GLYNN WASHINGTON, HOST:
Welcome back to SNAP JUDGMENT from PRX and NPR - the "Bloodlines" episode. My name is Glynn Washington, and today we're wondering if blood really is thicker than water. Our next story takes us behind the curtain of one of the most secretive nations in the world.
CHRISTINE LEE: I could feel the sweat forming in the palms of my hands and a pit growing in my stomach as I sat in the backseat of an old Mercedes-Benz which was being driven by North Korean officials. I could see a large figure looming in the distance, and I knew where they were taking us. And I didn't like it one bit.
I had just arrived in Pyongyang, North Korea with my father and our good friend Paul Kim. The airport officials had checked our passports and the visas that we had secured in Beijing, and then they immediately confiscated our passports. I remember it felt a little like being locked in the trunk of a car, and the only way that you could get out was if someone let you out.
It was 1997, which was just a few years into a terrible famine that North Korea had experienced, where some estimates say that over 3 million people had already died of starvation. And we were there to deliver food and medicine for the sole purpose of bringing aid to North Korea - that and, essentially, to bribe the government into letting my dad see his family.
My dad was separated from his family when he was only 12 years old during the Korean War. And his parents had sent him and his older siblings to the South while they and his younger siblings stayed behind since the younger ones were too small to travel. And it was during that trip that the border between North and South Korea was closed. And he didn't know what happened to his family. He didn't know if they were dead or alive. And he basically grew up like an orphan on the streets of South Korea.
And then in 1986, you know, after he had immigrated to the states - my sisters and I were all born here - the North Korean government somehow managed to locate him. And they informed him that his mother and younger siblings were still alive and that his father had died during the war. And they were inviting him to come to North Korea and to see his family.
Now by this time, my dad was a very well-known pastor in the Korean community. And it's very likely that they wanted to use him for propaganda. And despite the fact that the North Korean government had a reputation for kidnapping people and my mother's tears and protests and concerns for his safety, he was determined to go. And after 35 years, he was reunited with his family and able to see his mother before she died. And he had made several trips since then, each time bringing this desperately needed money and medicine to his family.
Earlier that year, I remember my dad sitting me down on the edge of my bed and saying, you know, Christine, I'm getting older, and I'm not going to be around forever to take care of my family. The second generation, you girls and your cousins, you've never met our family in North Korea. It can be dangerous, and each time I go there's always a risk. Your sisters are married and have children, but you, you're single. And I knew exactly what he was saying. He was saying, if you get kidnapped by North Koreans, no one's going to miss you.
But, you know, I didn't care about the risk, you know. This was my father's homeland, and I grew up hearing stories about North Korea - not the crazy place that's depicted in the news, but the North Korea of my father's childhood. And here was a whole side of my family that I had never met before and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to actually meet them. I mean, at this point, you know, nothing could keep me away.
We were driven to this large plaza at the base of a bronze statue of Kim Il-sung, which was well over 60 feet tall, and his arm was stretched out in this gesture of benevolence over the city of Pyongyang. And as we were led in the plaza, Paul, our friend, leans over to me and whispers, just watch your dad and just do whatever he does.
I remember there was a man in a suit standing at the front of the plaza with a microphone, and dramatic music was playing in the background. There were North Korean soldiers with rifles surrounding the plaza around us, and the government officials handed us flowers. And they lined us up with other people who were there, but they put the three of us front-and-center in front of this statue. I watched my dad and just followed his lead as he walked up to the base of the statue and placed the flowers at the foot of Kim Il-sung. And as we walked back to our place, he said to Paul and I, when they tell you to bow, don't bow, but just bow your head and pray for North Korea. And we stood facing this image of this dictator who caused so much suffering and death among his people. And at that moment the man speaking gave instruction for everyone to bow, and everyone lined up, bowed deeply, except for my dad, Paul and I. We just stood straight, bowing only our heads as we prayed for North Korea. And I remember seeing angry whispers and displeased looks from the government officials, but no one said a word to us as they led us back into our cars.
As we pulled up in front of our hotel, my dad leans over and whispers to me, look over at that tree. Behind it, you'll see a woman in a yellow sweater. That's my sister. And out of the corner of my eye, I could see this woman in the yellow sweater watching us get out of our car and yet unable to approach us because North Koreans live in this constant fear of punishment and imprisonment and even death for what seems to be the most minor infractions.
