UMEN, China ?The census takers move from house to
house, asking pointed questions in Chinese, demanding responses,
looking for signs of incomprehension on the faces of those they see
lurking in the shadows.
"If you don't understand them, they will think you do not belong,
and ask for identification," said a worker at a church that
ministers to the Korean-Chinese community that dominates the
population of this border town on the Tumen River facing North
Korea. "They will arrest you and send you back to North Korea."
The Chinese government has opened what those working with
refugees say is the most severe crackdown on North Korean refugees
ever undertaken here.
Viewing them purely as "economic migrants," China appears
determined to convince as many as possible of the 300,000 North
Koreans estimated to have fled across the frontier to northeastern
China in recent years that they cannot stay.
The crackdown spreads fear among refugees, many of whom shift
homes from night to night, flee to shelters in the countryside or
try risky trips to Mongolia, en route to South Korea.
"The Chinese police are performing a survey covering every house
from June to the end of September," the church worker said. "Groups
of police scatter around a designated area. They search everything.
About 20 or 30 from my church alone have been arrested."
The campaign against the refugee presence began in March but has
gained momentum since the episode in June in which seven North
Korean family members obtained asylum in Beijing at the office of
the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees.
The Chinese government permitted them to leave on a flight to
Singapore, en route to South Korea, avoiding adverse publicity
before the International Olympic Committee, meeting in Moscow,
selected Beijing as the site for the 2008 Olympics.
For many other refugees, the conditions of life as an illegal
economic migrant have worsened since Beijing was chosen for the
Olympics.
Moreover, many refugees believe, the publicity surrounding the
family that escaped through the United Nations High Commissioner's
office gave Chinese police and security agents fresh information on
how refugees are able to get out of China.
The incident "revealed all routes to escape," said a missionary
at the Cho Yang Church, a small parish in Yanji, the city about 30
miles west of here that is the heart of the Korean- Chinese
community in this region. "Now all channels are blocked."
Refugees hardly dare to appear on the streets of this border town
and other communities for fear that the Chinese police, or North
Korean security agents working with them, will talk to them, discern
where they are from by how they respond and hustle them back to
uncertain fates in North Korea. "I try to get some money by
begging," said Pang Jin Chul, 20, lingering near a church that he
hoped would provide food, a small cash handout and possibly a place
to stay. "Now things are getting tough. I am really afraid."
As fast as the Chinese send North Koreans back home, they leave
again, many of them within days after again bribing North Korean
guards to look the other way. The standard payment is the equivalent
in Chinese currency of between $25 and $30.
Children darting among the South Korean tourists who flock to the
border crossing here for a glimpse across the Tumen River at North
Korea are likely to lose everything in their pockets to North Korean
guards once they are returned. Many of them are beaten as well,
first by the Chinese police, then by the North Koreans, the children
said.
"There is no food at home," said Kim Kun, hiding with two other
boys on the fringes of a parking lot by the river in hopes of
handouts from visiting South Koreans. "We have to come back every
time or we will starve to death."
The crackdown, however, meant that Kim Kun and his friends, who
gave their ages as 17 even though they all looked about 12, often
went hungry on this side, too.
"We haven't eaten in two days," said Kim as he and his friends
began slurping up some flavored ice on a stick given them by South
Koreans. The boys stared at uniformed Chinese police on the river
bank, then quickly fled when a Chinese security guard, not wearing a
uniform, shouted at them.
"If the refugee says he just came looking for food, North Korean
authorities will probably let him go after a few days or a month or
so," said a missionary at a small church near here. "If he says he
got help from a church, he's likely to go to prison and never been
seen again."
And if the refugee is discovered to have been on his way to South
Korea, through Mongolia or via another route, he faces the real
possibility of execution as a traitor.
It was that realization that panicked the parents of two young
men who believed that they had escaped China when they got to a
telephone booth in the narrow buffer zone between the Chinese and
Mongolian borders. "We got here safely," the mother quoted her older
son as saying triumphantly.
The Chinese police, she said, must have arrested her sons right
after the call. "They were already in Mongolia," she said. Now she
and her husband, who fled North Korea three years ago, are trying to
raise enough money, several hundred dollars, to buy their sons out
of jail.
While the crackdown lasts, refugees are learning to trust no one.
The Chinese have offered rewards to businessmen willing to reveal
the names of North Koreans working for them illegally. One
businessman sent a busload of North Koreans into a police station
after telling them they were on the way to a boat that would take
them to South Korea.
Ultimately, however, the North's economic problems are so huge
that the refugees are likely to have no choice but to keep coming
across the Tumen River frontier.
"Conditions are getting much worse in North Korea," says a
Korean-Chinese working with refugees in Chang Chun, a large Chinese
city north of here. "The number of refugees may go down slightly in
the crackdown, but there's no other way out for North Koreans. They
have to keep coming, or they will die."