Mums the Word

Prompt: Dystopian- Set your story in a world where conversation about one particular topic is banned-but there are ways to get around the rule.

Mums the Word

Imagine a state or society where there is a totalitarian government with suffering and injustice. Yet that society is situated in picturesque rolling hills, verdant forests, and agrarian farmlands. Parades frequently occur showcasing the nation’s greatness with thousands of spectators showing their devotion. Are these words merely descriptive, theoretical, or deceptive? Is this an imaginary place or a depiction of a gruesome reality?

I have learned over the years that words can be edifying and similarly very destructive. This has most certainly been the case where I had lived for most of my life in the capital Pyongyang. My name is Nam Seok Jin. I am North Korean.  I was born on the 35^th anniversary of the Liberation Day of the Fatherland that occurred on August 15, 1945. My parents were so happy that I was birthed on that day because it made them feel that I was a special baby to the Fatherland. Depending on whom one asks, my name means great (Seok) and (Jin) rare, precious. But these are only words and do not describe how my life would run its course. If my words now were to be seen by the imperial government, I would be with my ancestors.

I grew up in a time when Kim Il-Sung was still the leader of North Korea.  He espoused his ideology of Juche, which in its essence placed the individual, the nation state, and its sovereignty at utmost importance. As I grew up, I realized that the individual actually became absorbed into the state as such individual freedoms were silently repressed and eventually forgotten.  When Il Sung died in 1994 his son, Kim Jong Il, assumed reign. It was during this time I discovered the radio at the age of fourteen. It was an old set my father had during the Korean conflict (war). My brother and I would secretly listen when my parents were asleep. I was elated to hear broadcasts in Korean from Radio Free Asia (RFA), the Voice of America (VOA) and the Voice of the Martyrs (VOM).  Sometimes both broadcasts included certain English words which aroused my curiosity even further. 

It was the VOM, however that piqued my interest. The broadcasts mentioned stories about a country called America having a God who did amazing things. I heard from the VOA and VOM voices that America was free to worship God who gave an unconditional love for all people. At first, I had no concept, no notion about what a god is. Most people were starving in North Korea. Many could not afford to invest in time on pursuits outside of their mandatory jobs for the Fatherland.  So over and over I asked who is God?  Perhaps this would be a hope that would unite people together instead of the propaganda forcibly showered upon us by the regime. Hearing these words in both Korean and English ignited a flame within me. I had to share my discovery with my parents.

Both parents were visibly upset with my news and sternly warned my brother and I to be silent about what we heard. They knew that these topics and words outside the guiding principle of the revolution were strictly prohibited.  Consequences could be disastrous. They warned me that my radio would be confiscated. I could be censored with the family paying a hefty fine. We could even be sent to an internment camp. Or possibly the worst scenario was we would all be executed.

We respected our parents. We were fearful of the repercussions that would befall us to disregard a stark warning. Nonetheless, my brother and I continued to secretly listen to the radio.  Something my brother and I did not know at the time was that our parents were “closet” Christians. I discovered this fact when I overheard my parents in their bedroom softly whispering prayers similar to the ones I heard broadcasted on VOM. 

I felt compelled to ask them since I had overheard them again praying one late night. After thinking through this carefully and without alarming her, I asked my mother about some words I heard on the radio. I knew what they meant in Korean as I heard the VOM translations. I desired to know what they meant to her.  The words, in English, were “For God so loved the world He sent His only Son Jesus that whoever believes in Him shall have everlasting life.” When I said this to her, I thought she would be angered. Instead, she hugged me. We sat for hours discussing these words, her faith, the hope they had for the future despite the horrible conditions of their present life. I asked why she and my father had not shared this sooner.  They did not want to burden us with the truth.  She did not think the time was ready.  It would be a death sentence for me and my brother if the authorities discovered my parents were teaching us a “religion.”   My mother showed me that she kept pieces of paper written in Korean and English in her recipe book. She showed me more pieces of paper hidden behind the only pictures in our hanok  (house) which were the mandatory portraits of the Leaders of the Fatherland, Kim Sung Il, Kim Jong Il, and his son, soon to be the newest leader of the DPRK (Democratic People’s Republic of Korea) Kim Jong Un. She cautioned me only to look at these papers late at night by the dimmest of candlelight and to make sure they were properly replaced in their hiding spots. My father and mother had transcribed bits and pieces of the VOA and VOM broadcasts over many years. If it were not for these transcriptions my parents would have likely become intensely despondent. Suicide would have been a realistic option to end their misery if it were not for hearing about their eternal hope. We ended our time together in a short prayer asking God to watch over us as we continued to learn more about Him.