We had requested to be taken to a number of different places - out the countryside, so we could see the places that had been hit worst by the famine. We of course wanted to see my dad's family. But instead, we got the Kim Il-sung tour - you know, Kim Il-sung's birthplace, Kim Il-sung's university, Kim Il-sung's tomb. We walked into this huge cavernous room that was completely dark except for this single, creepy, red light that was shining on his embalmed body in a glass case. And no one looks good in red light especially if you're dead. It was just a creepy environment. And I was feeling the minutes slipping away and running out when we would have to get back on that plane and away from our North Korean family.
Well, the day finally came to meet them. And I remember stepping out into the lobby of our hotel when I saw my aunt with the yellow sweater come rushing towards me along with my other aunts and my uncle and all of my cousins with their arms stretched out, you know, crying, hugging me, nearly tearing me apart. We were all just laughing and crying. And I was able to see up close that my aunt had this moon-shaped face and a wide smile and these eyes that were sad and merry at the same time. And she would not let me go. I met my cousin Halchal (ph), who was this tall, good-looking young man with chiseled features and a mop of black hair. And between my terrible Korean and his terrible English, somehow we were able to communicate with each other. And he would ask me a million questions about the U.S. - you know, what it was like. He asked me questions about God and whether I believed in God or not or whether I believed God answered prayer. And when I said that I did, he just laughed hysterically and would say, that's nonsense. But then he would stop and say, well, I don't know. They only teach us one thing. And then there was my sweet cousin Kyangya (ph), who was just a few years older than I was, and she was pregnant with her first child. Everyone said that we looked like we were twin sisters. She didn't speak any English at all, but I remember how she would shyly hold my hand as we walked along.
We went to my aunt's apartment for lunch, sitting down at these long, low tables on the ground. And they brought out two bowls of naengmyeon which are cold, buckwheat noodles that North Korea is famous for. My dad would always say we were growing up how much he missed the naengmyeon that he used to eat in North Korea. After a few moments, we noticed that no other bowls of naengmyeon were being brought out, just the two that were placed in front of my father and me. And that's when we realized that they had saved up all that they had for just these two bowls. There wasn't enough to go around.
And I noticed Kyangya with a roll of bread in her hand, which was likely given to her because she was pregnant. And we pleaded with them to share with us, you know, we can each have a bite to eat, we told them. But they refused. And we begged them, you know, how could we possibly eat these noodles in front of them when they had nothing to eat? But they wouldn't budge, you know.
They didn't know if they would ever see us again, and we didn't know if we would ever be allowed to come back again. For them, this might be the only chance that they could ever give something to us. These two bowls of noodles represented all of those years that we had missed together as a family. You know, these times of laughing together and sharing dinner together, of births and marriages missed, their joy in seeing me for the first time, you know, their gratitude to my father for helping them to survive. And so my dad and I ate those noodles, and we slurped up every last bit of broth and we told them how delicious it was and how we had never had such amazing naengmyeon in our lives. And then we went back to our hotel room and we just cried.
The next morning, they came to our hotel to say goodbye right before we were about to leave for the airport. And I gave them everything I had. Now whenever I read about North Korea in the news, the first thing that I think of is not their bizarre, crazy threats to incinerate the U.S. or South Korea with nuclear weapons. Instead, I see a woman in a yellow sweater standing against a backdrop of gray and those two precious and costly bowls of noodles.
WASHINGTON: Thank you Christine Lee for sharing your family story. And big thanks as well to Kevin Allison, the host and creator of the RISK! podcast, where a version of this piece was originally broadcasted. If you like storytelling, and I know that you, do check out RISK! on iTunes or wherever else you get your story fix and let them know Glynn sent you.
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Now, this is not the news. No way is this the news. In fact, you could be estranged from your father for 10 years, finally reconcile, plan a visit, but on the way to the airport, see a purple, velvet jacket you just got to have. You love so much, you buy two - one for him and one for you. And when you fly home to the Detroit airport, you can walk to the baggage claim only to see your father wearing the very same purple jacket you just bought for him. And you would still not be as far away from the news as this is. But this is NPR. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.
