Quotes of the Day

In North Korea, Yoo Seun Eum's job was considered to be a prestigious one: she ensured that the comrades in her local ward carefully dusted the official portraits of Dear Leader Kim Jong Il and his father, the late Kim Il Sung, hanging on their homes' walls. But life was grim, and after two sons fled to South Korea in 1997, she followed three years later. Since her arrival, Yoo has drifted through a string of menial, low-paying jobs. Now working as a cleaning woman, she is able to make ends meet with a small temporary stipend from a local government office. "Defectors have nowhere to turn in South Korea," she laments. "Nobody is willing to listen."

The plight of North Korean refugees in South Korea has long been a controversial issue, one that the Seoul government would rather keep out of the newspapers so as not to damage ultrasensitive relations with Pyongyang's high-strung dictator, Kim Jong Il. But hiding refugees from the media became more difficult last week, when 468 North Koreans—the largest group to reach the South since the end of the Korean War—stepped off two jets at a military airport south of Seoul ready to take their place in South Korean society. The group, which had been hiding in Vietnam after escaping through China, is part of a growing tide of North Koreans fleeing famine and oppression. This year, 1,300 North Korean refugees have landed in Seoul, more than four times the total in 2000.

The latest arrivals join an estimated 5,200 already living in the South, and their ranks are expected to grow as conditions in their homeland worsen. But as Yoo testifies, stepping out of a totalitarian time warp and into a high-tech, hyper-competitive society can be the challenge of a lifetime. To help them assimilate, Seoul gives refugees a two-month-long "life-training" course—teaching such things as how to open a bank account—and a $23,000 settlement payment. They also get a monthly income supplement of up to $375 and help with housing.

Still, many accuse the government of not doing enough. Refugees complain they are rarely welcomed into a South Korean society that views them as unskilled communist rubes. If their integration is viewed as a dress rehearsal for the eventual reunification of the two Koreas, it isn't going well. Says Lee Jung Hoon, an expert on North Korea at Yonsei University in Seoul: "South Korea just isn't ready."

Nor are the refugees. The North's educational system is light years behind in skills such as English, and most North Koreans have never used a computer. Moreover, some have psychological problems from the flight. "Physically and psychologically they aren't very stable," says Lee Ha Young, a psychologist with the French medical-aid group Doctors Without Borders in Seoul.

A survey done in 2001 showed that 20% of refugees polled were unemployed and nearly 32% had only temporary work. "The gap between South and North Korean standards is too wide," says refugee Chung Ju Hwa. "The government should assume we are starting from zero."

Last week, Unification Minister Chung Dong Young acknowledged the system needs fixing, telling reporters: "This is a nationwide concern." The government is planning to build a new school for teenage defectors. It may also cut settlement payments to refugees who do not take advantage of job-training programs or refuse low-paying jobs. But as the government scrambles to keep up with the swelling tide of defectors, it will have to reckon with the reaction of its neighbor to the North. Last week's arrivals were kept from the media and whisked off for debriefing by security officials, but not before Pyongyang accused Seoul of "premeditated kidnapping."

Despite the obstacles, many refugees recognize that their new life offers far more opportunity than the existence they left behind. "They have to be willing to work as street vendors if that's what it takes to learn the market economy," says Lee Min Bok, a former North Korean agricultural scientist who now heads a Christian refugee association. And some are doing just fine. Ju Sun Young, an actress in North Korean propaganda films—she played Kim Jong Il's mother—opened a restaurant last August, just eight months after arriving in South Korea. This year she opened a second outlet that offers nightly performances of North Korean songs and dances. "My dream is to become the CEO of my own company," says Ju. Beats dusting portraits for a living.

• Donald Macintyre | Seoul
• For North Koreans who manage to escape to the South, life is modern, strange and full of challenges