Under the Loving Care of the Fatherly Leader: North Korea and the Kim Dynasty (125 page)

Q. But I never heard of any place with no rations for three years.

A. “That’s it. We felt it. It wasn’t uniform nationwide. Pyongyang was better. Hwanghae Province was better. Some areas were better.”

Q. Did you hear of or see donated food?

A. “Because I worked on the railroad I saw some, but it never got to the people where I was. I didn’t care because it wasn’t going to us.”

Q. To whom, then?

A. “To the military. In that area there’s one military ration center. All the food went there. Soldiers came and got about 50 percent, officials got some, restaurateurs got the rest.
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Q. You went to the distribution center?

A. “Yes.”

Q. When?

A. “That was in the area where I was working, the railroad area. Fifty percent or more of the rations went to the military. There were a couple of bases in the area. It was the county distribution center. You are supposed to ration to the rest of the distribution centers, but there wasn’t any left. It was mainly rationed to the military.”

Q. Did people feel bitter about that?

A. “There was nothing we could do. The military has the highest priority. Especially since Kim Jong-il became head of it, you can’t fight it. If a soldier comes up and hits you, you can’t do anything. They have all the authority.

“In 1997 the agriculture minister, So Kwan-hui, was executed for the agricultural failure. Poeple don’t dare talk badly of Kim Jong-il. If something like that happens, Kim Jong-il orders someone executed, putting all the blame on that person. People are taught to worship Kim Jong-Il so they don’t think of criticizing him.”

Q. Do people die of starvation?

A. “Yes. Most people when they die of starvation, contrary to what you might think, get swollen up. They drink a lot of water because they’re hungry and dehydrated, skin and bones. People who can afford to travel on trains usually eat one meal a day. At stations, beggars get on and beg for even a spoonful. Some get it, some don’t. A lot die on the trains. Railroad workers have to dispose of the bodies. I didn’t have to do that, but I’ve seen so many. The people who care for the dead bodies are delinquents. That’s a punishment—to take care of the dead. After they collect the bodies, if no one claims them, they dig a hole and bury several in a mass grave.

“When you talk about people who die of starvation, mostly the direct cause is a related disease. So many are dying they can’t handle them. There aren’t enough coffins. They make a metal coffin, put the body in temporarily. It costs 500
won
to rent the coffin for the final trip to the grave, but still it’s so hard to arrange that people often wait a day or two to rent one.”

Q. How did you defect?

A. “We got help from my eldest brother Nam Hyun, the one who defected from Russia. I first heard in 1994 that my brother was in South Korea. I started wondering why he would go there, after all the bad things I had
learned about South Korea. I saw Im Su-gyong and Moon Ik-hwan on television, then reports of their jailing after they came to North Korea. But when they came we could see they were well fed. Then she got out of jail, after only three years, and had a child. I thought they must have a lot of freedom in South Korea—only three years, then marriage and a child. Then there are the film clips of students demonstrating. It’s unthinkable in North Korea—we couldn’t even dream of such a thing. The North Korean media played it as a problem, but I thought, ‘If they have that kind of freedom to fight the police, what’s the rest of the society like?’ And they weren’t starving. That’s when I started criticizing the cronies under the Kims. I wouldn’t dare criticize the Kims themselves.”

Q. When did you escape?

A. “In August 1997 we left. My second brother is in an isolated cell under State Security. He told his wife about the plans and asked her to leave, too, so he was taken away.”

Q. Is she in jail?

A. “No, of course not. She has a strong revolutionary mind. She probably was re-warded.”

Q. His children?

A. “They have one child who was with the mother. If she requests a divorce it will be granted.”

Q. Do you resent her?

A. “Death would be too good for her. No, not her. It’s her family who went to the police. She couldn’t decide. [Fearing all would be punished], the family took hold of her and wouldn’t let her come.”

Q. What are you doing now?

A. “Working as an assistant manager at a trading company founded by my eldest brother, Nam Hyun.”

Q. School?

A. “Next year I want to go. I’m thinking of working for the Railroad Authority.”

Q. Maybe you’ll put track across the DMZ.

Nam Chung’s mother, Chang In-sook, was fifty-seven when I interviewed her in 1998, and with her weathered face and short hair she looked her age. Her face, like that of her son Nam Chung, was wide and she resembled him. Her previous occupation as an architect-engineer showed in her tastefully chosen clothing and accessories: navy jacket, deep blue patterned blouse with white collar, big brooch on the jacket, gold ring, gold watch with black leather strap.

Chang had a brilliant résumé by North Korean standards. Having earned multiple degrees in civil engineering, specializing in tunnel and bridge construction, she had worked for twenty-six years as an architect in
the Pyongyang city planning department. Considered one of the top three female architects in the country she had participated in construction of about thirty bridges and the Juche Tower, a monument lighting the night sky with a huge flame representing the
juche
ideal. She had received nine awards, several of them directly from Kim Il-sung or Kim Jong-il. She had been photographed three times with Kim Il-sung, and on the last of those occasions Kim Jong-il also had been in the picture. She was Workers’ Party secretary for her unit.

