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Joseph Kim MC/MPA 2025 smiles softly when asked about his path to Harvard Kennedy School. “It’s a long story,” he says.

Born and raised in Hoeryong, a city along the Tumen River in North Korea’s North Hamgyong Province, Kim’s childhood story is marked by love, hardship, and acts of sacrifice. His Korean name, Kim Kwang Jin—a name given to him by his father, full of the hope many fathers have for their sons—means “walking forward with brightness.” 

He pauses before sharing several unassuming but deeply meaningful moments he had with his father.  

“I came home from elementary school one day with my report card,” Kim says, admitting he wasn’t a great student and was never interested in studying. “My father looked at it for a while, then looked at me and said: ‘let’s eat.’ He was disappointed but didn’t ask me why I wasn’t trying. That moment made a big impact on my life.”

His father’s quiet expressions of love were delivered often throughout his childhood. Kim recalls another memory of particular importance. 

“My sister and my father went to the mountains to collect firewood and didn’t come home until a little bit before midnight,” he says. “I decided to make a simple meal of rice and kimchi soup. My father came home, ate the rice I had prepared, and said: ‘Son, this is the best rice I've ever had.’ The truth is the rice was half cooked—I know because I also ate it. But it was another way my father showed me just how much he loved me. That was first and last time I made rice for him.”

His father was among the hundreds of thousands of North Koreans who died from starvation during the when Kim was 12 years old. The famine sent others, like his mother and beloved older sister, on desperate escape routes into nearby China in search of work and food. His mother was captured and sent to prison; his sister went missing. Alone and homeless, Kim survived by begging on the streets.

“I had to learn how to say, ‘Can I have your leftover soup?’” he says. “It sounds simple, but it took me forever. It meant admitting I was homeless.”

In 2006, when Kim was 15 years old, he crossed the frozen Tumen River into northern China to look for his sister. He ended up in Yanji City, in the eastern part of Jilin Province, going door-to-door to ask for food. By chance, he was introduced to a South Korean missionary who connected him with the nonprofit . With their support—and under the protections of the passed by U.S. Congress and signed by President George W. Bush—he arrived in the United States as a refugee in 2007, not speaking a word of English.

Kim was placed in Richmond, Virginia, where he lived with his foster family and enrolled in the local high school.

“It was the first time I could pause to think about what happened in my life. Why did my father have to die from hunger?,” he asks. “I remembered my father's disappointment in my report card and thought the best way I could honor his sacrifice and make him proud was to go to college in the United States. So, I studied—and here I am.”

After finishing high school, Kim decided to head north to New York City, with $1,000 in his pocket.

“I felt like I needed to test myself,” he says. “Could I actually survive in America? I still didn’t know the language. I still didn’t know how this society worked. The survival tactics I used in North Korea—begging, stealing, pickpocketing—weren’t applicable here.”

His savings quickly ran out. Hunger returned. He applied for every job he could find. Eventually, he found part-time work and enrolled at before transferring to in New York’s Hudson Valley, where he majored in political studies and wrote his senior thesis on corruption and marketization in North Korea.

Soon after, he became a U.S. citizen and joined the —housed within the —in Dallas, Texas, working to advance North Korean human rights and expand access to education for other North Korean refugees. There, he managed the , the same scholarship he received to go to Bard. He also created and led an annual North Korean leadership program and served as expert-in-residence at the center’s Human Freedom Initiative.

“I created the leadership program to give others a voice,” he says. “Many North Koreans want to lead but feel they don’t have the right skills. I wanted to help build those skills.”

He found stability and meaning in his work, but after meeting , who then served as President Biden’s senior speechwriter, at a , his life took another turn. During their conversation, Kim told Feuerstein he was content.

“She said, ‘You need to leave. You’re too young to be content,’” Kim recalls.

She introduced him to Professor David Gergen, who was also at the conference and, after hearing his story, encouraged Kim to apply to the Mid-Career Master in Public Administration (MC/MPA) Program at ����vlog����. He did—and was awarded the Center for Public Leadership’s Equity Fellowship, a generosity, he says, he’s grateful for.

On the first day of the MC/MPA Summer Program—a five-week program that helps mid-career students prepare for the academic year—Kim remembers MPA Programs Faculty Chair and Professor Kessley Hong comparing the program’s journey to climbing Mount Everest.

“She said: at the beginning, everyone is excited to climb this mountain, but as the journey progresses you will face challenges—you’ll need to adjust to the altitude and rely on your friends for help,” he remembers. “When I heard that, I thought: ‘That won’t be me—I’ve overcome bigger challenges.’”

But as the academic year got underway, Kim did face real challenges. 

“What helped me were friends who would say, ‘You don’t look okay. Are you okay?’ That question really helped me and kept me humble,” Kim reflects. “I learned I could climb that mountain and face challenges, knowing it’s okay to say, ‘I have certain strengths and weaknesses’ and learn to embrace them. This was an especially meaningful part of my journey.”

And so were the deep friendships and community Kim made at ����vlog����. 

“My friends come from all walks of life. But they’re genuine. We can have serious conversations—and also laugh about silly things. That balance means so much.”

Reflecting on his journey, Kim is clear-eyed about what his experiences have taught him.

“Leadership must be earned, not proclaimed,” he says. “Everyone’s definition of success is different—but every definition should include helping others.”

“And the best way to protect our freedom is to share it with those who are not yet free,” he adds, echoing elements of when he told his audience: “Freedom is like air—you can’t touch it or see it. We don’t think about it or appreciate it when we have it. But we notice it when we don’t—just like we notice when we don’t have oxygen.”

As for what’s to come after ����vlog����, Kim is negotiating two job offers, one in New York City, the other back in Dallas with the George W. Bush Presidential Center.

He dreams of returning to his home in Hoeryong to see if the pear tree his father planted is still there. And when he thinks of the long term, his sights are set.

“To change North Korea,” he says. “It’s a broken home, but I know it can be restored for the North Korean people. In a free North Korea, I want to become a high school teacher, to teach history and moral philosophy, and take care of orphans. If you were to ask me how I'm going to do that, I have no idea. But the question I'm asking myself is: where can I make an impact to create a change in North Korea?”

“North Korea looks like a country as dark as the sea at night,” he says. “But it is not a land of darkness; it is a land with darkness. There is suffering and hardship, but there is also unimaginable beauty, immeasurable resilience, and 25 million people who have to choose hope every day to survive.”

As Kim prepares to graduate this month, he carries his father’s hopes with him, grounded in purpose and gratitude. Because he knows how improbable his story is.

“You’re looking at someone who survived a famine, escaped North Korea in broad daylight, dropped out of elementary school, and is now graduating from the best university in the world,” . 

Portraits by Lydia Rosenberg; inline images courtesy of Joseph Kim