They were seduced by foreign culture, which destroyed their future
Two adolescents were publicly tried in front of hundreds of people and sentenced to 12 years of forced labor for viewing and distributing South Korean television programs. North Korea's 2020 'Anti-Reactionary Culture and Ideology Law' prohibits all South Korean cultural content, with violations punishable by forced labor or death depending on quantity.
- Two 16-year-old teenagers publicly tried and sentenced to 12 years of forced labor for watching and distributing K-dramas
- North Korea's 2020 Anti-Reactionary Culture and Ideology Law prohibits all South Korean cultural content; violations punishable by forced labor or death
- Video released by Seoul-based Institute for South and North Korea Development shows hundreds of witnesses at the public trial
- Regime publicly disclosed the teenagers' names, teachers' names, and photographs as part of the punishment
North Korea publicly tried and sentenced two 16-year-old teenagers to 12 years of forced labor for watching and distributing South Korean K-dramas, according to rare footage released by a South Korean research institute.
A South Korean research institute released rare video footage in January 2024 showing what it says is a public trial in North Korea. Two teenagers, both 16 years old, stood on a stage in an amphitheater filled with hundreds of people wearing white shirts—apparently students. Military-uniformed adults flanked the accused. Behind them sat six more adults at tables, presiding. The narration was blunt: the two had been caught watching and distributing K-dramas, the South Korean television programs that are forbidden in the North. Each was sentenced to 12 years of hard labor.
The video showed their names on screen. So did the names of their teachers. This was not a quiet proceeding. The regime wanted witnesses. The narration itself carried the state's message: "They were only 16 years old, barely at the beginning of their lives. Yet they were seduced by foreign culture, which ultimately destroyed their future."
The footage came from the Institute for South and North Korea Development, based in Seoul, which works with North Korean defectors. The video appears to have been filmed during the COVID-19 pandemic, based on the masks visible in the crowd. It surfaced publicly on a Friday in late January, distributed to media outlets by the institute's director, Choi Kyong-hui.
What the video documents is the enforcement of a law passed in December 2020: the Anti-Reactionary Culture and Ideology Law. North Korea's government banned all South Korean cultural content—not just television, but music, books, films, anything. The law carries teeth. Small amounts of prohibited material can mean years of forced labor. Larger quantities can mean death. Violations are not treated as minor infractions. They are treated as ideological crimes.
Choi, the institute director, interpreted the public nature of the trial as a deliberate strategy. By naming the teenagers and their teachers, by displaying their faces and details to hundreds of witnesses, the regime was not simply punishing two individuals. It was shaming them, destroying their social standing, and sending a message to everyone watching: this is what happens. "You can see how cautious the North Korean regime is about the spread and viewing of Korean dramas," Choi said. "By revealing names, addresses, and photographs of the offenders, you can see the regime's willingness to hold people accountable. By adding the names of people indirectly related to this incident, you can see the regime intends to shame and destroy their social reputation."
The broader context makes the severity harder to dismiss as mere propaganda theater. North Korea has been almost completely isolated from the outside world for decades. Information flows in and out under strict state control. Foreign materials are prohibited, with only a handful of state-approved exceptions. Defectors have long reported that those caught with contraband face severe punishment. For a time, in the 1990s and 2000s, restrictions loosened slightly as North Korea's relationship with China expanded and some South Korean cultural products seeped across the border. But that opening has reversed. In recent years, the regime has tightened controls again and cracked down hard on foreign media.
The contrast between North and South Korea shapes the stakes. Under three generations of Kim family rule, North Korea has become one of Asia's poorest nations, even as the regime pours resources into military and nuclear weapons programs. South Korea, by contrast, has become a major global economy. Its entertainment industry—K-pop, K-dramas, films—has become a cultural force worldwide. For North Korea's government, this is a threat. The regime feels endangered by the mere possibility that its people might see how others live, what other societies produce, what is possible beyond the border. A 16-year-old watching a South Korean drama is not just breaking a rule. To the regime, that teenager is being exposed to proof that another world exists.
South Korea's National Intelligence Service told CNN it could not verify whether the video was genuine, but said the agency was monitoring North Korean authorities as they "strengthen surveillance and punishment for the entry of external videos." The prohibition extends far beyond entertainment. It includes gestures, vocabulary, even hairstyles. In 2021, a South Korean legislator who attended a briefing from the country's spy agency reported that Pyongyang was enforcing strict rules about how young people dress and speak. The term "oppa," which South Korean women use for romantic partners, is now banned in the North; women there must say "male comrade" instead. State propaganda videos denounce behaviors showing "foreign influence," including public displays of affection. The regime is not just controlling what people consume. It is controlling how they move, how they speak, how they love.
Notable Quotes
You can see how cautious the North Korean regime is about the spread and viewing of Korean dramas. By revealing names, addresses, and photographs of the offenders, you can see the regime's willingness to hold people accountable.— Choi Kyong-hui, director of the Institute for South and North Korea Development
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why would a government go to such lengths to publicly shame two teenagers for watching television?
Because the regime sees it as an existential threat. If people know that South Korea exists, that it's prosperous, that it produces culture worth watching—the entire justification for the system starts to crack.
But they're 16. They didn't choose to be born into isolation.
No. But the regime can't afford to see them as victims. If it did, it would have to admit that the isolation itself is the problem. So instead it frames them as seduced, corrupted, as warnings to everyone else.
The teachers' names were displayed too. What's the logic there?
Collective punishment. It spreads the shame beyond the accused. It says: if you teach these students, if you're near them, if you're connected to them, you're implicated. It makes people afraid to associate with anyone suspected of foreign contact.
Is there any way people in North Korea actually see these trials, or is it just for the state's own records?
The video shows hundreds of people in an amphitheater. So yes, people see it. But the reach is limited by the regime's control over information. What matters most is that the state knows it happened, that it's documented, that it can be referenced as proof of enforcement.
What happens to those two teenagers now?
They serve 12 years of hard labor. Their names are public. Their teachers are implicated. When they're released, if they're released, they'll carry that mark. The punishment extends beyond the sentence.