Q. What did you do on the Juche Tower?

A. “I was in charge of the structure of the tower. As party secretary I led weekly meetings and designed the structure.”

Q. Tell me about the national construction policy.

A. “The policy can be summarized as showing the world North Korea’s pride. Construction is to give pleasure to Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il. This is to show the
juche
spirit to the world. The Juche Tower and the memorial tower commemorating the founding of the party are examples— and also the West Sea Barrage. Lots of money and manpower went into that. It was big propaganda. But in fact its practical effect was very small. They just wanted it to show the power of socialism and the party. Even in Pyongyang there are so many buildings but you can’t operate them so they remain empty: the new tall hotel, for example, the world’s widest road and so on. They shouldn’t have built the hotel. The Koryo isn’t even full yet. Also, they’re now building a dining hall for 10,000 people. Nonsense!”

Q. Tell me about the problems you had after your eldest son defected.

A. “My son had been studying in Russia for five years. He came to South Korea in December 1990. All of a sudden the family changed from a revolutionary family to a family of traitors. I lost my job. When they kicked us out of Pyongyang they gave us forty-eight hours’ notice to evacuate. Our household goods were to be packed in twenty-four hours and we would leave ourselves in forty-eight hours.

“If it had been 1989, we’d have been sent to a political prison camp. But after the 1990s there were so many like us that there were no vacancies. So people started getting sent to coal mines, and to cut timber in the forests. My son who defected knew we wouldn’t be sent to a prison camp. And he thought North Korea would collapse in a year. He was wrong.”

Q. But I’ll bet you were angry with him.

A. “Yes, at first I felt a great bitterness. He had betrayed the nation and the Great Leader.”

Q. I’ve heard that the Pyongyang population is shifted every two years.

A. “Not every two years but it’s shifted frequently. After the Korean War the landlord class was kicked out, and people who had gone to South
Korea during the war. A big transplantation came in 1976 when the Pan-munjom incident occurred. Also, at times of international festivals and conferences the government wants firm control so it moves questionable people out. In addition, whole groups belonging to laboratories and factories are moved because of environmental questions, to clean up the city.

“They want people in Pyongyang who can be trusted. Whenever American reporters come, the government tells citizens to wear the best clothing they have. The authorities distribute sample questions and answers to prepare people. If someone is questioned by a reporter, he or she will be debriefed afterward on the exchange.

“When we were banished from Pyongyang we were sent to Onsong Mine. There used to be two prison camps, Changpyong and Tongpo, in Onsong County. They moved Chanpyong camp to Tokson in South Hamgyong Province in 1988. Tongpo camp moved there in 1990 to get it farther away from the border. I was in Tongpo. Both of those are tough areas developed by political prisoners. After the camps moved, at Champyon the government sent free settlers, but those people ruined the soil. So in the case of Tongpo the government sent organized people— factory workers and union people—to control the cultivation and mining. I was sent there as a settler after they moved the camp from Tongpo. They moved the camp because they were worried about human rights organizations’ condemnations. And during high-level North-South meetings South Korean officials expressly named those camps. The other reason was that they were near the border and the authorities worried about what the prisoners might do. Those were the only two camps in border areas.

“When I arrived at Tongpo it was in the final stage of evacuation. I met some of the remaining prisoners and heard the story from them. I didn’t start at Tongpo but at Onsong because I met someone I knew who was in charge of the mine. I could move there instead. Onsong is relatively better because it has farmland in addition to mines. Tongpo has coal mines only. I stayed at Onsong for six years and seven months, working as an architect-engineer. I was the most experienced person in the area, so I was designing bridges and rail-ways and a big storage tower for coal. I also participated in financing of rail-way construction. I didn’t participate in prison-camp architecture. Bridges were my field. But when I went to the camp in Onsong and saw the harsh reality—people lived in dugouts, no heating …

“Our relationship with the Onsong people was good. We weren’t prisoners; we were just people expelled from Pyongyang. Our social class was unchanged. We stayed in a normal people’s area. People thought it should be the party that would take responsibility for my
son’s actions, not the family. Before that my family had a very good social station. When people visited my house they could see three pictures of me with Kim Il-sung or Kim Jong-il and a watch signed by Kim Il-sung. We were the only family with a color TV. I worked hard. My sons behaved very well. State Security came once a year only and checked on us.

“Mean-while, my son was trying to get us back and he finally got in touch with us. For eight months I rejected his offer to bring us to South Korea. In September
1997,
though, I crossed the border with two of my sons. After I got here I realized why he wanted us to come.

“The first I knew that he was alive was in 1993. A leaflet about my son’s marriage came from the Chinese border. It was a leaflet from South Korea that said he was studying at a university. I thought it was propaganda and figured the South Koreans would kill him after taking his photo. But when I heard he was on TV I realized it wasn’t so. We heard that my son interpreted a meeting between Gorbachev and Kim Young-sam in 1994—it was on NHK [Japan Broadcasting System]. My second son’s friend watched it, and told him about his elder brother. Then I realized if someone has ability he can be treated well in South Korea. So I calmed down.

“Our first direct news from him came November 1, 1996. From then he wanted the family to come to South Korea. I was afraid, but considered it for eight months and finally made the decision. Blood is thicker than water. Hatred became forgiveness. Then I missed my son a lot. Finally, we had a reunion. We all live in the same house here, with his Russian wife. My daughter-in-law is my son’s professor’s only daughter. When he consulted with his professor the professor said, ‘Do what you think is right.’ Now his daughter lives in South Korea, having left her family behind.”