Not Forgotten

by Kenneth Bae

  I didn’t know what I was supposed to prepare. I knew the outcome of the trial was already determined.

  He continued, “You have the option of having a defense attorney for the trial, if you would like one. Think about it and let me know what you want to do.”

  I didn’t know what I was supposed to think over, because the prosecutor’s offer struck me as absurd. What good was a defense lawyer going to do me in North Korea, since they all work for the government anyway? The prosecutors and defenders are all on the same side. I understood the chief prosecutor’s real motive. If I accepted, he could say, “Yes, we gave Mr. Bae a fair trial. He even had an attorney present to represent him.” If I declined, he could say I had only myself to blame for the trial’s outcome.

  After much thought, I decided, why not? I had nothing to lose by having a “defense” lawyer at my side. And maybe the offer was sincere. I doubted it was, but I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt, just in case.

  When the chief prosecutor came back the next day, he asked me what I thought of his offer.

  “Can I at least meet my lawyer before I make up my mind?” I asked.

  The chief prosecutor reacted as if this were the most absurd idea he’d ever heard. “No. That’s not possible,” he said.

  “Then when am I going to see my lawyer?” I asked. I expected to have some time with him to prepare my defense.

  “At the trial,” the prosecutor said, as though the answer were obvious.

  “Then I decline the offer and will defend myself,” I said.

  My defense was going to be pretty simple. I planned on admitting to everything. I was going to plead guilty and then ask for mercy. What else could I do?

  “As you wish,” the chief prosecutor said. Then he added, “Do you want the trial to be public or private?”

  “What is the difference?”

  “If it is public we will broadcast it so the media from around the world can pick it up. Private means no one will see it except for the people in the courtroom,” the prosecutor explained.

  For me, the choice was easy. I did not want publicity, but not because I was shy. Even now, as I faced the prospect of being tried and convicted of crimes carrying a possible death penalty, I thought it best to keep the entire business as low-key as possible so as not to embarrass the North Korean government. I still held out hope that once everything was resolved I might be able to return to my work in the country.

  “Private,” I replied. “However, I would like for the Swedish ambassador to be there.” The Swedish ambassador remained my only contact with the outside world. I thought that perhaps his presence might give the North Korean authorities second thoughts about putting on a show trial. With him there, I might have a better chance at justice.

  “No,” the chief prosecutor said. “You may have the Swedish delegation there only if the trial is public. Then all the press will come too. Private means private. No one from the outside.”

  “Never mind then,” I said.

  Even after this discussion, I still found it hard to believe that I was actually going to be tried for crimes against North Korea. I was far from the first foreigner arrested for illegal activity in the DPRK. Almost all had been released after a few months without the formality of a trial. The most notable exception had been Laura Ling and Euna Lee, who were arrested when they, along with a film crew, walked across a frozen Tumen River from China into North Korea. They received a sentence of twelve years of hard labor for committing hostile acts against the DPRK government. But shortly after the trial was over, Laura and Euna were released because Bill Clinton flew over to negotiate for them. Their detention lasted only four and a half months.

  The fact that they were released so quickly made me think that my trial was not necessary. I had already confessed, and I had been in custody for six months. What more could they want from me?

  The next time Prosecutor Lee came to see me, I asked him these questions.

  “You must stand trial to make it clear to the world that you have not been imprisoned unjustly. It is necessary to show that you are the aggressor and we are the victim,” he said.

  “I’m not sure that I follow you,” I said.

  “It is simple. You came into our great nation and committed hostile acts. You say it was just prayer, but prayer is a hostile act because it calls into question everything our system is based upon. Then you trained North Koreans to do mission work for you. That, too, is a hostile act. Even your worship and your Bible—both are hostile when you see them in the context of our laws and our juche system. Already there have been calls for your release from United States officials and the Western media. They say you are innocent and have been arrested unjustly. The trial will show the world you are not innocent, that you have done exactly what we have accused you of doing.” His words did not come out as mean or threatening. Mr. Lee simply explained the situation exactly as he understood it.

  I guess I looked a little downcast after he said these things, because he added, “Don’t worry about the outcome of the trial or the sentence you are given. The number of years you hear are not important. It does not matter what happens during the trial. The important thing is what comes after the trial and how your government responds to it. It is like when your child breaks a neighbor’s window. You as the parent must go make things right for your child. First, you apologize for what your child has done; then you compensate your neighbor for his broken window. That is what we expect from the United States government. We need them to understand what you have done so that they will come and apologize for their child and make things right.”

  For the first time it occurred to me that my case was not really about me. I’m a bargaining chip, a way for North Korea to make America look bad.

  Relations between the two countries, at least on the North Korean side, continued to deteriorate. Talk of war dominated the nightly news. Video footage showed Kim Jong Un conducting a war strategy meeting. He pointed at different places on the US map spread out before him to make it look like he was saying, “We will drop bombs here and here and here.”

