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REJECTING NORTH KOREAN
REFUGEES
PART 2: A long, winding and
dangerous road
By Andrei
Lankov
(PART 1: South Korea slams the
door)
SEOUL - Well, if the
South Korean government does not want the North
Korean refugees, what do North Koreans dreaming of
a better life do? Probably, most give up the very
idea of defecting, being reasonably content with
their life in China, where many live, occasionally
crossing back and forth across the border. After
all, consuming 2,500 calories every day in China
is a rare luxury for somebody from the North
Korean countryside - and money earned in China can
be used to help relatives in North Korea. Many
refugees live in de facto relationships with the
local men (women greatly outnumber men in the
refugee community), and they are quite happy with
their family life, according to interviews with
those who make it to the South and those who
remain in China.
Some people, however,
still want to go to the South, attracted by its
economic opportunities or its freedoms - usually,
by both. Of course, they soon realize that Seoul
officials will not help them at all - the
settlement stipend has been slashed - but they
still find ways to reach their destination. About
6,000 live in South Korea, including more than
1,850 who arrived last year.
There are a
few ways to get to the South, and all have
something in common: the refugees outsmart Seoul
bureaucracy and place it in the awkward situation
that it has no alternative but to accept them,
since its constitution recognizes all Koreans as
citizens with equal rights.
The easiest
way is to exploit the legal fiction of "one
Korea". According to the South Korean
constitution, every North Korean is the citizen of
the Republic of Korea. Hence he or she cannot be
possibly extradited once found on South Korean
soil. This means that once they are in South
Korea, refugees rush to the nearest policeman and
give themselves up to the authorities. In such a
situation, the authorities have no choice but to
greet the newly arrived compatriots, providing
them with "arrival money", the meager stipend,
some basic job training and, most important of
all, the full rights of a South Korean citizen.
But how to get to the South? Well, by air
or by ship, of course. The sea route is cheaper
but less reliable. If the sea route is chosen, a
group of North Koreans or, rather, a broker
operating on their behalf finds a Chinese skipper
who will agree to take additional passengers and
help hide them from the Chinese police and
immigration service. When the boat passes near the
South Korean coast, the defectors leave it and go
ashore. Then they go to the police box and inform
the policemen that they have just "chosen
freedom"!
The air route is more convenient
and comfortable, but it is also far more expensive
since air travel requires a good-quality forged
passport in order to pass immigration. It is
virtually impossible to prepare such a document
without a professional help from brokers, and such
help is not cheap, since it requires payment to
professional forgers and, perhaps, a genuine South
Korean citizen will have to "lose" his passport so
that a North Korean can take his place. The
typical fee for getting one person to the South by
sea is 3 million to 4 million South Korean won
(US$2,800-$3,800), while an air trip would cost
three times as much.
But what to do if the
person badly wants to go to the South but has no
money to pay a broker? Frankly, such a person does
not have many chances. For the ordinary refugees
the single means of entering the South is to
attract a modicum of attention to themselves. In
the late 1990s, this usually implied cultivating
relations with the South Korean press, since media
involvement and the associated publicity helped -
at least, occasionally. However, it seems that
this method does not work anymore: media articles
are normally ignored by the decision makers.
However, refugees have discovered another
way to grab media attention: semi-symbolic
"takeovers" of foreign missions and agencies in
third countries (usually China). Quite often the
foreign press is informed of the forthcoming
"attack", so that all the events unfold in front
of foreign camera crews and journalists, thus
ensuring worldwide publicity. When everything is
ready, the group suddenly breaks into a foreign
mission, pushing aside Chinese guards. Once on the
extraterritorial soil, the participants demand the
transfer to South Korea. This strategy has worked
well so far. Once South Korean diplomacy is faced
with such a crisis, it has no other choice but to
arrange for the refugees' removal to Seoul - even
if under less dramatic circumstances the South
Korean diplomatic staff would hardly deal with
them. In most cases the sides involved do their
best to solve the crisis as soon as possible -
apparently to minimize the publicity of such an
incident (in this regard, the interests of China,
South Korea and North Korea are virtually
identical).
However, the "takeover" also
requires great sophistication and good working
knowledge of the international political
situation. The presence of camera crews,
preferably foreign, is also vital, especially if
something goes wrong. Initially, these operations
used to be staged by non-governmental
organizations (NGOs), but from early 2003 most
"takeovers" have been planned and organized by the
commercial brokers as well. The brokers assemble
the group of attackers, study the target embassy
or consulate, plan the operation, and ensure the
presence of foreign media and/or film the event
themselves. Fees are moderate compared with the
fees for direct travel to the South, but they
still are quite high.
