Long Road Home: Testimony of a North Korean Camp Survivor (12 page)

As my uncle was telling the story, my arms and legs became rubbery. There was deadly silence between us. Strangely enough, as shocked as I was, I was thinking clearly at that moment. I was relieved that nobody else was present to hear the story. But had I shown up with a political advisor or a party member who wanted to verify my family background like my brother did, it would have been an irreversible mistake. I would have been arrested on the spot, never to return home. It was my luck that I happened to have visited my uncle informally, but my past had better been kept a secret, even from myself.

“Don’t come back. If you can, stay away from here. It’s better for everyone because the risk of being seen by others in this town is just too big. Don’t worry about your birth record. I will take matters into my hands and resolve the problem so that you will be all set for the future.”

Uncle was looking at me with an expression that was both sad and resolute. I could feel that he was ready to make any personal sacrifice to protect me from impending danger.

“But if you really have to see your mother, you can stop by when you are on a business trip and I will arrange something secretly.”

I do not remember how I drove back to Pyongyang that night. The smile disappeared from my face and I became increasingly worried. I had a family to look after, and if someone were to find out about my past, what would happen to them? My wife was a loyal party member who had even sacrificed her first child on the altar of Kim Il-sung. How could I reveal my past to her? How would she react? Would she stand by my side? It was tormenting to think about how the person closest to me in the world would respond to the history that I had no control over and that could totally ruin our lives. And my brother? I had a brother! If only I had tried to find out about my future a bit earlier, I could have saved him from making that fatal attempt to escape! But he was lost forever. These thoughts about my closest relatives weighed heavily on my soul, and from the day I learned about my family history, my character changed. I had been a lighthearted, fun-loving jokester, but I became increasingly pensive and irritable, carrying the burden of fatal knowledge—the knowledge that could destroy everything and everyone precious to me.

Fragile Happiness

“Congratulations! Your last name turns out to be Park, not Kim!”

My superior D, who had taken the place of K, was happy to give me the terrific news from my hometown civil registry office. It was 1989. A young dispatch from my hometown was standing by him, obviously satisfied that his message had delighted the high official. “This officer found that your real birth father’s last name is Park, so your last name should be Park accordingly. Did you, in your wildest dreams, ever imagine that your full name is Park S, not Kim S?” He looked amused, as he thought that he had unearthed the biggest discovery and could not wait to brag about it. According to the record presented, my “father” was a revolutionary martyr with a perfect class background by North Korean standards. The civil registry said his name was Park Bok-deok, and he worked as a vice-chairman of the People’s Committee in Hwanghae province. A perfect professional background! Not only that, Park Bok-deok also died a perfect death, executed by the South Korean security police during the Korean War in 1950. Indeed an immaculate record. It was no wonder my superior was excited, because I needed a thorough background clearance check for future promotions. I too was surprised—not that I had a different birth father, but that such a communist saint turned out to be my father, at least in the record.

As soon as I heard the news, I knew that it was my uncle’s work. Soon after my unexpected visit, he must have consulted my mother about how to protect me from impending dangers. Since I had a successful career that led to quick advancement, it was obvious that some high authority would look up my family record for background clearance, a compulsory step preceding any promotion. If anyone had a closer look at my record, my parentage would destroy me. My mother and uncle must have thought it over and come up with a risky idea. She suggested, I learned only much later, that I be recorded as her child with Park Bok-deok, born out of wedlock. Park Bok-deok had lived next door and the two had been good friends. My mother assured Uncle that there would be enough witnesses to testify to their close relationship. Then my uncle summoned an officer in the civil registry department in his district, which also included my hometown, and told him about my case. Uncle explained that unlike other children in the family, I was the son of Park Bok-deok, but because I was born out of wedlock, I had not been registered as his son, which had to be done immediately. This officer, like many others, had been benefiting much from my uncle, who had been giving out spirits, food, and baked goods. He was not in a position to ignore my uncle’s plea, so he walked miles to visit my mother to interview her. She persuaded him that I was indeed Park Bok-deok’s son. In North Korea, there is a regulation that requires at least seven witnesses when a major amendment in one’s civil record is made. My mother supplied eight neighbors as witnesses who all agreed that I looked different from the rest of my siblings and that I resembled the deceased neighbor. Having secured all the necessary evidence, the officer came back to my uncle, all excited, and told him that my birth record would be amended shortly. Soon afterward, he showed up in my boss’s office to report that there had been a change in my birth record. Thus far, my promotion cases had been based on the records of my adoptive parents, which guaranteed me a position in the People’s Army, but in order to attain a much more exclusive leadership position in organizations that dealt with national security, such as the Social Safety Agency or the National Security Agency, my birth background needed to be clarified in a much more meticulous way.

I decided to reward the messenger who’d brought the news. Even if I did not participate in the making of my uncle’s plot, I could quickly figure out that my mother and uncle pressured him to go out of his way to change the record.

