Routledge Handbook of Contemporary North Korea 1138340278, 9781138340275

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ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK OF

CONTEMPORARY NORTH KOREA

The Routledge Handbook of Contemporary North Korea presents a comprehensive picture of con­ temporary North Korea, placed in historical context and set against the overlapping fields of politics, economy, culture, society and foreign relations. Spanning a period of significant trans­ ition for North Korea, this volume provides accurate analysis and applications of both historical and institutional perspectives. The volume’s chapters are representative of the growth in North Korean studies that has occurred since the 1990s, in parallel with the growing maturity of the field in South Korea, as well as with far greater levels of access to North Korean sources. The volume is divided into five Parts, each reflecting an emergent area of debate and research: • • • • •

The political perspective The North Korean economy Foreign relations Society Culture

This is the first anthology of North Korean studies to demonstrate a clear understanding of North Korea as North Korea, as opposed to a dimly perceived and threatening rogue state. It features both Korean and non-Korean contributors, many working from primary source material. As such, this handbook will prove a valuable resource to students and scholars of Northeast Asian studies, modern Korean history and politics, and comparative politics more broadly. Adrian Buzo has published widely on North Korean politics and history. The second edition of his The Guerilla Dynasty: Politics and Leadership in the DPRK was published by Routledge in 2018. He currently teaches at the University of New South Wales, Australia.

ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK

OF CONTEMPORARY

NORTH KOREA

Edited by Adrian Buzo

First published 2021 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2021 selection and editorial matter, Adrian Buzo; individual chapters, the contributors

The right of Adrian Buzo to be identified as the author of the editorial matter, and of

the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections

77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in

any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter

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Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered

trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to

infringe.

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Buzo, Adrian, editor.

Title: Routledge handbook of contemporary North Korea / Edited by Adrian Buzo.

Other titles: Handbook of contemporary North Korea

Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York : Routledge, 2021. | Includes

bibliographical references and index.

Identifiers: LCCN 2020028409 | ISBN 9781138340275 (hardback) |

ISBN 9780429804007 (adobe pdf) | ISBN 9780429803994 (epub) |

ISBN 9780429803987 (mobi)

Subjects: LCSH: Korea (North)–History.

Classification: LCC DS932 .R68 2021 | DDC 951.53–dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020028409

ISBN: 978-1-138-34027-5 (hbk)

ISBN: 978-0-429-44076-2 (ebk)

Typeset in Bembo

by Wearset Ltd, Boldon, Tyne and Wear

CONTENTs

List of illustrations Notes on contributors

viii ix

1 Introduction: understanding North Korea Adrian Buzo

1

Part I

the political perspective

9

2 The evolution of the North Korean socio- political system, 1945–1994 Balázs Szalontai

11

3 Masters of survival: North Korean leadership in a hostile world Andrei Lankov

42

4 Political economy and ideology under Kim Jong Un Rüdiger Frank

56

Part II

the North Korean economy

75

5 The structural transformation of the North Korean economic planning system Peter Ward

77

6 Between the markets and the state: North Korea’s fragile agriculture and food supply Benjamin Katzeff Silberstein

97

v

Contents

7 North Korea’s interaction with the global economy Justin Hastings

112

Part III

Foreign relations

129

8 “The enemies made this possible”: Sino- North Korean relations after 1948 Adam Cathcart and Yujin Lim

131

9 Nuclear weapons and North Korean foreign policy Shane Smith

141

10 North Korea’s nuclear diplomacy Leszek Buszynski

155

11 Revival of an old friendship: contemporary North Korea- Russia relations Anthony V. Rinna

171

12 Once more with feeling: the US- DPRK dialogue, 1993–2020 Adrian Buzo

179

Part IV

Society

197

13 Human rights and North Korea Sandra Fahy

199

14 The “market value” of people in North Korea Seokhyang Kim

215

15 Child mass mobilization in North Korea Miju Kim

225

16 The North Korean diaspora Sheena Chestnut Greitens

233

Part V

Culture

249

17 The evolution of cultural policy and practice in North Korea, seen through

the journal Chosŏn ŭmak [Korean Music] 251

Keith Howard

vi

Contents

18 Love of the lover, love of the Leader: youth romance in North Korean fiction Alek Sigley 19 Mass culture in the Kim Jong Un era: continuities and changes Tatiana Gabroussenko

Index

266 283

295

vii

ILLUsTRATIONs

Figures 4.1 4.2 4.3 5.1 5.2 6.1 6.2 6.3

Annual growth rates of State Budgetary Revenue, 2005–2018 (%) 65

North Korean exports, 2005–2018 66

Cumulative growth rates of North Korea’s state budget, 2004–2019 67

Administrative hierarchy of the North Korean economic planning system (up to

1985) 81

Administrative hierarchy with Party guidance institutions (post-1985) 83

Food production, 1990–2017, cereals (rice milled equivalent), million tonnes 100

Total food production, 2009–2018 (unmilled), million tonnes 101

Total food production, 2009–2019 (milled), million tonnes 101

tables 5.1 15.1 15.2

Gross social product (in cash terms) by sector and ownership type ILO categories of child labor: examples in the DPRK DPRK responses to CRC issues

viii

79

228

229

CONTRIBUTORs

Leszek Buszynski is an Honorary Professor with the Strategic and Defence Studies Centre at the Australian National University, Canberra, Australia. His fields of expertise include the Korean Peninsula and North Korea’s nuclear ambitions, as well as the broader issue of Sino- American rivalry. He is the author of Negotiating with North Korea: The Six Party Talks and the Nuclear Issue (Routledge, 2013). His most recent publications include The Geopolitics of the Western Pacific: China, Japan and the United States, (Routledge, 2019), and he was co- editor of The South China Sea: From a Regional Maritime Dispute to Geo-Strategic Competition (Routledge, 2020). Adrian Buzo has published widely in the field of Korean language and studies with a focus on North Korean politics and history. The second edition of his The Guerilla Dynasty: Politics and Leadership in the DPRK was published by Routledge in 2018. He currently teaches at the University of New South Wales, Australia. Adam Cathcart is a Lecturer in Chinese History at the University of Leeds, UK. He is the co- editor with Christopher Green and Stephen Denney of Decoding the Sino-North Korean Bor­ derlands (2020), and is currently editor of the European Journal of Korean Studies. Sandra Fahy is a Visiting Fellow at the Human Rights Program of Harvard Law School. She is Associate Professor of Anthropology in the Faculty of Liberal Arts and the Graduate Program in Global Studies at Sophia University, Tokyo. She holds a PhD from SOAS University of London. Her major publications include Marching through Suffering: Loss and Survival in North Korea (2015) and Dying for Rights: Putting North Korea’s Human Rights Abuses on the Record (2019). Rüdiger Frank is Professor of East Asian Economy and Society at the University of Vienna, Austria, where he heads the Department of East Asian Studies. He has been working with the World Economic Forum since 2011. He studied Korean language at Kim- Il-Sung University in Pyongyang in 1991–1992, and holds degrees in Korean Studies and in Economics. He has written extensively on North Korea in the fields of economic history and contemporary polit ical economy. ix

Contributors

Tatiana Gabroussenko is currently a Professor at the Korea University, Seoul. She holds a doctorate from the Australian National University. She has published widely on North Korean issues in Korean, Russian and English and is the author of Soldiers on the Cultural Front: Develop­ ments in the Early History of North Korean Literature and Literary Policy (2010). Sheena Chestnut Greitens is Assistant Professor in the Department of Political Science at the University of Missouri, USA, and co- director of the university’s Institute for Korean Studies. She is also a Non- Resident Fellow at the Brookings Institution and the CSIS Korea Chair, and a Research Associate at the Harvard Fairbank Center. Her work focuses on security, authorit arian politics, and the politics and international relations of East Asia. Her major publications include Dictators and Their Secret Police: Coercive Institutions and State Violence under Authoritarianism (2016). Justin Hastings is an Australian Research Council Future Fellow and Professor of International Relations and Comparative Politics at the University of Sydney, Australia. He is the author of No Man’s Land: Globalization, Territory, and Clandestine Groups in Southeast Asia (2010), and A Most Enterprising Country: North Korea in the Global Economy (2016). He is currently completing a book on proliferation networks. Keith Howard is Professor Emeritus and Leverhulme Emeritus Fellow at SOAS, University of London, and was formerly Professor and Associate Dean at the University of Sydney, Australia. He has held visiting professorships at Monash University, Ewha Womans University, the University of Sydney, Hankuk University of Foreign Studies, and Texas Tech University, and, during the 2017–2018 academic year, was a Fellow of the National Humanities Center, North Carolina. He has written widely on Korean music, including Songs for ‘Great Leaders’: Ideology and Creativity in North Korean Music and Dance (2020), and was editorial chair for the SOAS Musicology Series (Routledge) during 2008–2017. Miju Kim is a researcher at the Ewha Institute of Unification Studies, Ewha Womans Univer sity, in Korea. She has completed MA and PhD studies and is currently writing a manuscript entitled Two Koreas, Peace and Coexistence. Seokhyang Kim is a Professor and Head of Department of North Korean Studies at Ewha Womans University, Seoul, South Korea. She completed an MA in Sociology at Ewha Womans University, and a further MA and PhD at the University of Georgia. She is the author of the book, North Korean Women Vent Their Desires for Beauty in Jangmadang (North Korean Market)! (2019). Andrei Lankov is currently a Professor at Kookmin University, Seoul, South Korea. He holds a doctorate from Leningrad State University. He is the author of From Stalin to Kim Il Sung: The Formation of North Korea, 1945–1960; North of the DMZ: Essays on Daily Life in North Korea; and The Real North Korea: Life and Politics in the Failed Stalinist Utopia and a number of other books and articles in Korean, Russian and English, as well as providing regular media commentary pieces for such publications as Foreign Affairs, The New York Times and The Washington Post. Yujin Lim is a PhD candidate at the University of Leeds, UK, with a research focus on inter- Korean relations and US- China security competition. She previously was a researcher at the European Institute for Asian Studies in Brussels. x

Contributors

Anthony V. Rinna is a Senior Editor at Sino-NK. His academic research focuses on the two Koreas’ economic and security relationships with the Russian Federation. He received his MA in Central and Eastern European Studies from La Salle University in Philadelphia. Alek Sigley is a graduate of the College of Asia and the Pacific, Australian National University Canberra. During 2018–2019, he conducted postgraduate research on contemporary North Korean fiction at Kim Il Sung University College of Literature in Korea. Benjamin Katzeff Silberstein is a doctoral candidate in the Department of History at the University pf Pennsylvania and a Non- Resident Fellow at the Stimson Center. He writes regu larly on North Korean economy issues for the analyst website 38 North. He received his MA in International Relations and International Economics from Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies. His doctoral dissertation focuses on the evolution and social history of surveillance in North Korea. Shane Smith is a Senior Research Fellow at the National Defense University Center for the Study of Weapons of Mass Destruction. He has served as Senior Advisor for East Asia Nuclear Policy in the Office of the Secretary of Defense and previously worked at the Harvard- Stanford Preventive Defense Project and Council on Foreign Relations. He has taught at the University of Colorado at Boulder, the National Defense University and Johns Hopkins University and authored over 20 chapters, articles and government studies. Balázs Szalontai is Associate Professor of North Korean Studies in the Department of Public Sociology and Korean Unification/Diplomacy of Korea University, Sejong Campus, South Korea. He received his PhD in history at the Central European University, Budapest. He is the author of Kim Il Sung in the Khrushchev Era: Soviet-DPRK Relations and the Roots of North Korean Despotism, 1953–1964 (2005). His other research fields include Southeast Asian, Mongolian, and Eastern European history. Peter Ward is a PhD candidate at the University of Vienna, Austria. His work has previously been published in the Journal of East Asian Studies, Communist and Post-Communist Studies, Asian Perspective and other academic journals and outlets. His research interests include the North Korean economy, North Korean refugee resettlement, and East Asian migration issues.

xi

1

IntroductIon

understanding north Korea

Adrian Buzo

Introduction This volume presents a broad picture of contemporary North Korea, placed in historical context and set against the overlapping fields of politics, economy, culture, society and foreign relations. It cannot claim to be a comprehensive account, for space dictates selecting only a number of key topics and approaches which are capable of feeding into a broader narrative. These are clearly times of significant transition for North Korea, and they beg both the accurate analysis of this process and the application of historical and institutional perspective. Few if any countries are known internationally through more severely selective and partial media coverage, and, given the nature of its impact on the international community, few, if any, are in greater need of more detailed study. The key element here is an ideology and political system that have led to an absolute priority being accorded to the building of a credible nuclear threat against its neighbours and their more distant allies. Such is the all-embracing nature of this priority and the militarism that has induced it that it reaches out and touches almost every corner of society, in the process, generating manifold obstacles to contact and understanding. The contributors to this volume are representative of the noteworthy growth in North Korean studies that has occurred since the 1990s. In the Republic of Korea (ROK), the end of military-backed authoritarian rule in 1987 and far greater levels of access to the North have allowed a much larger, more sophisticated space for debate and research to open up, and this has been of enormous benefit to all scholars. Outside the ROK, the field has also grown. Not too long ago, sources for up-to-date, reasonably useful material on the North were sparse, and in search of nuggets of useful information one had to wade through reams of misinformation or disinformation. These baleful twins are still very much with us, but their influence has been sharply diminished by a vastly more sophisticated stream of information, not just emanating from Seoul but also from United Nations agencies, non-governmental organizations (NGOs), refugee interviews, defector debriefings, and sleuthing along the now-porous North Korea border with China. This information now passes through the hands and minds of a mainly younger cadre of analysts and academics, Korean and non-Korean, most of whom work from primary source material, and whose clear focus is on understanding North Korea qua North Korea, not as some chessboard piece in the realm of international relations. We have moved on quite a ways from the days when former US Vice-President Walter Mondale could feel moved 1

Adrian Buzo

to assert that “Anyone who tells you that they are an expert on North Korea is either a liar or a fool”, though not so far as to give the lie to Brian Myers’ recent observation that we always know we’re at a North Korea conference because we can’t tell the political scientists from the international relations people. This leads in turn to the obvious point that our studies begin with our sources, and the written record as it applies to North Korean society consists of what is produced inside and outside the system. The inside literature consists mainly of the self-serving official output of the regime, which in so many areas of the national life insists on the continuing absolute paramount nature of the truths revealed to the Korean minjok through the lives and deeds of Kim Il Sung and his descendants, and which accordingly demonstrates a habitual lack of interest in, if not a downright fear of, what its citizens might actually be thinking and feeling. Personal accounts by refugees from the North typically cover small, individual areas of experience, and the lingering credibility issues that afflict some of these remind us that they offer limited insight into the systems and structures that govern daily life, where more typically the lack of legal protection against state terror has led ordinary citizens to work within a raft of informal institutions and structures which leave little or no written record. Nevertheless, in their varying ways, the chapters by Peter Ward, Rüdiger Frank, Alek Sigley and Tatiana Gabroussenko demonstrate how useful internal sources can be. Outside North Korea, serious scholarship must contend with the usual constraints of modern academic practice, but also with the popular addiction to congenial narratives. The media and other opinion-makers always appear prepared to seek these out as a short-hand way of filling in space and time, and an environment marked by the absence of historical perspective, detailed knowledge and first-hand experience enables superficial narratives to proliferate. Foremost among these are tales of purported North Korean eccentricities and barbarities, usually based on sources that are at once both contentious and unverifiable. Also prominent are misapprehensions and overestimations of change and flexibility in various areas of state policy. Such stories are, of course, more truly “news” of the man-bites-dog variety and bid more convincingly for column space than the dog-bites-man enumeration of the many constraints on any movement towards significant change. The end result is usually little more than the further mystification of the country, its leaders and its society. Certainly, North Korea is challenging, and certainly, it has many layers, but the mosaic that is presented through this collection contains a composite picture of a state and society shaped by specific, identifiable historical and political forces. In this connection, the need to range across a number of different topics is of paramount importance. A brief anecdote: some 30 years ago, I had a wonderful conversation with one of the first South Korean scholars to write comprehensively on North Korean society on the basis of refugee and defector interviews. This was pre-famine North Korea, and my final question to him was whether his research had caused him to assess that the North might collapse sooner than he had thought rather than later. His emphatic response was, “Oh, sooner – no doubt”, and looking back 30 years on, his response reminds me how easy it can be to allow the sheer weight of anecdote with its wealth of vivid, personal stories to affect our judgement on huge, complex issues such as the overall nature and extent of societal change in the North and its potential political consequences. I have always remembered this exchange not, of course, as a reflection on my colleague’s judgement, but as a cautionary tale on how delving into the minutiae of North Korean society and culture may involve the risk of misreading the extent to which North Koreans have the capacity to become independent actors within the system who carry the potential for generating change. And so if there is one overarching conclusion that emerges from the diverse array of articles and perspectives assembled here, it is the folly of viewing the Democratic People’s Republic of 2

Introduction

Korea (DPRK) through the lens of single issues. Kim Il Sung planned and achieved a society where the parts were rigid so that the whole could be more responsive to his will, and the resultant tightly interlocking nature of the political and social spheres precludes single-issue focus. Thus one can hardly begin to understand the North’s brand of illiberal marketization without placing it first within the broader political goal of elite survival, and the same applies across many other fields, ranging from the detailed features of its nuclear weapons programme, to its interaction with the global economy, and to its artistic and literary output.

Part I The political perspective The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea took definitive shape under the leadership of Kim Il Sung (r. 1945–1994), and his shadow remains long. The debate here hinges on whether the evidence supports a view of Kim as essentially an anti-imperialist, anti-colonialist nationalist leader in the same mould of a Mao Zedong or Ho Chi Minh, who somehow contrived to run off the rails, or else as the puppet of the regime which began to be installed by the Soviet Union in August 1945, and, when placed in these terms, the politicized contours of North Korean history quickly become obvious. Early accounts of divided Korea and of the emergence of the North tended to emanate from within the peninsula, and reflected the interests of the occupying powers and the competing claims to legitimacy of the two states they shaped, each state stressing its own nationalist credentials and its rival’s puppet status. This was in any case not an environment or an age which favoured objective scholarship, and notwithstanding some notable monographs during the 1960s, it was not until the publication of Scalapino and Lee’s Communism in Korea in 1972 that a broader methodology focusing, in their words, on “communism, development and tradition” provided a thorough account of both the pre-1945 history of the Communist movement and its post-1945 fate in the North. In the 1970s, scholarship which challenged these views and which stressed Kim as an authentic nationalist with broad grassroots support also quickly established itself, culminating in the work of Cumings, which may fairly, if inadequately, be described as revisionist in the breadth of its challenge to prevailing views of Kim Il Sung and the formation of the North Korean state. In the main, access to archives in the former Soviet bloc as well as expanded access to Chinese scholarship have forced considerable rethinking in the revisionist school, as the work of Lankov, Szalontai and Tertitskiy has shed greater light on the nature of the civil society the Soviet occupiers imposed themselves upon, as well as bringing to light a good deal of eyewitness evidence which had previously been hidden. Quite early on in his career, Kim Il Sung retreated from the intellectual task of grasping the principles of Marxism-Leninism and applying them to state-building, and as he assumed complete control in the late 1950s, by and large, the North made plans and policy without the benefit of large organizing ideas other than building the means to resume the Korean War. In this volume, in Chapter 2, Szalontai leads us through the period of Soviet domination and outlines the growth of the Kim Il Sung dictatorship. Kim died some five years after the Soviet Union began its final death spiral and the almost universal expectation was that the North, with its combination of Soviet dependence and domestic economic failure, would pass into history along with most of the rest of the socialist bloc. However, the strength of the system that Kim had built and the brutality with which he had enforced it meant that his son and successor, Kim Jong Il (r. 1994–2011) was remarkably free from pressure for change either by challenge from below or moral compunction from within his own class, and so he entertained no new policy direction other than continuing confrontation with a broad array of designated enemies. Andrei Lankov’s Chapter 3 highlights the role that unbending rivalry with the South has played in shaping Kim Jong Il’s options, and 3

Adrian Buzo

describes the harrowing march through the trials and tribulations of the 1990s that would have killed off a less determined leadership. Both the contours of Kim’s rule and the wellsprings of his personality have been routinely trivialized in external commentary on the North, and it is important that we reassess his considerable achievement of state survival against all odds. People cite many factors for the survival of the DPRK, but one is indisputable: the leadership of Kim Jong Il. In Chapter 4, Rüdiger Frank draws us into the era of Kim Jong Un who, like his father, assumed leadership amid both widespread derision in the international media and scepticism that he could remain in power for very long. And like his father, so far he has confounded expectations. Frank’s work also demonstrates to us one of the prime tools of the North Korean specialist, namely, the parsing of opaque official documents, in this case, Kim’s annual New Year Address, the full text of his speech to the Seventh KWP Congress in 2016, and documentation from the annual Supreme People’s Assembly session. The sources illuminate many of the key issues confronting the DPRK as its nuclear weapons programme continues to propel it into conflict with the region as well as the broader international community, and as Kim endeavours to achieve a balance on both the practical and ideological levels between his father’s “militaryfirst” (son’gun) line and his own enhanced reliance on a partially marketized economy.

Part II The North Korean economy Congenial narratives are to hand to tell us that the inefficiencies of the Soviet-style socialist economy eventually give way before the relentless efficiency of the marketplace, and that this in turn offers a wedge for political transformation. Events in Eastern Europe have borne this out, but current trends in China do not support this view very neatly, nor does the recent economic history of North Korea, where a significant process of marketization has been under way for some time now, without a noticeable impact on the political system. Be that as it may, most observers would accept that in spite of some quirks specific to the North Korean experience such as the volume of military-related production, any understanding of this marketization process obliges us to locate this process on the spectrum of historical economic transitions elsewhere. In Chapter 5, Peter Ward offers a broad-based description and analysis of how the DPRK economy has assumed its present shape, from its almost cashless command economy days to the first shoots of aberrant practice involving cash transactions between domestic parties in the light industry sector in the 1980s. He then traces the generalization of such practices, from the 1990s on, when economic units began to operate with an increasing degree of independence in the face of dysfunctional state planning mechanisms, to the present day. To complement this account, Benjamin Katzeff Silberstein provides in Chapter 6 an account of post-famine developments in the key agricultural sector, a sector in which a process of reform is widely referred to in the secondary literature but is rarely analysed. Silberstein offers the rather sobering conclusion that this sector remains significantly bound by ideological constraints, while change has been fitful and uncertain. The story of DPRK economic management today continues to be one of contending pressures, as the state authorities, well aware of the dangers emanating from a market sector they can no longer directly control, attempt to both extract rent from the process but also assess what they can and cannot live with, especially as this process increasingly and unwelcomely invites Chinese inputs to play an increasingly important role in the North. At a time of hope that strong UN-mandated economic sanctions may induce policy change in the North, Justin Hastings outlines in Chapter 7 a further important element in the picture, namely, the growing sophistication of the DPRK’s predatory strategies in its interaction with both China and the international 4

Introduction

economy as a whole. Decades of praxis and institutionalization have entrenched a set of practices that has firmly anchored the DPRK at the very bottom of international corruption assessment tables, to the extent that Hastings sees the current array of practices as currently precluding the emergence of conventional trade and development strategies.

Part III Foreign relations Kim Il Sung’s reliance on Soviet backing in 1945 in consolidating his leadership was underpinned by a close identity of views and goals in foreign policy: Stalin wanted and needed a close and compliant ally on the Korean Peninsula and Kim wanted and needed strong Soviet backing to eliminate the South. It also helped that Kim shared Stalin’s entrenched view of Japan as an inherently aggressive state. However, within a decade, a number of factors had transformed the relationship – the 1949 victory of the Chinese Communist Party in the Chinese civil war, strong Chinese support during the Korean War which contrasted with more guarded Soviet support, the death of Stalin and the emergence of Soviet revisionism under Nikita Khrushchev, and the acquiescence of both Beijing and Moscow in the stalemate outcome of the Korean conflict, a position that was bitterly resented by Kim Il Sung, who remained committed to ultimate victory. Kim thus based his subsequent foreign policy on the achievement of the maximum possible freedom of action independent of both allies, a stance that remains in place to this day, and which has a nuclear weapons programme as its centrepiece. Shane Smith’s Chapter 9 describes how the possession of nuclear weapons and associated delivery systems have come to define DPRK foreign policy, tracing an arc of policy evolution that began with both military and diplomatic goals, but which responded to circumstances and ultimately narrowed down to the all-embracing goal of assured nuclear retaliation. At the same time, he points to the many inconsistencies and logical lacunae that surround this programme, as well as significant and unresolved technical, economic and security issues that will continue to challenge Pyongyang. Leszek Buszynski complements Shane Smith’s nuclear-focused perspective with a consideration in Chapter 10 of the various ways in which the DPRK has sought to use its nuclear weapons to gain diplomatic and economic leverage, leading to the current stand-off. He assesses that to date the DPRK has been remarkably successful in this pursuit, a success driven by the secrecy of its own policy formulation process, its unhesitating resort to brinkmanship, its strategic clarity, and its management of the expectations of a broad array of interlocutors, especially their fear of the ultimate consequences of failure to find some means of mollifying the North. Expressed in such terms, it becomes more obvious how negotiating strategies so often become subtly skewed to Pyongyang’s advantage. Discussion of the nuclear issue is also complemented with individual chapters on relations with Russia, China and the United States (Chapters 8, 11 and 12).

