Counterterrorism Blog

I am a sucker for stories about Americans who find themselves on the wrong side of armed geopolitical disputes. I still maintain that the most fascinating saga to come out of 9/11 was John Walker Lindh, the young California drifter who found himself in Afghanistan, fighting for the Taliban, circa 2001. In the end, Lindh received a humanitarian gesture from the U.S. Department of Justice - a 20 year sentence. It could have been far, far worse. When he is released, John will be younger than I am now. I may be wrong, but I seriously doubt he will want to travel to Mecca, a condition his attorneys were careful to negotiate at the time of his plea. I suppose Adam Gadahn, the al Qaida spokesman from Irvine, California now indicted for treason, is another example, though we lack the happy ending, since he is still at large. It’s not too late to come home, Adam. Same goes for David Belfield, who allegedly killed an Iranian diplomat in 1980 and recently appeared as an American character in the film “Kandahar.” Their lives would be safer if they turned themselves in, rather than remaining where the US military is operating.

For those inclined to view the US and its military in the worst possible light, there’s a book they should read while trying to maintain these views. The Reluctant Communist (University of California Press) is the autobiography of Charles Robert Jenkins, the American sergeant stationed in South Korea who got drunk one night in the 1960s and ventured into the DMZ and into the arms of North Korea, where he remained a Cold War trophy for almost 40 years before being released to his wife in Japan.

The Jenkins that comes across in The Reluctant Communist is a thoroughly likeable guy. He realized almost as soon as he sobered up that he had made a terrible mistake. He was housed with three other Americans who were running from courts martial, and they withstood years of indoctrination on the glories of Kim Il-sung. For all this effort, Jenkins never once was brainwashed, despite a lack of education that, absent the help journalist Jim Frederick, probably would have rendered him unable to write his memoirs. Fortunately, one does not need much book smarts to understand stupid ideologies.

He was born in Rich Square, North Carolina, to a large poor working-class family headed by an alcoholic ice maker. Whenever he had an extra 50 cents as a young teenager, he would visit the skating rink, where he was dazzled by the American soldiers who frequented it. He found a way to fudge his age so he could join the National Guard, where he “ came to enjoy everything about [the military]. The uniforms, the discipline, the way you could see yourself getting better at important skills.” He eventually joined the Army, and was sent to South Korea. His disillusionment came there, when he felt that he was being asked to do things that were too dangerous. He decided the easiest way out was to cross over the DMZ under cover of darkness, where he would eventually be taken by the Soviets and quickly sent back to the U.S. in a prisoner exchange.

Jenkins was not then, nor has he ever been, a Communist. His decision was one of expediency, which he recognized as an error immediately. “I did not understand that the country I was seeking temporary refuge in was literally a giant, demented prison; once someone goes there, they almost never, ever get out.” He suffered great guilt over having abandoned the men under his command, describing how “I apologized to those men, the American people, and my family a multitude of times in my thoughts.”

Jenkins and his fellow American defectors were not truly prisoners, in that they suffered the same abuses as anyone unfortunate enough to live in North Korea. They resided in a house together, working as teachers, and occasionally playing the role of evil Americans in North Korean propaganda films. However, they were constantly monitored by the North Korean-version of the Gestapo, who seem like less competent versions of Mormon home teachers. Jenkins referred to his monitors as “my leaders,” though he does not use it as a term of respect or awe. While he liked some of them, he thought the system was absurd. Self-criticism was a way of life in North Korea, and citizens are constantly pressured to confess small mistakes that violated the edicts of the North American dictator, who insists his subjects treat him as a deity. The trick, as Jenkins describes it, was to detach your mind from the experience as much as possible, to treat it as if none of the worlds that you are saying and none of the proceedings you are participating in have any meaning at all.

The accounts of their deprivation come from all of the things they were forced to do in order to live. They found side businesses - like bees, for the sale of the honey - to supplement their state-supplied income, and went to elaborate lengths to maintain electricity. Once, a glass of water on Jenkins’ night stand froze solid overnight. They had to boil every ounce of water for drinking. Rats would frequently climb up the plumbing. North Korean soldiers were common thieves. All in all, he paints an obnoxious picture of one of the world’s last Communist countries. My bet is that plenty of Cubans recognize his stories from their own experience, though maybe not the part about being cold.