  Yet the North Koreans did not see themselves as the aggressors. In conversations with Mr. Lee and other officials, it was clear that these people truly believed they were victims of America’s bullying. “We are a small country,” they said. “Why is this big country pushing us around?”

  The DPRK government has a policy of “military first.” That is, their first spending priority is to build up the military to protect themselves against the inevitable United States attack. “That’s why we suffer with shortages,” I was told. “We have to spend so much to protect ourselves from you that very little is left over. If America would just leave us alone, we would not suffer like we do. We would have more food, happier lives, and peace.”

  Once I made this connection, I started to see my place in the larger context of the relations between the two countries. In the eyes of the North Korean people, when Clinton negotiated for Ling and Lee’s release, he also came to apologize, like the parent whose child broke the window. The people saw this as a sign that they were winning against America, that the United States was bowing down to them.

  That was the endgame for me. They wanted a former president to once again humble himself before the Supreme Leader and plead for mercy for one of America’s naughty children. That is why I had to go on trial and answer for my crimes. In North Korea’s eyes, all of America was really on trial with me. I would not fully understand all the implications of this until much later.

  One week before the scheduled start of my trial, the chief prosecutor had me phone my family. I don’t think he meant it as a humanitarian gesture.

  “Tell your family to contact your government and tell the president to request special amnesty for you. That’s the only way you will get to go home,” he instruct
ed me.

  I relayed his message word for word first to my wife and then to my sister and my mother. All of them became upset over hearing that I was actually going to stand trial, but I calmed them as best I could.

  “Other people have had to go to court,” I told them. “I have to go through the trial before any resolution can happen between the United States and North Korea. So, whatever sentence I might receive, do not worry about it too much. I am sure everything will be resolved soon.”

  When I explained this to my sister, Terri, she said, “Okay,” but I don’t think she was convinced. Terri had already written Secretary of State John Kerry and asked him to do everything in his power to bring me home. Up to this point she had also honored my request and had not gone to the media to appeal for my release. I still believed the United States and North Korean governments wanted to work out my release quietly. But it was hard for Terri to sit back and do nothing and let the process play out.

  I was allowed to see the Swedish ambassador, Mr. Andersson, and his assistant, Mr. Svensson, the day I called my family. We met at the same hotel where we had met the first time. Mr. Andersson was eager to discuss my upcoming trial.

  “Are you going to have an attorney represent you?” he wanted to know.

  “I decided against it,” I said.

  “No, you must have an attorney with you,” he said. He sounded very concerned. “We will make sure that you have one.” I thanked him. He also said that they would attend the trial even though his North Korean counterpart had insisted that was impossible.

  Whether the Swedes were there or not probably didn’t matter. I knew that the outcome of the trial had already been decided. The only question was how long of a sentence the court would give me.

  I also knew that if I had been a North Korean citizen, there would be no question. I would already be dead.

  My trial lasted an hour and a half, including the time it took the judge to decide my fate. I stood in a witness stand throughout the proceedings, rather than sitting behind a desk as one would in an American courtroom. I wore a suit I had asked my wife to send me for the occasion. Based on the little I knew about trials from watching movies and television, I thought I needed to look my best.

  My plan didn’t exactly work. When I put on the suit, I looked like a boy wearing his father’s clothes. I did not realize that I already had lost at least thirty pounds.

  No lawyer came in to represent me. Apparently the Swedes were unable to get one for me. My judge sat in the front of the courtroom, with two judges sitting next to him, one on either side. The extra judges were there to ensure everything was conducted according to the rule of law. A court reporter sat at a desk and typed out everything that was said. Mr. Lee and Mr. Min sat in the audience, while the chief prosecutor stood on the side of the room opposite me.

  The trial began with the chief prosecutor reading the charges against me: “We hereby charge the American criminal, Bae Junho, with crimes against the state. Specifically, we charge him with the following:

  “Working with the evangelical organization Youth With A Mission (YWAM) and preaching against the North Korean government in American and South Korean churches.

  “Planning an anti–North Korean religious coup d’état called ‘Operation Jericho,’ so named for a biblical city which was destroyed by the Israelite army. His coup began in the United States, South Korea, and China long before Bae traveled to North Korea.

  “Setting up bases in China for the purpose of toppling the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. He then brought people into the country to pray while disguising them as tourists.

  “Encouraging North Korean citizens to bring down the government.

  “Conducting a malignant smear campaign against the government of North Korea and our Supreme Leader.”

  The YWAM reference was significant because YWAM’s founder, Loren Cunningham, had been on the DPRK’s radar for some time. In 2006 Cunningham delivered a sermon in which he urged the printing of seven million Korean Bibles, one for every family in North Korea, in preparation for the day when North Korea’s borders open. To the DPRK, this was like a declaration of war. The Bible is viewed as a dangerous weapon. They even have one on display in an anti-American propaganda museum filled with weapons the United States used against them during the Korean War.