Part IV Society The essential shape of North Korean politics may have changed little over the decades, unless one counts the consolidation of Kimist family rule as a “change”. However, North Korean society as a whole has changed in many significant directions since the 1990s. The strength of the political apparat and the overwhelming degree of control it exercises over civil society have mandated an extremely selective process of change with very few unintended consequences, but an appreciation of these changes is nevertheless fundamental to an understanding of the DPRK. A major aim of this volume is therefore to depict the main ways in which these changes have been and continue to occur, not just in the economic sphere, but in culture and society as well. 5

Adrian Buzo

North Korea has elected to present a face to the world that obscures much of its daily life and much of the real daily concerns of its citizens. How do people make a living? What challenges do their workplaces face? How does the government impact on their personal life? What kind of information do they have access to? In short, how do people go about securing food, clothing, education, employment and advancement? We must begin, of course, with the fundamental perspective afforded by the horrific human rights situation in the North, where Sandra Fahy summarizes in Chapter 13 the breadth and depth of human rights violations, and in particular draws attention to the extent to which they are embedded in the institutional life of the country at all levels. In Chapter 14, Seokhyang Kim approaches the issue of social change from a fresh perspective, incorporating a decade-long research focus on North Korean refugees and viewing social status in North Korea today through the lens of monetization in the economy. Professor Kim analyses the pre-famine class structure of North Korea and the normalization of various forms of social discrimination through the education system and the rigidities of social and occupational life, organized first around heredity and Party membership, but including such factors as geographical location/confinement, foreign contact, occupation, gender, sexual orientation and disability. Professor Kim disaggregates the social changes that have occurred since the 1990s’ famine, presenting a variegated picture of winners (women entrepreneurs) and losers (local Party officials), and of formidable subsisting barriers to advancement for most people. This constitutes valuable feed-in to debate on the potential for political change arising from a more vibrant civil society. In Chapter 15, Miju Kim extends this perspective to childhood in the North and the specific exploitive practice of child mobilization for economic production. Sheena Chestnut Greitens then draws attention in Chapter 16 to the neglected topic of the North Korean diaspora and allows us to see not only the human face of this diaspora but also the potentially important role that may someday fall to elements among them. Most are getting on with their post-DPRK lives but some are also just waiting in the wings. Either way, they are an emerging element not just in the saga of the Korean diaspora but in the ongoing world-wide formation of diaspora populations more generally.

Part V Culture The role of cultural policy in authoritarian states is of course to serve the politics of the regime. Drawing on Soviet precedents, and Stalin’s definition of writers as “engineers of human souls”, the DPRK has traditionally harnessed cultural output to the ideological imperatives of the Party. The resultant output may perhaps be charitably described as esoteric and of little artistic merit in the eyes of those who do not share the Party’s perspective, but it is nevertheless worthy of close examination, for it sheds a light like no other. In Chapter 17, Keith Howard views research in this area as akin to “reading the tea leaves”, and provides a point of departure in the world of North Korean music in the 1950s, when ideology still permitted reasonable space for creativity and debate. Sadly – tragically – this space vanished utterly as the 1960s progressed and Kimist ideology assumed its monolithic form. Alek Sigley’s work issues from an almost unique set of personal experiences as, in Chapter 18, he describes the evolution of the North Korean novel as Kim Jong Il emerged as supreme cultural arbiter in the 1970s. Tatiana Gabroussenko then outlines in Chapter 19 the changes that have occurred under Kim Jong Un in the sphere of officially sanctioned “culture”, comprising mainly books and films, drawing insightful parallels with the Soviet Union cultural thaw in the years immediately following the death of Stalin. A constant narrative based on what has changed can often distract us from the altogether more significant question of what has not changed, and in this case Gabroussenko helps us to situate North 6

Introduction

Korean cultural policy on its own trajectory, reflecting social change in its own, self-referent fashion.

Summing up The Kimist triumph emerged from the groundwork of history – foremost the Japanese colonial occupation and the post-1945 division, but it remains essentially a triumph of dogmatism over pragmatism, of imagination over reality. No one outside the Party has been invited to share the leadership’s vision unless on condition of blind obedience, as the North Korean state has taken shape as one of the most anti-modern states in the modern world. For decades now, North Korean ideology has turned many elements of Marxism-Leninism on their heads, beginning (obviously enough) with hereditary leadership and continuing with Kim Jong Il’s designation of the military, and not the working class, as the prime defender of the revolution. Such departures have been expedients, undertaken in the name of ruling class survival, and certainly not in pursuit of some wider social benefit. Therefore, if we search for some window into the future, we may observe that in manifold ways, the contributors provide perspective for those who anticipate the slow, inexorable erosion of the Kimist system. Born of a different time and place, and honed to achieve an obsolete objective, the fearful intensity of this system seems to ensure that it will press on with no sign of, and quite possibly no possibility of, a coherent successor regime emerging. There are no known dissidents, no rallying points or cries, no emerging set of ideas for reform, and hence, as things stand, no viable source of challenge to the Kimist order, and so nuclear-armed statedriven dysfunction prevails, made durable by the durability of its avatar’s vision, the cauterization of any and all alternatives, and the tight cohesion of a ruling class that appears to suffer from no double vision in pressing the population into the cause of its own survival. We may eventually see a calmer, more tractable North Korea at ease with its neighbours, but for the moment no neighbour is convinced that a stable regional order can include a nuclear-armed North Korea. And yet, this matters little for as long as the leadership keeps its nerve and maintains its well-nigh total lack of moral scruple, as long as it can continue to live in sanctions-dominated economic isolation, and as long as no outside factors intrude, no new thing can arise. Be that as it may, a point emphasized in many different forms in this volume is the need to continue to challenge views of North Korean society that emphasize an unchanging, sterile system and the intellectual indifference that this breeds, for while the Party elite has so far proved equal to a daunting array of challenges to its supremacy, where people are free to act away from state control, we find that a more vibrant, creative picture emerges. The manner in which North Koreans endeavour to cope with daily life cannot help but be subversive of the system as a whole and will continue to provide fertile ground for future investigation and research.

7

Part I

The political perspective

2

The evoluTion of The norTh

Korean Socio-PoliTical

SySTem, 1945–1994

Balázs Szalontai

Introduction This chapter outlines developments in the North Korean socio-political system from the end of World War II in 1945 to the death of Kim Il Sung in 1994. The Soviet occupation of 1945 represented a break both with the immediate past of Japanese colonial rule and with the alreadyremote dynastic past, while the latter marked more a moment of pause rather than of change, as the DPRK prepared to carry out its first dynastic succession. We therefore trace the evolution of the North Korean state from its creation under the auspices of Soviet occupation (1945–1948), through the traumatic events of the Korean War (1950–1953), and then through the successive stages of elite change and social restructuring that led to the formation of an enduring model of despotism under Kim Il Sung.1

Introduction: the legacy of the colonial era After Korea’s liberation in August 1945, legacies of the Japanese colonial period (1910–1945) continued to play a direct role in shaping the composition of the North Korean Communist elite and its relationship with civil society in the North. The legacies lay most obviously in the weakness of the domestic Korean Communist Party, the disunity of the Korean nationalist movement, and the lack of any effective armed resistance against Japan within Korea but also included other significant factors. First of all, armed resistance within Korea had not been a feasible option, and therefore took place in Manchuria and in China proper. This distinguished Korea from countries where wartime domestic Communist movements grew into a powerful guerrilla force, such as China, Yugoslavia, Albania, and Bulgaria, and also contrasted with nations where armed resistance against Nazi Germany had been weak or virtually absent, such as Hungary and East Germany. In the latter two countries, which remained at war with the USSR until the end of hostilities in Europe in 1945, and where a Soviet military presence remained a permanent feature, Stalinist leaderships exploited this lack of resistance to instill a sense of collective guilt and therefore justify Soviet dominance (Naimark 1997, pp. 135–136; Pál 2019, pp. 69–72). In North Korea, where the Soviet occupation administration ended in 1948, the contrast between domestic non-resistance and external resistance was similarly exploited by Kim Il Sung to present armed struggle as the most important qualification for 11

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leadership, and thus emphasize his claims to legitimacy. But at the same time, Kim did not possess a monopoly on armed struggle; certain non-Communist nationalist groups such as Kim Ku’s Korean Patriotic Organization also had a tradition of anti-Japanese armed violence in China, and thus the post-1945 conflicts between Korean Communists and anti-Communists could easily assume a violent form, especially in the South. Second, the Korean population was grossly unprepared for the political competition that followed liberation. Left-right cleavages within Korean anti-colonial politics had become quite sharp as early as the 1930s, but the emergence of an actual party system post 1945 proved to be a far slower process. Under Japanese rule, only a narrow elite segment of Korean society could participate in local elections, and candidates were not allowed to run on a party ticket – a situation that helps to explain the unusually high number of independent candidates and the proliferation of small and unstable parties in the wake of liberation (Henderson 1968, pp. 102–103; Kim 1979, pp. 24, 45). A further dimension to this issue was the virtual invisibility of Kim Il Sung and the Manchurian guerrilla group within North Korea prior to 1945, since after the signing of the Soviet-Japanese Neutrality Pact in April 1941, the former Manchurian guerrillas, now hosted by the USSR, were kept in a largely inactive state until the end of World War II (Shen 2015, p. 12). This stood in marked contrast to the wartime situation in Europe, where Soviet-sponsored radio broadcasts by exiled Eastern European Communist leaders exhorting their countrymen to resist the Nazi forces gave them a degree of visibility (Mevius 2005, pp. 30–34). Third, Korean political exiles or else ethnic Koreans who had long been citizens of the Soviet Union played an unusually prominent role in post-1945 Korean politics, often overshadowing local politicians. Thus Stalin selected Kim Il Sung, who had spent his entire adult life in Manchuria, for leadership in the North rather than Pak Hŏnyŏng, the most prominent figure among the domestic Korean Communists, as the leader of the northern Communist Party; Pak had to be content with heading the southern wing of the Party. Among the exiles, the group that grew to dominate politics in the North comprised those persons connected to the Chinese Communist Party’s Manchurian guerrilla movement (1931–1941), comprising both Korean members of the 88th Brigade, a Soviet military unit composed of Chinese and Korean guerrillas who had spent the 1941–1945 period in the USSR (e.g., Kim Il Sung, Ch’oe Yonggŏn, Kim Il, Pak Songch’ŏl, Ch’oe Hyŏn, and O Chinu) and former Manchurian guerrillas not affiliated with the 88th Brigade (e.g., Kim Ch’angbong, Kim Kwanghyŏp, Hŏ Ponghak, and Sŏk San). Koreans who fought the Japanese in North China, and who had loose ties to the central CCP leadership in Yan’an (e.g., Mu Chŏng, Ch’oe Ch’angik, Pak Ilu, Kim Ung, Yi Sangcho, Yun Konghŭm, and Kim Ch’angman) comprised a further group. Finally, Soviet citizens of Korean origin with experience of working as Soviet Communist Party cadres but who otherwise had few if any ties to Korea were transferred to North Korea in 1946 to assist the work of the Soviet administration and the new North Korean authorities, and in time rose to positions of prominence in the Korean Workers’ Party (e.g., Hŏ Kai, Pak Ch’angok, Pak Yŏngbin, Pang Hakse, Nam Il, and Pak Ŭiwan).2 In the academic literature, these groups have often been described as “factions.” However, this term is inaccurate in the sense that unlike the political factions in, say, Chosŏn Korea, these groups did not form cohesive units based on the members’ loyalty to a particular person, or on their adherence to a specific ideological position, or on their standpoint over a disputed policy issue (Person 2006, pp. 6–8). For instance, the Soviet Koreans were a heterogeneous group who had not worked together prior to 1945, and their most prominent figures, Hŏ Kai and Pak Ch’angok, were not on good terms with each other (Lankov 2002, pp. 20–23). The Yan’an Koreans were similarly divided by rivalry between Mu Chŏng and Ch’oe Ch’angik, the origins 12

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of which may be traced back to wartime years (Jin 2012, pp. 51–52). The limited internal cohesion of the groups would later enable Kim Il Sung, who headed a far more cohesive group, to detach cadres from each group and isolate their key members. The markedly dissimilar background of the various groups thus hindered the creation of cohesive relations between individuals belonging to different groups, and these dividing lines were further accentuated by the informal policy of distributing posts on the basis of one’s group affiliation – a practice which was originally aimed at maintaining a fair balance between the groups but which ultimately enabled Kim Il Sung to pit them against each other. In sum, group identity seems to have been more pronounced in inter-group perceptions than in intra-group relations, and this peculiar situation would give Kim and his cohesive group a double advantage over his rivals.

the Soviet occupation and the founding of the DPrK Following the defeat of Japan in the Pacific War and the liberation of Korea in August 1945, Korean Communists embarked on setting up a regime in the northern part of Korea. This took place under conditions of a strong Soviet political, economic, and military presence, and in most cases the Soviets were highly interventionist in applying the practices they had followed in the installation of a number of compliant governments in Eastern Europe, and their modus operandi in Korea did not differ fundamentally from such practices. On the other hand, North Korea was not Eastern Europe, and the Soviet administration was continuously forced into recognition of the force of local circumstances in their policies and practices. Foremost among these were a series of strong historical and political culture influences from the pre-1945 era, comprising elements of both traditional Korean political culture and Japanese colonial practice. The Soviets regarded Korea as a colonized nation to be liberated, rather than a wartime enemy, nor were Russia’s historical relations with Korea as antagonistic as with many other neighboring states. Consequently, Soviet attitudes toward Korean nationalism were more tolerant and less suspicious than toward German, Polish, Romanian, Hungarian, or Mongolian nationalism. Soviet policy in North Korea did not issue from a single, preconceived set of practices, but demonstrated a degree of selectivity and resemblances to a number of individual Eastern European countries. The resultant structure was influenced by a number of factors, some historical, some ideological, and some which devolved from the personalities involved, especially Stalin and of course Kim Il Sung.

the Soviet occupation and the trusteeship issue During 1945–1947, the Soviet military authorities sought to exercise control foremost through the local People’s Committees (PC), which played a prominent role in the visible sphere of North Korean politics. According to the narrative developed originally by McCune (1947) and Strong (1949), and later by Cumings (1981), Armstrong (2003), and Kim (2013), the DPRK’s administrative structure organically evolved from the PCs which had spontaneously emerged throughout Korea in the wake of liberation. This process was said to have been advised, rather than dominated, by the Soviets, and, thus, the newly established DPRK supposedly had deeper societal roots than the Soviet-imposed East European regimes. Actually, the visible prominence of North Korea’s PCs was directly interrelated with the country’s limited legal sovereignty. Notably, committees of this type operated in Hungary, Czechoslovakia, and other Soviet-occupied East European countries, too, and thus the Soviet dissolution of the East German antifascist committees constituted more an exception than a rule 13

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(Balázs 2009; Krakovský 2015, p. 4; Pritchard 2000, pp. 36–37). But while the East European committees functioned under the aegis of Soviet-recognized coalition governments which were set up as early as 1944–1945, post-liberation North Korea (just like East Germany) lacked an internationally recognized, formal government structure over the local administrative organs. The same principle applied in post-liberation Korea. The Allies did not recognize either the Korean Provisional Government (which operated in exile) or the People’s Republic of Korea (which was proclaimed by local Korean politicians in Seoul on September 12, 1945), while the unilateral creation of a government in one zone of a divided country would have been an unfeasible option as long as Soviet-U.S. negotiations on the ultimate shape of an independent Korea were still in progress (Weathersby 1993, p. 19). Another form of limited sovereignty in the North was law enforcement, for the North Korean police force was established as an institution directly subordinated to the Soviet Civil Administration (Lebedev 2018, pp. 56–58). That is, its initial legal status had more in common with that of the early East German police forces, which functioned as subordinate organs of the Soviet Military Administration in Germany, than with that of the police forces in the other East European countries, which, as institutions of the nominally sovereign governments, were controlled by the Ministries of the Interior (Borhi 2004, pp. 69, 77, 82, 92; Lindenberger 2003, p. 37). It is also problematic to present the emergence of the PCs (September 1945), the reconstitution of the Communist Party (October 1945), the purge of collaborators with the Japanese (September–October 1945), the reduction of land rents (October 1945), the creation of new police organs (November 1945), the land reform (March 1946), and the first local elections (November 1946) as successive stages of a single, organically developing, mass-based reform process, let alone a revolution. In reality, these steps were often in implicit contradiction with each other. For example, the first purges of collaborators, carried out by self-appointed vigilante forces and fuelled by the instinctive radicalism of local Communists who, as another Soviet report put it, “were preparing to seize power and establish the dictatorship of the proletariat,”3 led to so many arrests that in November 1945, the Soviets found it necessary to intervene in the process and release thousands of political prisoners, then carry out their own purges in the reorganized police (Lebedev 2018, pp. 67–70). Then, in January 1946, a Soviet memorandum noted that the initial membership of the local PCs was usually composed of “bourgeois landowner elements,” rather than workers or peasants – who were then fairly scarce in the Communist Party as well. And while tenants welcomed the reduction of land rents, they showed little, if any, spontaneous initiative to demand land redistribution.4 In October–December 1945, the Soviets adopted a relatively flexible attitude toward the non-Communist Korean Democratic Party (KDP) on the grounds that the creation of a single government for Korea, to be achieved through Soviet-U.S. negotiations, required some inclusion of non-Communist groups under the traditional United Front formula. In January 1946, this approach was abruptly reversed when virtually every non-Communist group, in both the North and the South, rejected the Moscow Conference’s decision (December 27, 1945) to place Korea under a trusteeship, rather than grant it full and immediate independence. In retaliation, the Soviets promptly arrested KDP leader Cho Mansik, forced the now-purged KDP to toe the line of the Communist Party, and initiated a land reform without compensation – a radical measure from which they had deliberately refrained in 1945 and which was evidently aimed at weakening the “hostile” socio-political elites (Lankov 2002, pp. 22–33; Weathersby 1993, p. 21). Indeed, the political opposition which the Soviets and their Communist allies encountered in North Korea in late 1945 and throughout 1946 seems to have been more open and explicit (though not necessarily more widespread) than what they faced in most of the East European 14

The North Korean socio-political system

countries. In November 1945, student protests against Soviet depredations led to an attack on the Communist Party office in Sinŭiju, and the issue of trusteeship further inflamed passions. By March 1946, the activities of radical anti-Communists such as the Seoul-based White Shirt Society were no longer confined to demonstrations and the distribution of propaganda leaflets but also included armed attacks on Communist leaders and Soviet soldiers (Cathcart and Kraus 2008; Lebedev 2018, pp. 75–83). This situation contrasted with conditions in East Germany or Hungary, where the Soviet Occupation was regarded as an inevitable consequence of wartime defeat, the issue of negotiating an independent future did not arise, and where the occasional spontaneous acts of local violence did not become as politically focused as in North Korea (Borhi 2004, pp. 83–85; Naimark 1997, pp. 382–384). In response to such opposition, the Soviets delegated more formal authority to the northern Communist leaders, but in practice these measures meant that by mid-1946 (far earlier than in most East European countries), the North Korean political system had lost any element of genuine pluralism. Thus, even by Eastern European standards North Korea’s post-war quasidemocratic interlude was extremely brief and constrained. Whereas, in May 1945, the Soviet authorities in East Germany had authorized the establishment of the Social Democratic, Christian Democratic, and Liberal Democratic parties, in the months preceding the trusteeship impasse, only the Korean Democratic Party was given legal status in North Korea, with the formation of the Ch’ŏndogyo Young Friends Party (CYFP) taking place only after the Soviet crackdown on the KDP (Lankov 2002, p. 106; Pritchard 2000, pp. 36–37). Since no competitive multi-party elections were ever held in northern Korea, either before or after 1945, the country’s fledging non-Communist parties could not take root in the same way as the conservative, liberal, agrarian, and social democratic parties had become firmly established elements of political consciousness in nearly every East European country (except Albania) long before World War II. The unusually high number of formally independent candidates in North Korea’s first local elections (November 1946) and South Korea’s first national elections (May 1948 and May 1950) indicated that the development of the population’s party preferences was still in an incipient stage when the door to legal political opposition was firmly shut for good in the North (Kim 2013; Mobrand 2019, p. 25). In other words, the absence of a long-established tradition of multi-party electoral politics may have played a more decisive role in the post-1946 lack of organized opposition to the North Korean Communist regime than the leadership’s presumed popularity.

the complexities of national legitimacy and national unification The Soviet application of coercion in the management of the trusteeship issue enabled Kim Il Sung and the North Korean Communists to establish an undisguised dominance over the nonCommunist parties, but it also damaged their political reputation, since their Soviet-mandated acceptance of the Moscow Agreement exposed them to the charge that they had betrayed Korean national interests (Weathersby 1993, pp. 21–22). In the early post-liberation period, the authorities in the North were not yet able to fully suppress such hostile propaganda, and so, for instance, on 25 December 1946, Terenty Shtykov, the head of the Soviet military administration recorded in his diary that Kim Il Sung was in a gloomy mood because of the leaflets circulating in the country which denounced him and Syngman Rhee as Soviet agent and American agent respectively, accused the northern authorities of shipping food to the USSR, and claimed that the Soviet troops would be replaced by Chinese Nationalist troops (Shtykov 2004, p. 261). To counter such charges from Korean nationalists, the Soviet authorities and the northern Communists stepped up their efforts to portray Kim Il Sung as an outstanding national hero 15

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(Tertitskiy 2018, pp. 223–224). The first steps toward creating a personality cult around Kim on the basis of his guerrilla activities had been taken as early as December 1945, but in 1946–1948 this process developed at such a rapid pace that had few, if any, parallels in Soviet-occupied Eastern Europe. For instance, in October 1946, the country’s newly opened first university was promptly named after him, whereas in Hungary only in 1949–1952 did the authorities name various schools and institutes of higher education after their Communist leader Mátyás Rákosi (Apor 2017, pp. 169–170; Tertitskiy 2015a, p. 215). The Man’gyŏngdae School, established in October 1947 for the orphans of fallen Manchurian guerrillas and other revolutionary martyrs, was apparently modeled upon the USSR’s Suvorov Military Schools, but in 1948 the regime linked it to Kim Il Sung by moving it to his home village and erecting his statue in the school (Lankov 1998, p. 104; Lim 2009, p. 21). The Soviet authorities also sought to cultivate a sort of “selective nationalism” in North Korea – a nationalism exclusively directed against those foreign powers that the Kremlin regarded as threats to its own interests (above all, Japan and the U.S.) and devoid of any antiRussian or anti-Soviet aspects. In December 1946, Shtykov outlined the contents of the planned textbook that Korean Communists were to use in courses of elementary political education. Notably, the pre-1895 section of the book laid the main emphasis on the various foreign (Mongol, Japanese, Manchu, American, and French) invasions and interventions which Korea had experienced during its long history, rather than on class struggle (Shtykov 2004, pp. 262–265). This selective historical narrative had much in common with the ideological stance of the newly created East European regimes (Myers 2015, p. 29). For instance, in 1944–1946 “nationalistic, pan-Slavic and anti-German themes dominated communist propaganda in Poland,” while later Stalin was “credited with standing up to defend the new Polish borders against Americansponsored German revanchism” (Behrends 2004, pp. 163–164). In other moves, the rules, regulations, and structure of the newly created Korean People’s Army (KPA) were closely patterned upon Soviet models, while the North Korean flag was expressly designed by the Soviet military command (Tertitskiy 2016, p. 269, 2017b). Selective as it was, the nationalism professed by the North Korean leaders was doubtlessly genuine as far as national unification was concerned. From their perspective, the gradual formation of a sovereign state in the Soviet zone (the establishment of the People’s Committee of North Korea in February 1947, followed by the proclamation of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea in September 1948) did not imply the perpetuation of the post-1945 territorial division. On the contrary, they considered the DPRK the sole legitimate government of the nation, and as such, the nucleus of a united, Communist-ruled Korea. This standpoint was only partially identical with the Soviet position, for while the Soviet leaders also regarded the southern Republic of Korea (ROK) as illegitimate, they were initially reluctant to support the North’s drive to seek to achieve unification by force of arms (Weathersby 1993, pp. 23–24). Preparations for unification seem to have influenced early North Korean domestic policies in several ways. On the one hand, it probably accelerated the fusion of the various leftist parties. In North Korea, the Korean Communist Party and the New People’s Party (a party led by the Yan’an group, comprising Communists who had fought under Chinese Communist Party leadership in China) merged as early as July 1946 to establish the North Korean Workers’ Party (NKWP); in November 1946, the three southern leftist parties followed suit to create the South Korean Workers’ Party (SKWP); and in June 1949, the NKWP and the SKWP were amalgamated into the Korean Workers’ Party (KWP). Interestingly, the sole East European country where a Communist-Social Democratic merger took place as early as 1946 was East Germany, where the Soviets played a similarly active role in engineering this process (Jeon and Kahng 1995, p. 92; Naimark 1997, pp. 277–281). The other “people’s democracies” did not reach this stage until 1948. 16