“What kind of TV do you have at home?” I asked this quite young-looking officer.

“We have Daedong-gang, sir.”

“Black-and-white TV! You certainly could use a better one!”

His face brightened. I sent him not only a brand-new TV but also other appliances, such as a refrigerator, fan, and rice cooker, which were highly coveted items for ordinary North Koreans. I also gave him enough cash for his trip back home. The messenger had an expression on his face as if he had met a good fairy granting all his wishes. I knew exactly what was happening here, but did not say a word out of fear. I also knew perfectly well what I was doing—risking fate, taking a gamble to see how it would go. Sooner or later, someone would have learned my real background, which could have completely ruined me and my family. Fabricating the record was only a preventive measure, but the risk was grave.

Years passed. I carried out my trading business as usual as a lieutenant colonel. But in the back of my mind, I constantly thought about what would happen next. During this time, I asked my uncle to arrange a meeting with my mother. No matter how dangerous it was, I had to meet her. So I visited her twice in my hometown. In a small room in my uncle’s house sat an old woman whose face I could not see. I could only see her silhouette moving, her shoulders shaking from suppressed emotions. She cried and cried. To be seated in a dark room with a sobbing stranger who was also my birth mother was a simply bizarre experience. As odd as I felt, there was no emotional rapport. She was a total stranger to me, not having taken any part in my life. I was disturbed by this distance I felt toward her, and after the second brief encounter, I decided not to visit her anymore. All I could do for her then was to help her financially, entrusting my uncle with whatever I could give.

Then in 1993, the NSA made a decision to promote outstanding officers to honor Kim Il-sung’s birthday on April 15. To celebrate national leaders’ birthdays by promoting model citizens was a tradition in North Korea. I was included in the list of candidates to be promoted to the rank of colonel, so the agency had to do a thorough background clearance of myself and the members of my family. The NSA headquarters looked up my “father” Park Bok-deok’s record and called all his family members. It turned out that Park had three sons and a daughter, and I was listed as the fourth son. All of Park’s children had remarkable careers in North Korean society, thanks to their communist saint father. The first son worked in Pyongyang as a high-ranking party official; the second son worked as a personal interpreter for Kim Il-sung and accompanied him on his state visit to Africa. The sister was married to a brigade commander, and the third son was a political advisor working at the Polytechnical Institute. To the NSA commanders, my promotion must have looked like a perfect occasion for a family celebration—the rank of colonel in the National Security Agency, to which I was to be promoted, was by no means an unimportant post. So they called the first son of Park in Pyongyang and congratulated him on his youngest brother’s impending promotion. The first son was puzzled to hear the news and told the NSA headquarters that he only had two brothers and never in his life had he heard my name before. The NSA was taken aback. It had never occurred to my mother or uncle to contact Park Bok-deok’s children to notify them of the amendment made to the civil registry, so my supposed siblings were not aware of my existence until they were contacted by the NSA. As for me, I thought that the older siblings would sooner or later find out about the new addition in their family record. I was hoping that they would contact me then, because it was a Korean tradition for the elders to reach out to younger family members. Also, since I was clearly aware of how dangerous it was to falsify any official record, I was afraid of initiating the encounter with my “siblings.”

A photocopy of a reservist card verifying my status as a military officer in the North Korean army reserve. My name is entered as “Park S,” as the card was made after the amendment to my civil records.

The cover of a reservist card. The letters read: “Democratic People’s Republic of Korea Ministry of People’s Force [Ministry of Defense].”

The NSA was run by extremely loyal officers who were at the center of the most sensitive security matters in North Korea. The agency guarded the interest of the North Korean leadership and protected their safety at the cost of their own lives. Only those whose loyalty and class background were 100 percent proven could join. The NSA headquarters was alarmed when it discovered that there was a significant contradiction between my record and the testimony of Park Bok-deok’s other family members and immediately ordered the Social Safety Agency to investigate the entire case. The SSA summoned the officer who had personally collected the testimonies of my mother and eight witnesses, cross-examined them, and found out that the suspicion was well deserved. The eight witnesses who had given testimonies about my paternity were simple folks working on a collective farm and were completely intimidated when interrogated by the well-trained agents from one of the nation’s top organizations. They simply wanted to avoid trouble and confessed that my mother had urged them to become witnesses in a case they were not sure of. The agents severely interrogated the officer and found out that he had received a handsome cash reward and brand-new electronic appliances when he amended my record. The SSA came to the conclusion that my uncle and mother purposely fabricated the record in order for me to join the heart of Kim Jong-il’s most trusted agency. After all, my original family background was tainted in the worst possible ways—two public executions, one of an American spy and the other of a would-be deserter of the homeland. The extreme contrast with the family of Park Bok-doek was suspicious enough for the NSA to assume that I was attempting to infiltrate the most powerful agency in North Korea in order to further the poisonous espionage activities of the enemy state, the United States. No matter what I said, the case was sealed and my future was doomed.