A River in Darkness: One Man's Escape from North Korea

“You don’t choose to be born. You just are. And your birth is your destiny, some say. I say the hell with that. And I should know. I was born not just once but five times. And five times I learned the same lesson. Sometimes in life, you have to grab your so-called destiny by the throat and wring its neck.”

Masaji’s rejection of predetermined fate introduces the motif of rebirth. He challenges the fatalistic mindset imposed by North Korea’s totalitarian regime, defying the oppressive forces that have limited his agency. The metaphor of being “born five times” suggests a series of transformative experiences that have reshaped his identity and worldview. Each “birth” represents a pivotal moment of renewal, a shedding of his old self, and an opportunity for change.

“My grandmother once said to me, ‘Koreans are barbarians.’ I loved her, but I resented her remark. Though I felt Japanese—and felt it with complete conviction—I was half-Korean […] I couldn’t help but agree with them. I had a strong sense of revulsion toward my father, who certainly lived up to the barbaric reputation of Koreans whenever he beat my mother. […] it was hardly surprising that I, like my grandmother, grew to dislike Koreans.”

Masaji's internal conflict surrounding his Korean heritage highlights the theme of Belonging in a Divided World. His grandmother's prejudice reveals an early exposure to xenophobia in Japanese society, which shaped his identity. A sense of alienation and self-loathing, coupled with conflicted feelings towards his father, complicate this internal struggle. He finds himself in a complex position, not fully belonging to either culture.

“From my perspective, there wasn’t much difference between a socialist movement, a nationalist movement, and a brutal brawl in the black market. All these people had a couple of things in common. They all had their own personal histories in Japan—and they were all poor. They just wanted to assert their own existence. And that meant fighting however they could to gain some kind of power.”

Masaji’s observation on the Korean community in Japan reveals a nuanced understanding of the complex factors driving social and political movements. While he recognizes the diverse motivations of individuals within these groups, he ultimately attributes their actions to a shared experience of marginalization and economic hardship. The Korean community is depicted as a group struggling to assert their identity and power within a hostile environment. The repatriation program, presented as a solution to their issues with Belonging in a Divided World, can be seen as a consequence of this complex interplay between marginalization, political opportunism, and the desperate search for a sense of stability and acceptance.

“Some Japanese wives discarded their Japanese passports when presented with Korean papers, but my mother kept hers. There was a sentence, buried somewhere in the paperwork, that stated, ‘Once you have settled in North Korea, you will not be allowed to return to Japan without official Japanese authorization.’ I tried to convince myself that since I was Japanese by birth, it wouldn’t be a problem for me to come back someday. But as we went through the various bureaucratic steps, I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of dread.”

The bureaucratic process surrounding the repatriation process exposes early on the oppressive nature of the North Korean regime. Miyoko's decision to retain her Japanese passport reflects her inner hope of a potential return while foreshadowing the insurmountable obstacles that will hinder Masaji’s escape decades later. This early introduction of the regime's control mechanisms underscores the theme of The Cost of Totalitarianism, highlighting the ways in which the state systematically erodes individual agency and freedom.

“Their clothes, their shoes, everything about them, made it clear at once that these denizens of paradise were infinitely poorer than we’d ever been during our tough life in Japan.”

The stark contrast between the impoverished reality of North Korea and the idealized propaganda disseminated among Korean residents in Japan is vividly captured in this passage. Masaji confronts the harsh truth of his new environment and the deprivation he and his family came to experience after their arrival.

“Our lessons went well beyond the standard subjects of spelling, math, and physics. […] The most important thing was how faithful you were to the Great Leader. […] I played along. I learned quickly that in that sort of situation, if you want to survive, you have to stifle your critical faculties and just get on with things. […] But the trouble is that some people really do end up brainwashed.”

Masaji’s first experience with the educational system in North Korea exposed the pervasive nature of indoctrination. The prioritization of loyalty to the “Great Leader” over intellectual pursuits reveals the regime’s strategy of controlling thought and suppressing critical thinking. This emphasis on conformity rather than education aligns with the broader theme of The Cost of Totalitarianism, as the state systematically erodes individual autonomy and replaces it with unquestioning obedience.