The North Korean socio-political system

On the other hand, the North Korean leaders decided to refrain from the type of radical economic measures that would have made an unfavorable impression on southern public opinion. In 1948–1949, most of the East European regimes launched a campaign of forceful agricultural collectivization and nationalized the majority of small private enterprises, but North Korea did not follow suit. In 1952, a senior KWP cadre named Chang Siu told Hungarian officials that the DPRK authorities, anxious as they were not to alienate potential supporters in the North and the South, had decided to postpone collectivization until unification (Szalontai 2005, p. 28). Similarly, private trade remained an important sector of the economy, to such an extent that in the spring of 1952, it still accounted for 65 percent of the total volume of trade.5 Once again, North Korea’s policies had much in common with the situation in East Germany, where the collectivization of agriculture started as late as April 1952. In the earlier years, “Soviet leaders were still looking for possible agreements with the Western powers,” and under such conditions, “collectivization in the East would have eliminated any chance for support among farmers in the West” (Naimark 1997, p. 166).6

State-society conflict before and during the Korean War From the foregoing, it is clear that, at the outbreak of the Korean War, the North Korean regime was far from implementing a fully-fledged Communist system, but if one uses Migdal’s (1988) typology of state-society relations, it may be defined as a ‘strong state’ even in the initial stage of its development. In August 1949, the troop strength of the KPA stood at 80,000 (five infantry divisions, 33 T-34 tanks, and 48 combat aircraft). The internal security forces were comprised of 28,000 police and 14,000 border guards – a fairly high number if one takes into consideration that during 1924–1945, the Japanese colonial police had 1,304 officers and 18,482 men in the whole of Korea (Chun 1957, p. 82). The scope of political repression may be gauged from the following statistical data: in 1948, the security services investigated as many as 1,248 “political cases” involving a total of 2,734 persons. In the first half of 1949, they launched 665 new investigations that affected 2,781 persons altogether. Of the latter, 622 were accused of terrorism, 356 of espionage, 212 of diversion, 11 of sabotage, 221 of conspiracy to overthrow the government, 66 of treason, and 1,133 of hostile agitation.7 Conspicuously high even by the standards of the Stalinist Eastern European dictatorships, these numbers cast doubt on the notion that the DPRK had deeper societal roots than such regimes. In Hungary, a country with a nearly identical population, a total of 2,166 persons were arrested for terrorism, espionage, diversion, sabotage, and conspiracy during the 31-month period from January 1951 to July 1953, which suggests that the incidence of arrest for political crimes may have been 3.5 times higher in the DPRK than in Hungary during this period (Gyarmati 2010, p. 276). In the same way as in Eastern Europe, the authorities selected some of the political “cases” to stage show trials, whose function was to intimidate the population and present any sort of dissent as acts of subversion instigated by the South Korean authorities. For instance, in March 1949, a trial of 16 real and/or alleged “terrorists” was held in the southwestern city of Haeju, apparently in response to an aborted earlier attempt at armed resistance there. According to a report of the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), “limited action by dissident North Korean forces occurred at Haeju … on 19 January and continued to 24 January. Fifty rebels have withdrawn to a mountain stronghold north of Haeju.”8 It is difficult to assess how much actual resistance took place in pre-1950 North Korea, how many of the “cases” were fabricated by the authorities, and which actions were directly inspired by ROK-based antiCommunist organizations.9 Still, the occasional cases of armed opposition, and especially the 17

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inter-Korean border clashes of May–September 1949, presumably contributed to the intensification of repression. But while in the pre-Korean War period, the regime’s repressive measures played a central role in reinforcing state control over the society, during the war they became a destabilizing factor. As early as July 1950, the DPRK authorities, displeased by the fact that the war-scared merchants stopped trading, “took repressive measures against part of the private merchants,” but, as the Soviet Embassy wryly noted, “this did not produce a marked improvement in the condition of the private market.”10 In this period, when the Party-state was still in control, the emerging popular discontent remained limited to verbal criticism, but in September–October 1950, when the KPA troops were in full retreat from the advancing UN forces, the situation underwent a drastic change. Acting much as Syngman Rhee’s administration had acted in the wake of the North Korean invasion, the panicked northern authorities executed their political prisoners (including KDP leader Cho Mansik), and killed a substantial number of other KDP and CYFP members. These acts triggered violent anger, resistance, and retribution, as the domestic opponents of the regime gained encouragement from the arrival of U.S.-ROK troops. In a memorandum written in September 1956, Kim Il Sung’s intra-party opponents noted that “during the retreat, uprisings broke out everywhere in the northern part; moreover, many people participated in hostile detachments to put matters in order or crossed to the southern part of the country under enemy pressure.”11 In the Spring of 1951, China’s intervention enabled the DPRK authorities to reimpose their control over the population, and they proceeded to launch a new wave of repression against the people who had actually or allegedly collaborated with the U.S.-South Korean forces during the short-lived UN occupation. As the aforesaid memorandum put it, the cadres “employed sanctions against innumerable people like against enemies,” whereupon “the Party and government bodies lost touch with the broad popular masses.”12 In October 1952, KWP CC Secretary Pak Ch’angok self-critically informed the diplomatic corps of the “excesses” committed during the campaign. For example, if a person ever participated in any kind of unpaid public work on the orders of the occupying troops, he ran the risk of being branded a reactionary even if his work had been coerced, or lasted only a single day.13 In tandem with this campaign, the leadership imposed party penalties on as many as 450,000 of the 600,000 KWP members on account of their faltering loyalty during the months of withdrawal. Of those thus penalized, 80–85 percent were punished because they had discarded or lost their membership cards – an act which the leadership regarded as a sign of defeatism and unreliability (Kim 1951, pp. 320–321; Scalapino and Lee 1972, p. 713). At the leadership level, a purge was launched at the 3rd KWP CC plenum (December 1950), when Kim Il Sung replaced several high-ranking military officers (such as Mu Chŏng and Kim Il) on the grounds that they had given unlawful execution orders or expressed the view that U.S. superiority in the air rendered it impossible for the KPA to win the war. All in all, three full members and four candidate members were expelled from the CC, while six full members were demoted to candidate membership.14 These punitive measures did not necessarily reflect the exercise of Kim Il Sung’s own personal power, since they were reactive, being at least partly inspired by the sharp criticism to which the Kremlin had subjected the North Korean military leadership in September 1950. Kim, reportedly unnerved by the possibility of Soviet retribution, sought to shift responsibility for the failure of the KPA to complete the takeover of the South onto others, such as the nominal leader of the southern Communists, Pak Hŏnyŏng. Fortunately for him, Stalin rejected the option of jettisoning Kim, and focused his criticism on Kim’s subordinates (Bajanov 1995, p. 88; Mansourov 1995, p. 99, 1997, p. 300). In late 1951 and early 1952, Kim partially reversed these hard-line policies, in the process blaming Hŏ Kai, the most prominent figure of the Soviet Korean group, for excesses, and 18

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instructed cadres to treat Party members and ordinary citizens less severely. For instance, many expelled members were re-admitted to the Party (Scalapino and Lee 1972, p. 713). Still, the top leaders must have been badly shaken by the realization that during the military setbacks, a substantial part of outwardly loyal KWP members, satellite Party members, and ordinary citizens suddenly did a volte-face, deserting the regime or even turning against it (Lankov 2002, p. 116). They apparently concluded that the changeability of popular attitudes resulted from the fact that the pre-war state, repressive as it was, had not penetrated the society deeply enough to retain its hold under wartime conditions. For instance, they declared that the initial absence of Party cells within the army had adversely affected the KPA’s wartime performance.15 The post-1951 drive to recruit rural Party members was strongly motivated by the consideration that the Party could not maintain a sufficiently strong presence in the countryside if the average village had only two or three Party members. By October 1952, the number of KWP members per village had risen to eight or nine.16

the purge of the “southern faction”: a fatal precedent The high-ranking victims of Kim Il Sung’s December 1950 purge were of a heterogeneous composition, representing various groups, including Kim’s own guerrilla group. As such, these measures may not be described as a purely factional conflict. Two years later, however, Kim launched a new intra-party purge, and this time his targets belonged to a single, clearly delineated group, namely, the Communists of South Korean origin who had moved to the North before and during the war. The available circumstantial evidence suggests that the conflict erupted over Kim’s plan to end the Korean War as soon as possible – an idea the southern Party leaders opposed on the grounds that it would indefinitely postpone national unification (Szalontai 2005, p. 38; Wada 2001, pp. 78–79), but the purge also enabled Kim to eliminate Pak Hŏnyŏng, a long-standing rival, leader of the SKWP, who held the positions of Vice-Premier and Foreign Minister in the DPRK. Kim’s attack against the SKWP group started in December 1952. During the first quarter of 1953, several prominent southerners were arrested under the false charges of espionage, treason, and anti-state conspiracy. In August, just a week after the armistice, the authorities held a show trial with 12 southern Communists (such as Yi Sŭngyŏp and Cho Ilmyŏng) in the dock. Since the trial was carried out in close conformity with the pattern of earlier East European show trials (i.e., the defendants were forced to plead guilty to various fabricated and implausible charges), it was probably staged with the involvement of Soviet security advisers. Moreover, several prominent Soviet Koreans (e.g., Pak Yŏngbin, the head of the CC’s Organizational Department, and Minister of the Interior Pang Hakse) played key roles in the purge (Lankov 2002, pp. 92–99; Szalontai 2005, p. 39). The Soviet Koreans’ involvement also enabled Kim to replace Pak Ilu, one of his chief Yan’an Korean rivals, who had been Deputy Political Commissar of the Sino-North Korean Joint Command in 1950–1951, with Pang Hakse as Minister of Interior, thus playing the Soviet and Yan’an groups off against each other.17 Otherwise, the Yan’an Koreans appear to have been complicit in the purge, and later, in June 1956 by which time he was already on a collision course with Kim Il Sung, Yan’an leader Ch’oe Ch’angik still insisted that Pak Hŏnyŏng and Yi Sŭngyŏp had been “bad people, enemies of our people.”18 The show trial was followed by a wholesale verification of Party documents. a procedure known as proverka in the USSR. By 1 December 1953, 18 percent of KWP members (about 200,000 people) had undergone this process, of whom 22,000 were found guilty of some offense or other; 3,000 had entered the Party by fraudulent means, 3,600 were involved in harmful 19

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activities, and 4,500 had embezzled state funds. In this phase, only 401 members were expelled and 535 subjected to various forms of Party penalties.19 By July 1954, the number of penalized members reached 27,000 (of whom about 1,000 seem to have been expelled), but these figures were still conspicuously low if compared to the earlier East European verification processes.20 For instance, in the first half of 1949. a Hungarian proverka led to the expulsion of 190,407 party members (nearly one-fifth of the total membership) and the demotion of 125,672 to candidate members.21 It appears likely that the negative effects of the earlier December 1950 intra-party purge convinced the KWP leaders that another large-scale shake-up would be counterproductive. Still, these features of the purge could not conceal the fact that Kim, for the first time, cracked down on an entire group of the ruling party, and executed its leaders on trumped-up charges. Their show trial – an irreversible act that created a precedent for later intra-party purges – constituted a major milestone in the gradual deformation of North Korea’s political culture, all the more so because the DPRK authorities – unlike the de-Stalinized East European regimes – never rehabilitated the victims. On the contrary, Kim Il Sung continued to harp upon their alleged crimes even after Nikita Khrushchev’s “secret speech,” evidently on the grounds that his personal authority would be gravely weakened if their innocence were ever admitted. At the 3rd KWP Congress in April 1956, Kim went so far as to claim that in the DPRK, the problem of the personality cult had been confined to Pak Hŏnyŏng’s cult (Lankov 2005, p. 62). Kim’s efforts to prevent any re-examination of the purge were facilitated by the fact that in North Korea, the Kremlin seems not to have called for the rehabilitation of the victims in the same way as it had done in Hungary and Bulgaria, where the rehabilitation of László Rajk and Traicho Kostov constituted an integral part of Soviet-Yugoslav reconciliation (McDermott and Stibbe 2015). On April 19, 1956, Kim Il Sung asked Soviet Ambassador Vasily Ivanov whether the Soviet leaders were in favor of carrying out the death sentence on Pak Hŏnyŏng, passed in December 1955 but still pending. When Ivanov advised him not to proceed, Kim pointedly remarked that Ivanov’s predecessor, Sergey Suzdalev (1953–1955), had received no response from Moscow to his questions about Pak’s case, whereupon the KWP leaders concluded that the Soviet authorities were uninterested in Pak’s fate. In response, Ivanov felt compelled to assure Kim that the Soviet government maintained its position of non-interference toward Pak’s case.22

North Korea’s divergence from East European de-Stalinization The non-rehabilitation of Yi Sŭngyŏp revealed that the process of Soviet de-Stalinization (1953–1956) made far less impact on the DPRK than on Eastern Europe, where only the Albanian leaders managed to avoid any sort of re-examination of their earlier purges. By and large, the KWP leadership’s readiness to take “the experiences of the people’s democracies” – that is, the Soviet-inspired “New Courses” which were aimed at alleviating the popular discontent generated by Stalinist policies – into account was limited to making a few economic concessions. For instance, in December 1953, the government canceled pre-1953 rural debts and abolished compulsory meat deliveries. In contrast, Kim Il Sung showed great reluctance to adopt the new Soviet model of “collective leadership.” In 1953–1954, those East European leaders who simultaneously held the posts of Premier and First Secretary were compelled to renounce one of their positions, but Kim did not follow suit (Szalontai 2005, pp. 47–48, 58); “Kim Il Sung still combines the post of Chairman of the Party CC and head of government, is commanderin-chief of the Korean People’s Army, and heads a number of other government and Party bodies,” a Soviet memorandum critically noted in January 1955,23 while, in 1956, Soviet 20

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Embassy Counsellor A.M. Petrov expressed the view that “the excessive cult of the individual was explainable and acceptable to a certain extent during the [Korean] war, but now it becomes more and more an obstacle to development.”24 Kim’s firm opposition to any sort of curtailment of his authority was possibly influenced by the consideration that such a process might encourage his intra-party rivals to raise uncomfortable questions about the Korean War in general and about his wartime performance in particular. After all, his Yan’an Korean rivals had sufficient insight into the actual military events to be critical of the narrative that portrayed Kim as a victorious supreme commander. In 1954, when the Institute of the Economy and Economics requested materials on the war, ViceMinister of Defense Kim Ung, who had been the Vice-Commander of the Sino-North Korean Joint Command until mid-1951, when a distrustful Kim Il Sung replaced him with Ch’oe Yonggŏn (Shen and Xia 2018, p. 53), stated openly that “all military operations … were directed by the headquarters of the Chinese volunteer army and that Kim Il Sung was not involved.”25 In September 1956, a group of exiled Yan’an Korean dissidents pointed out that “thanks to the numerous demobilized, repatriated soldiers and the population of the area of the 38th parallel,” it was “no longer a secret who started the war,” and concluded that Kim “should bear responsibility for the war in Korea, which brought the Korean people unequalled suffering and casualties.”26 Faced with such challenges from inside the Party, Kim Il Sung resorted to a process of strengthening state power and intensifying ideological education on the grounds that the mindset of the North Korean population was in many respects unsatisfactory. At the KWP CC plenum held in April 1955, he presented his view on the unique features of the Korean working class and the Korean peasantry which, unlike the Russian proletariat and peasantry tempered in three revolutions, had received ready-made power with the aid of the Soviet Army, and therefore had not been tempered in revolutionary struggle. Nevertheless, a small group of partisans had waged an armed struggle against the Japanese in Korea, a reference to the Manchurian guerrilla movement to which he belonged, and the inculcation of this tradition could address the weakness of the alliance of the working class and peasantry.27 This ultra-elitist attitude, which glorified the former Manchurian guerrillas not only at the expense of the other KWP groups and above all, the Yan’an Koreans, who resented the overstatement of Kim’s guerrilla activities (Shimotomai 2007, p. 459), but also at the expense of the masses, would later find expression in North Korea’s rigidly hierarchical system of social discrimination (sŏngbun). Kim’s readiness to subordinate the population’s interests to his own grand objectives also manifested itself in the economic policy he launched in November 1954. To finance the leadership’s autarkic industrialization program, the authorities imposed heavy taxes and grain delivery quotas on the peasantry, prohibited private grain trade, and embarked upon a campaign of rapid collectivization – an approach diametrically opposed to the new Soviet conception of improving living standards. By early 1955, these measures caused a famine, which in turn generated strong popular discontent. In February, Pak Yŏngbin told a Soviet diplomat that “antigovernment posters and leaflets had begun to appear in areas where the famine was especially severe,” and in some cases, even “open riots” had occurred (Lankov 2020). Another Soviet Korean, Song Chinp’a noted that “many are talking about the mistakes made by the KWP and the government on the issue of grain purchases and the prohibition on private trade in cereal products,” because these measures had left “a considerable number of the urban population … without means of sustenance.”28

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a growing rift within the leadership The food crisis seems to have given an impetus to the process which transformed the latent fissures within the KWP leadership into an open rift. While Kim Il Sung tried to shift the blame onto the lower-level officials who had allegedly misinformed the leadership about the rural situation, several Soviet and Yan’an Koreans concluded that Kim’s personality cult and autocratic style of rule were directly responsible for the exaggerated harvest reports of lower-level cadres, because they generated “an unhealthy atmosphere of sycophancy and servility” in which the problems remained concealed until the crisis reached catastrophic proportions.29 They could gain encouragement not only from the general atmosphere of Soviet de-Stalinization but also from the fact that in the Spring of 1955, the Kremlin in effect forced Kim Il Sung to reverse his hard-line economic policies: in June, the North Korean government reduced agricultural taxes, suspended compulsory grain deliveries, and re-legalized private grain trade (ibid.). Actually, Moscow’s critical assessment of Kim’s economic policies was, to a large extent, based on the confidential information which various Soviet Koreans had provided the Soviet Embassy – a situation that seems to have induced Kim to regard the Soviet Korean group as a fifth column. In a similar vein, Kim and his followers scornfully called the Yan’an cadre Pak Ilu “the personal secretary of Mao Zedong” (Jin 2012, p. 55) – a term reflecting their resentment at the domineering attitude of the Chinese troops stationed in the DPRK. In fact, “there were many cases of illegal CPVA [Chinese People’s Volunteer Army] detentions and interrogations of high-ranking Korean officials, including Nam Il, Pang Hakse, Pak Chŏngae, as well as of ordinary people” (Shen and Xia 2018, pp. 116–117). At this time, critically-minded Soviet and Yan’an Koreans, who in any case constituted only a part of their group, were not prepared to cooperate with each other against Kim Il Sung, and so Kim was able to play one group off against the other. In April 1955, a Soviet memorandum noted that several prominent Yan’an Koreans, including Pak Ilu and Pang Hosan, blamed the Soviet Koreans for their post-1952 marginalization, and grumbled that “the posts of command in the DPRK Army and government apparatus are occupied by Soviet Koreans and that Kim Il Sung relies completely on Soviet military and other advisers.”30 In turn, Pak Ch’angok, the most influential Soviet Korean leader after the downfall of Hŏ Kai in 1953, complained that Yan’an leader Ch’oe Ch’angik had repeatedly urged Kim Il Sung to dismiss him and Pak Yŏngbin.31 Kim tackled the two groups one by one. In April 1955, he attacked Pak Ilu, Kim Ung, and Pang Hosan on the grounds that during the Korean War they had tried to discredit the Soviet military advisers in the eyes of the Chinese military command, and now they were spreading “incorrect views” about the leadership’s alleged discrimination against Yan’an Koreans.32 Then in the winter of 1955–1956, he confronted Pak Ch’angok, Pak Yŏngbin, and other prominent Soviet Koreans under the pretext that they had glorified Soviet culture at the expense of Korean cultural traditions. These charges were apparently devised to isolate these opponents, whose real “faults” of course lay elsewhere. For instance, Pak Ilu opposed Kim’s hard-line domestic policies, while Pak Ch’angok, Pak Yŏngbin, and Song Chinp’a attempted to curtail Kim’s personality cult (Lankov 2005, pp. 32–49; Shimotomai 2007, p. 459). In the aftermath of the February 1956 20th Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, where Khrushchev made his famous “secret speech” denouncing the personality cult and political crimes of Stalin, Kim Il Sung continued to pursue a policy that effectively substituted cultural and economic nationalism for political liberalization. Unlike the “selective nationalism” cultivated in the early years of the regime, this nationalism was directed not only against the U.S. and Japan but also against Soviet cultural influence (Lankov 2005, pp. 56–59). Leonid Brezhnev, the head of the Soviet delegation to the Third KWP Congress in April 1956, reported 22

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that the boastful speeches the KWP leaders made at the Congress barely acknowledged the massive economic aid which the Communist states provided to the DPRK, made no reference to the regime’s agricultural blunders, ignored the abysmal living conditions of the population, and implausibly claimed that there was no personality cult around Kim Il Sung. In essence, the leadership adopted the position that the ideas of the 20th Congress, inapplicable as they were to North Korea, constituted an “alien” influence that should not be “mechanically imitated.”33 By curtailing Soviet influence in the DPRK, Kim Il Sung in effect killed three birds with one stone: he enhanced the domestic legitimacy claims of the regime, he discredited his Soviet Korean rivals, and with the exception of party cadres, intellectuals and students, he precluded ordinary North Koreans from grasping the essence of Soviet de-Stalinization with its implications for North Korean politics. By promoting autocratic nationalism at the expense of political and economic reform, Kim set two processes in motion which ran contrary to each other and eventually brought the growing tension between him and his intra-party critics to a breaking point. On the one hand, this policy enabled Kim to further his support among home-grown cadres who had entered the Party after 1945 and who tended to resent the privileged status of the Soviet and Yan’an Koreans, thus isolating his opponents (ibid., pp. 217–221). On the other hand, critics such as Soviet Koreans Pak Ŭiwan and Kim Sŭnghwa, who were emboldened by the 20th Congress but frustrated by Kim’s non-response, decided to step up their efforts to bring about a qualitative change in North Korean politics, even if this required a direct confrontation with Kim Il Sung (Person 2006, pp. 26–29).