  After reading the charges against me, the chief prosecutor then called his one and only witness, Songyi, the North Korean woman who went through our discipleship training program before returning to North Korea to start a Christian orphanage. She appeared very nervous as she took her place in the witness stand. I tried to convey compassion in the way I looked at her, but I am not sure she noticed. Songyi did her best to avoid looking my way.

  “Do you know this man, Bae Junho?” the prosecutor asked.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “Did you receive biblical training from this man while you were in China?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he tell you to return to North Korea?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he give you an assignment to fulfill once you returned?”

  “Yes. He told me to start an orphanage for the street children and raise them in the Christian way.”

  “No further questions,” the prosecutor said.

  The judge then turned to me. “Do you have any questions for the witness?” he asked me.

  “No, sir,” I said.

  The judge then dismissed Songyi, who quickly left the courtroom.

  After the trial I asked Mr. Lee about her. He told me he dropped her off at her home and that she was going to be fine. “Since she told the truth, she will be taken care of,” he told me. I wasn’t so sure, but I went back to the promise God had made me on my third day of detainment. He had promised no one would be harmed. I claimed this promise for Songyi.

  After Songyi’s testimony the chief prosecutor read a signed statement from Sam, my friend who operated the coffee shop in the hotel where I was arrested. In his statement he told how I wanted to start a prayer center in Rason. He also described the orientation talk in which I spoke of the seven spirits that ruled North Korea.

  The prosecutor then turned to video evidence against me. They flashed on the video screen a photo of one of the symbols my staff created for my ministry. Using Photoshop, a staff member had created the word Hope out of a North Korean flag with ragged edges. To the DPRK, desecrating their flag was the ultimate insult.

  “See,” he said to me, “this is the kind of hope you want to bring to our people by bringing down our government.”

  They also showed brief clips of some of the videos they found on my hard drive. Images of starving children on the streets of North Korea came up on the screen. The fact that I had not created this video, nor did I even know it was on my hard drive, did not matter.

  “You see, your honor,” the prosecutor said to the judge, “the evidence is overwhelming. This man is guilty. He has violated Article 60 of our constitution.” The judge appeared to agree.

  “However, Bae Junho has shown remorse and has apologized,” the prosecutor added. “Therefore I ask that we show him mercy by giving him only fifteen years of hard labor.”

  This was the first time I had heard fifteen years mentioned, although Mr. Lee had hinted that they were going to seek a lighter sentence. Fifteen years did not seem like a light sentence, but I guess it was in comparison to a death sentence.

  After the prosecutor concluded the case against me, the judge asked me, “Do you have anything to say to the court before we consider the evidence against you?”

  I had given this moment a great deal of thought since it had first become clear to me that I was going to go on trial. Mr. Lee had even asked me to write out what I was going to say and give it to him ahead of time. Clearly, I could
not protest my innocence, not after signing a confession. However, I wanted to explain why I did what I did and to make it clear that I truly love the North Korean people.

  I began, “Honorable Judge, first I want to acknowledge my wrongdoings against the government of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea and its leadership. During the six months I have spent in the DPRK, I have come to understand that my actions have severely violated your constitution. I realize that my teachings against the DPRK leadership have damaged the reputation and creditability of the government.

  “Second, therefore, I want to apologize for my actions against the government of the DPRK and its leadership. I deeply regret my actions, and I want to sincerely apologize for all my wrongdoings and my actions that have offended so many.

  “Third, I am ready to accept the consequences for my actions. I have learned that I have violated Article 60 of your constitution and my actions are not tolerable according to your laws. I fully accept whatever penalty my actions may bring.

  “Lastly, although I am ready to accept my consequences, I would like to ask you to give me a chance to become a bridge that connects the West and the DPRK. There are more than twelve million Christians in South Korea and more than fifty thousand churches. There are another ten million Buddhists in South Korea as well. As a Korean, I want to see the two Koreas unified someday. When the countries are unified, how are you going to get along with people of faith? In a unified Korea, we need to learn to acknowledge our differences, accept one another, and live together harmoniously. Even President Kim Il Sung once said that, as long as people are for the unification of Korea and for the people of Korea, he is willing to work with anyone, regardless of their faith, background, and origin.

  “I am a Christian, and I have tried to live by the Christian doctrines throughout my life. I am here in this court because of my belief in God. As I already have acknowledged, apologized, and accepted the consequences of my actions, I am asking you to give me another chance to become a bridge for the unification and the prosperity of the people of this land, even though my wrongdoings are punishable by a heavy sentence. What good would it do to send me to a labor camp? I am asking for your mercy today.”