It was strictly forbidden for us to leave the reception center. So there we were—the beneficiaries of smug humanitarianism—prisoners in paradise on earth.

kiln.

The consul’s wife gave me one of the consul’s suits to wear. It was a beautiful garment. I’d never worn anything like it. Honestly, I’d never even seen anything like it. Though I realized later that it was not particularly stylish or top-of-the-line, to me, it felt like putting on a prince’s garb. After I got changed, she gave me a bag with some

We were constantly monitored by the goons of the State Security of North Korea and the secret police. I guess we posed a double threat. We’d brought some dangerous items with us from Japan when we moved—things like bicycles and electrical appliances and half-decent clothes. What if the local villagers came to realize that their standard of living

When we sat or lay down, we were so bony, it hurt. Even when we were sleeping, it was so painful, we woke up constantly.

Despite knowing better, we all had to follow the ludicrous Juche system. If your farm didn’t meet its target harvest, the farm manager fudged the account to make it look as if the target had actually been met. But despite all the fairy-tale record keeping, the supply didn’t lie: the food ration distributed every autumn was growing smaller and

The system was known as the “feasibility concept.” Feasibility concept! That’s what happens to language in countries like North Korea. A totalitarian dictatorship is a “democratic republic.” Bondage is known as “emancipation.”

North Koreans had been indoctrinated to think that all Japanese were cruel.

After the death of Kim Il-sung, everything ground to a halt. Farming. Industry. Everything. No raw materials of any kind got delivered to the factory. We had only a few hours of electricity, if we were lucky. Production gradually sputtered out. Workers collapsed on the floor before my eyes, weak with hunger.