From confrontation to purge The first person to openly criticize the failure of the Third Party Congress to address Kim Il Sung’s cult was Yi Sangcho, a Yan’an Korean who, as DPRK Ambassador in Moscow, asked the Kremlin to put pressure on Kim during his forthcoming visit in the USSR (Lankov and Selivanov 2019, pp. 236–237; Person 2006, pp. 29–32). During Kim’s trip to the Soviet bloc (June 1–July 19, 1956), Kim’s Soviet and Yan’an Korean critics, for the first time, joined forces against him. In early June, Kim Sŭnghwa, a Soviet Korean, arranged a confidential meeting between Ch’oe Ch’angik and Soviet Ambassador Ivanov,34 during which Ch’oe emphatically stated that Some Soviet Koreans made a number of mistakes in their work … but it does not provide grounds for acting against all Soviet Koreans, who for the most part carry out the responsibilities with which they are entrusted courageously and skillfully. Pointing out that Kim’s intra-party critics lacked sufficient power to overcome Kim’s opposition to de-Stalinization, he asked the Soviet leadership to “help improve the situation.”35 In July, a few other Yan’an and Soviet Korean dissidents (e.g., Yi P’ilgyu, Yun Konghŭm, and Pak Ch’angok) held similar conversations with Soviet diplomats (Lankov 2005, pp. 78–85). The Yan’an dissidents’ unprecedented decision to cooperate with the Soviet Koreans and seek support from within the Soviet Embassy was probably inspired by their growing isolation and the pointedly indifferent attitude of the Chinese Embassy (Shen and Xia 2018, p. 97). The issues raised by the dissidents may be grouped into the following main themes: (1) the leadership’s misguided economic policy; (2) the persistence of Kim’s cult and his autocratic ruling style; (3) the glorification of Kim’s guerrilla group at the expense of every other resistance group; (4) Kim’s reliance on certain undesirable persons whom the dissidents probably regarded 23

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as their rivals (e.g., Ch’oe Yonggŏn, Pak Kŭmch’ŏl, Han Sŏlya, Yi Chongok, and Kang Yŏngchan); and (5) the distribution of posts on the basis of one’s group affiliation, instead of one’s qualities. Thus, disputes over economic policy did constitute a major element of the conflict, but the role of principled policy positions should not be overstated. Four of the aforesaid themes were directly or indirectly related to the manipulative selection of personnel. Taking full advantage of his autocratic position, Kim had promoted not only his guerrilla comrades (Ch’oe Yonggŏn, Pak Kŭmch’ŏl) but also many people with a “shadowy past” who had made little or no contribution to the anti-Japanese struggle and whose career was thus wholly dependent on their “sycophantic” loyalty to Kim (Han Sŏlya, Yi Chongok, Kang Yŏngchan). Kim’s preference for these two groups effectively denigrated the Yan’an Koreans’ contribution to the anti-Japanese resistance, and this may help to explain why Ch’oe Ch’angik and Yi P’ilgyu enumerated a long list of persons whom they considered unfit for their positions, why they complained about the untruthful exaggeration of Kim’s guerrilla feats, why Yi P’ilgyu described his revolutionary credentials at length, and why the Yan’an Koreans played a more prominent role in the anti-Kim conspiracy than the Soviet Koreans (a phenomenon highlighted by Lankov 2005, p. 75).36 At the KWP CC plenum of August 30, 1956, Yun Konghŭm and a few other dissidents attempted to criticize Kim Il Sung’s policies, but they found themselves hopelessly outnumbered, since not only the former guerrillas and the newly emerging home-grown officials but also several prominent Yan’an and Soviet Koreans (Kim Ch’angman, Pang Hakse, Nam Il) sided with Kim. The next day, Kim expelled his critics from the CC, but four of the Yan’an dissidents managed to escape to China. In response to the political crisis, the Soviet and Chinese leaders sent a joint delegation (Anastas Mikoyan and Peng Dehuai) to Pyongyang. On September 20–23, Mikoyan and Peng forced Kim to re-admit the purged dissidents to the CC, but they made it clear that they did not intend to remove him from power in the same way that the Hungarian and Bulgarian “little Stalins” had been forced to resign in the previous months (Jin 2012, pp. 56–66; Lankov 2005, pp. 121–142; Person 2018; Shen and Xia 2018, pp. 96–105). Under such conditions, the Sino-Soviet intervention had only a temporary impact on North Korean politics. In August 1957, Kim Il Sung launched a new attack against his intra-party opponents, and this time the scope of the purge was not confined to those high-ranking cadres who had openly defied him at the August 1956 CC plenum. On the contrary, the escalating campaign engulfed increasingly wider segments of society, starting at Kim Il Sung University and eventually affecting the entire Party membership. Kim evidently sought to eradicate any sort of dissent, no matter whether it was directly linked to the “Soviet and Yan’an factions” or not. Actually, dissenting voices did exist, particularly among intellectuals and students who knew more about Soviet and East European de-Stalinization than ordinary workers and peasants. Judging from the occasional appearance of critical leaflets, the purge generated further discontent, but in the end, Kim Il Sung managed to crush the influence of the Soviet and Yan’an groups once and for all. From mid-1957 to mid-1958, 3,912 members were expelled from the KWP, while in the period of October 1958–May 1959, the secret police “revealed” about 100,000 “hostile and reactionary elements,” the majority of whom were “re-educated,” rather than formally prosecuted. In January 1960, the authorities held a secret trial of 35 prominent intra-party opponents, after which Ch’oe Ch’angik, Pak Ch’angok, and a few others were executed (Lankov 2005, pp. 149–183; Shimotomai 2011, p. 129). Notably, the leadership did not rely solely on the security services and the party bureaucracy in carrying out the purge: the victims were also subjected to public “criticism meetings” during which their colleagues were pressured to denounce and condemn them. This method had much more in common with the techniques of the Chinese Anti-Rightist Campaign (June 1957–May 24

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1958) than with Soviet Stalinist practices, and the starting date of Kim’s purges also indicated that he gained encouragement from Mao’s decision to crack down on critical Chinese intellectuals (Lankov 2005, pp. 150, 159). Indeed, on June 21, 1957, DPRK Ambassador Yi Yŏngho told Mao Zedong that the KWP leaders were “studying Mao’s report on how to correctly handle contradictions among the people” (Shen and Xia 2018, p. 116). Thus, the North Korean political system showed increasing divergence not only from the de-Stalinized Communist regimes but also from its original Soviet Stalinist model.

the creation of the sŏngbun system The purges of 1957–1959 also enabled Kim to restructure North Korean society in a way that reflected the views he had first expressed at the April 1955 CC plenum. During the first decade of the regime, its system of social privileges and social discrimination had been based on Sovietstyle class categories. For instance, in October 1951, the Vice-Minister of Education told the Communist diplomats that the offspring of merchants and landowners, even if they were admitted to college, could not receive stipends, free clothes, and other privileges which the authorities granted to the children of toilers.37 In 1953, workers constituted 10 percent of the Youth League’s 1.2 million members, peasants 56 percent, intellectuals 7 percent, employees 14 percent, and merchants a mere 0.09 percent.38 In 1956, only 3 percent of the students at Kim Il Sung University were of merchant or landowner origin.39 In the de-Stalinized East European countries, the severity of social discrimination gradually abated, but the DPRK did not follow suit. On the contrary, in May 1957, the KWP Standing Committee issued a decision that would lead to the re-classification of the entire population into categories and subcategories which were more meticulously defined and more specifically focused on a person’s past political and military record than the earlier, class-based categories (Lankov 2005, p. 181). From December 1958 until the end of 1960, the authorities carried out a scrupulous investigation of every citizen’s social and political background which reached back into the colonial era but also paid strong attention to one’s stance during the Korean War and the intra-party conflicts, and also held one responsible for the activities of one’s relatives (Collins 2012, p. 21). The newly defined categories of “unreliable” persons included not only former landowners and merchants but also “old” intellectuals; pro-Japanese collaborators; collaborators of the US-ROK forces during the wartime occupation of the DPRK; relatives of those North Korean citizens who had fled to the South; South Korean prisoners-of-war whom the DPRK authorities had forcibly prevented from repatriation; KPA soldiers who, having been captured by the enemy, returned to the North after the armistice; southerners who had moved to the North before or during the war; and even those ethnic Koreans who had repatriated from Japan at Pyongyang’s invitation.40 The results of the investigation must have been staggering even for the top leadership. In a speech dated March 27, 1961, Kim Il Sung declared that “only about 0.5 percent of the population has no relatives who live in the South, were collaborators of the Japanese or the Americans, or are elements of class-alien origin.” While he advocated leniency toward minor collaborators on the grounds that too broad a definition of internal enemies would hinder economic construction, his statement foreshadowed the creation of a hierarchy in which 70–75 percent of the population would be classified either as “wavering” (i.e., at least partially unreliable) or as irredeemably hostile (Szalontai 2005, p. 168). Unlike the social categories which the Soviet regime had created in the 1920s and which became “a tool in the ‘class war’ waged in the Soviet ‘Cultural Revolution’ of 1928–1931” (Walder 2015, p. 109), North Korea’s multi-layered classification system (commonly known as 25

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the sŏngbun system) came into existence after, rather than before, the full collectivization of agriculture and the nationalization of small private enterprises (1957–1958). As such, its primary function was to perpetuate a system of structural inequalities, rather than to ostensibly facilitate social transformation. The unusually high number of “unreliable” persons, and particularly the numerous sub-categories based on one’s activities during the Korean War, implied that the KWP leaders were deeply shaken by the wartime abandonment of the Party. In 1958, the leadership replaced a number of cadres on the grounds that in 1950, they or their relatives had remained in the enemy-occupied areas instead of fleeing before the oncoming U.S. troops (Szalontai 2005, p. 126). The timing of the investigation and the inclusion of “factionalists” among the “hostile” categories indicated that the campaign was also influenced by Kim’s intention to weed out every actual or potential supporter of those intra-party opponents who had challenged his authority in 1955–1956 (Collins 2012, p. 42). It took a decade to finalize the classification of the population. By 1970, a total of 51 subcategories were created, and the status of individuals would be periodically re-investigated, a process presumably influenced by the recurrent intra-party purges. The mature form of the sŏngbun system, which would remain largely unchanged until the famine of 1994–1998, was composed of five main status groups: (1) the special class (Kim Il Sung’s inner circle, including his relatives and the surviving Manchurian guerrillas); (2) the core class (consistently loyal cadres, relatives of war casualties and revolutionary martyrs, descendants of pre-1945 workers, etc.); (3) the basic masses (ordinary workers and peasants, low-ranking officials and rank-and-file Party members, and post-1945 intellectuals); (4) the complex classes (former intellectuals and small entrepreneurs, repatriated KPA prisoners-of-war, relatives of persons who fled to South Korea, etc.); and (5) the hostile classes (ex-capitalists and ex-landowners, pro-Japanese and proAmerican collaborators, purged Party members, ex-convicts, and so on). If the first two categories are combined as the core class, and the third and four categories as the wavering class, the share of the three main groups may be estimated as follows: core class – 25–30 percent of the population; wavering class – 40–45 percent; hostile class – 28–30 percent (ibid., pp. 25, 115–118; Hunter 1999, pp. 4–5; Lankov 2013, pp. 41–42). A person’s individual status was shaped by the interplay of one’s ancestral sŏngbun (which was defined on the basis of the social background and past political record of one’s paternal ancestors) and one’s societal sŏngbun (which referred to one’s occupation and individual performance). In practice, one’s ancestral sŏngbun effectively limited the level of education, type of employment, food rations, and residence area that were accessible to him or her. In turn, one’s status (though not necessarily one’s individual occupation) would be inherited by his/her descendants. For instance, only members of the core class were entitled to higher education; persons of complex or hostile sŏngbun were excluded from Pyongyang, and often deported to remote mountainous areas (Collins 2012, p. 6; Hunter 1999, pp. 4–5; Tertitskiy 2015b). In the terminology of social anthropology, the ancestral sŏngbun categories may be defined as ascribed status groups that severely restricted the range of one’s achieved status (the societal sŏngbun).

the sŏngbun system: analogies and sources of inspiration Lankov (2013, p. 41) has observed that “Kim Il Sung’s North Korea was surprisingly reminiscent of a pre-modern society, with its order of fixed and hereditary castes (or ‘estates’ as they were sometimes known in pre-modern Europe).” Other authors similarly compared North Korea’s ascribed status groups to the Indian caste system (Tertitskiy 2015b), South African apartheid (Collins 2012, p. 99), and the hereditary social stratification that had existed in Korea under the Chosŏn dynasty (1392–1910) (Armstrong 2003, p. 73; Demick 2009, pp. 26–27; French 26

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2007, pp. 40–41; Oh and Hassig 2000, p. 4). Of these parallels, the last one is of particular interest, since it implies a direct historical continuity between pre-colonial Korea and the DPRK. According to this narrative, the gradual transformation of the North Korean sociopolitical system from a Communist regime into a sultanistic or neo-patrimonial one was influenced by the legacy of Korea’s pre-modern past, as Kim Il Sung’s strong nationalist sentiments supposedly inspired him to create a neo-traditionalist system resembling the Neo-Confucianist hierarchical concepts of Chosŏn Korea. Nevertheless, a closer look at one’s position within a North Korean ascribed status group reveals important differences from Chosŏn Korea’s hereditary classes – differences that likewise distinguished the sŏngbun system from Indian castes or South African apartheid. First of all, the sŏngbun system posed a formidable obstacle to upward mobility, but a person’s status, defined as it was exclusively by the state, could be downgraded by the authorities at any time if he or she committed any political offense. Under such conditions, one’s individual status remained far more insecure and vulnerable than in a tradition-based or race-based system where both upward and downward mobility were limited, and where a person’s status, once registered, could not be arbitrarily modified by the state. In Chosŏn Korea, a person’s yangban status was socially determined, rather than legally defined, and thus the receipt of a rank associated with yangban status did not guarantee social acceptance, nor was yangban status inherited solely through the male line (Deuchler 2015). Second, a person was not necessarily aware of his or her specific status, since one’s sŏngbun file was held by the police, and the regime, instead of making the status distinctions unambiguous and conspicuously visible (as it had been expressed in Chosŏn Korea’s socially differentiated penal law, dress code, and hop’ae identity tags: Han 2004, pp. 116–117, 122–123; Rhim 1974, p. 141; Seth 2016, p. 159), tended to conceal them in the public sphere. In primary and secondary education, the children belonging to various sŏngbun categories were not officially distinguished from each other; systematic discrimination started only when one reached working age or applied for college (Demick 2009, p. 28; Hunter 1999, pp. 3–8, 54). Third, the state neither allowed nor required the individual sŏngbun categories and subcategories to create collective institutions akin to Chosŏn Korea’s self-governing associations (e.g., the yuhyangso organizations set up by rural aristocrats, the ture village organizations, the sijon merchant associations, the peddlers’ guild, and the segregated paekchŏng communities), whose existence was rendered possible (or even necessitated) by the limited administrative and financial capacities of the pre-modern state (Shin 2014). Finally, one’s ancestral sŏngbun and societal sŏngbun were less directly interrelated than in Chosŏn Korea, where certain occupations (such as military service, trading, or leather making) inherently carried less social prestige than others (Seth 2016, pp. 175–181). For instance, miners were officially treated as a privileged section of the North Korean working class, yet persons belonging to the complex or hostile classes (like non-repatriated southern prisoners-of-war) were also often forced to work in the mines (Demick 2009, p. 25; Hunter 1999, p. 144). The claims for historical continuity between the Chosŏn Korea ascriptive status system and the North Korean sŏngbun system should not be overstated. Moreover, it seems that the class categories created by the Chinese Communist regime constituted a closer analogy and a more likely source of inspiration, for the CCP also classified the population into three main categories: the red category, subdivided into revolutionary classes (cadres, soldiers, revolutionary martyrs) and proletarian classes (workers, poor and lower-middle peasants); the ordinary category (middle peasants, intellectuals, clerks; presumed to be wavering or neutral); and the black category, subdivided into exploiting classes (capitalists, landowners, rich peasants) and reactionary classes (officials, soldiers, and party members of the Nationalist regime, counter-revolutionaries, rightists). These categories 27

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were “affixed to households based on some combination of their economic status and the political activities of the male household head” and “inherited through the male line,” but they could “always be revised due to individual behavior or reinvestigation” (Walder 2015, pp. 109–113). In 1958–1959, when the first investigations laid the foundations of the sŏngbun system, North Korean policies were strongly influenced by Maoist practices, as seen, for example, in the similarities between the Great Leap Forward and the Ch’ŏllima Movement, and thus the architects of the sŏngbun system may well have drawn inspiration from the Chinese model. Still, the share of the three main Chinese categories was different from that of their North Korean equivalents. The revolutionary classes constituted 4.4 percent of the urban population, the proletarian classes 77.8 percent, the ordinary classes 14.4 percent, and the black classes 3.4 percent (ibid., pp. 109–113). Thus, the share of the “wavering” and “hostile” groups was far higher in the DPRK than in China, indicating that the KWP leaders, who had, after all, first gained and then regained power through providential external interventions, rather than on the basis of popular support, harbored stronger doubts about the loyalty of their subjects than their Chinese comrades.

the initial guerrilla coalition: a precarious equilibrium The final stage of the population classification process (1966–1970) largely coincided with two other tectonic changes in North Korean politics: the large-scale intra-party purges of 1967–1969 and the start of the Kim Jong Il succession process. These three shifts were in fact directly interrelated with each other, as the growing political role of Kim Il Sung’s family generated tension within the still-heterogeneous group of ex-guerrillas. Kim’s growing conflict with a large segment of this group induced him to delegate even more authority to his relatives, the protégés and relatives of the purged “factionalists” were downgraded to the lower strata of the sŏngbun system, and Kim’s extended family and the former members of the 88th Brigade became an increasingly distinct segment of the core class. The linkages between these shifts are worth investigating, because they reveal the implicit incompatibility of two commonly used academic explanatory models: the model of a “guerrillaband state” rooted in the traditions of the Manchurian anti-Japanese struggle (Wada 1998) and the model of a neo-traditionalist “family state” influenced by Korea’s Confucian legacy (Cumings 1982; Lee 1976; Suzuki 1992).41 That is, the two different sources of legitimacy and networkbuilding on which Kim Il Sung relied – i.e., his position within the guerrilla community and his family ties – were not necessarily in harmony. On some occasions, as in 1967–1969, the two concepts actually clashed with each other. Thus, the terms “guerrilla dynasty” (Buzo 2018) and “partisan family state” (Kwon and Chung 2012) may even be regarded as oxymorons, since Kim imposed his dynastic succession on the North Korean elite at the expense of guerrilla-band solidarity. From 1953 to 1961, the political ascendancy of former Brigade members, other ex-guerrillas, including the former members of the Kapsan Operation Committee, a resistance group that operated in Korea’s north-eastern periphery in 1936–1938 in cooperation with Kim Il Sung’s Manchurian guerrillas, and Kim Il Sung’s relatives progressed along more or less parallel lines with the latter group initially overshadowed by the first two, as all three groups benefited from the elimination or marginalization of the SKWP, Soviet, and Yan’an groups. For instance, in 1955, both Ch’oe Yonggŏn, a Brigade member, and Pak Kŭmch’ŏl, the leader of the Kapsan sub-group, were elected Vice-Chairmen of the Party,42 while Kim Yŏngju, Kim Il Sung’s younger brother, was already a leading cadre in the Central Committee’s powerful Department of Organization and Guidance. In 1958–1959, the regime launched 28

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an enormous propaganda campaign to glorify the deeds of former guerrillas, while Kim Yŏngju became the head of the Organization Department in 1960 and a CC member in 1961 (Lankov 2005, pp. 204–205; Lim and Yoo 2013, p. 352). The three groups’ high level of solidarity with Kim during the intra-party conflicts of 1953–1957 created a certain equilibrium between them. The renewal of Soviet-DPRK friction and the start of a massive military build-up (1962–1964) brought little change in this equilibrium, except that Pyongyang’s tilt toward Beijing temporarily boosted the stature of those surviving Yan’an Koreans, such as Kim Ch’angman and Ha Angch’ŏn, who had sided with Kim Il Sung against Ch’oe Ch’angik in 1956. In this period, Kim Il Sung’s personality cult continued to grow, but in 1963–1964, the resistance feats of Pak Kŭmch’ŏl and other Kapsan activists were also officially memorialized (Ra 2019, p. 35).43 In July 1965, the Hungarian Embassy reported that the exhibits of the Poch’ŏnbo Revolutionary Museum laid due emphasis on the role of Pak Kŭmch’ŏl, Ch’oe Yonggŏn, and the nowdeceased Pak Tal, too.44 In this period, North Korean propaganda presented the state ideology of Juche as the collective product of the KWP leadership, rather than as Kim Il Sung’s personal creation (Myers 2015, p. 94). In the end, however, the parallel emergence of these groups was bound to stimulate rivalry for the highest pinnacles of power. After all, the bureaucratic channels through which Kim Yŏngju and Kim Jong Il rose to prominence (the Department of Organization and Guidance and the Department of Propaganda and Agitation) were the same institutions that constituted the principal power base of Pak Kŭmch’ŏl and some other cadres associated with him. To make matters worse, Kim Yŏngju’s lack of Resistance credentials stood in a glaring contrast with the glorified past of the Kapsan group (Lim 2009, pp. 38–39). What eventually upset this precarious equilibrium was the post-1964 Soviet-DPRK rapprochement and Kim’s confrontational policy toward South Korea (1966–1968). Starting in mid-1965, Kim’s personality cult underwent a gradual decline. At first, the exhibits of his childhood were given a less prominent place in the Museum of Party History, and the media mentioned his name less frequently than before.45 By the winter of 1965–1966, the number of poems and songs about him had decreased, and in the first half of 1966, some of his statues and pictures were removed from various public buildings and the Museum of Fine Arts.46 This shift was at least partly motivated by Pyongyang’s intention to make a good impression on the Soviet leaders (whose aversion to Kim’s cult was well known), since in the same period North Korean propaganda expressed a growing interest in economic and cultural cooperation with the Soviet bloc, and stressed that the ideas of Juche and charyŏk kaengsaeng (self-reliance) were compatible with this aim.47 Still, the contrast between Kim’s declining personality cult and the continued acknowledgment of the feats of other leaders, above all, those of Pak Kŭmch’ŏl, created an implicit tension within the Party elite, since it could be perceived and misconstrued as the co-leaders’ “lack of respect” for Kim Il Sung.48 As a Chinese diplomat put it It is perfectly reasonable for Pak Geum-cheol, the only leader from the current struc­ ture who during the harshest years of anti-Japanese fighting operated and endured with great heroism inside Korea, not to accept that all the credit for the revolutionary and socialist construction in the DPRK goes to Kim Il Sung, who spent the entire period of the revolution in China and in the Soviet Union, in much milder conditions.49

29

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the disintegration of guerrilla solidarity Several authors (Buzo 2018, p. 51; Lim 2009, p. 38; Person 2013) have suggested that Kim’s conflict with Pak Kŭmch’ŏl’s group was triggered by the latter’s opposition to Kim’s efforts to raise military expenditures and heavy-industry investments at the expense of light industry and living standards. It may be noted, however, that neither the December 1962 CC plenum, which officially launched the massive Equal Emphasis military build-up, nor the October 1966 Party Conference, which led to an even more spectacular increase of military expenditures, produced a directly adverse impact on Pak’s group. The conference did bring seven new military and security figures (e.g., Minister of Defense Kim Ch’angbong, KPA Chief of the General Staff Ch’oe Kwang, Admiral Yi Yŏngho, and Minister of Public Security Sŏk San) into the Political Committee, but the persons whom they replaced were officials largely unaffiliated with Pak Kŭmch’ŏl’s group (e.g., technocrats like Chŏng Ilyŏng, Yi Changok, and Yi Chuyon; ex-Yan’an cadres like Kim Ch’angman and Ha Angch’ŏn; and a former Soviet Korean, Nam Il). In contrast, Pak and the persons affiliated with him (Yi Hyosun, Kim Toman, and Pak Yŏngguk) suffered no reversals in the Politburo and the Secretariat, though their relative influence must have been reduced by the co-optation of a large group of military hardliners (Buzo 2018, p. 64; Hamm 1999, p. 142; Shinn et al. 1969, pp. 220–224).50 Thus, it seems likely that the issue which brought the latent tension between Kim and Pak to breaking point was not simply the acceleration of the country’s military build-up but rather Kim’s decision to increase the range and number of the KPA’s commando raids against South Korea. As noted in a CIA report, in October–November 1966, there were only “7 small-scale but deliberate” raids in the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ), but in mid-March 1967, the attacks “flared to extraordinary levels.”51 Notably, Kim Il Sung’s first open confrontation with Pak’s group occurred precisely in the same period (March–April 1967), and one of the prominent cadres whom he purged was Yi Hyosun, the CC Director in charge of Pyongyang’s southern policy (Person 2013; Suh 1989, pp. 227–228; Tertitskiy 2017a, pp. 83–84). In October 1968, a North Korean diplomat told a Hungarian colleague that Yi Hyosun had poorly led the South Korean resistance movement: “Following his dismissal, even armed guerrilla actions started to occur in South Korea” (Szalontai 2012, p. 143). This shift toward armed struggle was directly linked to the fact that the person with whom Kim replaced Yi was Hŏ Ponghak, the head of the KPA’s General Political Bureau (Hamm 1999, p. 143). The purge of Pak Kŭmch’ŏl’s group triggered a dramatic resurgence of Kim Il Sung’s personality cult, which was now combined with the creation of posthumous cults around Kim’s parents and grandparents. For the first time, Juche was presented as Kim’s personal creation, and Kim Yŏngju established “the Ten Principles for the Monolithic Ideological System … where only Kim Il Sung’s thoughts were allowed to be accepted” (Lim and Yoo 2010, p. 343). By extolling Kim as a great theoretician and a member of a “revolutionary lineage” (Kim 2018, p. 26), rather than just as an exceptionally charismatic military and political leader, North Korean propaganda further distinguished him from the other ex-guerrillas (whose authority was based primarily on their Resistance record), and legitimized the increasingly prominent political role of his relatives. In the newly imposed historical narrative, Kim Il Sung and the long-deceased Pal Tal were given sole credit for the feats of the Kapsan group, and the significance of previously glorified pre-modern national heroes (e.g., Yi Sunsin) was gradually downplayed, lest their prestige pose any implicit competition to Kim’s (Kim 1979, pp. 104–109; Lee 2010, p. 351, 359). Thus, Kim Il Sung effectively subordinated guerrilla solidarity and even the cultivation of national traditions to the aim of creating a “family state.” 30

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Nevertheless, it must be noted that Kim Il Sung eliminated Pak Kŭmch’ŏl’s group in cooperation with several other elite groups: the former 88th Brigade (Ch’oe Yonggŏn, Kim Il, Pak Songch’ŏl, Ch’oe Hyŏn, and O Chinu); those former guerrillas who had not been affiliated either with the Brigade or with the Kapsan group, and who now held positions in the armed forces (Kim Ch’angbong, Kim Kwanghyŏp, Hŏ Ponghak, and Sŏk San); and his own relatives, especially Kim Yŏngju. That is, the 1967 purge was as much a case of coalition building as the purges of 1952–1953 and 1955–1956 had been. On each occasion, the victims found themselves isolated and outnumbered, with no chance of posing any effective resistance. At the same time, the elimination of Pak’s group created a precedent for a new purge that would open yet another rift within the already fractured guerrilla elite. The ensuing purge which Kim Il Sung carried out in 1968–1969 may have been of an even larger scale than the campaign against Pak’s group. Its most prominent victims were Kim Ch’angbong, Ch’oe Kwang, Kim Kwanghyŏp, Hŏ Ponghak, Yi Yŏngho, and Sŏk San – that is, the same military and security cadres who had been catapulted to power less than three years earlier. Their removal seems have been triggered by the fiasco of Kim Il Sung’s confrontational policy toward South Korea: the failure of the Blue House raid (January 1968), the collapse of Pyongyang’s agent network in the ROK (July 1968), and the debacle of the Uljin-Samch’ŏk landings (October–December 1968) (Hamm 1999, p. 144; Suh 1989, pp. 232–235). In 1966–1967, Pyongyang’s belligerent actions had gained inspiration from the Vietnam War, but now, as the war entered a phase of de-escalation, the KWP leaders were less able to capitalize on the US preoccupation with Vietnam than before. Notably, the CC plenum of November 1968 which opened the way to the purge formally adopted the position that The Korean Workers’ Party opposes any attempt, either domestic or external, that would try to identify the South Korean situation with the South Vietnamese one … there is no revolutionary situation in South Korea for the time being, it is just in the process of ripening. (Szalontai 2012, p. 151) Still, the persons with whom Kim Il Sung replaced the purged military leaders – Ch’oe Hyŏn as the new Minister of Defense, O Chinu as Chief of the General Staff, Kim Pyŏngha as Minister of Public Security – had risen to prominence in the same period as their predecessors (1966–1967), and they were probably similarly associated with the now-reversed confrontational policies. For instance, O Chinu (then a Vice-Minister of Defense) became the head of the KPA’s General Political Bureau in April 1967, and played a significant role in the campaign against the Kapsan group.52 Thus, it seems that the most important distinction between the purged leaders and their successors was that the former were usually unaffiliated with the 88th Brigade, whereas many of the latter had been Brigade members.53 Once again, the intra-elite conflict erupted over a major policy shift, but the rift ran largely, though not completely, along factional lines.