If necessary,
brokers and their contacts inside the Democratic
People's Republic of Korea (DPRK) can even escort
somebody from North Korea into China and then
onward, but this costs additional money. There
have been reports that it now costs about 10
million won ($9,500) to arrange for a Pyongyang
dweller's trip to China from where he or she would
be transported to the South. The person is
normally accompanied by a guide who is supposed to
solve all problems and arrange a safe border
crossing. It is much cheaper to take someone to
China from the northern provinces of the DPRK than
to choose other options.
Where does the
money come from? After all, the money required is
truly exorbitant for all but a tiny faction of
North Koreans. In most cases, brokers' fees are
paid by family members who already have arrived in
the South. This is what may be described as a
"chain defection", somewhat akin to "chain
immigration": one family member somehow manages to
get to the South first, and after completing the
standard procedures receives the first payment of
his or her "settlement money". The "settlement
money", however, has been drastically reduced
(from $32,000 to $9,000 as of January 1), yet
bundled together this is sufficient to smuggle
another family member from China.
Upon
arrival, the new family member again invests his
or her money into bringing yet another member of
the same family, and so the cycle continues until
all family members are safely in the South - and a
large part of their "settlement money" is in the
hands of brokers. A 2000 research survey conceded:
"In the last one or two years more than half of
all defectors already had parents, siblings or
other close relatives in South Korea [at the time
of defection]". In 2003 a Korean scholar who has a
good knowledge of the refugee community described
the situation in Hanawon, the refugees' retraining
center, thus: "Among its students there is a not
insignificant number of people whose major goal is
to get out of the study center as soon as
possible, receive their 'settlement money' and use
this to bring other family members to South
Korea."
In some cases, the initial
investment is provided by a relative in South
Korea or in some Western country. A cost of a few
thousand dollars is prohibitively high for the
average North Korean refugee in China, where the
average laborer's income is about $50 a month. But
this is not a particularly large sum for a Korean
shop owner somewhere in Los Angeles. And finally,
some brokers are ready to smuggle the person on
the promise to pay money upon his/her arrival to
the South.
All these scenarios require
brokers' involvement, and in 2004, 83% of all
successful refugees arrived to the South after
paying fees to the brokers. The South Korean
government fumes against "organized defections" in
full knowledge that individual defections have
much less chance of succeeding (and are far more
dangerous, too). Indeed, even if a North Korean
somehow has money, how can he or she locate a
Chinese skipper who would agree to deliver the
person to the South Korean coast, instead of
reporting him or her to the Chinese police?
Getting a forged South Korean passport for an air
trip is nearly impossible for an individual
without proper connections. And a badly planned
and executed "run-in" or attack on a foreign
mission is certain to put the would-be defector
into the hands of Chinese police, with extradition
to the North and a long prison term being the most
likely outcome.
Seoul hopes that if it is
able to limit the activities of brokers, the
associated risks and difficulties will discourage
many potential defectors and this will halt the
further escalation of defections. Perhaps to some
extent this is true, even if such a political
achievement for the South will come at a huge
human cost to many North Koreans.
For the
6,000 North Korean defectors living in the South,
life is not very easy. Most of them are relegated
to low-paying jobs or do not have permanent jobs
at all. They often face discrimination from their
South Korean brethren. But perhaps we should not
over-dramatize the situation. After all, in spite
of all these problems, they are well fed and well
dressed, something that would have been impossible
for most of them had they stayed in the North. And
being Koreans, they have great faith in the future
of their children. Perhaps this faith is not
unfounded.
China, a better life and a
gateway
Northeastern China, bordering North
Korea, is far better than North Korea, yet the
South remains a magnet for many. The somewhat
misnamed Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) that separates
North Korea from the South has always been one of
the world's most heavily guarded frontiers. On the
other hand, the North Korean border with
"fraternal" China was never protected that
carefully. This was not deemed necessary: an
escape to "fraternal" China would not lead to
grave political consequences. Pyongyang assumed
that most defectors would soon be arrested by the
Chinese police and then extradited back.