“Harvest was known as ‘autumn battle.’ […] Everything was a ‘battle’ or a ‘march’ or a ‘war.’ Stirring words to encourage people to fight hard. […] That’s what happens to language in countries like North Korea. A totalitarian dictatorship is a ‘democratic republic.’ Bondage is known as ‘emancipation.’”

By infusing everyday life with militaristic rhetoric, the state obscures the true nature of oppression. The motif of language as a tool of control is central to the theme of The Cost of Totalitarianism, as it serves to dehumanize individuals and suppress dissent. The stark contrast between reality and the regime's manufactured narrative underscores the extent to which language can be weaponized to shape people’s perceptions.

“While we were clearing up our burned-out wreck of a house, some villagers walked past and openly sneered at us. I couldn’t help but notice that they were the very same people who’d wolfed down my mother’s dishes and guzzled my father’s booze just days before. That’s when I started calling them ‘natives.’”

The villagers' open hostility towards returnees reveals the deep-seated animosity and prejudice that exists within the North Korean community. The stark shift in attitude, as they quickly turn on those they had previously welcomed into their homes, highlights the precariousness of belonging in a society where loyalty can be fickle. The regime's policy of dividing the population into “insiders” and “outsiders” is evident in this instance, as the villagers' actions serve to reinforce the boundaries of social acceptance. Masaji's adoption of the term “natives” to describe the villagers reflects an internalization of this division. His use of the term exposes his attempt to establish a clear distinction between himself and those who have rejected him. This quote speaks to the theme of Belonging in a Divided World.

“I can never forgive Kim Il-sung for taking away our right to think.”

The denial of the fundamental right to think underscores the regime’s overarching goal of suppressing individuality and critical thought. This deliberate erasure of autonomy is a core component of The Cost of Totalitarianism, as it reduces citizens to passive receptacles of state propaganda. Masaji’s statement reveals the psychological impact of living under such oppressive conditions, where the ability to question, to doubt, and to form independent opinions is systematically eradicated.

“‘I want to eat a rice ball coated with sweetened red beans,’ my mother said after our toast. […] ‘Don’t worry!’ she said, knowing what he must be thinking. ‘Come to think about it, I couldn’t eat a rice ball if I tried. I don’t have enough teeth. My rice-ball-eating days are over.’ And then she just laughed. I hadn’t heard her laugh for ages. It was contagious. We all began to laugh together—until tears sprang to our eyes.”

The seemingly mundane desire for a rice ball becomes a poignant symbol of normalcy and human connection amidst the harsh realities of life under totalitarian rule. This brief respite underscores the devastating impact of the regime on the human spirit, as even the simplest pleasures become luxuries. The juxtaposition of their laughter with the ensuing tears reveals the fragility of human resilience in the face of overwhelming adversity.

“We rarely witnessed or experienced any real humanity or warmth in our daily life. Everyone was always thinking of themselves—how to get ahead, pretending to care about the party, watching their own backs, scrambling for food, and using cigarettes and alcohol as bribes to get in with people who had power. To be fair, it was the only way to survive. The system had dehumanized them completely. Us. The sad thing was that I was starting to think the same way myself.”

Masaji’s poignant reflection on the dehumanizing effects of the totalitarian regime underscores the theme of The Cost of Totalitarianism. The emphasis on self-preservation, manipulation, and a pervasive sense of distrust reveals a society stripped of its humanity. The shift from the collective pronoun “them” to the inclusive “us” highlights Masaji’s growing awareness of his own complicity in this dehumanizing system. This recognition marks a turning point, as he begins to question the extent to which he has been shaped by the oppressive environment.

“Life was just as hard, even harder than before, but my son took my mind off my mother’s death. Apart from him, I had nothing to live for. And if I thought too much about that, well, I moved toward the abyss. So I struggled desperately just to make it from one day to the next.”

Masaji’s candid admission of his emotional desolation following his mother’s death underscores the devastating psychological toll of life under totalitarian rule. This poignant portrayal of paternal love reveals the enduring power of human connection amidst overwhelming adversity. While the regime seeks to dehumanize its citizens, Masaji’s capacity for love and resilience carries him through and ultimately prompts his escape.