From partisan family state to intra-family purge By the end of the 1967–1969 purges, the composition of the top leadership had undergone a dramatic transformation. At the Fourth KWP Congress held in September 1961, only five of the 20 highest-ranking CC members had been former Brigade members, whereas at the Fifth Congress in November 1970, seven of the top ten CC seats were occupied by Brigade members, and an eighth was held by Kim Yŏngju (Yang 1994, pp. 339–341). At the same time, Kim Il 31

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Sung co-opted Kim Jong Il and Kim Sŏngae (his second wife, now the head of the Women’s Union) into the CC, brought Yang Hyŏngsŏp (the husband of his niece, Kim Sinsuk) and Ch’oe Yongjin (Ch’oe Yonggŏn’s brother) into the Political Committee, and appointed Hŏ Tam (the husband of another niece, Kim Chŏngsuk) as Foreign Minister. Kim Pyŏngha, the new Minister of Public Security, had married yet another relative of Kim Il Sung.54 In this sense, the DPRK did become a “partisan family state,” but this term obscures the fact that its highestranking leaders now represented only one segment of the original guerrilla community, whose rise to power had been achieved at the price of purging many other ex-guerrillas. By elevating a growing number of his blood relatives and in-laws to the pinnacles of power, Kim Il Sung evidently sought to consolidate the party elite and ensure its undivided loyalty, but, paradoxically, this process initially produced the opposite effect. The more relatives were given positions in the various institutions (e.g., Kim Sinsuk became the Vice-Chair of the Academy of Social Sciences, while Kim Sŏngae’s brothers were placed into the Pyongyang metropolitan party committee and the apparatus of the Council of Ministers),55 the more inclined they were to compete with each other for prominence, much in the same way as the initial cohesion of the guerrilla group started to disintegrate a few years after they had subdued their Soviet/Yan’an rivals. In particular, the gradual rise of Kim Jong Il, the eldest son of Kim Il Sung’s late first wife, Kim Chŏngsuk, as the potential successor, generated tension within Kim’s nuclear family, because his second wife, Kim Sŏngae sought to promote her own children and relatives, and built up her own personality cult at the expense of Kim Chŏngsuk’s cult (Lim 2009, pp. 50–51). Under such circumstances, the selection of any of Kim Il Sung’s children as his successor was bound to alienate the sidelined members of Kim’s extended family and their patron-client networks. These obstacles did not dissuade Kim from pursuing his succession plan, but he had to tread with caution. The peculiar features of Kim Jong Il’s ascendancy – in the early 1970s, he made no official public appearances, and the media made only coded references to him – seem to have reflected such practical considerations, rather than ideological reservations (Buzo 2018, pp. 74–75). In September 1973, the balance of power tipped in favor of Kim Jong Il, as he was appointed CC Secretary in charge of ideological issues. In February 1974, he was co-opted into the Political Committee; in November 1974, his mother was commemorated with unprecedented pomp; and by 1975, his portrait was selectively displayed in public spaces such as classrooms. In tandem with these developments, Kim Sŏngae and her brothers lost much of their influence, while Kim Yŏngju disappeared from public view until the early 1990s (Buzo 2018, p. 74; Lim 2009, p. 51).56 Still, the rapid rise of Kim Jong Il seems to have generated opposition from other elite members, too, which led to a renewed power struggle. In April 1976, Kim Jong Il’s position still appeared firm, as the celebrations of Kim Il Sung’s birthday added new aspects to his personality cult, the premiership was taken over by Pak Songch’ŏl, who had joined his supporters, while Vice-President Kim Tonggyu, who had adopted a critical attitude toward him, disappeared from public view.57 Shortly afterwards, however, the younger Kim’s cult underwent an abrupt decline. In July 1976, the Hungarian Embassy reported that two or three months earlier, the authorities had started to remove his portraits and quotations from public spaces. By midsummer, they had completed the process, and only some private homes were still decorated with the portraits of father and son together.58 The timing of this process indicates that whichever event forced Kim Jong Il to beat a temporary retreat, it was not the August 1976 P’anmunjŏm axe murder incident.59 According to Mansourov (2006, p. 57), in June 1976, Kim Tonggyu openly criticized Kim Jong Il’s forceful promotion of his young protégés at the expense of former guerrillas, and called for a slower, more gradual succession process. 32

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All this indicated a veiled, ongoing power struggle. From April 1977 to February 1979, the theoretical journal Kŭlloja made no references to Kim Jong Il (Buzo 2018, p. 75), while on February 16, 1978, his birthday was celebrated less ostentatiously than before, and only a few wreaths were laid on Kim Chŏngsuk’s grave.60 Nevertheless, in the second half of 1977, the balance of power tipped against Kim Jong Il’s opponents. Kim Sŏngae, though allowed to retain her positions, largely disappeared from public view.61 Of those high-ranking leaders who suffered temporary or permanent demotion in this period, three persons (Yang Hyŏngsŏp; Yi Yongmu, the son-in-law of Kim Il Sung’s uncle; and possibly Vice-Minister of Defense Chang Chŏnghwan) belonged to the outer circle of Kim Il Sung’s relatives – a connection which apparently pitted them against Kim Jong Il’s group but which may also have protected them to a certain extent. Both Yang and Yi were allowed to make a political comeback in the 1980s, whereas Kim Tonggyu, a former Brigade member but a non-relative, was subjected to a far harsher punishment and never reappeared. Finally, in 1979, Kim Sŏngae’s sons, Kim P’yŏngil and Kim Yongil, and her son-in-law Kim Kwangsŏp were sent into honorary exile via diplomatic postings abroad (Gause 2011, p. 60; Kim and Lee 1980, p. 254; Lim and Yoo 2013, pp. 352–353; Mansourov 2006, p. 57). Thus, the purge seems to have been aimed at preparing the ground for Kim Jong Il’s official installation as Kim Il Sung’s successor, but it was probably also influenced by disputes over diplomacy, military policy, and inter-Korean relations.

From purges to consolidation: the last phase of the Kim Il Sung era By the time of the public emergence of Kim Jong Il at the 5th Party Congress in October 1980, the innermost circle of the North Korean political elite had been narrowed down to a group of former Brigade members and certain branches of Kim Il Sung’s extended family – a rather selective definition of the “partisan family state,” since the persons affected by the latest purge included a prominent ex-Brigade member and several of Kim’s relatives. This narrow concentration of power potentially carried the risk of instability and socio-political isolation (a “Ceauşescu syndrome”), all the more so because Kim’s closest comrades-in-arms, Ch’oe Yonggŏn, Kim Il, and Ch’oe Hyŏn, had been in poor health for extended periods of time.62 Nonetheless, in the last phase of Kim Il Sung’s rule (1980–1994) the highest echelons of the Party elite did not undergo any major upheaval comparable to the purges of 1952–1953, 1955–1960, 1967–1969, and 1975–1977. On the contrary, several leaders retained their posts for extremely long periods. For instance, O Chinu and Kim Yŏngnam were Minister of Defense and Foreign Minister in 1976–1995 and 1983–1998, respectively. Similarly, the transition from Kim Il Sung to Kim Jong Il, though not an entirely smooth process, was implemented successfully enough to preserve regime stability. To explain why the long series of purges finally led to consolidation and stabilization, rather than to a downward spiral of recurrent intra-elite splits, socio-political isolation, and possibly disintegration, one needs to consider the following factors: First, the unambiguous selection of Kim Jong Il as successor nearly 20 years before Kim Il Sung’s death, resented as it was by certain ex-guerrillas and some branches of Kim’s family, minimized the risk of a destabilizing power struggle in Kim Il Sung’s waning years or after his death, as occurred in Stalin’s USSR, Mao’s China, and Hoxha’s Albania. By the 1970s, Kim Jong Il was in his thirties, and was experienced enough to play an active role in high-level politics but young enough to ensure the long-term continuity of the regime after the demise of the guerrilla generation. Second, the shrinking of the original guerrilla community and the splits within Kim Il Sung’s extended family were counterbalanced by the parallel but interrelated emergence of a new generation of leaders with whom the aging party elite could be gradually replenished but who owed 33

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their advancement entirely to Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il. The formative process of this new elite group was wholly in accordance with the principles of the sŏngbun system, but it had started as early as 1947 when the authorities set up the Man’gyŏngdae School for the orphans of fallen Manchurian guerrillas and other revolutionary martyrs. By the 1960s and 1970s, the graduates of the school had risen high enough in the bureaucratic hierarchy to gain administrative and diplomatic experience, and to get involved in the intra-party purges which ensured first the dominance of Brigade members and then Kim Jong Il’s succession. At the Sixth KWP Congress in October 1980, the newly added members of the Political Committee already included several graduates of the Man’gyŏngdae School: Ch’oe Yŏngrim (Vice-Premier in 1983–1985), Kang Sŏngsan (Premier in 1984–1986 and 1992–1997), Kim Hwan (Vice-Premier in 1987–1990 and 1992–1998), Kim Kangwan (Deputy Chief of the General Staff and later head of the CC’s Military Department in the 1980s), O Kŭkryŏl (Chief of the General Staff in 1979–1988), and Yŏn Hyŏngmuk (Premier in 1988–1992). Kim Yŏngnam (Foreign Minister in 1983–1998) was the brother of yet another graduate, Kim Tunam (Gause 2004, 2006; Lim and Yoo 2013). Due to their privileged status as the upper segment of the core class, the new leaders had a stake in preserving the sŏngbun hierarchy, instead of challenging it. This carefully calibrated process of elite replenishment distinguished Kim Il Sung’s North Korea both from Stalin’s USSR, where the old Bolsheviks stratum was replaced with several successive cohorts of newly trained cadres in a series of recurrent purges, with little prospect of consolidation during Stalin’s lifetime and Mao’s China, where Mao’s confrontation with his Yan’an peers led first to the abrupt elevation of the insurgent Red Guards into the political arena, then to military dominance, and finally to the restoration of many purged cadres whose administrative experience had proven indispensable. Similarly, it set the DPRK apart from those sultanistic regimes where the political and economic dominance of a single extended family (e.g., the Somoza family in Nicaragua and the Trujillo family in the Dominican Republic) led to a gradual marginalization of the traditional elites, rather than to a systematic restructuring of society. The Syrian and Iraqi Baathist party-states may be regarded as a closer analogy, since there the inner circle of power, comprising the ruling families and their kinship networks, was backed up by a broader “core class” – Alawites in Syria, Sunni Arabs in Iraq – which provided a stable pool of elite candidates drawn from religious minorities who were, at least partly, culturally isolated from the majority of the population. Still, these regimes did not penetrate, control, and restructure society to the same extent as occurred in Kim Il Sung’s North Korea.

Conclusion In the last analysis, one may say that the political system which came into existence in the DPRK by the 1980s was neither a natural outgrowth of Korean traditions nor the creation of a single super-ambitious individual. As described earlier, state-society relations in the regime’s formative phase (1945–1950) were less harmonious than some scholars suggested, the sŏngbun system had far less in common with Chosŏn Korea than with Mao’s China, and the concept of a “partisan family state” implicitly downplays the wide swath that the 1967–1969 purges cut through the guerrilla elite. Similarly, it would be misleading to assume that from the very beginning, Kim Il Sung’s policies were purposefully directed toward that specific outcome he achieved in 1980, because this explanation is less applicable to the initial stages of North Korea’s political evolution than to the 1967–1980 period. In particular, the wartime UNC occupation came as a complete surprise to the North Korean leaders, yet their shock over the population’s apparent unreliability would have made a long-term impact on the socio-political development of the 34

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DPRK, as both the privileged and discriminated categories of the sŏngbun system reflected a strong preoccupation with assessing the degree of citizens’ wartime loyalty. Still, one prominent feature of the North Korean political system remained unchanged throughout the Kim Il Sung era: from around mid-1946 on, the vast majority of the population was consistently deprived of any legal or semi-legal opportunity to hear, let alone express, alternative views. There was therefore no political space in which the non-Communist parties might take root in the same way as had occurred in Eastern Europe, and by 1949, repression had become unusually severe even by Eastern European standards and was to become even more pronounced during the Korean War. During the short time window of de-Stalinization (1953–1956), only a limited number of higher-ranking cadres and intellectuals were aware of the new ideas circulating in the Soviet bloc, and the Soviet leaders did not force Kim Il Sung to re-examine policies in the same way as they had put pressure on the East European Stalinist rulers. The period during which Pak Kŭmch’ŏl and other guerrilla veterans could legitimately share the limelight with Kim Il Sung was similarly brief, followed by a period during which the dictatorship laid greater stress on ideological monolithism than ever before. These conditions probably played a more important role in the regime’s long-term stability than support within North Korean society.

acknowledgments When writing my chapter, I accumulated debts to numerous friends and colleagues who provided invaluable assistance, including Adam Bohnet, Hanna Kim, Vasilii Lebedev, Brian R. Myers, and Fyodor Tertitskiy. My special thanks go to Adrian Buzo, the long-suffering editor of this volume. Without his kind encouragement and sorely tested patience, this chapter would never have seen the light of day.

Notes 1 This chapter is, in many respects, a critical re-assessment of the observations I made in Kim Il Sung in the Khrushchev Era (Szalontai 2005). Since the publication of that book, the range of publicly accessible Russian, Chinese, and East European archival materials has undergone a dramatic expansion, which now affords a deeper insight into state formation in the DPRK, especially for the period of 1945–1950. In the light of the newly available evidence, I found it necessary to elaborate, modify, or abandon some of my earlier conclusions, and to add some new angles to my analysis. In particular, I sought to utilize the available Russian primary sources so as to reduce my earlier dependence on Hungarian archival documents. 2 For further information on these groups, see Lankov (2002), Jin (2012), Shen (2015) and Selivanov (2017). 3 “Soviet Report on Communists in Korea, 1945,” 1945, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, AGShVS RF, f. 172, op. 614631, d. 23, pp. 21–26. Trans. Gary Goldberg. Available at: http://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/114890 4 “Untitled memorandum on the political and morale situation of Soviet troops in North Korea and the economic situation in Korea,” January 11, 1946, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, Archives of the Russian General Staff, op. 480, 29, st. 5, p. 2, pa. 21, k. 35. Trans. Gary Goldberg. Available at: http://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/114893 5 Hungarian Legation to the DPRK, Report, February 25, 1953, Hungarian National Archives (Magyar Nemzeti Levéltár, MNL), XIX-J-1-k (Administrative Documents), Korea, 1945–1964, 9. doboz, 18/g, 00347/1/1953. 6 There was one important difference between North Korean and East German unification policies: the East Germans did not institutionalize a symbolic claim to represent all Germany. By contrast, in August 1948, the first elections to the DPRK’s Supreme People’s Assembly (SPA) were nominally extended to South Korea, too. Of the 572 SPA deputies, 360 were designated as representing the southern part

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7 8 9

10 11

12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

of the country. This formula implied that the northern government (just like its southern rival) claimed sovereignty over the entire nation, not only over the territory it actually controlled, and as such, it foreshadowed the Korean War. See “The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (A Brief Memorandum),” December 26, 1955, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, AVPRF, f. 0102, op. 11, p. 65, d. 45. Trans. Gary Goldberg. Available at: http://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/ document/115706 “Telegram from Shtykov to Stalin,” September 15, 1949 (in Russian), History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, CWIHP archive. Available at: http://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/ document/119383 CIA, “Uprising in Haeju, North Korea,” Information Report, January 26, 1949, in CIA Electronic Reading Room (CERR). The North Korean leaders, on their part, had energetically supported the SKWP’s increasingly confrontational activities vis-à-vis the U.S. and South Korean authorities ever since 1946 (Jeon and Kahng 1995, p. 92). On South Korean guerrilla operations against the DPRK, see Aid (2000, pp. 31–32); Mansourov (1997, p. 108). “The Political Situation in Korea during the Period of Military Operations,” August 11, 1950, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, AVPRF, f. 0102, op. 6, p. 21, d. 47, pp. 29–40. Trans. Gary Goldberg. Available at: http://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/114916 “Letter from Seo Hwi, Yun Gong-heum, Li Pil-gyu, and Kim Gwan to the Chinese Communist Party Central Committee,” September 5, 1956, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, GARF, f. 5446, op. 98, d. 721, l. 170–190. Trans. Gary Goldberg. Available at: https://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/120173 Ibid. Hungarian Legation to the DPRK, Report, October 22, 1952, MNL, XIX-J-1-k, 11. doboz, 27/a, 012603/1952. Hungarian Legation to the DPRK, Report, January 31, 1953, MNL, XIX-J-1-j (Top Secret Documents), Korea, 1945–1964, 12. doboz, 27/a, 00489/1951; Hungarian Legation to the DPRK, Report, March 21, 1953, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1945–1964, 5. doboz, 5/c, 00338/2/1953. Hungarian Legation to the DPRK, Report, March 21, 1953, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1945–1964, 5. doboz, 5/c, 00338/2/1953. Hungarian Legation to the DPRK, Report, October 22, 1952, MNL, XIX-J-1-k, Korea, 1945–1964, 11. doboz, 27/a, 012603/1952. “Information on the Situation in the DPRK,” April 1955, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, Russian State Archive of Contemporary History (RGANI), f. 5, op. 28, d. 314, l. 34–59. Trans. Gary Goldberg Available at: http://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/114590 “Memorandum of Conversation with Choe Chang-ik,” June 8, 1956, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, RGANI, f. 5, op. 28, d. 410, l. 210–214. Trans. Gary Goldberg. Available at: http://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/114132 “Record of Conversation between I. Biakov, First Secretary of the Soviet Embassy to the DPRK, and Pak Yŏngbin, the head of the KWP CC’s Organizational Department,” December 28, 1953 (in Russian), in T’ongil munhwa yŏnkuso 2002, file KM010601, p. 11. “Diary Report of S.P. Lazarev, Chargé d’Affaires ad interim of the Soviet Embassy to the DPRK,” July 20, 1954 (in Russian), in T’ongil munhwa yŏnkuso 2002, file KM010502, p. 24. Mátyás Rákosi, “Report to the Second Congress of the Hungarian Working People’s Party,” February 25, 1951. Available at: https://mek.oszk.hu/04300/04351/04351.htm#22 “Memorandum of Conversation between Vasily Ivanov and Kim Il Sung,” April 19, 1956, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, AVPRF, op. 12, p. 68, d. 5, l. 64–65. Trans. James F. Person. Available at: http://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/111639 “Memo about the Situation in the DPRK,” January 17, 1955, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, AVPRF, f. 0102, op. 11, p. 65, d. 45. Trans. Gary Goldberg. Available at: http:// digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/115798 Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Annual Report, March 1, 1956, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1945–1964, 4. doboz, 5/a, 003133/1956. “Record of a Conversation with Comrade Ryu Seong-hun, Rector of the DPRK Cabinet of Ministers Institute of the Economy and Economics,” April 12, 1955, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, RGANI, f. 5, op. 28, d. 314. Trans. Gary Goldberg. Available at: http://digitalarchive. wilsoncenter.org/document/116316

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The North Korean socio-political system 26 “Letter from Seo Hwi, Yun Gong-heum, Li Pil-gyu, and Kim Gwan to the Chinese Communist Party Central Committee,” September 5, 1956. 27 “Record of Conversation with Chairman of the Jagang Provincial People’s Committee Illarion Dmitriyevich Pak [Pak Ch’angsik],” April 5, 1955, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, RGANI, f. 5, op. 28, d. 314. Trans. Gary Goldberg. Available at: http://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter. org/document/116309 28 “Record of a Conversation with Editor of the Journal “Novaya Koreya” Song Jin-hwa [sic],” April 4, 1955, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, RGANI, f. 5, op. 28, d. 314. Trans. Gary Goldberg. Available at: http://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/116314 29 “Record of a Conversation with Illarion Dmitriyevich Pak, Chairman of the Jagang Provincial People’s Committee,” April 13, 1955, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, RGANI, f. 5, op. 28, d. 314. Trans. Gary Goldberg. Available at: https://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/116308 30 “Information on the Situation in the DPRK,” April 1955. 31 “Memorandum of Conversation with the DPRK Vice Premier of the Cabinet of Ministers and Member of the KWP CC Presidium, Pak Chang-ok,” March 12, 1956, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, RGANI, f. 5, op. 28, d. 410, l. 73–85. Trans. James F. Person. Available at: http://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/111637 32 “Record of Conversation with Chairman of the Jagang Provincial People’s Committee Illarion Dmitriyevich Pak,” April 5, 1955. 33 “Record of the Third Congress of the Korean Workers’ Party by L.I. Brezhnev,” April 30, 1956, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, GARF, f. 5446, op. 98, d. 721, l. 221–228. Trans. Gary Goldberg. Available at: https://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/120183 34 “Memorandum of Conversation between Kim Sung-hwa and Ambassador Ivanov,” June 7, 1956, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, RGANI, f. 5, op. 28, d. 410, l. 210. Trans. Gary Goldberg. Available at: http://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/114131 35 “Memorandum of Conversation with Choe Chang-ik,” June 8, 1956, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, RGANI, f. 5, op. 28, d. 410, l. 210–214. Trans. Gary Goldberg. Available at: http://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/114132 36 Ibid.; “Memorandum of Conversation with the head of the department of construction materials under the DPRK Cabinet of Ministers, Li Pil-gyu,” July 20, 1956, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, RGANI, f. 5, op. 28, d. 410, l. 304–308. Trans. James F. Person. Available at: http://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/113366; “Report by N. T. Fedorenko on a meeting with DPRK Ambassador to the USSR Ri Sang-jo,” May 30, 1956, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, RGANI, f. 5, op. 28, d. 412, l. 190–196. Trans. Gary Goldberg. Available at: http://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/111641. This phenomenon was also highlighted by Lankov (2005, p. 75). 37 Hungarian Legation to the DPRK, Report, October 27, 1951, MNL, XIX-J-1-k, Korea, 1945–1964, 9. doboz, 18/g, 01939/1952. 38 Hungarian Legation to the DPRK, Report, October 7, 1953, MNL, XIX-J-1-k, Korea, 1945–1964, 6. doboz, 12/a, 011216/1953. 39 Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Report, April 14, 1956, MNL, XIX-J-1-k, Korea, 1945–1964, 9. doboz, 18/g, 025/25/4–5/1956. 40 Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Report, June 1, 1964, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1945–1964, 13. doboz, 27/a, 004092/1964. 41 For an overview of these models, see Kwon and Chung (2012, pp. 16–20). 42 Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Report, December 25, 1955, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1945–1964, 4. doboz, 5/a, 00609/1956. 43 Actually, the cultivation of the guerrilla myth, of which the Chinese diplomats publicly approved, was well in accordance with Pyongyang’s growing reluctance to acknowledge the USSR’s dominant role in Korea’s liberation. See Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Report, December 5, 1962, MNL, XIXJ-1-j, Korea, 1945–1964, 6. doboz, 5/e, 009240/1962. 44 Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Report, July 11, 1965, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1965, 73. doboz, IV-245, 004015/1965. 45 Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Report, August 17, 1965, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1965, 73. doboz, IV-100, 001819/3/1965. 46 Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Report, January 26, 1966, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1966, 74. doboz, IV−71, 001500/1966; Hungarian Foreign Ministry, Memorandum, (no date), MNL, XIX-J1-j, Korea, 74. doboz, 1966, IV–109, 002542/5/1966.

