Beijing or Shenyang.

Their attitude and mannerisms indicated that they were not regular police. I knew they belonged to some intelligence group, but I hadn’t figured that they were from the Security Agency. They seemed to be taking directions from higher command, which meant the headquarters were located in Beijing or Shenyang¹. I never imagined that I would be going to Dandong. It is a security unit at the city level, but it is known for its close cooperation with the North Korean agency across Apnok River. I found out I was in Dandong a week after I was taken there.

Going from Dalian to Beijing is about a seven-hour ride, and about four hours to Shenyang. The car stopped after two hours or so, and the agents pulled me out of the car. The mask over my head prevented me from gauging the time spent on the road or the direction we were traveling, but I was certain that we hadn’t exceeded three hours. It occurred to me for a minute that we could be in North Korea.

They kept the mask on me after I got out of the car. Agents held my arms and led me up the stairs and circled around corridors for a while. Then I heard a door open. They led me inside a room and removed the mask. The room, about 700 square feet in size, had a set of dark, heavy curtains drawn over the windows, which remained closed the whole time I was under interrogation. Immediately left to the door, there was a platform about a foot and a half high with a large table and a chair on it. In the middle of the room, there was a small table and a chair. A couch sat against one wall, and a small bathroom was behind the platform. The wall clock indicated ten o’clock. I never imagined that they would torture me there.

PULLOUT

March 30, 2012.

The interrogation room reminded me of a theater or a courtroom. Interestingly, the interrogators situated themselves on the platform and looked down on the accused, me. I sat in the middle of the room on a chair attached to a desk. After I sat down, they latched a metal strap around me and locked it. I was confined inside the space until someone unlatched the strap with a key. The contraption worked like a handcuff except that it went around my body. They put handcuffs around my wrists as well.

I spent the first five or six hours confined in the contraption by myself. The interrogators’ platform was empty. I couldn’t move an inch, so I just kept my eyes to the front. They seemed to be holding a meeting in the next room, and at lunch time, they brought in a tray with rice and some side dishes. They kept the handcuffs on me, though, which I thought excessive. Even the old Korean spy agency un-cuffed me during meals when I was incarcerated there back in the 1980s. These Chinese agents did not un-cuff me at mealtime. In fact, they kept the handcuffs on me during the entire interrogation.

There was no bed in the room, which I found odd. I thought at first that the sofa was a bed for me to sleep on, but I was wrong. The sofa was for the interrogators. The Chinese agents did not let me sleep on a bed of any sort. I sat locked in the desk contraption whatever the length of interrogation for a month, 24 hours a day.

An interrogator came inside the room and asked some questions about personal information and left. And another three or so hours passed. Interrogation began in the evening. Two interrogators came in and sat in the chairs on the platform. One was the main officer and the other an interpreter. The interpreter was not Korean Chinese, but a Han. Either way, the interpreter was not necessary because I spoke fluent Chinese. Besides, I exercised my right to remain silent, so there wasn’t much for him to interpret.

The Chinese agents wanted to know what I was doing in China, the names of my colleagues, action plans against North Korea, and the nature of my relationship with the South Korean government. My answer was always the same. I refuse to cooperate with the investigation until I am assigned a lawyer and provided contact with the Korean Consulate.

Their reply was always the same. You have no right to be represented by a lawyer, and your contact with the Consulate will come later.

The same question and the same answer over and over. They changed their tactics sometimes. They started telling jokes and spoke of Korean food, Jeju Island, Myongdong, Dongdaemun, and other tourist spots in Korea, and Korean drama. They asked about famous actors, my hobbies, and things about my family. Then they changed the subject and asked, What on earth were you doing in China?

They were using the usual good-guy bad-guy routine—one agent relaxed you with personal questions, and the other startled you with the real questions. That was how I ended the first day of interrogation, along with the realization that I had to sleep sitting up.

I learned later that on the morning of the second day, March 31, my colleagues in South Korea and China were in a state of panic. My colleagues were engaged in a serious debate whether they should make this incident public or not. They didn’t understand what was going on at first. They wrestled with questions about who arrested them, Chinese police or North Korean agents? If the Chinese police arrested them, would they be handed over to North Korean agents? My colleagues couldn’t understand why we were arrested and they debated whether they should make an official request to the Chinese government to release the four activists immediately, or hold off until they knew exactly what the circumstances were.

They needed to know whether the Chinese police arrested us for reasons other than the democratization movement inside North Korea. For example, there was a colleague who was dispatched to China as a Christian missionary. He had been caught for proselytizing and he could have informed his interrogators of our operation during his interrogation process. So, they struggled to determine if this was an item that should be resolved through quiet diplomacy rather than making a big issue in the open. This was a sensitive decision because going public would expose our group and possibly invite danger to the entire organization.

In the meantime, my ten Korean comrades went into an emergency evacuation mode. Chinese comrades, larger in numbers, sought to go into hiding, but some were arrested because the Chinese agents believed that they helped us. Others were arrested just for socializing with us as friends, and they had no idea what our activities entailed. A Chinese Korean colleague by the name of Jang Kim was arrested at the same time with us and suffered hardship in the prison. The Chinese security released him a week after we returned to South Korea and kept him under restriction for a year. Their arrests were not reported in the press.

Knowing the way the Chinese security agents tortured us—foreigners—I can only imagine the extent of torture the Chinese nationals must have received. Their friends and relatives suffered extensive interrogations by the agents who visited their homes and places of work in the name of ongoing investigations. I feel bad for our comrades of Chinese nationality and what they had to go through for having helped us.

As my South Korean comrades sought refuge, they stayed in contact with each other and analyzed the extent of the damage and then incinerated or moved all the material that might be construed as evidence against us. They each found a way to escape China and thus returned to South Korea. Some comrades with families had to rush to train stations in the middle of the night carrying their children on their backs and nothing else. Others left their business to their employees and jumped on the first train that came along, regardless of its destination. They switched from bicycles to buses and taxis to shake off agents’ tails and successfully made it to the next province. One comrade used his emergency money and hired an illegal transporter to take him from Shenyang to Tienjin and on to Beijing airport.

My family reported me missing, but did not inform the Foreign Ministry about my arrest. They requested the ministry to resolve the problem as quietly as possible. The news of our arrest was kept quiet for almost two months, and the press was first notified on May 16. A quiet handling of the case was deemed impossible by this time. Many reporters, unaware of my arrest in China, were busy looking for me then—for a different reason.

LEE SEOK-KI

The moment my colleagues and I arrived at Incheon International Airport in South Korea after 114 days of incarceration, we were taken to the hospital for a complete medical examination without holding a press conference. My telephone rang off the hook from that afternoon on without a minute of rest.

Swarming reporters. They asked about my arrest and incarceration, many of whom were more interested in my reaction to the TongHapJinbo political party situation. I had been away from any kind of news for so long, I had no idea what they were talking about.

As fate would have it, the TongHapJinBo Party was the top issue during the time I was in the Chinese prison. We were arrested on March 29 and, on April 11, the general election of the national assembly took place. Actually, I was outraged at the result of the Party’s primary election which had taken place on