Today, we will speak with Jo Chung Hee, a child of two Zainichi Koreans who were repatriated to North Korea after living in Japan. Mr. Jo has joined us to discuss the discrimination he faced as a child in North Korean society.
Please introduce yourself.
I lived in Pyongsong, South Pyongan Province until I defected in February 2011. I was able to resettle in April 2011 in South Korea, where I’ve stayed since then.
I understand that your parents are Japanese-Korean immigrants, known as Zainichi Koreans.
Yes. Although I was born in North Korea, my parents originally lived in Japan. Both my father and mother lived in Hiroshima until they were repatriated to North Korea in 1960. I was born there in 1963.
In our previous broadcast, you said that you were forced to enlist with the Youth Shock Troops as a result of your songbun, a caste system which ascribes social status based on one’s family political background and loyalty. What sort of discrimination do ethnic Koreans from Japan face in North Korea?
In North Korea, the songbun system divides the population into three classes: the Core Class, the Wavering Class, and the Hostile Class. Repatriated citizens and their progeny are automatically categorized as part of the Hostile Class. Consequently, it is very difficult for these citizens to succeed politically. They have no opportunity to enter the corridors of power, so to speak.
That must have meant that you would have personally experienced many instances of discrimination.
Yes. I remember one particular instance from when I was in high school. For some context, I was an excellent student from middle school to high school. I was at the top of my class, always ranked number one. Around the time of my high school graduation, the Central Party was looking to hire a typist. I was one of three selected candidates out of 100 graduating students. Because of my talent and high marks, I thought I was a shoo-in for the job.
The next morning, I was summoned by the Central Party as a finalist for the typist position. When I arrived at the specified location for my final in-person interview, the interviewer immediately asked if I was the candidate named Jo Chung Hee and told me to leave after replying in the affirmative. I was given no explanation as to why I was no longer considered for the job. Wanting some answers, I waited for an opportunity to speak with the other two interviewers as they were leaving the interview site. Their response was that my family’s status as North Korean-Japanese returnees overshadowed any other positive aspects of my application. In North Korea, people use the pejorative “jaepo” to delineate people with my background.
And this was not the only instance of discrimination that I faced. I faced further discrimination in my college applications. Because I had excellent grades, I applied to many top tier colleges such as Kim Il Sung University and Kim Chaek University of Technology. My academic achievements alone should have been enough for an acceptance, but I was rejected from each school. It turns out that citizens with relatives who are North Korean-Japanese returnees cannot enroll in North Korea’s most prestigious schools. This status quo was very frustrating to me for obvious reasons. All of the hard work I had put into school to be the best student was for nothing, and I was unable to attend the college I wanted [and deserved] due to my social placement in the Hostile Class.
As a result, I decided to enlist in the army—only to be rejected again for similar reasons: repatriated North Korean citizens or offspring are part of an untrustworthy social class. In other words, members of this class are assumed to be unable to conform to North Korea’s social order and seek to undermine it, which is a belief that became widespread starting in 1983. Being told once again that I was being held back due to my songbun classification enraged me. The hopelessness and injustice I felt drove me to become drunk one night and I assaulted some soldiers who had been allowed to enlist. I was subsequently taken into police custody for my actions, and punished with beatings for a month. There were so many people like me who were similarly marginalized and unable to attend college or enlist in the army. It was these people who were recruited to join the Shock Troops, and I found myself joining their ranks with few other options.
I understand that you applied to college again after completing your service with the Shock Troops and ultimately a university to study animal husbandry and veterinary sciences. I was wondering if this choice had anything to do with your family background.
I painfully learned that not everyone in North Korea has the opportunity to attend their desired college and study what they want. People like me who are related to North Korean-Japanese returnees are deprived of opportunities without exception. While I was in the Shock Troops, I submitted an application to Kumsung University of Political Science. As it turns out, this college still required the applicant to provide official documentation of their family to the eighth degree of consanguinity. Given that my parents had been repatriated from Japan, I only had documentation for my nuclear family in North Korea.
I came across similar problems when I was at the police station. According to a police notice I received, one’s proper authentication was contingent on official documentation of family relatives extending to the fifth degree of consanguinity. As such, repatriated families lacking such a paper trail in North Korea are severely limited in many ways. Their career aspects are relegated to vocational schools focusing on agriculture, veterinary sciences, animal husbandry, and electronics. I was, in fact, lucky to have even been able to attend the school that I did.