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Balázs Szalontai 47 Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Report, August 17, 1965, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1965, 73. doboz, IV-100, 001819/3/1965. 48 “Telegram from Pyongyang to Bucharest,” June 13, 1967, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, Archive of the Romanian Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Trans. Eliza Gheorghe. Available at: http://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/116707 49 “Telegram from Pyongyang to Bucharest,” July 28, 1967, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, Archive of the Romanian Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Trans. Eliza Gheorghe. Available at: http://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/116710 50 For a complete list of Politburo and Secretariat members, see www.kolumbus.fi/taglarsson/dokumentit/prkburo.htm 51 CIA, “North Korean Intentions and Capabilities with Respect to South Korea,” Special National Intelligence Estimate No. 14–2/67, September 21, 1967, p. 2, in CERR. 52 CIA, “Kim Il-Sung’s New Military Adventurism,” Intelligence Report, November 26, 1968, pp. 15–24, in CERR. 53 Chief of the General Staff Ch’oe Kwang, a former Brigade member whose wife was a relative of Kim Il Sung, constituted an intermediate case, as he was purged in 1969 but later allowed to re-join the Politburo (1980). 54 Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Report, December 15, 1970, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1970, 55. doboz, 81–25, 002263/5/1970; Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Report, September 4, 1972, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1972, 59. doboz, 81–108, 003118/1972; Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Report, January 25, 1973, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1973, 69. doboz, 81–22, 001450/1973. 55 Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Report, September 4, 1972, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1972, 59. doboz, 81–108, 003118/1972. 56 Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Report, November 27, 1974, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1974, 66. doboz, 81–25, 006048/1974. 57 Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Report, April 26, 1976, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1976, 81. doboz, 1, 003197/1976; Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Report, June 17, 1976, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1976, 82. doboz, 2, 003878/1976. 58 Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Report, July 20, 1976, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1976, 81. doboz, 1, 00704/1/1976. 59 As Lim (2009, p. 82) suggests. 60 Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Telegram, February 24, 1978, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1978, 80. doboz, 81–1, 001702/1978. 61 Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Telegram, February 28, 1978, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1978, 80. doboz, 81–2, 001873/1978. 62 Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Report, January 25, 1973, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1973, 69. doboz, 81–22, 001450/1973; Hungarian Embassy to the DPRK, Telegram, October 31, 1973, MNL, XIX-J-1-j, Korea, 1973, 69. doboz, 81–22, 001450/9/1973.

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Balázs Szalontai Lankov, A. 2020. “Trouble Brewing: The North Korean Famine of 1954–1955 and Soviet Attitudes toward North Korea,” Journal of Cold War Studies, vol. 22, no. 2. Lankov, A. and Selivanov, I. 2019. “A Peculiar Case of a Runaway Ambassador: Yi Sang-Cho’s Defection and the 1956 Crisis in North Korea,” Cold War History, vol. 19, no. 2, pp. 233–251. Lebedev, V. 2018. “In Search of Law and Order: Soviet Occupation of North Korea and the Creation of the North Korean Police Force (1945–1946),” master’s thesis, Korea University, Seoul. Lee, D-B. 2010. “Portrayal of Non-North Koreans in North Korean Textbooks and the Formation of National Identity,” Asian Studies Review, vol. 34, no. 3, pp. 349–369. Lee, M. W. 1976. “Rural North Korea under Communism: A Study of Sociocultural Change,” Rice University Studies, vol. 62, no. 1. Lim, J-C. 2009. Kim Jong Il’s Leadership of North Korea, London: Routledge. Lim, J-C. and Yoo, H-Y. 2010. “Institutionalization of the Cult of the Kims: Its Implications for North Korean Political Succession,” Korean Journal of Defense Analysis, vol. 22, no. 3, pp. 341–354. Lim, J-C. and Yoo, H-Y. 2013. “The North Korean Patrimonial Elite,” Korea Observer, vol. 44, no. 2, pp. 339–363. Lindenberger, T. 2003. Volkspolizei: Herrschaftspraxis und öffentliche Ordnung im SED-Staat 1952–1968, Cologne: Böhlau Verlag. Mansourov, A. 1995. “Stalin, Mao, Kim, and China’s Decision to Enter the Korean War, September 16–October 15, 1950: New Evidence from the Russian Archives,” Cold War International History Project Bulletin, no. 6–7, pp. 94–119. Mansourov, A. 1997. “Communist War Coalition Formation and the Origins of the Korean War,” doctoral thesis, Columbia University, New York. Mansourov, A. 2006. “Emergence of the Second Republic: The Kim Regime Adapts to the Challenges of Modernity,” in Y-W. Kihl and H-N. Kim (Eds.), North Korea: The Politics of Regime Survival, London: Routledge, pp. 37–57. McCune, G. 1947. “Post-War Government and Politics of Korea,” The Journal of Politics, vol. 9, no. 4, pp. 605–623. McDermott, K. and Stibbe, M. (Eds.) 2015. De-Stalinising Eastern Europe: The Rehabilitation of Stalin’s Victims after 1953 Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan. Mevius, M. 2005. Agents of Moscow: The Hungarian Communist Party and the Origins of Socialist Patriotism 1941–1953, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Migdal, J. 1988. Strong Societies and Weak States: State-Society Relations and State Capabilities in the Third World, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Mobrand, E. 2019. Top-down Democracy in South Korea, Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press. Myers, B. 2015. North Korea’s Juche Myth, Busan: Sthele Press. Naimark, N. 1997. The Russians in Germany: A History of the Soviet Zone of Occupation, 1945–1949, Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Oh, K. and Hassig, R. 2000. North Korea through the Looking Glass, Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press. Pál, Z. 2019. “Az ‘utolsó csatlós,’ avagy kísérlet Magyarország kollektív megbélyegzésére,” Hitel, vol. 32, no. 2, pp. 67–84. Person, J. 2006. “ ‘We Need Help from Outside’: The North Korean Opposition Movement of 1956,” Cold War International History Project Working Paper, no. 52, Woodrow Wilson Center Press and Stanford University Press, Washington, DC and Stanford, CA. Person, J. 2013. “The 1967 Purge of the Gapsan Faction and Establishment of the Monolithic Ideological System,” NKIDP e-dossier no. 15, viewed 1 December 2019, available at: www.wilsoncenter.org/ publication/the-1967-purge-the-gapsan-faction-and-establishment-the-monolithic-ideological-system Person, J. 2018. “North Korea in 1956: Reconsidering the August Plenum and the Sino-Soviet Joint Intervention,” Cold War History, vol. 19, no. 2, pp. 253–274. Pritchard, G. 2000. The Making of the GDR: From Antifascism to Stalinism, Manchester: Manchester University Press. Ra, J-Y. 2019. Inside North Korea’s Theocracy: The Rise and Sudden Fall of Jang Song-thaek, Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Rhim, S-M. 1974. “The Paekchong: ‘Untouchables’ of Korea,” Journal of Oriental Studies, vol. 12, no. 1–2, pp. 30–40. Scalapino, R. and Lee, C. 1972. Communism in Korea, vols. I–II, Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

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The North Korean socio-political system Selivanov, I. 2017. “The Soviet Koreans in the Service of the Regime of Kim Il Sung: 1945–1955 (based on Materials in the Personal Files of the CPSU Central Committee),” Journal of Contemporary Korean Studies, vol. 4, no. 2, pp. 137–156. Seth, M. 2016. A Concise History of Premodern Korea: From Antiquity through the Nineteenth Century, Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Shen, Z. 2015. “On the Eighty-Eighth Brigade and the Sino–Soviet–Korean triangular relationship – A Glimpse at the International Antifascist United Front During the War of Resistance Against Japan,” Journal of Modern Chinese History, vol. 9, no. 1, pp. 3–25. Shen, Z. and Xia, Y. 2018. A Misunderstood Friendship: Mao Zedong, Kim Il-sung, and Sino-North Korean Relations, 1949–1976, New York: Columbia University Press. Shimotomai, N. 2007. “Pyeongyang in 1956,” Cold War International History Project Bulletin, no. 16, pp. 455–463. Shimotomai, N. 2011. “Kim Il Sung’s Balancing Act between Moscow and Beijing, 1956–1972,” in T. Hasegawa (Ed.), The Cold War in East Asia 1945–1991, Stanford University Press and Woodrow Wilson Center Press, Stanford, CA and Washington, DC, pp. 122–151. Shin, M. (Ed.) 2014. Everyday Life in Joseon-Era Korea: Economy and Society, Leiden: Brill. Shinn, R-S., Folan, J., Henderson, J., Hopkins, M., Knobloch, E., and Younglof, R. 1969. Area Handbook North Korea, vol. 550, no. 81, Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office. Shtykov, T. 2004. Shwittŭiko’u ilgi, 1946–1948 – Dnevnik T.F. Shtykova, 1946–1948, Kwach‘ŏn: Kuksa P‘yŏnch‘an Wiwŏnhoe. Strong, A. 1949. In North Korea: First Eye-Witness Report, New York: Soviet Russia Today. Suh, D-S. 1989. “Arms and the Hammer and Sickle: Kim Il Sung and the Rise of the Partisan Generals in the 1960s,” Korean Journal of Defense Analysis, vol. 1, no. 2, pp. 217–239. Suzuki, M. 1992. Kita Chōsen: shakai shugi to dentō no kyōmei [North Korea: Socialism in Resonance with Traditionalism], Tokyo: Tokyo daigaku shuppankai. Szalontai, B. 2005. Kim Il Sung in the Khrushchev Era: Soviet-DPRK Relations and the Roots of North Korean Despotism, 1953–1964, Stanford University Press and Woodrow Wilson Center Press, Stanford, CA and Washington, DC. Szalontai, B. 2012. “In the Shadow of Vietnam: A New Look at North Korea’s Militant Strategy, 1962–1970,” Journal of Cold War Studies, vol. 14, no. 4, pp. 122–166. Tertitskiy, F. 2015a. “The Ascension of the Ordinary Man: How the Personality Cult of Kim Il-sung Was Constructed (1945–1974),” Acta Koreana, vol. 18, no. 1, pp. 209–231. Tertitskiy, F. 2015b. “Songbun and the Five Castes of North Korea,” NK News, 26 February, viewed 1 December 2019, available at: www.nknews.org/2015/02/songbun-and-the-five-castes-of-northkorea/?c=1512005427012 Tertitskiy, F. 2016. “Star and Stripes: History of the North Korean Flag and its Place in State Ideology,” Journal of Contemporary Korean Studies, vol. 3, no. 1–2, pp. 265–284. Tertitskiy, F. 2017a. “1967: Transition to Absolute Autocracy in North Korea,” in A. Cathcart, R. Winstanley-Chesters, and C. Green (Eds.), Change and Continuity in North Korean Politics, London: Routledge, pp. 82–94. Tertitskiy, F. 2017b. “A Study of Soviet Influence on the Formation of the North Korean Army,” Acta Koreana, vol. 20, no. 1, pp. 195–219. Tertitskiy, F. 2018. “A Blatant Lie: The North Korean Myth of Kim Il-sung Liberating the Country from Japan,” Korea Observer, vol. 49, no. 2, pp. 219–238. Wada, H. 1998. Kita Chōsen: Yugekitai Kokka no Genzai [North Korea: Partisan State Today], Tokyo: Iwanami. Wada, H. 2001. “East Asia and the Cold War: Reinterpreting Its Meaning in the New Millennium,” in C-I. Moon, O. A. Westad, and G-H. Kahng (Eds.), Ending the Cold War in Korea: Theoretical and Historical Perspectives, Seoul: Yonsei University Press. Walder, A. 2015. China under Mao: A Revolution Derailed, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Weathersby, K. 1993. “Soviet Aims in Korea and the Origins of the Korean War, 1945–1950: New Evidence from Russian Archives,” Cold War International History Project Working Paper, no. 8, Woodrow Wilson Center Press & Stanford University Press, Washington, DC and Stanford, CA. Yang, S. C. 1994. The North and South Korean Political Systems: A Comparative Analysis, Boulder, CO: Westview Press and Seoul: Seoul Press.

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3

Masters of survival

North Korean leadership in a hostile world

Andrei Lankov

Kim Jong Il comes to power The Great Leader Kim Il Sung died on 8 July 1994 and his son the Dear Kim Jong Il inherited his father’s position as the supreme leader of North Korea. Kim Il Sung died at a time when the North Korean state found itself facing grave challenges. In essence, with the collapse of the Communist Bloc in 1989–1991, the world in which Kim Il Sung had successfully operated for decades had vanished and in spite of decades-long noisy propaganda extolling the country’s alleged self-reliance, in practice, North Korea had been more dependent on foreign – largely Soviet – aid than virtually all the other countries of the Communist bloc and, indeed, the majority of the least developed economies worldwide (Eberstadt 2015, pp. 48–51). This was because Kim Il Sung had proved himself adept in squeezing aid from Moscow while giving little in return. By skillfully using Sino-Soviet rivalry, he created manifold opportunities for North Korea’s aid-maximizing diplomacy. However, Moscow and Beijing became reconciled in the late 1980s, and the global Cold War came to an end as well. In this new situation neither Moscow nor Beijing saw much need to spend money to keep the North Korean regime afloat. This sudden discontinuation of direct and indirect Soviet aid during 1990–1991 brought economic disaster. Due to serious issues with North Korean statistics, the exact scale of this disaster is not clear, but all observers agree that it was severe. The Bank of Korea, South Korea’s central bank estimated that in the period 1991–1999, North Korea’s GDP fell by 37.6 percent (Bank of Korea 2019), and by 2000 the non-military industrial output was estimated to be barely 50 percent of the 1990 figure (Im 2010, p. 164). Kim Jong Il was born Yura Kim on February 16, 1942, in the Soviet Union, where his father was serving as a junior officer in the Soviet Army. The family returned to Korea in 1945. His mother died in childbirth when he was 7 years old. In due course, Kim Jong Il entered Kim Il Sung University after an upbringing that gave him little overseas exposure. At university he majored in political economy, but one should not be misled: the future leader merely studied a simplified version of Soviet-style Stalinist economics. This mattered little, however, as by the late 1960s, his father Kim Il Sung had decided to do something no Communist country has ever attempted before in transferring power to his eldest son. This step, while widely seen as eccentric, made perfect sense if one considers the context of the time. Kim Il Sung was obviously shocked by what had happened in the Soviet Union after Stalin’s death in 1953, when under 42

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Nikita Khrushchev the new Soviet leadership denounced many aspects of Stalin’s rule, especially his cult of personality and the pervasive use of state terror. Kim Il Sung understood that in order to ensure that his legacy would outlive him, he needed a successor who would never be tempted to question this legacy, and his son appeared to be the obvious choice. Therefore, in the late 1960s, Kim Jong Il began his ascent. He began working in the ruling Korean Workers Party where he specialized in cultural affairs, and during the 1970s a personality cult that mirrored his father’s cult began to be built around him. By the early 1980s, Kim Jong Il was firmly established as a successor, and began to take over some of his father’s daily duties in managing the party and state. In 1994, after his father’s death, he assumed full control of the North Korean state (Breen 2004, pp. 41–66).

A collapsing economy and the dilemma of reform In 1994, Kim Jong Il found himself in charge of a country without any allies and with a disintegrating economy. His chosen strategies were therefore firmly subordinated to the overwhelming task of regime survival. In this work he succeeded against all odds, much to the surprise of outside observers, many of whom had confidently predicted that the collapse of the Kim family regime was imminent. However, this success came at a large price which largely had to be borne by the North Korean people. At a first glance, the regime’s economic problems had a simple and well-tested solution – Chinese-style reforms. In the 1970s, China had also faced a grim situation, but the switch to the market economy under the tight political control of the Chinese Communist Party had brought about unprecedented economic growth and eventually transformed China into a powerful and increasingly affluent state. This strategy benefited both ordinary citizens and the Chinese ruling oligarchy, and when imitated in Vietnam it produced similar results. People therefore assumed that such policies would also be attractive to North Korea. However, in spite of being well aware of China’s success, Kim Jong Il resolutely rejected this idea, and once his unwillingness to follow the Chinese path became obvious, observers began to accuse Kim of being “irrational,” but this estimation of him was misplaced: Kim and his advisers had valid reasons to see the Chinese path as highly dangerous, if not suicidal for the North Korean elite. This was because there is a major, if often overlooked, difference between North Korea and both China and Vietnam, namely, the remarkable success of North Korea’s arch-rival, South Korea, whose per capita GDP in 1995 was estimated to be seven times greater than the North and widening (Maddison 2006, pp. 304, 355). By 2017, it was 25 times as great (Kyodo Tsushin 2018). The existence of such a spectacularly successful twin state constituted an immense potential threat for the North Korean state, should it initiate Chinese-style reforms, as keeping the populace in ignorance of such a disparity was seen – and still is seen – by Pyongyang decision-makers as a major condition for regime survival, and this perception is probably wellfounded. By contrast, for the Chinese Communist Party, international isolation has never been a vital precondition of survival. The Chinese populace could – and did – learn of prosperity enjoyed by the developed nations without coming to unduly dangerous political conclusions, and with the somewhat singular exception of Taiwan, China did not face any competing claims for leadership of the Chinese people. In North Korea, things were, and still are, different: the success of the economic system in the South mounts a direct threat to the perceived legitimacy of Kimist rule, and the attractions to ordinary North Koreans of gaining access to that system are obvious. In fact, the process leading to the reunification of Germany in 1990 had demonstrated that such a threat was real. The per capita GDP ratio between the two German states at the time 43

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of German unification was merely 1:2 or 1:3 – a far cry from the yawning 1:25 gap we see between the two Koreas today (Halle Institute 2016, p. 40). However, it did not prevent the East Germans from effectively overthrowing the regime in 1989 as soon as it became clear that no Soviet tanks would arrive to suppress the pro-unification, anti-communist East German revolution. The North Korean elite had good reason to see the collapse of East Germany as a warning as to what could happen to them if they became too permissive and allowed information from outside to flow into their country. Therefore, until his death in 2011, Kim Jong Il basically did all that he could to keep the old system operational. There were some short-lived attempts at market-oriented reforms, especially pronounced in 2002–2005, but they remained inconsistent and often were eventually reversed (Han 2019). In general, Kim Jong Il and his government acted on the assumption that, wherever possible, the Leninist system of the centrally planned economy should be adhered to. When the old laws and regulations became patently unenforceable, they remained on paper, even if in practice the authorities were willing to turn a blind eye to numerous violations. The major rationale of such behavior was to ensure political and ideological stability: all radical changes were seen as inherently risky.

Marketization from below Nevertheless, the absence of systematic market-oriented reforms, implemented by the central government, did not mean that North Korea under Kim Jong Il remained unchanged. On the contrary, change took place, albeit change which was not directly engineered from above, but was largely spontaneous in nature and presumably happened contrary to the government’s wishes and intentions. These changes grew out of the unmitigated disasters of the 1990s, when the collapse of the North Korean economy resulted in massive food shortages. Fertilizer was not available, and electric pumps did not operate due to mounting energy shortages. Starting in 1992–1993, food rations ceased to be delivered in the countryside, and by 1995, serious problems with food rationing could be observed in major cities, including even privileged Pyongyang. Given that since at least 1957 the Public Distribution System (PDS) had been the major provider of grain, the staple food of the majority, such problems had disastrous consequences. A full-scale famine began in 1995–1996, triggered by major floods which destroyed a significant part of the harvest. In order to keep the population alive, North Korea at the time needed about 5.5–6.0 million tons of grain, but in 1995, grain production dropped below the 3 million-ton mark (Haggard and Noland 2007, pp. 35–36). In practice, it meant famine, which ravaged the country until 1999. At the time, there were exaggerated reports about the scale of the North Korean famine – reports often stated that between two and three million people had died (Crossette 1999). Subsequent studies have confirmed significantly lower estimates, and now it seems that in the period 1996–1999, there were around 500,000–900,000 more deaths than normal in North Korea. This figure, while lower than initial estimates, is still very large, since it accounted for roughly 2–4 percent of the country’s entire population.1 During the famine, the North Korean government decided to concentrate available resources in areas which were seen as politically and militarily vital. Special attention was paid to Pyongyang, since riots in the capital city would constitute a grave and direct threat to regime stability. Meanwhile the population of smaller towns and villages, especially in the more remote parts of the country, was largely left to its own devices. Predictably, the social groups whose loyalty was most vital for regime stability were provided with full or nearly full rations – groups such as the police, elite military units, and some parts of the military industrial complex. Driven by political considerations, the government also chose not to formally abandon the old economic 44

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system. However, irrespective of what the government said and did, the old system did not work any longer and began to disintegrate. In most cases, a person who was living in strict accordance with the government regulations and old rules, had an unusually high chance of starving to death. In the new situation the North Korean populace had to discover how to survive while being largely abandoned by the state. One can say that in the 1990s, North Koreans spontaneously re-discovered the market economy, which in their society has been absent or marginalized for decades. The number of marketplaces and their size began to grow dramatically at the first outbreak of the famine in the early 1990s, and this growth has continued, albeit with varying speed, ever since (Haggard and Noland 2011, pp. 45–80). Strictly speaking, nearly all private economic activities remained illegal until 2002, and many private transactions were considered illegal even after the quiet implementation of market-enabling reforms in the summer of 2002. Earlier anti-market regulations, including, for example, a ban on the free sale of rice and other cereals, technically remained in place, but in reality they ceased to be enforced. It may never be clear whether the decision to turn a blind eye to the growth of market activities was made deliberately by the government, or whether it merely reflected the sheer inability of authorities to enforce existing regulations. It probably amounted to a combination of the two. Looking at the sources of the initial capital investment for these private economic activities, one is struck by the very large role played by North Koreans with Chinese connections, usually through family relationships. Many North Koreans have relatives in China, but in the past such connections had made them objects of suspicion and minor discrimination by the government, for example, under Kim Il Sung, such people were not normally eligible for senior positions. However, in the 1990s, connections with China suddenly turned from a source of discrimination to a massive bonus. People with personal connections to China could often borrow money from their Chinese relatives and friends both easily and cheaply. They could also use Chinese trade networks, and, at the very least, count on some expert advice about the Chinese market. Until around 2010, the border with China remained remarkably porous and poorly protected, so cross-border trade began to flourish in the late 1990s and consumption goods and foodstuffs from China flowed into North Korea in large quantities. In exchange, North Korean merchants engaged in the smuggling trade to China of items such as medicinal herbs, seafood, and some minerals and metals, including gold (Hastings and Wang 2018). Poor border control also made massive labor migration to China possible. In the late 1990s and early 2000s, large numbers of North Koreans moved across the border to make money as manual laborers in the booming Chinese economy. A fraction of them eventually moved to South Korea, but the majority remained in China for a few months or even years, doing all kinds of illegal unskilled labor before moving back to North Korea. Some refugees were apprehended and extradited by the Chinese police, while many others moved back quietly, so their prolonged absence was not even noticed by the North Korean authorities. They normally used money earned in China to support their families and/or start businesses back home (Lankov 2004). As one would expect, the re-emergence of the market economy produced significant income inequality. By the late 1990s, a class of rich North Koreans began to emerge, the product of entrepreneurial activities on an ever-larger scale. Since North Korean law banned any kind of private enterprise, aspiring North Korean entrepreneurs had to obtain registration for their businesses from some kind of government agency, state-owned enterprise or government agency. In some cases, military units and party committees could be used as well. Having obtained registration as a state entity for their businesses, an entrepreneur then invested money and developed and managed the business. Such an enterprise was considered to be state-owned on paper, but 45

Andrei Lankov

in practice it was the private property of an entrepreneur. It was and still is expected that the entrepreneurs should pay a certain amount of money to the government agency with which they had registered. Usually such an agreement anticipated that a fixed sum of money would be paid at regular intervals. Since the government agency or state-owned enterprise normally has no way of controlling the daily activities of the private business they had registered as their subsidiary, it would be impractical to arrange payments as a share of earnings. These payments did not and do not constitute bribes, but are made officially, and presented as “profits of a newly established enterprise.” As time has gone by, the number of such pseudo-state companies has increased. The larger private businesses, normally disguised as state-owned enterprises through fake registration, have been especially common in the fishing, restaurant, and intra-city haulage industries (Lankov et al. 2017). There have been other forms of interaction between private capital and the state. In some cases individuals have provided investment loans to state-owned enterprises on the assumption that the investment will pay off and loans will be repaid. To some extent, such cooperation has played a major role in the revival of housing construction in North Korea, which began around 2008 and accelerated around 2012. Housing is built by state-owned enterprises, but these enterprises use investment capital provided by individuals. The apartments are then sold, and investors receive their profits (Hong 2014, pp. 43–45). This is possible because, since the 1990s, a real estate market has emerged and grown steadily in North Korea. Altogether, by the early 2000s, the private sector, in spite of being still officially unrecognized, was large and growing. According to some estimates, in the final years of Kim Jong Il’s rule it might have been as high as 30–50 percent of North Korea’s total GDP (Yi et al. 2013, pp. 70–73, 163). It was also estimated that, in 1998–2008, the share of income from informal economic activities reached 78 percent of the total income of North Korean households (Kim and Song 2008, p. 373).

