They Changed the Name — But the 36,000 People It Affects Are Asking "Why?

Starting in 2026, South Korea’s Ministry of Unification officially began replacing the term “North Korean defector” (bukhan italju min) with a new label: bukheungmin (北鄕民), loosely meaning “people with their hometown in the North.” The government’s stated goal was to reduce stigma and promote social integration. But among the more than 36,000 North Korean escapees actually living in South Korea, the reaction has been anything but welcoming. When the National Human Rights Commission of Korea formally stepped in on July 2nd with an official recommendation to the Ministry of Unification, what started as a naming dispute became a full-blown national conversation.

Where Did “Bukheungmin” Come From?

The word bukheungmin is meant to convey “people whose hometown is in the North.” The Ministry of Unification decided to adopt the term starting in 2026, framing it as a value-neutral and inclusive expression that reflects the complex identity of North Korean-born individuals now living as South Korean citizens. According to the Ministry, the term acknowledges both where they came from and where they now belong.

This wasn’t a sudden decision. The Ministry notes that the Catholic Committee for National Reconciliation began using the term as early as 2023, and the government, sympathetic to that effort, commissioned research, gathered expert opinions, and consulted various stakeholders before moving forward. Many observers say the push was also driven by the strong personal conviction of Unification Minister Jeong Dong-young — who, during his previous tenure as minister under the Roh Moo-hyun administration, similarly championed the term saeteormin (“new land people”) as an alternative label.

53.4% of Those Affected Said “No” — and the Government Moved Ahead Anyway

Here’s where things get uncomfortable. The Ministry of Unification’s own survey showed that 53.4% of North Korean defectors found the name change unnecessary. The poll covered 1,000 general South Korean citizens and 1,000 North Korean defectors. However, the Ministry noted that methodological irregularities — including a mid-survey change in data collection approach — meant the results were only used as an internal reference, not as an official basis for decision-making.

One defector, identified only as Mr. A, filed a complaint with the National Human Rights Commission after claiming he was excluded from the Ministry’s September survey despite being a directly affected party. His core argument: the Ministry pressed forward with the name change even though “don’t change it” was the plurality response.

Why 50 Defector Organizations Gathered Outside the National Assembly

South Korea’s community of roughly 36,000 North Korean defectors has pushed back hard. Representatives from over 50 defector organizations rallied outside the National Assembly, calling the new term a political manipulation of language — one that, in their view, erases the history and identity embedded in the word “defector.”

Rep. Park Chung-kwon of the People Power Party, himself a North Korean defector, stood alongside the groups at a press conference in the National Assembly’s communication center. “The name ‘defector’ is not just a label of origin,” he said. “It is a record of escape and survival in the pursuit of freedom. Replacing it with the vague concept of bukheungmin is an erasure of history and a denial of who we are.” Critics also pointed out a linguistic problem: the word bukhyang (北鄕) can be read as “facing north” or “oriented toward the North,” which they argue carries unintended — and problematic — connotations.

What the Human Rights Commission Actually Recommended on July 2, 2026

The National Human Rights Commission issued a formal recommendation to the Minister of Unification: before changing any name currently defined by law, the government must gather the opinions of those directly affected and go through a proper public deliberation process.

Importantly, the Commission was careful to define the limits of its intervention. It clarified that the name change itself does not directly implicate constitutionally guaranteed fundamental rights, and that the decision falls within the Ministry’s policy discretion — meaning the Commission wasn’t ruling on whether bukheungmin is right or wrong as a term. Instead, it flagged a procedural failure: how the change was being made.

The Commission stated that the Ministry had already begun using bukheungmin — either alone or alongside the legal term — on its official website and at public events, despite not having adequately consulted or secured the consent of those the term describes. “The name used to refer to a group,” the Commission noted, “is a critical factor that affects their sense of identity and dignity.” It urged the government to genuinely respect and reflect defectors’ wishes in future policy implementation.

Legally, They’re Still “North Korean Defectors” — But the Terminology Is Already Shifting

One key point often lost in this debate: under current South Korean law, the official term remains “North Korean defector” (bukhan italju min). Changing it would require amending the Act on the Protection and Settlement Support of North Korean Defectors. The Ministry has argued that the existing term carries a negative connotation and stigma, which is why it began exploring alternatives — but bukheungmin is not yet a legal term. It is an administrative choice the Ministry made on its own, without legislative backing.

There are voices in support of the new name, too. Author Cho Gyeong-il, originally from the Gyongheung region of North Korea, supports the term and has noted that bukheungmin was actually first proposed and used organically by defectors themselves around 2012 — long before the government adopted it.

The Bigger Question This Debate Forces Us to Ask

A name shouldn’t ignite this kind of controversy — unless, of course, it’s not really about a name at all. It’s about identity. The Ministry’s concern that “defector” carries a stigma is legitimate. So is the community’s fear that stripping the word away erases a lived history of courage and sacrifice. But the sharpest critique — the one the Human Rights Commission put into writing — is this: the government claimed to be acting in the name of inclusion while systematically excluding the very people it claimed to include.

There is a cautionary precedent here. The term saeteormin, pushed in the mid-2000s with similar intentions, never caught on and quietly faded from use. If bukheungmin is to avoid the same fate, the 36,000 people who will be called by that name need a real seat at the table — not a survey that gets shelved when the results are inconvenient. Deciding what a group of people are called is not a bureaucratic technicality. It is, at its core, a question of whose voice gets to matter.

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They Changed the Name — But the 36,000 People It Affects Are Asking “Why?