I accompanied my father and mother on the public tram to market. I could tell that many people on the Pyongyang tram were quiet, morose, and also fearful.  It was in the dirty, smelly stalls that we felt safe from the omnipresent watchful eye of the authorities. Because the conditions were so bad and there was little food available to take, the soldiers remained outside the market. I learned that there were others like my parents who were eager to read the transcripts. Those words truly were the bread of life as my father exchanged a transcript for a partial bag of rice, a few cloves of garlic and ginger. I was amazed at the audacity of my parent’s actions. Later they told me this market acted as a clandestine gathering place for Christians throughout the capital. I witnessed genuine exchanges of friendship such as smiles, handshakes, and warm embraces. All of these displays would be strictly prohibited in any public setting. Imprisonment would likely be the end result. Most importantly, I witnessed the strength of the interactions of the individuals. In that market no feared one another. No one feared the presence of an informant. My mother told me that the God I had heard about on the radio would protect them and strengthen them. She said their future lay ahead in a kingdom with God where there would no longer be any more tears, no more pain and no more suffering. She said it was “hanuel or heaven.” I remember hearing that word on the VOM as well.

My parent’s behavior helped me to understand many things. When my father and I walked home from the fields he would greet someone with the words “Hananim abeojikkeseo jusineun chukbok or Blessings from the Father.” If they were a believer they might engage in a simple prayer together. If they did not acknowledge my father’s statement, they would continue on probably believing he was wishing blessings from the Fatherland. If heard by the soldiers, they likely would dismiss it as a loyal salutation to a fellow compatriot.  Both of my parents would communicate their faith using discreet hand gestures such as crossing both index fingers at their mouth signifying they would be willing to share words of Christian faith. 

When we were at the river to irrigate our crops or to lug water back to the house, my parents shared their faith under the guise of helping people to bathe themselves.  While actually helping them, they baptized them into the faith. I asked my mother if I was ever baptized. She said I was baptized into the Christian faith on Liberation Day of the Fatherland, the day I was born. 

Now as an adult there is so much more to share about my story, this land, and the people. But my time is short.  I am sharing my fragmented story with a western journalist who by coincidence I encountered during a visit at the Pyongyang library. The stakes were incredibly high as the journalist was risking life and limb to interview me.

After long illnesses, my parents have passed on to hanuel. I am reminded of a verse my mother would often recite to me, “For the more we suffer for Christ, the more God will shower us with his comfort through Christ.” (2 Corinthians 1:5, NLT)

I want to be an international voice of those being persecuted, but at the same time I realize He wants me to be strong and creative in my witness about His unconditional love in North Korea.  I search for new ways to covertly share His Message in an oppressive, tyrannical regime thriving on hatred of the western world. Pray for me.

I plead with the world not to forget the people of North Korea. Pray for us. Pray that we understand that our hope is not in the things of this world but for strong faith in the world to come when the Messiah returns.

“Send out your light and your truth, let them guide me; let them lead me to your holy mountain, to the place where you live.” (Psalm 43:3) NLT

“It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.” (Galatians 5: 1) NLT



Prompt acknowledgement: Reedsy.com

Author: Peter Gautchier