In Daejeon, scars of past wars persist, difficult to heal no matter how many years pass. In this city in southwest South Korea, there is a monument dedicated to the American soldiers who fought in one of the first battles of the Korean War, in June 1950, being defeated by North Korean communist troops. The remains of fallen South Korean soldiers are in a veterans' cemetery on the outskirts. Throughout the city, there are several mass graves where thousands of bodies of political prisoners and peasants, accused of sympathizing with the North, were thrown, executed on their knees with shots to the head by the regime's police that then governed the South with the support of the United States. Among the victims were many children. Most of their executioners were never brought to justice.
That summer of terror 75 years ago is very present in a memorial in the center of a city of almost one and a half million inhabitants that, in a few decades, has become one of the centers of technological innovation in eastern Asia. A prosperous land that now welcomes many North Koreans who fled their country seeking a new life far from the clutches of the oppressive regime of Kim Jong-un.
In Daejeon, there is a missionary center managed by four nuns who work with groups of teenagers and children in volunteer programs and summer camps. They also support Catholic congregations that shelter North Korean refugees, many of whom face challenges in integrating into a South Korean society that continues to carry stigmas towards those coming from the North.
One of these nuns is Spanish, from Granada. She has been living in Daejeon for 19 years. Ester Palma, since she was very young, has always been attracted to everything related to North Korea. "I was studying translation and interpretation at university, and I was very interested in the situation of that country, which in the 1990s was going through severe famines, and many North Koreans were fleeing to South Korea. During my own faith journey, I was clear that I wanted to do something dedicated to the rights of children and adolescents, and the opportunity to go to Asia came up," Palma recalls.
Her first mission destination was Japan. A year later, she landed in the community of Daejeon. "Within the Catholic Church in South Korea, there is a department, the Commission for Reconciliation, which brings together many Catholic communities that have shelters and training programs for North Koreans. These are refugees who, in many cases, need a very long adaptation process," she explains.
The Spanish missionary wanted to join the successful South Korean cultural wave, the K-pop or dramas, and she has a YouTube channel with over 8,000 subscribers where she offers what she has dubbed as "K-Catholic," educational and entertaining videos where she explains the history of Catholicism in the Asian country - it is estimated that Catholics represent 11.3% of the total population in South Korea - and her work with young Koreans.
"We try to support many minors who arrive alone from North Korea. I remember a nine-year-old girl who had escaped with her mother. A Protestant pastor who works as a broker -equivalent to an intermediary, a figure that helps deserters from Pyongyang escape- helped them cross to China, but the mother got separated along the way. The girl, after reaching Laos, was taken to Thailand, and there, aid networks accompanied her to the South Korean embassy in Bangkok to seek asylum. When she arrived in Seoul, the girl thought her mother would be waiting for her, but she never heard from her again."
Together with a colleague.Lucas de la Cal
South Korean authorities grant citizenship to North Koreans upon arrival and relocate them to Hanawon ("settlement support centers"), where they spend around two and a half months receiving professional training and financial support. In many cases, this time is insufficient, so many Christian or Buddhist groups then welcome them to complete the integration processes.
"When they arrive as children, they adapt quickly. But older individuals find it much harder because their educational level is very low, and the leap in South Korea is huge. The refugee never admits they are from the North. They quickly try to lose their accent, dress in modern clothes, and blend in to avoid all the stigmas," assures the Spanish nun. "Mostly women and children come because they have an easier time escaping. They, mostly housewives, are not as controlled as their husbands," she continues.
"The usual escape route is through China, where some women end up marrying Chinese men and arrive here accompanied by their second husband. In South Korea, these women usually work in restaurants or as cleaners. They face a much larger glass ceiling than others because it is difficult for them to progress in such a competitive and well-prepared society as South Korea, in addition to the negative image projected onto refugees," she explains.
In Seoul, it is estimated that nearly 300,000 North Koreans have fled their country since the end of the Korean War in 1953, and about 30,000 have settled in South Korea. That conflict began exactly 75 years ago when North Korean forces, backed by the Soviet Union and later China, launched an invasion with the aim of unifying the peninsula under a single communist regime.
The United States, under the mandate of the United Nations, quickly intervened to support South Korea. After three years of ground clashes and aerial bombings, an armistice was signed to end the fighting, but the two Koreas are still technically at war, and the Korean Demilitarized Zone (DMZ), a 257-kilometer stretch separating both territories, is currently the most militarized border on the planet.
Missionary Ester Palma points out that since the pandemic, when North Korea closed much more than usual, the flow of North Koreans to the South was cut off, and it was not until this year that refugees started arriving again: 38 in the first quarter of the year. Meanwhile, tensions between Pyongyang and Seoul persist daily, with Kim's regime continuously launching ballistic missiles into the sea and threatening with its nuclear program.