Hyun Seung Lee, born into North Korea’s privileged elite, chose to abandon his life of luxury and security, embarking on a perilous journey towards freedom and a new identity.
By Terry Cao
The Privileged Life
From a very young age, Hyun Seung Lee sensed there was another world beyond the one he lived in. In the bustling streets of Pyongyang, where concrete buildings stood tall and the rhythmic sound of marching boots filled the air, Hyun Seung enjoyed privileges reserved for North Korea’s elite — but even so, he still imagined another version of himself.
“Ever since I was a child, I had dreams of flying away to distant places at night,” Hyun Seung said. “In these dreams, I could effortlessly engage in conversation with foreign visitors and even learned to sing their songs.”
Hyun Seung is the son of Ri Jong-ho, a former high-ranking officer from North Korea’s Central Committee Bureau 39 — known as “Office 39” — which supports the country’s weapons of mass destruction (WMD) program through secret international business. His story challenges North Korea’s self-serving triumphalist narrative. His family’s journey, from the regime’s insulated embrace to their eventual escape, reflects a gradual shift from gilded servitude to pursuing freedom far aways.
Hyun Seung and his sister Seohyun grew up surrounded by opulence and secrets in a city where the grand mansions of the wealthy cast lengthy shadows. Their home, a seven-floor apartment building reserved for the regime’s elite, boasted panoramic views of the city’s bleak beauty.
“We lived on the fifth floor,” Hyun Seung said. “No elevators, just stairs, but all the rooms are big and bright — a luxury not afforded to everyone in the country.”
Their neighbors, members of the regime’s upper echelon, included a vice-chairman of the Workers’ Party and a vice-president of a state insurance company. Despite their comfortable surroundings, they, like the rest of the nation, were bound by restrictions. They never truly owned anything, not their luxurious apartments—they were simply residences bestowed upon them.
“Our privileges came only from more accessibility to power,” Hyun Seung said. “With privilege came an unspoken pledge of loyalty, a given for all of us.”
After high school, Hyun Seung devoted three years and three months to military service on North Korea’s West Coast, countering the South Korean Navy. He later joined the General State Department’s specialized force, teaching martial arts to North Korean soldiers.
“In the military, my allegiance to our leader, Kim Jong-il, was absolute,” Hyun Seung said. “We diligently studied the regime’s policies and the history of the Kim family, served loyally, and lived under the belief that we were content. For many years, I was convinced that this life would continue endlessly, perhaps even getting better.”
During Deng Xiaoping’s era, China encouraged North Korea to adopt reform and openness. Initially resistant, fearing it might destabilize his rule, Kim Jong-il eventually showed signs of change by the late 2010s.
“Our guess is — perhaps sensing his end, Kim Jong-il seemed inclined to leave a positive legacy,” Hyun Seung said. “His meetings with Hu Jintao and Wen Jiabao, then China’s leaders, did give us a lot of hope for change.”
The period around Kim Jong-il’s death and after Jang Song-thaek’s leadership, who was married to Kim’s daughter, brought brief reforms akin to China’s, leading to an economic bloom. The number of North Koreans visiting China surged from 10,000 to nearly tenfold post-reform.
“That was when I went to study in China,” Hyun Seung said. “After my military discharge, I earned a bachelor’s in economics from the University of Finance and Economics and later worked for a state-owned North Korean company in China. It was then that I truly realized there was indeed a world beyond North Korea.”
Breaking the Golden Chain
This period of openness was short-lived. Following Kim Jong-un’s assassination of his reform-minded uncle, Kim Jong-nam, a dramatic shift in power occurred. Kim Jong-un’s regime became more insular, marked by purges and executions of many high-ranking officials.
“The executions were shocking,” Hyun Seung said. “They occurred at the Military Academy, where students witnessed the execution of so-called traitors by anti-aircraft guns.”
In one notorious incident, Kim Jong-un’s government executed 500 people.
“That event was a chilling wake-up call, a realization that our golden cage was, in truth, a prison cell,” Hyun Seung said. “It forced us to question the direction of our country and our own safety.”
In the autumn of 2014, the Lee family, cloaked in the night’s embrace, embarked on their secret exodus.
“Escaping was our only passage to a life unshackled,” Hyun Seung said. “We left behind everything from a life that had become unbearable.”
The Lee family’s escape reflects the larger geopolitical situation involving North Korea, China, and South Korea. While South Korea provided limited assistance to defectors, China’s policies often led to the forced return of North Koreans, indicating its ambivalent relationship with its volatile neighbor.
“We reached Seoul via China’s Dalian,” Hyun Seung said. “South Korea assisted us with a resettlement grant of 1,000 dollars.”
That 1,000 dollars resonated with a North Korean adage, “Even a journey of a thousand Ri begins with a single step.” In North Korea, “Ri” is a traditional unit of distance, roughly equivalent to 400 meters. This saying is a variation of the well-known proverb, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” attributed to the Chinese philosopher Laozi.
“With the pandemic, border controls between China and North Korea tightened.” Hyun Seung said. “Fewer and fewer North Koreans made it out to South Korea.”
A New Life Ahead
Today, Hyun Seung and Seohyun live in the United States, far from the world they once knew.
Seohyun, following her brother’s path, had the opportunity to study abroad at Dongbei University in China, near their homeland.
“As a girl, I was heavily shielded by my family,” Seohyun said. “But my father eventually realized that he couldn’t protect me forever. Living in North Korea was like being in a prison. We had everything and yet nothing. Our lives were a paradox, woven with threads of fear and uncertainty.”
The Lee family recognized that their privileges came with a price, requiring constant alertness and participation in the regime’s carefully orchestrated drama. They were, in essence, mere actors — outwardly prosperous but inwardly confined.
Now, as both Hyun Seung and Seohyun pursue their studies at Columbia University’s School of International and Public Affairs, they carry with them not only their past but also their aspirations for the future.
“Education here is not just about learning; it’s about shedding the indoctrination we endured,” Hyun Seung said. “I am not just studying international affairs; I am deconstructing the fabric of my own life, unraveling it thread by thread.”
Their ambitions extend beyond personal success, symbolizing a greater cause.
“I want to advocate for those still in North Korea, to be a voice for the voiceless,” Hyun Seung said. “Our escape is not the end of our story; it’s the start of a new narrative, a chance to share with the world a subtle truth: even the most gilded chains are still chains.”