“Seeing my baby’s face as she slept so peacefully made me determined to work harder than ever. But the reality hit home late that night. I had a wife. And now two children. And however hard I worked, I would always be poor. I would never be allowed to better myself, no matter how much effort I put in. My children would be faced with a life of hardship regardless of what I did. I woke up the next day, all my naive excitement drained away.”

Masaji's internal conflict between hope and despair is central to understanding his experience under totalitarian rule. The birth of his daughter initially ignites a surge of determination and optimism, suggesting a brief respite from the pervasive hopelessness. However, the harsh reality of life under the regime quickly shatters these illusions. Masaji's emotional trajectory from hope to disillusionment highlights the psychological toll of living under a regime that systematically perpetuates a cycle of poverty and despair.

“I couldn’t help but think about that returnee who’d ignored me. It was stupid to dwell on that. Of all the insults I’d endured in my life, hers was hardly the worst. But I couldn’t. She’d made a point of ignoring me. […] That moment seemed to sum up my entire existence. I was nothing. Less than nothing. Whatever I did was a waste of time. A waste of effort. […] The pain of death would be nothing compared to this hell on earth.”

Paradoxically, it is not the most overt forms of oppression, but rather the insidious erosion of human dignity that proves to be the most unbearable for Masaji, culminating in an attempt at death by suicide. The casual disregard shown by a fellow returnee, a seemingly minor incident, becomes a catalyst for Masaji's breakdown. His self-perception at his lowest encapsulates the dehumanizing effects of totalitarianism, as his desperate search for recognition and validation remains unfulfilled, ultimately leading to a profound sense of isolation.

“I didn’t feel bad about stealing the radishes. What choice did I have? […] It was simply a question of survival. I developed a kind of ‘so what?’ attitude. ‘Even if I could get a job, we still wouldn’t be able to eat properly,’ I said to my wife. I decided we should life independently and not rely on the government.”

The state’s failure to provide basic necessities forces citizens to adopt unconventional survival strategies, blurring the lines between right and wrong. Masaji’s attitude reveals a profound disillusionment with the state and its inability to fulfill its basic obligations, highlighting the theme of Desperate Measures in Desperate Times. His shift from a law-abiding citizen to a survivalist underscores the dehumanizing effects of the regime, as individuals are forced to prioritize basic needs over moral principles.

“By the eighties, things had actually changed for the better for returnees. Returnees regularly received money from their relatives back in Japan, and a chosen few would visit them. […] Those who got to leave for visits returned with hard currency and everyday products that were the height of luxury in the impoverished hellhole that was North Korea. As returnees grew wealthier, the party’s attitude toward them changed. […] A canny move it turned out. There were ways of using hostages.”

The apparent improvement in the status of returnees in the 1980s is a deceptive facade that masks the regime’s continued control and exploitation. The regime's newfound tolerance towards returnees is not rooted in humanitarianism, but rather in a cynical calculation of self-interest. By allowing some to prosper, the regime gains access to valuable resources while simultaneously influencing public opinion. Social mobility for returnees is ultimately a mirage, which Masaji points to with his characterization of returnees as “hostages,” as it conceals the regime’s continued exploitation of its citizens.

“Ever since moving to North Korea, I’d never felt truly alive; part of me had been walled off, silenced. After a while, I felt that that part of me had simply withered away like a limb that atrophies from lack of use. I pondered the terror that had dominated my life—the never-ending surveillance; the lack of autonomy; the fear of expressing an opinion; the hopelessness and despair; the impossibility of improving my lot in life. Kil Il-sung’s menacing rule had invaded evert single aspect of my life, like a bayonet inches from my throat.”

Masaji’s reflection on his life under Kim Il-sung's regime offers a tally of The Cost of Totalitarianism. The comparison of the regime's control to a weapon emphasizes the constant threat and physical manifestation of oppression. Significantly, Masaji’s realization emerges after Kim Il-sung's death, a moment that might be expected to offer some respite. However, the introduction of Kim Jong-Il and the repetition of familiar propaganda reveal the enduring nature of the regime's control, laying bare the systemic nature of oppression, suggesting that, although the figure Masaji came to associate with his oppression was no longer in power, his subjugation still continued.