When the Americans became North Korean citizens (something that was foisted on them), they were assigned separate houses, and female cooks with whom they were expected to have sex, whether they wanted to or not. Eventually, Jenkins was given a young Japanese woman as a roommate. She had been kidnapped with her mother from a Japanese island. His leaders told him to rape her. He refused, honoring her wishes. Over time, the two fell in love, got married, and had two daughters. They are still together today. He would tell his daughters “We are not in the world. This is not the real world.” In North Korea, things happened all the time that made no sense and for which we were given no explanation.”

When his wife escaped to Japan due to the intervention of the Japanese government, Jenkins was so morose that he stayed drunk for a year until he developed prostate problems. (Alcohol is not one of the things forbidden in North Korea) Eventually, the North Koreans agreed to accompany Jenkins and his daughters to a family reunification meeting in Indonesia. Upon arriving in Jakarta , Jenkins immediately saw his daughter’s reaction. “It didn’t take them long to sense that the rest of the world was much more free than North Korea.” The only thing that made Jenkins reluctant to escape the North Korean clutches permanently - his chaperone acknowledged to him that they could not force him to return with them - was the fear of what would happen to him at the hands of the US military. Going to Japan was possible, but that would put him in jeopardy because he was still a fugitive. His decision was iced by the realization that his daughters were going to be forced to attend the North Korean school for spies, and he would never see them again.

Jenkins had surely paid his dues. His time in North Korea left him scarred. His US military tattoo was forcible cut from his forearm without anesthesia. Even upon his release, he suffered panic attacks, high blood pressure, and insomnia. Still, his spirit was not broken. “I can honestly say that I was never brainwashed,” he writes, “and that all four of us Americans never bought into any of the phony history, economics, social theory and Kim Il-sung worship that they shoved down our throats.” Still, he could recite more Korean propaganda that one could ever hope to hear, both in English and Korean.

Jenkins eventually threw himself at the mercy of the US military. He did not expect any, after reading American news reports of his case. He was amazed that the US provided a lawyer to represent him at no cost. This is not shocking. This is what we do.

Jenkins ultimately donned a uniform, walked into his duty station, and gave his name and saluted with the words “reporting for duty, sir.” While awaiting his trial, his military colleagues treated him respectfully, putting him to work and showing him how to use a computer. He was amazed at how humanistic the military had become, and that enlisted guys were no longer prohibited from talking to officers. His free lawyer did well by him. He was eventually sentenced to 30 days in the jail, which was suspended. When Jenkins returned to the US to visit his ailing mother, he went to the Wal-Mart. Even compared to Japanese stores, he thought the place was enormous. The other big surprise was how completely integrated society was and how equally whites and blacks treated each other.

Jenkins now works in a retail store on the Japanese island of Sado, where he is a minor celebrity. He fishes and rides his motorcycle. He sometimes jokes with his wife, “Maybe we should go back to North Korea, what do you think?” Her response is always immediate: “You have a good time while you’re there, ‘cause I ain’t going.”

Jenkins’ lack of education does not mean he is unable to call a spade a spade. He pointedly asks “Why is Japan the only country that is - rightfully - making the return of abducted citizens who are being held against their will in North Korea a large part of their diplomatic dealings with that country?” That’s an excellent question. He also inadvertently refers to something that is now in the news - the apparent scientific collaboration between Syrian and North Korea. He says that there were many Syrians studying medicine in North Korea. My bet is that is not a coincidence.

In the heated political season, when Americans are arguing about world affairs and whether we are a force for good in the world, I believe it is important to take a deep breath and consider reality, which comes from personal stories like those in The Reluctant Communist. An important book? Here is a how Jenkins’ ghost writer describes it, in the Forward:

Charles Robert Jenkins is, quite simply, a figure of lasting historical importance. He has lived a life that’s unique in twentieth-century history. No other Westerner has survived so long in the world least known, least visit, and least understood country on the planet and been able to return to tell the tale.

I would not necessarily call Jenkins a hero. Still, he is a person, a man, and an American through and through. In the end, we do not need him as a Cold War trophy. Everyone knows who won that competition.

The views in this article are not those of the Department of Justice.