The areas of Manchuria that lie next to
the border represent a peculiar ethnic mix. There
are 2 million ethnic Koreans in China, and most of
these live near the North Korean border. Many
ethnic Koreans have relatives in North Korea, and
a small part of them (6,000 or some 0.3% of the
Korean population in the region) are even citizens
of the DPRK. In many areas near the border Chinese
is hardly spoken, and a Korean speaker has no
problem negotiating his or her way in this part of
China.
This peculiar situation made
possible the dramatic exodus that was triggered by
North Korea's Great Famine of 1996-99 one of the
worst humanitarian disasters in the history of
Korea. Crowds of refugees began to move to China
in 1996. Obviously the Pyongyang government tried
to stop this migration, but to no avail: the
guards were unable to control the border, and were
often willing to look the other way for a small
payment, or out of compassion.
It is
difficult to estimate the refugees' numbers. The
most serious research of the situation was
undertaken by South Korean sociologists between
November 1998 and April 1999 when North Korea was
going through the worst time of privation and the
refugee numbers probably reached their all-time
high. According to this study, between 143,000
(the minimum estimation) and 195,000 (the maximum
estimation) refugees were taking shelter in
northeastern China at that time. After the partial
improvement of the food situation in North Korea
in 1999-2000, the number of refuges decreased, and
now most estimates range between 50,000 and
100,000. This is a fluid population: many people
spend just a few months in China, and then return
to North Korea - perhaps to go back to China again
to earn some money. Thus the number of people who
have been in China greatly exceeds the number of
refugees found there at any particular moment.
It has been long known that in the refugee
community men are outnumbered by women. According
to the research cited, females made up 75% of the
entire number in 1998-99, and the situation has
not changed much since then. This gender imbalance
determines the lifestyle of the community. Since a
majority of fugitives are women, a significant
proportion of them (52% in 1998-99) have lived
with local partners, both ethnic Chinese and
ethnic Koreans. These men cannot really be
described as "husbands", since Korean women are
staying in China illegally and hence such unions
do not have legal approval. However, it seems that
in most cases both parties perceive such a union
as a proper marriage. After all, humble farmers in
a relatively underdeveloped part of China do not
care much about what authorities think of their
family life. Such marriages are usually arranged
via Chinese (Han or ethnic-Korean) brokers. In
some cases, these brokers contact girls and their
families while they are still in North Korea and
arrange their trip across the border. Kidnappings
of refugee women are not unknown.
The
brokers work on commission, of course. The fees
range widely, but it seems that a typical price
for a woman in her late 20s is about 3,000-5,000
yuan ($400-600). The sum is paid "upon delivery"
by the husband and goes to the broker.
Most of the husbands are people who, for a
variety of reasons, have had difficultly in
finding a wife by more orthodox methods: widowers
with children, habitual drunkards, drug addicts or
the handicapped. In many northeastern Chinese
villages, the mass migration of young women to the
booming cities has resulted in a severe "bridal
shortage", such that Korean wives are in high
demand. China's one-child policy that in effect
favors boys over girls also has resulted in a
skewed demographic and shortage of women.
Those refugees who are not married to
locals earn their living through casual or
unskilled labor. They are typically employed as
waitresses or dishwashers in restaurants or cafes,
as construction workers, as domestic maids or as
hired hands on farms. As a rule, the refugees'
employers are ethnic Koreans, since the refugees
seldom speak fluent Chinese. Since they stay
illegally in the People's Republic of China, their
wages are well below those of local residents - a
phenomenon well known to illegal migrants of all
ages the world over. The farm laborer, for
example, typically receives 5-10 yuan (about $1)
per day, plus food and accommodation.
Nevertheless, even this modest income represents a
considerable bonus to the impoverished North
Koreans. Many refugees ran to China because back
at home they faced near-certain death - and their
ability to eat three bowls of rice daily is a
luxury they could not even dream of under the
fatherly care of the Dear Leader. Most male
refugees hope to save enough money to buy some
merchandise and then return to help families and
relatives who remain in North Korea.
Judging by the anecdotal evidence, the
attitude of the local population - both Han and
Korean - toward the refugees is generally
sympathetic. At least this was the case in the
late 1990s when refugees fled the deadly famine.
Refugees of that period frequently describe how
local residents supplied the fugitives with food
and clothing, helped them reach their destinations
or hired them even when their labor was not really
necessary: "All four of us [four North Korean
women who had just crossed the Tuman River]
approached one of the houses. The gates were
closed, but the owner lit lights and invited us to
enter. We told him about our situation, and [the
owner] replied that, since this was the case, we
may have a meal and stay for the night."