The government’s position on marketization from below The social disruption and economic crisis of the 1990s exacted a serious toll on the efficiency of the North Korean government and its ability to enforce regulations, as instanced by the administration of internal travel permits. From the late 1960s on, North Korean citizens were not allowed to leave their city or province of residence without first obtaining a permit from the police authorities, and in the past, this rule was strictly enforced. In the 1990s, however, due to the dramatic increase in the amount of private commerce, much larger numbers of North Koreans needed to travel freely around their country. They therefore began to depart on such trips without permits, so whenever they were checked by police patrols, they provided small bribes to ensure that they would be able to pass the checkpoints together with their often bulky merchandise. Moreover, they began to bribe officials so that travel permits could be issued almost immediately. Low-level officials, who also suffered greatly during the famine years, were willing to accept such bribes because otherwise they would probably face the very real threat of starvation for themselves and their families. Similar scenarios could be seen in many other areas of social and political life during Kim Jong Il’s era. For example, since the 1960s, North Korea has maintained a strict ban on private ownership of tunable radio sets. However, starting in the 1990s this ban ceased to be enforced efficiently. Even if some North Korean citizen were found guilty of having a banned tunable radio at home, in most cases the issue could be solved by paying a relatively small bribe. Similarly, after the early 2000s, North Korea was flooded with South Korean videos, partly because video reproduction technology had become cheap, so that many North Koreans could afford a cheap video player brought from China (Kretchun and Kim 2011). Facing such disintegration 46

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of the control and surveillance system, the Kim Jong Il government decided to concentrate on the areas which it saw as vital. For example, while travel controls were enforced only sporadically, travel to Pyongyang remained strictly controlled. In order to get a special type of travel permit that would allow access to the North Korean capital, one would have to spend much more money on bribes, and getting to Pyongyang illegally remained risky, albeit less so than in previous decades. Kim Jong Il’s attitude to the spontaneous economic transformation of the country changed over time. One could roughly say that from 1994 to around 2002, he adopted a hands-off approach to marketization. 2002–2005 then constituted a short watershed period in which advocates of more overt, comprehensive economic reform, presumably led by Pak Pong-ju and some other top officials, were highly influential. This period was marked by a chain of reforms, beginning with the July 1 Measures of 2002. These measures were to some extent reminiscent of the reforms in China in the early 1980s but were considerably less radical. Among other things, the greater autonomy of state-owned enterprises was accepted and marketplace regulations were much more relaxed. Notwithstanding, the scope of 2002 reforms has probably been overrated by external observers, for while in some regards these reforms were useful, to a large extent they constituted a belated acceptance of changes which had already taken place, and which the government knew it would be unable to control or reverse. However, the period of 2005–2009 was again marked by consistent attempts to put the genie of marketization back into the bottle. Throughout these years, the North Korean government introduced a series of counter-reforms whose major goal was to reverse marketization and restore, as much as possible, the Kim Il Sung era system of a centrally planned economy. Among other things, in 2005, the government declared that the Public Distribution System would soon start working at full capacity. There were attempts to start enforcing the 1957 regulations that banned the sale of cereals, and some market trade restrictions were introduced. Among other measures, able-bodied males were banned from engaging in market trade, and the ban was further extended to women below the age of 40 or 45, depending on local circumstances (Lankov 2009). These efforts to roll the situation back culminated in the ill-fated currency reform of November 2009. This was meant to be a typical confiscatory reform where old bank notes were to be withdrawn from circulation within a very short period of time. They were to be replaced with new notes, but exchange limits were set extremely low – initially, at the equivalent of $30. Thereby it was assumed that nearly all local merchants – at least those who kept their savings in North Korean currency – would lose nearly all their savings as a result of the reform, so that the entire market economy would wither away. The government also presumably hoped that after the sudden demolition of the market economy, North Koreans would go back to state-owned enterprises and the command economy would start operating again (Nanto 2011). These hopes were ill-founded, and it soon became clear that the government could not manage the old system anymore. Serious food shortages emerged immediately with the disruption of the domestic grain market, and manifestations of public discontent were observable even among the elite. So, in early 2010, the government retreated and abolished the 2005–2009 restrictive measures which targeted the market economy. Pak Nam-gi, the high-ranking party official who was responsible for the currency reform, was made the scapegoat, and was promptly executed, and in an unprecedented gesture, a high-level North Korean official issued a semipublic apology in addressing a large gathering of low-level cadres in Pyongyang in February 2010 (Ri 2011, pp. 220–291). The official attitude to the market economy then returned to what it had been in 1994–2002, with Kim Jong Il willing to resume turning a blind eye, neither encouraging nor discouraging the existence and further growth of the market economy. 47

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Nuclear weapons as a security guarantee and diplomacy tool An important part of Kim Jong Il’s survival policy was the continuous effort to acquire and then improve nuclear weapons capabilities. The nuclear program was initiated in the 1960s under Kim Il Sung, but it was under Kim Jong Il that North Korean nuclear scientists made major breakthroughs, leading to the first successful nuclear test in 2006. From the very beginning, the North Korean nuclear program was pursuing a number of goals, whose relative significance has changed over time. Basically, we can discern four major strategic goals: • •

•

•

deterrence against foreign attack and possible foreign intervention in the event of a serious domestic crisis; development of an efficient diplomatic tool for an otherwise rather weak and marginal country, marked by undertakings to slow down or freeze, but never to abandon, parts of its nuclear weapons program in exchange for economic and political concessions; the bolstering of legitimacy, since the nuclear program appeared to be quite reas­ suring domestically and could easily be presented by propagandists as proof of the efficiency of the current leadership. Additionally, the perceived need to develop nuclear weapons could be used as an excuse to justify the grave economic dif­ ficulties experienced by most ordinary North Korean citizens. a possible avenue to the reunification of Korea on terms favorable to the North.

First and foremost, North Korea’s nuclear weapons development program provides the country with a relatively cheap and highly efficient form of deterrence. Under Kim Jong Il and his successor, Kim Jong Un, North Korean leaders appeared to sincerely believe that they face a real probability of a US-led foreign attack and, of course, the US invasion of Afghanistan (2001) and Iraq (2002), as well as the threats against Iran, have not helped to dispel such worries. On top of that, North Korean leaders have reason to worry about what can be described as the Libyan scenario in 2011, that is, regime collapse following a combination of domestic unrest and foreign intervention in support of local forces. Pyongyang is strongly mindful that the Libyan leader, Muammar Gaddafi, is the only leader in recent history who agreed to abandon a nuclear weapons development program in exchange for economic and political concessions, and it believes that a nuclear-armed Libyan regime would have presented a sufficient threat to deter NATO air support for rebel forces, which was instrumental in the eventual collapse of the Gaddafi regime. Soon after Gaddafi’s downfall and execution, an official North Korean commentary stated: The present Libyan crisis teaches the international community a serious lesson. It was fully exposed before the world that ‘Libya’s nuclear dismantlement’ much touted by the US in the past turned out to be a mode of aggression whereby the latter coaxed the former with such sweet words as ‘guarantee of security’ and ‘improvement of rela­ tions’ to disarm itself and then swallowed it up by force. (KCNA 2011) Similar statements have been repeated many times in subsequent years, reflecting the North Korean view that as a rather small and poor country with a nominal per capita GDP of around US$1,000–1,300, it has virtually no ability to develop a conventional military force which would stand any chance in a confrontation with the US or other major military powers, and so there appears to be no viable alternative to a nuclear weapons program. 48

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Second, the nuclear program has been an efficient bargaining chip for North Korean diplomacy. In terms of its nominal GDP and population size, North Korea is close to such countries as Yemen, Zambia or Senegal. From this comparison, it is clear that North Korea punches well above its weight on the issues of international politics due to its nuclear weapons program. Under Kim Jong Il’s leadership, North Korea demonstrated its ability to use nuclear weapons as an efficient bargaining tool, beginning in 1994 when it concluded the Geneva Framework Agreement with the United States. Under its terms, North Korea agreed to put its nuclear facilities under international control and freeze their operations. In exchange, it was provided with regular annual shipments of 500,000 tons of crude oil, as well as with a promise to build two light-water reactors for electricity generation, on which construction began, but was never completed. The willingness of the US, South Korea, Japan, and other major countries to ship food to North Korea during the famine was also closely, if implicitly, related to North Korea’s willingness to freeze its nuclear program. In 2002, this Agreement collapsed when the US detected evidence of a parallel clandestine program to produce highly enriched uranium (HEU) for use in nuclear weapons, but it has been followed by other negotiations such as the Six Party Talks (2003–2009), which have also deflected diplomatic pressure and occasionally produced economic benefits (Pollack 2003). Third, nuclear weapons are also widely used in domestic propaganda in North Korea. Many if not most North Koreans appear to believe that their country really needs nuclear weapons, and are reasonably sympathetic toward government efforts to acquire nuclear weapons capability. Additionally, success in nuclear weapons development is widely seen as proof of the government’s efficiency in at least one vital area of state administration, and this can increase levels of tolerance over continuing economic difficulties. Last but not least, in the long run, North Korean nuclear weapons provide a scenario by which the North can finish the unfinished business of the Korean War – that is, the unification of Korea under Kimist leadership. North Korean leaders have reason to hope that eventually, if they develop ICBMs and other delivery systems capable of hitting the United States, they will be able to “decouple” and undermine the US-South Korean alliance, since they assume that the US will be unwilling to sacrifice San Francisco to protect Seoul. Being deprived of the US nuclear umbrella, South Korea might be willing to accept either a North Korean-led unification or, more likely, some kind of confederation advantageous to the North.

Kim Jong Un takes office For some reason, Kim Jong Il was reluctant to appoint a successor until the last years of his life. A clear decision on this was only made only around 2009, soon after Kim Jong Il himself suffered a major stroke in August that year, which had a strong and evident impact on his physical capabilities. Out of the various children by different women Kim had fathered, he chose the third of his known sons, Kim Jong Un. Initially, this choice raised some eyebrows, but in due course, it became clear that Kim had made a shrewd choice. Contrary to early doubts by external observers based on Kim Jong Un’s youth (he was 27 at the time of his father’s death in December 2011) rather than any form of detailed knowledge, the younger Kim was able to ensure a smooth transition of power, and proved himself to be a capable diplomat, successfully manipulating the United States, China, and other major countries in highly adverse situations. Additionally, his economic policies, at least in the first years of his rule, were based on sound social and political logic and produced intended results. Last but not least, he demonstrated his willingness to be tough and brutal whenever he saw real or potential threats to his power. 49

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Kim Jong Un was born in 1984. His mother was a dancer who came from a family of ethnic Koreans who had moved to North Korea from Japan in the 1960s, which by regular North Korean standards was a politically suspicious background. In the 1990s, it was common among the children of the North Korean top elite to spend some time studying overseas, and Kim Jong Un was sent to study at a high school in Switzerland, where he spent few years studying under an assumed name.2 In this regard, Kim is quite different from his father, who grew up in the increasingly Stalinist Pyongyang of the late 1950s and 1960s. Kim Jong Un seemingly has little, if any, illusions about the potential of Soviet-style state socialism, and he probably understands that the only alternative nowadays is some form of the market economy. He speaks foreign languages and knows reasonably well how the modern world operates. The major political goal of Kim Jong Un is clear and rational: to maintain the Kim family’s hold on power. He understands that a regime collapse would have disastrous consequences for him, his family, and the elite as a whole, and his comparative youth favours longer-term strategies than those followed by his father, who was 52 when he assumed power and beset by statethreatening crises. Of course, securing the economic development of the country is also a part of his agenda, but this is a secondary goal, for no amount of economic success would be worth it if led to the demise of ruling elite. This is a fundamental reason why US President Donald Trump, among many others, is mistaken in assuming that North Korea would accept denuclearization in order to get economic benefits.

Dealing with threats from within: forestalling a palace coup There are three major potential threats to Kim Jong Un’s hold on power: (1) a palace coup; (2) civil rebellion; and (3) an outside attack. Regarding the first, Kim Jong Un suddenly inherited power at a very young age, and was surrounded by people who were roughly twice his age with the long years of experience in running the country that he himself lacked. Therefore, Kim Jong Un had to take the threat of the elite conspiracy quite seriously. In December 2011, during his father’s funeral, Kim walked next to his father’s hearse in the company of three top generals and four top civilian officials. Three years on, five of the seven were gone: at least two had been executed while others had either disappeared or had been moved on to politically insignificant jobs (Harlan 2013). The most significant of these was Jang Song-thaek, his aunt’s husband and long the “grey eminence” of Pyongyang politics, whose public arrest and execution in December 2013 sent a dramatic message to the elite. Another move on a potential threat led to the highly public assassination in February 2017 at Kuala Lumpur airport of his older brother, Kim Jong Nam, who had been living in self-imposed exile in Macao and China under the protection of the Chinese since the late 1990s. The moves against Jang Song-thaek and Kim Jong Nam have often been presented as signs of the North Korean leader’s “irrationality” (Smith and Kim 2017), but there is more to it than this: the victims were the only two members of the Kim family who had shown signs of seeking to become independent political players, and sometimes they did so openly. In both cases, they also maintained close connections with China. In other words, they were two members of the ruling family who could become focal points of a possible conspiracy, and this sealed their fate. As well as purges, Kim Jong Un has strengthened his control by the frequent redeployment of top military and security officials. For example, while the average length of tenure of the Minister for the People’s Armed Forces under his father and grandfather had been close to ten years, under Kim Jong Un, it has been closer to 11 months. Obviously, it was done to ensure that no general would be able to create a power base strong enough to challenge Kim Jong Un’s power. However, in talking about Kim Jong Un’s purges, one needs to be careful. The oft-used 50

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expression “the reign of terror” is misleading, since while under his rule the level of repression with regard to ordinary citizens has remained comparable with previous times, nearly all targets of actual purges have been top military or security officials or else excessively independent members of the ruling Kim family. Kim Jong Un’s purges have been brutal, but calculatedly so: the young leader wanted to make sure that the military would be both unable and unwilling to challenge his power.

Dealing with threats from within: neutralizing the threat of civil rebellion In order to remove any threat of challenge from popular rebellion, Kim Jong Un has probably understood that in economic terms he needs to follow in the footsteps of China and Vietnam – that is, to develop a market economy, even if it remains necessary to wrap such a move in fake Communist rhetoric. Back in the 1990s, Kim Jong Un’s father had made a strategic decision not to initiate large-scale economic reforms, but Kim Jong Un, with his necessarily longer planning horizon, cannot afford such a luxury. In order to stay in control for another 40 or 50 years, he needs to maintain a process of economic growth. The gap between South and North Korea continues to grow, and unless it is at least addressed in some limited manner, the long-term survival of the North Korean regime appears less and less likely. However, the main constraints North Korea faced under Kim Jong Il remain as significant as ever under Kim Jong Un – and if anything have become even worse, since North Korea faces the reality of South Korean and regional economic dynamism, which is becoming an ever-greater regime threat as the years go by. A program of China-style reforms appears less and less likely to succeed as a strategy for regime survival, ordinary North Koreans are learning more and more about the outside world, and since they are increasingly able to avoid official punishments by bribery, they are also losing their fear of the government. In this case, the outcome of revolution and regime collapse becomes more likely, followed either by the emergence of a pro-Chinese regime (if the Chinese government decides to intervene in the crisis) or a German-style unification with South Korea under South Korean terms. The former option is undesirable, while the latter is extremely dangerous for both Kim Jong Un and nearly every single member of the North Korean elite. With so little room to maneuver, Kim has opted for reform without openness. Economic reform has focused on three major policies: (1) a field responsibility system in agriculture; (2) an increase in managerial autonomy in industry; and (3) a tacit acceptance of private markets. In the agricultural sector, on June 28, 2012, a set of instructions, known as the 6.28 Policy on Agriculture, introduced a new system of agricultural management, under which farmers were to work in small work teams, each team consisting of 5–6 members. In most cases, the work teams would be allocated certain fields which they would till for years. Farmers do not receive fixed grain rations, as has been the case for nearly half a century. Instead, they submit to the state a share of the total harvest (reportedly, 30–70 percent, depending on their location and other conditions), and keep the rest. This was quite reminiscent of China’s policy at the early stage of reforms (Kim, So˘n and Im 2013, pp. 115–119; Ward 2018). This was followed on May 30, 2014, by a new industrial policy under which managers received a dramatic increase in their level of autonomy, and central planning was scaled down. Everything which the enterprise produced in excess of much-reduced plan quotas could be sold on the market at market prices. State-owned enterprises were also given the right to purchase raw material and supplies on the market. Last but not least, managers were allowed to hire and fire workers and determine their salaries. With regard to markets, Kim Jong Un remained very tolerant of private market activities, even though they received little official acceptance. Nonetheless, state agencies were allowed 51

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and indeed, even encouraged to attract private capital for some projects. In 2010, just before Kim Jong Un’s ascension to power, satellite imagery indicated the existence of 200 permanent marketplaces in North Korea, and by 2018 their number had more than doubled to some 480 (Melvin 2018). But while economic reforms in China have been accompanied by a significant level of political liberalization, the North Korean regime sees anything approaching this level of relaxation as unacceptably risky, and so while it has selectively adopted a number of market-oriented changes, it has also maintained and even strengthened traditional levels of political surveillance and control, especially as they relate to maintaining the isolation of the country. One of Kim’s earliest policy measures was to dramatically increase control of movement across and back along the border with China, which had been remarkably porous for decades. The number of border guards increased significantly, they were placed on frequent rotation to prevent them from forming close ties with the locals, CCTV systems were installed and new fences were built. In addition, Kim Jong Un also began a rather efficient propaganda campaign aimed at discouraging defections. The issue of defections was never mentioned under his father since people were simply not supposed to leave the self-proclaimed “earthly paradise” of North Korea and move to what the North Korean media for decades described as the “capitalist hell” of the South. However, under Kim Jong Un, state propaganda has turned this on its head, publicizing the struggles of defectors in the South, many of whom do in fact face major difficulties in adjusting to South Korean society. The defectors have not been presented as enemies or traitors, but rather as naïve people who have become victims of the scheming Americans and their South Korean puppets and have found themselves in a country which may be affluent, but which is also exploitative and deeply immoral. Coupled with the new border policing policy and better economic conditions in the North, such propaganda appears to have been effective, to judge from the steady decline in the numbers of defectors. In 2011, a total of 2,706 refugees arrived in the South, and by 2018 the number had fallen to 1,137 (Ministry of Unification 2019). Kim Jong Un has also presided over a systematic campaign to curb the spread of information about the outside world. Not only do people caught smuggling, copying, and selling South Korean video products now face more severe punishments than previously, rigorous control has been exercised over information technology. Contrary to common perception, computers are no longer rarities in North Korean houses – in 2018, some 18 percent of households were estimated to own a computer, usually a second-hand computer imported from China. Rather than simply banning all private IT access, beginning from around 2015, all computer devices in North Korea have been required to have the Linux-based “Red Star” operating system. This system does not allow computers to open audio, video, and text files which do not have a government signature – that is, authorization. In other words, it means that any computer device on which the Linux Red Star system is installed cannot be used for watching smuggled movies or TV shows, or for reading books or listening to songs which do not have prior approval from government censors. Moreover, a “Red Star”-enabled computer takes random screenshots which are then kept in its memory so that authorities can check what was on the computer screen earlier on. Needless to say, all computers in North Korea have to be registered and are subjected to regular checks. Of course, the “reforms without openness” strategy contains many contradictions. The need to maintain the country’s isolation has severely impacted on North Korea’s access to global financial and investment markets, and this will continue even should current UN sanctions be lifted, itself an unlikely scenario given the primacy of the country’s nuclear weapons program. Most likely, then, this policy will not be able to deliver anything approaching the sustained rates of growth witnessed in China or Vietnam. However, given the totality of the situation Kim Jong Un and North Korean decision-makers face, they hardly have much choice. 52

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Dealing with threats from outside The third threat Kim Jong Un faces is the external threat of military action by a foreign power. As we have mentioned, in the experience of Afghanistan, Iraq and especially Libya, the North Korean leadership saw confirmation of their worst fears regarding their vulnerability to attack, and in this regard, he has faced the same challenges as his father with a similar response: the development of a nuclear-based deterrence. The major difference with the Kim Jong Il era is that under Kim Jong Un the nuclear and missile program has gathered pace. Since 2013, the North Koreans have successfully tested an increasing number of missile systems and nuclear devices, including a thermonuclear device in 2017.3 It is not clear whether North Korean engineers have succeeded in weaponizing their nuclear devices, but there are good reasons to believe that they are making significant advances in this field. In 2017, North Korea successfully tested two types of intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs), the more advanced of which, the Hwasong-15 model, is believed to be capable of hitting a target in any part of continental US territory. Additionally, North Korean engineers have made a major breakthrough with submarine-based ballistic missile systems (Kristensen and Norris 2018). This means that by around 2017 North Korea had become the third country, after Russia and China, to acquire the capability of striking US cities with a nuclear warhead.4 However, in early 2017, the US elected a new president who was in many ways a highly unusual personality. Since his campaigning days, Donald Trump has expressed much interest in the North Korean issue, and made it an important part of his agenda. He reacted to North Korea’s ICBM and nuclear tests with an outbreak of unprecedented, if exclusively verbal, bellicosity, which culminated in his tweet promise that the threat from North Korea will be met with “fire and fury like the world has never seen.” For a while, a US strike against the nuclear facilities looked possible. It is not clear to what extent President Trump was bluffing, or to what extent he meant what he said, but his statements alarmed not only North Korean leaders, but also leaders in South Korea and China. For a brief while, China took a tough position against North Korea, seriously reducing its trade with the country, and also implementing the toughestever sanctions, approved in 2016–2017 by the UN Security Council. Moreover, under the left-leaning nationalist presidency of Moon Jae-in since May 2017, South Korea began to play the role of intermediary, suggesting talks and contacts between the US and North Korea. Because North Korean leaders saw the new US policy as a real danger to themselves, they entered talks which were officially presented as talks about denuclearization. There is little doubt that the North Korean government had no intention of surrendering its nuclear weapons, but a talks process was apparently judged to be strategically advantageous. The talks led to the first ever US-North Korea summit in Singapore in June 2018, as well as to a number of other diplomatic encounters, which helped to deflect confrontation. From the North Korean point of view, these talks were also useful because they increased the international prestige of the country and its new leader, but above all, they helped to buy precious time.

Conclusion Contrary to oft-repeated outside perceptions, the policies of Kim Jong Il and Kim Jong Un have not been irrational in any sense. They were subordinated to the overwhelmingly important goal of regime survival, and if measured against this goal, they have worked remarkably well. In spite of grave economic crises and the loss of all allies, the Kim family has avoided internal challenge, maintained its hold on power and has made the prospect of foreign attack increasingly unlikely. The cost of this achievement has been paid by the common people, including a large number 53

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of famine victims and political prison inmates, but the regime does not hold itself accountable to them: it is fighting for its own survival, and the stakes are very high. It remains an open question whether the Kim family regime can sustain itself in the long run. The policy of “reforms without openness” remains an experiment, implemented in many cases with a good deal of tentativeness and uncertainty, but given the track record of the Kim family, the true masters of survival, it would premature to regard these efforts as doomed.

Notes 1 The extent of the famine and its consequences are discussed in Goodkind et al. (2011). 2 Currently the best study of Kim Jong Un’s childhood and youth is Fifield (2019). 3 At the time of writing, the North is still observing a moratorium on testing, self-proclaimed in April 2018. 4 Technically, of course, the UK and France have this capability as well.

References Bank of Korea. 2019. Pukhan chuyo kyo˘ngjae chipyo pigyo [North Korea: A Comparison of the Main Economic Indicators], available at: www.bok.or.kr (accessed December 2019). Breen, M. 2004. Kim Jong-il: North Korea’s Dear Leader. 2nd edn, Hoboken, NJ: Wiley. Crossette, B. 1999. “Korean Famine Toll: More Than 2 Million,” The New York Times, 20 August 1999, p. 6. Eberstadt, N. 2015. North Korea’s “Epic Economic Fail” in International Perspective, Seoul: Asian Institute for Policy Studies. Fifield, A. 2019. The Great Successor: The Divinely Perfect Destiny of Brilliant Comrade Kim Jong Un, New York: Public Affairs. Goodkind, D., West, L., and Johnson, P. 2011. “A Reassessment of Mortality in North Korea, 1993–2008,” paper presented at the annual meeting of the Population Association of America, Washington, DC, March 31–April 2. Haggard, S. and Noland, M. 2007. Famine in North Korea: Markets, Aid, and Reform, New York: Columbia University Press. Haggard, S. and Noland, M, 2011, Witness to Transformation: Refugee Insights into North Korea, Washington, DC: Peterson Institute for International Economics. Halle Institute. 2016. The Economic Integration of East Germany, Halle: Halle Institute for Economic Research (IWH). Han, K. 2019. Pukhan kyo˘ngje kaehyo˘k-kwa kwanlyo˘n cho˘ngch’i [North Korea’s Economic Reforms and Related Policies]. Seoul: Pukhan yo˘nguso. Harlan, C. 2013. “In North Korea, Kim Jong Un Rises and Advisers Are Shoved Aside,” The Washington Post, December 13, available at: www.washingtonpost.com (accessed October 2019). Hastings, J.W. and Wang, Y. 2018. “Informal Trade Along the China–North Korea Border,” Journal of East Asian Studies, vol. 15, no. 2, pp. 181–203. Hong, M. 2014. “Pukhan-u˘i ap’at’u˘ ko˘nso˘l-kwa tosi cho˘ngch’i” [The Construction Market of Apartment Complexes in North Korea and Its Urban Policy], KDI pukhan kyo˘ngjae ribyu, no. 8, pp. 35–62. Im, K. 2010. Pukhan kyo˘ngjae kaebal kyaehwaek surip pangan yo˘ngu: Paet’u˘ nam saryae-ru˘ l chungsim-u˘ ro [Taking the Example of Vietnam: Research on North Korea’s Economic Development Planning], Seoul: T’ongil Yo˘nguwon. KCNA. 2011. “Foreign Ministry Spokesman Denounces US Military Attack on Libya,” Korea Central News Agency, 22 March 2011, available at: http://kcna.co.jp/item/2011/201103/news22/2011032234ee.html (accessed October 2014). Kim, B. and Song, D. 2008. “The Participation of North Korean Households in the Informal Economy: Size, Determinants, and Effect,” Seoul Journal of Economics, vol. 21, no. 2, pp. 361–385. Kim, Y., So˘n, T. and Im, S. 2013. Pukahan-u˘ i nongo˘p kaehyo˘k choch’i punso˘k-kwa cho˘nmang [Analysis and Prospects of North Korea’s Agricultural Reform Policy]., Seoul: Hankuk nongch’on kyo˘ngje yo˘nguwon. Kretchun, N. and Kim, J. 2011. A Quiet Opening: North Koreans in a Changing Media Environment, Washington, DC: Intermedia.

