After decades in the South, Ahn Hak-sop was hoping to go home to the North. On a blistering morning earlier this week, an unusually large crowd had gathered at Imjingang Station—the last stop on Seoul's metropolitan subway line that inches closest to North Korea. Dozens of activists and police officers focused their attention on one man: Ahn Hak-sop, a 95-year-old former North Korean prisoner of war who embarked on what he referred to as his final journey, wanting to return to the North to be buried there after spending the majority of his life in the South against his will. Unfortunately, he never made it across the border; the South Korean government had stated they did not have sufficient time to arrange for his crossing, as had been anticipated.
Despite this setback, Mr. Ahn came as close as he could. Struggling with pulmonary edema, he found it difficult to manage the 30-minute walk from the station to the Unification Bridge, one of the few links connecting South Korea to the North. Instead, he stepped out of the car around 200 meters from the bridge and walked the remaining distance on foot, supported by two aides. He returned clutching a North Korean flag—an eye-opening sight in the South—addressing reporters and a small gathering of volunteers who came to support him. "I just want my body to rest in a truly independent land," he expressed, yearning for "a land free from imperialism."
Ahn Hak-sop was merely 23 years old when captured by the South Koreans during the Korean War. Having joined the North Korean People's Army as a liaison officer in 1952, he soon found himself fighting in the South. Captured in April 1953, only three months before the armistice, he endured a life sentence in prison, ultimately released after more than 42 years due to a pardon on Korean independence day. His experiences in South Korea were fraught with challenges as he tried to adjust to civilian life, often feeling ostracized due to the stigma attached to being a "redhead"—a term used to label prisoners with communist sympathies.
Though he turned down an opportunity to return to the North in 2000, Ahn had held on to hope that relations between the two nations would improve. However, he feared that going back would mean surrendering to American influence. "If I returned to the North, it would feel like I was just handing over my own room to the Americans," he reflected. For Ahn, the alliance between South Korea and the United States signified the real obstacle to reunification, as he still firmly believed in the Kim family's narrative.
Born in 1930 under Japanese colonial rule, Ahn’s deep-seated patriotism was nurtured from childhood. His grandfather, wanting to preserve his Korean identity, kept him from school until he passed. After the end of World War Two, he and his brother hid from authority, witnessing not liberation but rather a transfer from one colonial power to another—this time, from Japan to the US military.
During his imprisonment, Ahn faced numerous pressures to renounce his beliefs, including physical suffering and coercion. His adamant refusal to comply earned him further hardships, including torture. "There’s no way to fully describe that suffering in words," he recounted.
While North Korea has changed significantly during Ahn's absence, the staunch beliefs he carried remained untouched. Ahn's insistence that the North has thrived and that any negative portrayal is a media fabrication reveals his unyielding commitment to his ideals. In contrast, South Korea has transitioned from a struggling military dictatorship into a robust democracy, although the relationship between the two Koreas remains complex.
As Ahn Hak-sop approaches the twilight of his life, his conviction against what he perceives as enduring colonial rule by the US prompts a profound message: that even in death, he seeks to reclaim his identity and express his undying commitment to North Korea. "I don't want to be buried under American colonialism even in death," he stated, encapsulating the essence of his lifelong struggle.
