Kim Joseph - Under the same sky : from starvation in North Korea to salvation in America

Copyright 2015 by Joseph Kim

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

www.hmhco.com

The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Kim, Joseph, date.

Under the same sky : from starvation in North Korea to salvation in America / Joseph Kim ; contributions by Stephan Talty.

pages cm

ISBN 978-0-544-37317-4 (hardback) ISBN 978-0-544-37318-1 (ebook)

1. RefugeesKorea (North)Biography. 2. ImmigrantsUnited StatesBiography. 3. Victims of famineKorea (North) 4. Human rightsKorea (North) 5. Rescue workChina. 6. Christian ethicsChina. I. Title.

HV 640.5. K 67 K 567 2015

362.87092dc23

[B]

2014039686

v1.0515

Jacket design by Mark R. Robinson

Cover photograph (bowl) Tongro/Getty

Cover photograph (rice) Scott Phillips/Corbis

Authors note: Some of the individuals I knew in China and North Korea are still at risk today. Their names have been changed.

To my sister, Bong Sook,

and to my brothers and sisters in North Korea

May you never lose your hope,

for it is what makes us live

Prologue:

M Y SECOND DAY at the Saro-cheong Detention Center, I was sent to work weeding the rice fields. The task was exhausting, slogging for hours through the flooded rows of dirt, pulling at the weeds and digging down with my fingers for the grub-white roots, but at least it got my fellow inmates and me away from the prison. Even though Id been homeless for more than two years by then, and had dealt with gangsters and starvation, the place terrified me. The day before, Id seen a teenager beaten so severely I was sure he was brain-damaged, and darkness had brought the shrieks of girls being raped in the next room. The detention center had once been a school, in fact the best art school in Hoeryong, but now, like many things in the city, it was broken and wild, a place of seething chaos.

Around noon, we marched under a hot sun back to the detention center for lunch. Not knowing the routine, I simply followed everyone else, trying not to stick out. After we ate our meager portions of corn noodle soup, the guard, a lean teenager with an angry face, yelled to us: It is your break time. I watched as the other boys lay down and fell asleep, all in a matter of twenty seconds. I could tell how precious this time was by how fast they dropped to the floor. I, too, was exhausted and found a spot to lay my head.

I fell asleep soon after and dozed among the others. After I dont know how many minutes, I heard a voice calling in my dreams: Up, up. I opened my eyes. The guard was screaming at us, kicking the sleeping boys, threatening the slow ones with the long stickactually the handle of a garden hoehe held menacingly in his right hand. Everyone began scrambling to find his shoes that sat in a pile at the center of the room. My hands shook. I found one shoe but not the other. I was stooped over, hunting among the remaining pairs, when something struck me between the shoulder blades with great force.

Bastard! Why are you so slow?

I turned, crouched in pain. It was the night guard. Hed struck me on the spine with the long stick. It hurt terribly, but I managed not to fall over. I knew that showing weakness here could mean death. I bowed to the guard, his face twisted in a bright grin, as the flesh above my spine throbbed.

Please, sir, I said, Im looking for my shoes.

He raised the stick again and screamed Bastard! He slammed it down on my left shoulder, trying to break the collarbone. I wanted to kill him, but I thought he must have allies among the other guards and they would come for me when the sky grew dark.

From this day on, the guard chose me as his number-one victim. I learned later that his parents were middle class and could have afforded to get him out of the prison, but chose not to. The guard had been abandoned and then sent to detention, where he got a job watching over the other inmates. To show his dominance, he attacked people for no reason at all. And he made a special case out of me.

I learned to put my shoes in a place where I could find them, but the guard didnt care. Bastard was my name, and beatings were my regular fate. Sometimes he hit me with the big stick; other times he slapped my face with his open hand. I only bowed in response. But rage was building up inside me. I could feel the blood pump hot to my face when he slapped it.

Out on the streets, I was considered a good fighter for my age. I was even feared by some. But people were treated like animals at the detention center, often brutally beaten by a dozen men at a time. No one could stand up to that.

One day, after weeks of this treatment, I heard the guard approach me from behind.

Hey, bastard, he said, almost jovially. I could feel the eagerness in his voice, the anticipation of a good slap, a release of his hatred and frustration from his skin into mine. It was almost like he craved the letting go of the dark electricity that had built up in him all morning. I could feel how he savored these moments. I had always been sensitive to others emotions, even my enemies.

But today, I couldnt take the thought of him touching me. I spun around.

Why are you always picking on me? I cried, my voice breaking. Leave me alone, please. Leave me alone or else! Even as I said it, I knew that Id opened myself up to danger. But it was too late to take the words back.

The guards face went still with surprise. Then it blushed dark and his eyes slitted.

How dare you talk back to me! he said in a low voice.

We began shouting at each other, the other boys gathering, wide-eyed, to watch. The team leader heard what was going on and came running over.

Whats happening? he said, pushing boys aside. What are you two yelling about?

Before the guard could open his mouth, I quickly spoke up. I described what had been happening under the team leaders nose. He listened and nodded, gesturing for the furious guard to be silent. When I finished, the team leader nodded.

I dont need to hear any more. I will do whats fair! And that means only one thing: you two will fight it out!

The team leader looked very pleased with himself. He was clearly bored with his daily routine, and here was an opportunity for a little excitement.

I knew that losing the fight would be dangerous. The guard would have total control over me, and because I had humiliated him by defying him in public, he would show no mercy. I decided I would do whatever it took to win.

The team leader gathered all the boys together in the center of our room. I studied my opponent. He was bigger and heavier, but I knew hed led a more privileged life while Id been on the street. You are mentally stronger, I said to myself. Whatever you do, dont give up.

OK, begin!

The guard and I grabbed each other by the shoulders and arms and pushed back and forth, grunting with the effort. He quickly slipped his hand away and landed a punch on my jaw, mashing the flesh against my teeth. I tasted blood and this frightened me. I shoved him back, trying to topple him over. But he was stronger than I thought. After a few minutes of furious wrestling, my left knee gave way and I rolled to the ground. The guards hands went to my throat as he fell on me. We rolled back and forth, punching each other and snorting for air. The minutes stretched on and on. I saw in my peripheral vision that the other team leaders had joined us. I could hear bottles of moonshine clink as they were set down on the concrete.