After graduating from high school, you participated in the Three Revolutions Team movement for three years. Under this campaign, you were given a job placement. Where did you work?
First of all, I want to state that there is social discrimination even during the job placement process. The Central Party assigns people to different work stations based on their songbun classification. It does not consider their academic achievements or character. In contrast, if one’s songbun status is not good, they will be deployed to work in the fields near their hometown. As a Pyongsong native, I was sent to the animal husbandry sector in Pyongsong. That’s how I ended up doing veterinary and animal husbandry work with the regional management committee, which falls under the auspices of the Provincial Party Committee.
Did you face discrimination even as an administrative officer?
Yes. I had little authority and almost no opportunity for promotions. After starting work in the management committee, I had to work for at least four years before I was given a chance to be promoted. And this opportunity only arose because there was an empty position that needed to be filled after the creation of a new department. Another employee and I both competed for that position. In North Korea, receiving a promotion is a game that requires a bit of dirty play. One must provide sufficient bribes in addition to having a good work record and strong academic scores. Given my 10 years of service with the Shock Troops, political participation, and strong grades in college, I met such requirements.
Even so, I was overlooked for the promotion again because of my family connections to North Korean-Japanese returnees. To add salt to the wound, the colleague who was promoted over me had graduated from college later than me and started working later than me. Seeing someone who was my subordinate in the workplace suddenly rise past me due to his family rank was beyond frustrating. There is a saying that North Korean-Japanese returnees are the lowest of the low, and this experience seemed to prove just that. There were about 100 people working within the management committee, and they all thought that I would receive the promotion. Unfortunately, my competitor’s family connections were just that much stronger. I heard that his uncle worked in the international studies department and had a lot of influence in determining the outcome of the promotion.
How did you feel about this?
In short, I was livid. I had remained loyal to the party and its leadership all my life, hoping that one day I would be rewarded for my work. I faced discrimination in high school, within the Shock Troops, and during college—but I persevered through it all by continuing to do my best and give my all. I remained personable and networked as well as I could, and always volunteered first to do all of the most difficult work. However, in the end, it was all for nothing.
I felt as if I had been taken advantage of and used. Moreover, I was upset at how my family suffered the same sort of exploitation. So I came to the conclusion that there was no hope in working as an administrative official; I decided that I would work in business instead. I made this career switch in the midst of the Arduous March (widespread famine of the mid-1990s), hoping to make some money through the markets.
What motivated you to defect from North Korea?
I decided to defect in the beginning of 2000. At that time, my son was in his third year of middle school. Growing up, he saw all the discrimination I had faced at my state job. He subsequently watched me struggle to make a new living in the North Korean marketplace. My son eventually took up boxing to help provide for the family. In North Korea, one has the opportunity to distinguish oneself through physical or artistic talents. If a citizen is able to win a medal in an international competition, they can even secure residence in Pyongyang. The government additionally provides a house and a job.
Knowing this, my son trained hard to be a boxer for three year and was selected to represent North Korea as part of a junior boxing team. He even had the opportunity to participate in the Asian Games, until his songbun classification eventually barred him. As a father, I had seen my son work hard and take numerous punches in the ring. It was subsequently heartbreaking to see him banned from participating in international competitions because of his family background. My son hung up his gloves shortly after, disheartened by the whole affair.
I felt so guilty then. My innocent son had to suffer because he had the misfortune of being born to me. And I, in turn, had to suffer because of my own parents. If they had just stayed in Japan, the whole family would not have had to face such discrimination. I can still vividly remember my parents’ expressions when I blamed them for this. They would not say a single word, and only sigh instead. It was these events that eventually led me to think that I could no longer live like that and that I must do something. Around this time, secretly watching South Korean dramas and listening to foreign radio broadcasts became very popular in Pyongsong. It was through such mediums that I was able to learn more about South Korea, from where my parents actually originated. It was also what made me want to educate my children in South Korea and pushed me to defect.
I heard that you’ve engaged in a lot of activism aimed at raising awareness of North Korea’s human rights abuses. Do you have anything you would like to say to North Korea’s government as a refugee living in South Korea?
The reality is that North Korean citizens today are becoming more self-aware through fledgling marketization—and there is nothing that the North Korean government officials can do to stop it. They may try to hold on to power by developing nuclear weapons, but these efforts will eventually be futile. I sincerely hope that the regime will come to this realization and open up the country. Moreover, I hope that North Korean citizens will one day be able to live freely and leave behind the horrendous abuses to which they have been subjected.