“No one thought or talked about anything except food. When we could manage to get around, we spent all our time searching and searching for anything remotely edible. We were nothing but a bunch of ravenous ghosts. The barely living dead. I don’t know how many people starved to death.”

Masaji uses strong imagery to encapsulate the dehumanizing effects of the famine. The obsessive focus on food, a basic human need, highlights the all-consuming nature of survival in this environment. This relentless struggle for existence erodes the foundations of human connection and empathy, as individuals are forced to prioritize their own survival over social bonds.

“[I]t suddenly occurred to me that if I was going to die anyway, I might as well die trying to get back to Japan. If by some miracle I succeeded, I could send money back to my family. I could save them. […] Suddenly I felt strangely free. I’d crossed an invisible threshold, and my life would never be the same again. I’d just left everything I knew and everyone I loved, and there was no going back. I was going to escape, or die trying.”

Masaji’s decision to escape North Korea is driven by a desperate gamble for survival and a profound sense of paternal duty. The looming threat of starvation forces him to weigh the certainty of death against the uncertain promise of escape. His decision to risk everything underscores the dehumanizing conditions imposed by the totalitarian regime, forcing individuals into impossible choices and highlighting the theme of Desperate Measures in Desperate Times. The paradoxical sense of freedom he experiences highlights the oppressive nature of his reality. By severing ties with his known world, Masaji symbolically liberates himself from the regime's control, even as he confronts the terrifying unknown.

“My emotions were potent and mixed. Even in my relief and my giddy disbelief, haunting images of my children flashed through my mind. A sharp pang of guilt reverberated through me. It’s never ceased.”

Masaji’s escape from North Korea is marked by a complex interplay of emotions. This moment captures the emotional toll and psychological burden of totalitarianism, illustrating how the regime's cruelty extends beyond physical suffering to profound emotional distress. His persistent guilt reflects the theme of Desperate Measures in Desperate Times, showing the sacrifices made for survival. Additionally, Masaji's mixed emotions underscore his sense of displacement and ongoing struggle for Belonging in a Divided World, as his freedom comes at the cost of deep personal regret and unresolved ties to his family.

“Now I have just one thing left. My only true possession. I’m sorry to say that it’s bitterness. Bitterness at the cruelty of life.”

Masaji’s lingering regret reveals the enduring impact of his traumatic experiences. His "only true possession" being "bitterness" signifies the profound emotional and psychological scars left by The Cost of Totalitarianism. Despite his escape and relocation to Japan, his disillusionment and unfulfilled aspirations are evident as the challenges of rebuilding a life after such profound loss did not amount to a sense of freedom.

“I hadn’t escaped from North Korea just for myself. The whole point was to get my family out. To me, if they couldn’t get out, my efforts had been a waste of time.”

Masaji’s escape, initially motivated by a profound sense of familial duty, is rendered meaningless by the obstacles preventing his family’s liberation. Thus, in the aftermath of his desertion he still struggles with Belonging in a Divided World, and his unfulfilled mission leaves a profound sense of failure and regret, shaping the remaining of his life in Japan.

“After I returned to Japan, I visited the town where I was born. I yearned to regain a sense of belonging, and I thought that the once-familiar scenery would bring back some sweet memories of my childhood and help heal my pain. But no. The town had become unrecognizable. And the scenery that I thought would comfort and console me had vanished. I’d lost not only my country, but also my birthplace. And so here I remain, in a place where I don’t belong. In a sense, I still don’t exist; I remain in limbo between two worlds.”

Masaji’s return to Japan, once a symbol of refuge, becomes a stark realization of his perpetual displacement. Expecting to find solace in familiar surroundings, he instead encounters a transformed town, which shatters his hope for comfort and nostalgia. The loss of both his country and his birthplace symbolizes a profound sense of rootlessness. His narrative culminates in a reflection on the enduring struggle for identity and connection, revealing the devastating consequences of a life on the margins.