By: Claire Lee
Going into my summer internship in Pohang, South Korea with Handong International Law School, I did not know entirely what to expect. My Korean language skills were a bit rusty, and I was bracing myself for the intense humidity of a hot Korean summer. Initially, I viewed this internship primarily as a rigorous academic opportunity to conduct research and hone my legal skills. However, I leave with something far more profound: the recognition that God often orchestrates our paths far beyond our finite expectations, placing us exactly where we need to be to learn, serve, and grow.
My sequence of unexpected opportunities began at a press conference in Seoul, the capital of South Korea. Invited by one of my professors—a former Director-General of Human Rights Policy, Education, and International Affairs in the National Human Rights Commission of Korea—I attended the 30th-anniversary gathering of the Citizens’ Alliance for North Korean Human Rights (“NKHR”), the world’s first and oldest non-governmental organization devoted exclusively to human rights for North Koreans. At the conference, I witnessed the culmination of three decades of sustained advocacy. I learned how their relentless coalition-building and documentation helped bring North Korean human rights violations to the international stage. This foundational advocacy paved the way for formal classification and global recognition that the North Korean regime’s systemic abuses—including forced labor, public executions, intentional starvation, and extreme restrictions on movement—are crimes against humanity.
While the systemic discussions were sobering, the forward-looking conversations about empowering the next generation of leaders were deeply inspiring. I was particularly moved by the resolve of two panelists, both of whom fled North Korea in their youth. They are living examples of resilience, leveraging their unimaginable hardships to serve others. One panelist, now a creator of cultural content, shared a memory of being struck by a teacher as a child simply for attempting to draw a portrait of the regime’s dictator. Today, he uses art and culture to challenge that same ideology and depict the reality of his people’s suffering to the free world.
The resilience of these advocates transcended age. Speaking with another panelist—an accomplished author who escaped as a child—I was struck by the realization that she penned her memoir at the age I am now. It was a profound reminder that suffering and courage does not have an age. Yet, when I shared how her story demonstrated such strength, she gently laughed, humbly noting that she was simply documenting a history of hardships she never chose. This striking reality of unchosen circumstances led me to reflect on my own heritage. I realized that if my mother’s grandparents and parents had not left the North, my life would look vastly different—if I existed at all. Meeting someone born and raised in the North who embodies such perseverance and hope against all odds was a moving experience.
This resilience became even more tangible when my legal research shifted to international human trafficking. While drafting a UN grant proposal to support trafficked North Korean women, I confronted the harsh realities defectors face in neighboring countries, particularly China. Due to ruthless repatriation policies that classify North Koreans as illegal economic migrants rather than refugees, these individuals are stripped of legal status, violating international non-refoulement principles and forcibly repatriated to North Korea. Driven into the margins, a staggering percentage of female escapees are trafficked into the sex trade or forced marriages.
While drafting the grant, I was invited to visit NKHR’s art healing program, the exact program the grant aimed to support. There, North Korean women who were trafficked shared glimpses of their stories through their artwork. One striking self-portrait was divided in half: the right side was painted in dark grays and black, depicting a woman shedding a single tear beneath three bunnies representing the children she was forced to leave behind, and a fourth representing a child she lost. The left side, however, was bright and full of light, featuring two bunnies above her head, representing her remaining children in South Korea, alongside praying hands and a cross—a testament to her finding faith and hope through the Gospel. Paintings such as these communicated a depth of ongoing pain and healing that words simply cannot capture.
Shortly after this visit, I presented the draft of the grant proposal to my professor and NKHR’s leadership. Knowing that this work would serve as a foundation to contribute to the educational and healing programs transformed the experience for me. It is one thing to research and prepare international funding applications and draft a project proposal; it is entirely another to look into the eyes of the people that funding will serve.
My time in South Korea reminded me that the often behind-the-scenes work of the legal profession—researching doctrine, drafting grants, and building partnerships—is ultimately about people. Before this summer, I could not have imagined sitting across from the brave individuals directly engaged in advocating for human rights. I leave this internship immensely grateful for the opportunity to have supported an organization that creates spaces for dignity and healing, and with a renewed commitment to using my legal education to make a tangible difference.
This post was written by a student at Regent University School of Law. The views expressed in this post do not necessarily reflect those of Regent University, Regent Law School, or the Center for Global Justice.