Or another example: a family of refugees
reached a remote village where they could enjoy
relative safety: "There was an empty house [in the
village], and the villagers supplied us with
clothes, soy sauce, salt and vegetables." In the
past few years, however, when refugees have been
fleeing more for economic gain (as opposed to
fleeing from near-certain death, as was the case
in 1996-99), the attitude to them has cooled.
What do these people want? First and
foremost, they want to survive the hard times back
home - and improve their economic situation as
well. Some of them have political reasons to leave
the country, but these constitute a minority. Many
refugees also avail themselves of any opportunity
to send money or goods back home. Occasionally
they make home visits themselves, crossing the
border to the North, spending some time with their
families and then returning to China. Such
refugees might be seen as a hybrid mix of shuttle
traders cum smugglers cum refugees.
In
2003 the North Korean authorities even began to
issue official overseas travel permits to such
traders. Such permits allow them cross border and
move their merchandise legally. In essence these
are quasi-passports, valid for travel to China
only, but available more or less to every citizen
- a remarkable development for what has been a
modern-day hermit kingdom.
The attitude of
the Chinese authorities and police to the refugees
largely depends on the current political
situation. The People's Republic of China refuses
to grant North Koreans the status of "refugees",
and considers them illegal economic immigrants.
When in August 2002 the Chinese ambassador to
Korea was interviewed by Taehan Maeil, an
influential South Korean daily, he replied to a
question about refugees: "Since the economic
situation in North Korea recently deteriorated,
some North Korean citizens have illegally crossed
the border to China. Taking into consideration the
reasons for their arrival in China as well as
international law, they cannot be seen as
'refugees'. We will protect the order on our
borders, while treating them according to
humanitarian political principles."
The
Chinese concerns are easy to identify: if Beijing
grants North Koreans the much-coveted refugee
status, this will have two important consequences.
First, China will have to provide them with aid,
and this would be quite costly. The second (and
presumably more important) reason for the Chinese
reluctance to treat the North Korean migrants as
refuges is political: such treatment might
encourage further defections, which probably would
lead to a destabilization of the North Korean
regime. Finally, refugee status would make
extradition of the refugees back to North Korea
much more difficult, and Chinese authorities do
not want to deprive themselves of this option.
Nonetheless, the Chinese police often have turned
a blind eye to the refugees' presence - as long as
they maintain a low profile and do not create
political scandals.
But perhaps the most
remarkable thing is the North Korean position on
refugees. Until the mid-1990s, the DPRK
authorities treated an attempted border crossing
as a serious political crime, sometimes punishable
by death. Illegal border crossings are now treated
as a minor offense. Although occasional reports of
executions of apprehended defectors do surface,
these appear to be the exception, and often
involve those who (with or without reason) are
accused of espionage or subversive activities. The
majority of the defectors who are apprehended by
border guards or are extradited from China are
detained for only a short term, normally a week or
two.
During their detention they are
subjected to police interrogation (this includes
regular beatings and occasional torture, of
course). If they are not found guilty of any
serious political offense, they are sent for
"labor re-education" - a period of forced labor
that lasts for a few months. Those refugees who
are found to have had some interaction with
foreigners, especially with South Koreans, are
handed over to the security police, who subject
them to further investigation. These people are
seen as more serious offenders, and they are sent
to prison camps for long terms that often may mean
death. Nevertheless, these individuals represent
only a minority of all refugees. According to a
recent study that summarizes the available data
about the treatment of deportees, an astonishing
40% of them return to China after their release
from detention.
What are the reasons for
such leniency? Of course, the refugees are too
numerous to be punished with Pyongyang's old
ferocity, but the current approach is probably
dictated by another consideration as well. It is
clear that even if some refugees want to go to the
South, this will be difficult, almost impossible -
largely because of the position of the Seoul
government itself. Most of them are stuck in
China, where they are free to work as hired hands,
remaining at the mercy of their employers and
local police. From the North Korean point of view,
this is a politically secure solution.
(This ends the two-part report)
Dr Andrei Lankov is a lecturer in
the faculty of Asian Studies, China and Korea
Center, Australian National University. He
graduated from Leningrad State University with a
PhD in Far Eastern history and China, with
emphasis on Korea, and his thesis focused on
factionalism in the Yi Dynasty. He has published
books and articles on Korea and North Asia. He is
currently on leave, teaching at Kookmin
University, Seoul.
(Copyright 2005
Asia Times Online Ltd. All rights reserved. Please
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