Bittersweet Journey Home for Ex-Spies

Among the many items in the luggage of former spy Kim Dong Ki, one of 63 men who walked home to North Korea on Saturday across the world’s most heavily fortified border, were a gold wedding ring, hundreds of letters and some dirt from the South.

Kim, 68, and his colleagues, most of them confessed spies, were known in South Korea as “the unconverted.” They had spent decades imprisoned--the longest was 44 years--enduring torture under authoritarian regimes while steadfastly refusing to repent or renounce communism to secure their freedom.

Many served their time and were released in South Korea but forbidden to return to the North. Some put down roots and started families under the watchful eye of authorities. The last of the prisoners had been released in an amnesty program last year.

As they crossed the demilitarized zone on crutches and canes, in wheelchairs and on stretchers, they more closely resembled a contingent from a nursing home than the vilified spies of the Cold War. Their return was an olive branch to the North from South Korean President Kim Dae Jung, part of the fledgling rapprochement established at the historic summit in June between the leaders of the two Koreas, which technically are still at war.

If the former spies make good on their word, they could well be a bridge between the two nations. Just before he walked across the border to a hero’s welcome, Hong Moon Keu, 79, said he would suggest that the North reciprocate.

“When I go to the North, I will talk to the person who is responsible about bringing the prisoners of war back to the South,” he said.

Though quick to denounce the South’s surveillance after their release as well as their harsh treatment while in custody, most of the former prisoners said they were deeply touched by the largess and love they received from citizens in the South. Some of the men, who weathered years of solitary confinement, cold cells, paltry food and torture before prison conditions improved in the 1980s, cried as they took their leave from throngs of sobbing supporters who bowed and hailed them as “teacher,” an honorific term.

Human rights and civic groups, which had long campaigned for their freedom, put them up in group homes after their release from prison, paid for their food and furnishings, cooked and cleaned for them and often nursed the men, many of whom are well into their 70s and 80s.

Those who returned home to North Korea as still-ardent communists took with them many of the trappings of capitalism: Kim In Seo, 74, wore a pair of Slazenger sneakers with his traditional Korean hanbok, or robe, as he was pushed in a wheelchair across the border. He also took a Bible, having converted to Christianity a few years ago. Kim Dong Ki proudly sported an expensive Omega watch given to him by a fellow inmate, now a South Korean lawmaker.

Their friends in the South also sent back food, clothes, money and even, in the case of Kim Dong Ki and the three others with whom he lived, new refrigerators, microwave ovens and washing machines. The men had so much luggage that three 20-foot containers were needed to haul it across the DMZ.

Many of the former spies plan to serve as ersatz postmen and detectives, carrying letters given them by some of the million families in the South hoping to reunite with long-lost relatives in the North. Mail between the two countries is outlawed, and most people have no idea whether their relatives are alive.

But South Korean officials screened the ex-spies’ luggage and removed name cards, address books and letters the day before they were to leave their hotel, where they were assigned to stay on their last night in the South. When some protested vehemently, an official said, “It’s to protect people in the South.” Not long ago, those in either nation who had contacts with “the enemy” would be harassed or even jailed.

It wasn’t clear whether the inspectors were from customs or the secret service. But they later agreed to return the items and confiscate only goods that the prisoners had been told they couldn’t bring, such as computers, firearms and items deemed important to the national security. Whether they actually did return them might never be known.

Despite the goodwill shown to the former spies, some South Koreans still view them as terrorists.

“They are spies and guerrillas who killed our people and stole our national secrets for the purpose of destroying our system,” said Lee Hoi Chang, the opposition Grand National Party leader who says President Kim should have used the former prisoners as a bargaining chip to secure the return of several hundred abductees, mostly fishermen, and prisoners of war believed to be held in the North.

Nevertheless, many of the North Korean men will likely be sympathetic to the South because of their blood ties.

“I can’t express how happy I am to be going, but it’s also sorrowful because I have to leave behind my family in the South,” said Han Chong Hoi, 83. His dejected son, 34, said little as he held the hand of his father, who was in a wheelchair.

Han’s South Korean wife didn’t escort him. His wife and three daughters from a first marriage are alive and well, he learned from a nephew in the United States. “To go back was his dream,” the son said.

The decision is irrevocable, at least for now: Choosing to return to the North means never being able to travel freely back to the South.

For Kim Dong Ki, there was no hesitation in returning.

His one regret is not having been able to thank the North American kindergartners who sent crayoned Christmas cards while he was in prison--encouragement that he says saved his life. The cards were confiscated by his prison guards, but he remembers them well: “Get out of prison, granpa, and come to Washington,” said one.

The one thing he wants to do more than anything is call out the name of his son, Chul, whom he last saw when the boy was 2 and who is now 37. “Any parent in the world, if they haven’t seen their kid, wants to call their child’s name before they die. I thought it would never happen. It’s like a dream come true. . . .

“I want to embrace him and hear him call me father.”

He was also looking forward to seeing his wife but is trying to prepare himself for the shock of how different she will look: The last time he saw her she was 29; she’s now 64.

“I will greet her like I imagined her every day,” he said. “I won’t look at her appearance but will feel the emotion like when I was 30.”

He is bringing her the gold wedding band he couldn’t afford when they married.

He is also taking with him fond memories of the South.

Besides the people of Kwangju, the city in southwestern South Korea where he lived in a home known as “Reunification House,” he will miss the mountains, a gentle tree-covered range that he was able to see from the prison yard on the few times each week he was allowed outside to exercise and then could see just behind his house. “The mountain was my girlfriend,” he said. “I felt free and released when I saw her.”

Before he left Kwangju, he went to the mountains to gather some soil and stones to bring to North Korea. “I spent the first 35 years of my life in the North and the second 35 years in the South, and so I’ve spent half my life in each place. I’m going to tell my son to spread the soil from the South around my tomb when they bury me.”

As the day of his long-dreamed-of return grew closer, he stayed calm, despite the stream of well-wishers and friends who came to see him with presents--and tears. He wiped their tears but didn’t cry himself for fear that he wouldn’t be able to stop. “I’m afraid I won’t have any tears left when I return to North Korea and cry for my own family,” he said.

But he choked up when he gave a final farewell speech as he departed Kwangju on Thursday, before heading for Seoul to join the rest of the former prisoners as they began their journey home.