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North Korean leadership in a hostile world Kristensen, H.M. and Norris, R.S. 2018. “North Korean Nuclear Capabilities, 2018,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, vol. 74, no. 1, pp. 41–51. Kyodo, Tsushin. 2018. “North Korea’s Economy Grew 3.7% in 2017, Pyongyang Professor Estimates,” Japan Times, 13 October 2018, available at: www.japantimes.co.jp (accessed October 2019). Lankov, A. 2004. “North Korean Refugees in Northeast China,” Asian Survey, vol. 44, no. 6, pp. 856–873. Lankov, A. 2009. “Pyongyang Strikes Back: North Korean Policies of 2002–08 and attempts to Reverse ‘De-Stalinization from Below’ ,” Asia Policy, no. 8, pp. 47–72. Lankov, A., Ward, P., Yoo, H. and Kim, J. 2017. “Making Money in the State: North Korea’s PseudoState Enterprises in the Early 2000s,” Journal of East Asian Studies, vol. 17, no. 1, pp. 51–67. Maddison, A. 2006. The World Economy, Paris: OECD Development Centre. Melvin, C. 2018. “North Korean Market Update,” North Korean Economy Watch, blog post, 5 February, available at: www.nkeconwatch.com/2018/02/05/north-korean-market-update/ (accessed December 2019). Ministry of Unification. 2019. Ch’oeku˘ n hyonghwang [Current Situation], ROK Government, available at: www.unikorea.go.kr/unikorea/business/NKDefectorsPolicy/status/lately/ (accessed December 2019). Nanto, D. 2011. “The North Korean Economy After the 2009 Currency Reform: Problems and Prospects,” International Journal of Korean Studies, vol. XV, no. 2, pp. 105–126. Pollack, J.D. 2003. “The United States, North Korea, and the End of the Agreed Framework,” Naval War College Review, vol. 56, no. 3, pp. 11–49. Ri, C. 2011. Hyo˘kmyo˘ng sunkyo˘lso˘ng-u˘ l kanghwahae nakasinu˘ n nanal-e [Days of Strengthening the Purity of Party Ranks], Pyongyang: Choso˘n rotong tang ch’ulp’ansa. Smith, A. and Kim, S. 2017. ‘Kim Jong Un’s Half-Brother Killed: Why Would He Be Assassinated?’ NBC News, 16 February, available at: www.nbcnews.com/news/north-korea/kim-jong-un-s-half-brotherkilled-why-would-he-n721201 (accessed December 2019). Ward, P. 2018. “How N. Korean Literature Offers Hints at Major Agricultural Reforms Taking Place,” NK News, 3 September 2018, available at: nknews.org, (accessed December 2019). Yi, S., Yang, M., Kim, S., Yi, Y., Im, K. and Cho, P. 2013. Pukhan kyŏngje chaengjŏm punsŏk [An Analysis of Controversial Issues in North Korean Economic Studies], Seoul: Sanŏp yŏnkuwon.

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4

Political Economy and

idEology undEr Kim Jong un

Rüdiger Frank

Introduction: the inseparability of politics and the economy Kim Jong Un came to power in December 2011 as the third North Korean leader since the country’s foundation in 1948, having been preceded by his grandfather Kim Il Sung (r. 1948–1994) and his father Kim Jong Il (r. 1994–2011). This chapter will discuss the major developments in the economic policy field that have taken place since then, with the objective of demonstrating how closely connected such changes in the real world are to ideology – that is, the way in which the North Korean state places economic policies in the context of the system’s overall legitimizing narrative. Among the more specific questions this chapter seeks to address are: what major economy-related policy changes have been officially announced during the Kim Jong Un era? How have these been reflected in official reports and statistics? What has been the general direction of North Korea’s economic policies under Kim Jong Un? For this purpose, a number of resources will be analysed. These include those issuing from regular events, such as the annual New Year speeches of the leader, and the fiscal and economic reports at annual parliamentary sessions. This dataset will be supplemented by one of the longest and arguably most important special speeches of the leader as of 2019: Kim Jong Un’s report at the Seventh Korean Workers’ Party Congress in May 2016. The relevance of this analysis is based on a truism in political economy: no economy exists independently from politics, and vice versa. A functioning economy provides the necessary resources to implement policies: the better it functions, the more options governments have, while economic dysfunction can limit the scope of what rulers are able to accomplish. This is, after all, one of the key rationales behind the international application of economic sanctions (Hufbauer et al. 2007). On the other hand, political considerations in themselves can limit economic options since governments use various mechanisms, often remarkably effectively, to promote or suppress particular types of economic behavior. While this is of a universal nature, different political systems tend to choose different tools to exert their influence on the economy. Indirect levers like taxes, money supply, interest rates and subsidies are frequently applied in liberal democracies, while the state in authoritarian systems often relies on direct command and control (Kornai 1992, p. 97ff). North Korea belongs to the latter category, but for decades now has also experimented with market instruments (Smith 2015, p. 211ff). Thus the observable actual choice of economic 56

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policy instruments enables us to better understand the underlying and changing nature of North Korea’s political economy. Ever since the post-famine period of the late 1990s, Pyongyang has been allowing adjustments to a degree that occasionally even justified the term “reform.” This includes the massive reorganization of incentives during the July 2002 measures (Frank 2005), the 2012 reduction of the size of farming teams and the increase in the percentage of harvest they can market freely, the introduction of a de facto dual system of plan and market in industry (Pak 2013, p. 16ff; Koh 2014, p. 33) and the gradual delegation of operational autonomy to factory managers (Ward 2018). When we consider that North Korea remains a major concern for the international community in terms of human rights, humanitarian issues, and security, an adequate understanding of the major trends in its political economy helps international actors to identify threats and opportunities with greater precision, and to devise appropriate policies. In North Korea, like everywhere else, domestic politics and audiences matter. The regime’s self-perception and the messages the leader sends to his own people through state media thus deserve our attention.

Setting the tone: the annual New Year speeches, 2012–2019 Reviving a tradition In 2013, Kim Jong Un revived the practice of giving a televised New Year address, which had been discontinued under his father Kim Jong Il, who during his time in office (1994–2011) resorted to written joint New Year editorials, composed by an unspecified team of writers from the major newspapers of the country. This practice kept the message somewhat ambiguous: the contents were still programmatic and issued with the authority of the leader, but they lacked the personal impact of a direct media presence.

2012: the new leader solidifies his rule The last non-televised New Year message was issued in January 2012, two weeks after Kim Jong Un assumed office (KCNA 2012). It sought to strengthen the legitimacy of the young successor, and issued a rallying call to “turn sorrow into strength and courage” (슬픔을 힘과 용기로 바 꾸다). Among the main ideological issues were attempts to combine the cults around the two previous leaders, in order to form what was later called Kimilsungism-Kimjongilism. The merger of the towering image of the country’s liberator, founder and defender on the one hand, and of the new leader’s father who was credited with preserving those achievements after the end of the Cold War into one ideological construct provided a convenient mechanism to enforce strong and immediate legitimacy. This would later also find its expression in the countrywide remodeling of the bronze statues of Kim Il Sung into so-called twin statues showing him with his late son. In the economic field, prominence was given to what was called “improvement of the people’s standard of living” (인민 생활 향상). This had been a key theme in the New Year editorials of the years 2010 and 2011, and it was one of the slogans that could be seen in the front row of a mass rally during a memorial service on Kim Il Sung Square on December 28, 2011. As the following years would prove, “improvement of the people’s standard of living” became something like the leitmotif for the new leader’s domestic policy. While still pushing ahead with the nuclear and missile programs, his focus would increasingly be on the economy – but not, as in classical socialist fashion, on producer goods such as heavy and chemical industry production, but rather on consumer goods and products of agriculture and the light industry. In the 2012 57

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editorial, the focus was on the food problem, which was dramatically described as “a burning issue in building a thriving country.” The editorial included no signs of a paradigmatic change of economic management from a command economy to the market mechanism, and rather emphasized old-fashioned mass campaigns under the slogan of “all at one go” (단숨에).

2013: return to giving New Year speeches In January 2013, Kim Jong Un gave his first New Year address (KCNA 2013). The new leader made a great effort not to appear overly reform-minded. He stressed conservative terms like socialism, military-first (son’gun), and juche (self-reliance). The slogan “at one go” was mentioned again, indicating continued support from the leadership for old-style mass mobilization and Stakhanovite campaigns. And while he demanded that officials should “rid themselves of the old way of thinking and attitude,” he also urged them to conduct Party work “in the same way as it was done on the battlefront in the 1970s.” Kim Jong Un’s demand to thoroughly apply “Kim Jong Il’s patriotism” in all activities hinted at the way the ideologues had decided to incorporate his father into the North Korean pantheon: Kim Il Sung as liberator, Kim Jong Il as defender. Among the proudly presented new achievements of the previous year were the Kŭmsusan Palace of the Sun, as the mausoleum of the two late leaders is officially called in North Korea, and the additional year of school education that was introduced by Kim Jong Un in autumn 2012. In hindsight, looking at the defense-related passages of the speech, one could also see how the storm clouds were gathering, leading to the third – and Kim Jong Un’s first – North Korean nuclear test in February 2013 and the subsequent weeks of increasingly bellicose rhetoric employed both in Pyongyang and in Washington. This intense war of words, weapons tests and military maneuvers almost obstructed the Western view of the fact that Kim Jong Un had in March 2013 declared a de facto end to the military-first policy, when he announced his new line of parallel development of the economy and a nuclear deterrent, known as byungjin.

2014: the economy and nukes In accordance with this new policy line, the 2014 New Year address (KCNA 2014) included much less classical ideological wording compared to the previous year, and more often stressed economic development. The combined word count of ideological terms such as socialism, songun (“military-first”) and juche (“self-reliance”) dropped from 36 in 2013 to 16 in 2014, while the combined word count of the terms “economy” and “construction” increased from 29 to 37. However, North Korea’s attempts to improve its external economic ties were negatively impacted by the Jang Song-thaek affair. The husband of Kim Jong il’s sister had formerly been seen as very influential and was often described as the second-top figure in the North Korean hierarchy. Most importantly, he had close ties to China, with whom he advocated expanded economic cooperation. His arrest, followed by denunciation in the Party newspaper, a show trial, and execution in December 2013, significantly worsened the bilateral climate. It took more or less until 2018 for the relationship between North Korea and China to warm up again. Possibly as a reflection of the domestic political ramifications of Jang’s downfall, Party officials were asked to “wage a vigorous struggle to stamp out any sort of alien ideology and decadent lifestyle which may undermine our system.” Among the most notable features of the 2014 speech was the repeated mentioning of the country’s nuclear program. The first nuclear test under Kim Jong Un had taken place in February 2013 and had led to tightened UN and US sanctions. Combined with the fractious bilateral 58

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relationship with China, this presented a major obstacle to Kim’s goal of economic development. The great level of detail with which Kim Jong Un described domestic economic and construction projects in his New Year address shows that he intended to replace external economic input with a strengthened Keynesian focus on domestic demand and the domestic market. He was also obviously aware of the effects of international sanctions, as for the first time in his New Year addresses he stressed the need to save energy.

2015: a year of anniversaries The year 2015 was the occasion of two major anniversaries: the liberation of the country and the foundation of the post-liberation antecedent to the ruling Korean Workers’ Party, both in 1945. In his New Year Address (KCNA 2015a), Kim Jong Un stressed the “motherly” nature of the Party and called for officials to “eliminate abuses of power and bureaucratism,” and to make sure that the people trust the Party “as they would do their mothers.” In hindsight, it turned out that this was a prelude to the Seventh Party Congress – the first since 1980 – that would take place one year later. In economic policy, the leader announced that “definite precedence” would be given to modern science and technology, referring to the effect of sanctions and the need to rely even more on domestic resources and know-how. The ideal economy was described as “selfsupporting,” which has been a standard approach in the context of North Korea’s juche policies. Despite references to economic difficulties such as “shortage of electricity” and “adverse natural conditions,” the focus of Kim’s demands was less on the fulfillment of basic needs in agriculture and light industry, and more on a qualitative improvement of the people’s diet and of the availability of consumer goods. This suggested awareness of the need to focus on consumer-oriented economic growth, as well as an understanding that political legitimacy based on economic performance requires constant and tangible progress. A number of appeals directed toward achieving modernization and overcoming deficiencies in past practices were included in the speech, along with a call for the elimination of “defeatism, self-preservation and expediency.” At the same time, there were also familiar signs of old-style management practices through mass mobilization, including the new term “Korea speed.” Three years after having assumed top leadership, Kim Jong Un thus presented a hybrid image of a modernizer and a traditionalist. It should be noted, however, that a new policy was announced in May 2014 to expand the “socialist enterprise responsibility and management system,” which assigns more responsibility to individual economic units and thus effectively means a decentralization of economic management in North Korea. Between the lines of his speech, Kim Jong Un alluded to this new approach but was again careful to avoid the impression of a radical reform or the introduction of a Chinese-type socialist market economy.

2016: gearing up for the Party Congress When Kim Jong Un gave his 2016 New Year address, it had already been announced that the Seventh Party Congress would take place later that year (KCNA 2015b). This event will be discussed in more detail below; however, it is important to note that it marked the end point of a process that had started with the convening of the Third Party Conference in September 2010, the first such conference to be held in 44 years, at which Kim Jong Un was introduced to the public and received his first official titles and positions. The Korean Workers’ Party, which had been in a somewhat abnormal state of reduced visibility since the early 1990s, had by 2016 been restored, step by step, to its traditional unchallenged position as the ruling party in North Korea. 59

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The 2016 New Year address was heavily influenced by the upcoming Party Congress and thus assigned a particularly important role to the Party in all walks of life (KCNA 2016). It is nevertheless noteworthy that Kim Jong Un found it necessary to leave no doubt about the supreme authority of the Party over the military: “the People’s Army should further develop itself into a revolutionary army of the Party in which the Party’s unified command system is thoroughly established.” This stands in contrast to the words of Kim Jong il, who in 2003 explained his military-first policy as “putting the Army before the working class” (KCNA 2003). Also notable in comparison to previous speeches was the repeated focus on the role of youth. While the association with revolutionary ideals and young age per se is not unusual for socialist systems, the stress Kim Jong Un laid on the younger generation could be interpreted as a worrying sign of ideological corruption. In terms of economic policy, we note a continuation of the hybrid approach of combining established methods of central control and mass mobilization with new, decentralized and market-based approaches. As before, the improvement of quality was at the center of the leader’s appeals. Of the economic sectors, it was the construction sector which received particular recognition as “yardstick and visual evidence for the strength of a country and the quality of its civilization.” In response to international sanctions, “self-development” was again prioritized, this time not only in the sense of the widely applied strategy of import substitution, but also with the warning that worship of big countries and dependence on foreign forces is the road to national ruin; self-development alone is the road to sustaining the dignity of our country and our nation and to paving a broad avenue for the revolution and construction. Accordingly, neither foreign trade nor Special Economic Zones were mentioned in the speech, despite the fact that 24 of the 28 such zones established as of 2019 had been created under Kim Jong Un (Clément 2018). This suggests that Kim’s focus on the domestic economy was largely driven by geo-economic circumstances.

2017: unusual humility The most striking feature of the 2017 New Year address (RS 2017) was the dramatic and emotional personal appeal at the end. Kim Jong Un for the first time used the personal pronoun “I” to address his viewers directly, and went as far as talking about his “anxiety about what I should do” and how “I spent the past year feeling anxious and remorseful for the lack of my ability.” This kind of exaggerated humility is not unusual in Korean or East Asian politics, but it is very rare for a North Korean leader to ask for his people’s sympathy and support in such a way. Unlike in previous such speeches, when he ended with a list of demands, in his 2017 New Year address Kim turned to himself and emotionally promised: “On this first morning of the new year I swear to become a true servant loyal to our people who faithfully supports them with a pure conscience.” Note that he spoke of “becoming” such a person, not “being” it. It is problematic to establish a causal relationship between events without further proof, but it should nevertheless be noted that the defection in August 2016 to South Korea of Thae Yong Ho, deputy head of the mission in North Korea’s London embassy, sent shockwaves through the Pyongyang establishment. With regard to the economy, Kim proudly reported on the successes of two subsequent workharder campaigns of 2016, which lasted for 70 days and 200 days, respectively. Since then, no similar campaigns have taken place, which indicates that they were indeed directly connected to 60

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the Seventh Party Congress and did not constitute a return to the economic development strategy of the 1950s. An interesting detail against the backdrop of tightening international sanctions on crude oil imports was Kim’s mentioning of the so-called “C1 chemical industry,” which describes processes for fuels and chemicals from resources other than crude oil. Kim also continued his efforts to establish something like “normality” after the post-Cold War collapse of its socialist planning mechanisms. For the first time since the termination of the Third Seven-Year Plan in the early 1990s, another long-term development plan, called the Five-Year Strategy for National Economic Development was announced in May 2016. While not much detail was provided, Kim mentioned this Plan in his New Year speech and declared that it was built around traditional concepts such as self-reliance and self-development.

2018: the silence before the diplomatic storm The most widely quoted formulation of Kim Jong Un’s 2018 New Year’s address (RS 2018a) was his statement that the mainland of the United States was now within range of his ballistic missiles with thermo-nuclear warheads and that he always has “the nuclear launch button” on his office desk. US President Donald Trump famously felt compelled to respond to this phrase later by declaring that “I too have a Nuclear Button, but it is a much bigger & more powerful one than his, and my Button works!” (Trump 2018). The North Korean leader acknowledged the effects of tightened UN sanctions against his country following an escalation of words, nuclear and missile tests, and military maneuvers in 2017. He spoke about the “harshest-ever challenges” and “difficult living conditions caused by lifethreatening sanctions and containment.” The economy seems to have suffered greatly from restrictions that now openly targeted all of the country’s economic activities comprehensively rather than focusing only on those related to its nuclear weapons and missile development programs. China’s greater involvement in this effort has been particularly painful for Pyongyang. As will be shown below, North Korea has exported less, and has thus earned less foreign currency than ever before. Banned export items included such key products as coal, seafood and textiles. North Korea has also imported less, in particular crude oil, a crucial resource that is not available domestically. Kim’s counter-strategy included a renewed emphasis on self-reliance, but also the continuation of a cautious shift to decentralization in economic management. Notably, among the specific economic projects he highlighted in his speech was a huge new recreational area on the East coast, which would only make sense economically if significant numbers of foreign tourists could be expected. As it later turned out, North Korea in 2018 reached out not only to the United States, but also to China and South Korea, the two countries that would have the capacity to provide significantly large numbers of paying visitors.

2019: all for the economy The 2019 New Year address (RS 2019) came after an eventful year. Between taking power in December 2011 and March 2018, Kim Jong Un had not made a single official trip abroad and had not held a single summit meeting. In 2018, however, within only six months, he met the leaders of China and of South Korea three times each, and the leader of the US once. The Singapore summit in June 2018 was the first-ever encounter between a North Korean leader and a serving president of the United States. The process had been promoted by South Korea’s President Moon Jae-in in response to an overture that had been made by Kim in his 2018 New Year speech, where he stated, “we are willing to dispatch our delegation [to the Olympics] and adopt other necessary measures” (RS 2018a). 61

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Notably, the first of the series of top-level talks Kim Jong Un held in 2018 was with China’s Xi Jinping. This revived relationship with Pyongyang’s big neighbor, which had cooled down consistently with each of North Korea’s nuclear and missile tests, includes a political and an economic dimension. Strategically, China has a long-established strategic interest in securing its eastern flank and in pushing the United States, China’s major global adversary, as far away from its borders as possible, while economically China is by far North Korea’s most important trading partner. Close coordination between the two governments based on these interests is thus not surprising. Kim Jong Un’s growing confidence based on having been able to hold seven summits in 2018, and on having been reassured of robust political and economic support by China, was reflected in various aspects of the 2019 New Year speech. He interpreted the summit meetings as a major boost to his country’s international prestige and noted that they had taken place in the year of the 70th anniversary of the DPRK’s foundation. Meanwhile, the most important ideological decision in North Korea of 2018 was also mentioned prominently in Kim’s speech, namely, the declaration of a “new strategic line of concentrating all efforts on economic construction.” This effectively ended the line of pursuing the byungjin parallel development of nuclear weapons and the economy, which in 2013 had replaced the military-first songun policy. The main way to implement this exclusive focus on the economy was, however, to be relatively conventional – at least if one judges by the language of the New Year speech. Terms such as “independent economy,” “our own forces and resources” or “self-reliance” were repeated multiple times. And even though the “voluntary enthusiasm and creative abilities of the working people” were favorably mentioned, the state’s claim to responsibility and control was expressed in formulations like “unified guidance” and appeals to achieve the targets set by the five-year development strategy. Nevertheless, between the lines one could sense a certain trend toward a further decentralization of economic decision-making. Examples include a call to “provinces, cities and counties” to “develop and utilize … various energy sources available in their local areas,” or the demand to “respect the opinions and interests of farmers, masters of farming.” The “socialist principle of distribution,” which was also mentioned by Kim Jong Un, refers to paying everybody according to his actual contributions – which is in principle not that much different from distribution in a market economy, but far away from the Communist principle of distribution according to one’s needs. Elsewhere in foreign and inter-Korean matters, in the typical North Korean fashion of interpreting facts from their own perspective, with the resumption of substantive inter-Korean talks, Kim did not ask for much-needed economic cooperation with South Korea; instead, he generously offered to accept what was on offer. He declared that his side was “willing to resume the Kaesŏng Industrial Park and Mt. Kŭmgang tourism without any precondition and in return for nothing, in consideration of the hard conditions of businesspersons of the south side … and the desire of southern compatriots.” Also among his remarks was what could be interpreted as a threat aimed at the United States to terminate all attempts at reaching a normalization of the bilateral relationship and talks on denuclearization, and to lean on China instead: “We may be compelled to find a new way for defending the sovereignty of the country and the supreme interests of the state and for achieving peace and stability of the Korean peninsula.” This would only be realistic if Beijing was willing to stop abiding by the sanctions at some point and thus openly challenge the US, but it is possible that strategists in Pyongyang are expecting just that – a Cold War 2.0 that would enable them to return to pre-1990s’ patterns of behavior.

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Summing up the New Year addresses The New Year addresses since Kim Jong-un took power in 2011 offer insights into the shortand long-term political priorities, and point to important ideological and economic developments. We note the new leadership style Kim has adopted by being much more publicly present than his father, his efforts to merge his two predecessors into one entity to secure his legitimacy on the ideological side, and the promise to make the lives of his citizens markedly better in economic terms. The normalization of the function of the Korean Workers Party as the main instrument of the state’s power is noteworthy and, although it would officially never be treated as such, marks a de facto deviation from his father’s policy. Over the years, Kim has gone from focusing on securing his power to actively shaping the domestic and foreign policy agenda of the country. This includes a continuation of North Korea’s nuclear weapons program, but also the end of the military-first policy and the setting of an explicit and exclusive priority on the economy. No reforms aimed at a qualitative change of the existing system have been started under Kim Jong-un, but nor has he undone the marketization that had taken place since the mid-1990s’ famine. He has initiated a number of significant quantitative changes, including the enlargement of the private plots of farmers, a reduction in the size of farm teams, and a new management system for enterprises that is reminiscent of China’s and Vietnam’s “dual plan.” We further note the parallel existence of old-fashioned, conservative socialist rhetoric and new ideas, supplemented by at times harsh and open criticism of Party officials, and a surprisingly frank acknowledgment of weaknesses and imperfections in his society. Kim has shown growing self-confidence over the years, in the light of the improvement of nuclear weapons capacities, the declaration of North Korea as a nuclear power, and what seems to be an increased willingness by China to provide strategic backup especially since the beginning of the Trump presidency.

The regime’s economic self-perception: parliamentary sessions and budget reports In order to supplement the insights derived from the analysis of Kim Jong-un’s New Year addresses, it is useful to examine another regular event in North Korea. The annual session of the Supreme People’s Assembly (SPA), North Korea’s parliament, features speeches by top representatives of the state such as the Prime Minister and the Minister of Finance on the national economy and on the state budget. In particular, the latter represents a rare occasion when quantitative information on the economy is provided on a regular basis.1

Key developments in economic policies As in Kim’s New Year speeches, the “improvement of the people’s standard of living” featured prominently in all SPA sessions. The details, however, have varied and ranged from a focus on agriculture and light industry to the promotion of education, the overcoming of what the Prime Minister in 2017 called an “acute shortage of electricity” (Pak 2017), and the provision of a more diversified diet. In strategic terms, we find a wide range of issues including an emphasis on foreign trade, joint ventures, economic development, and trade zones. The declining growth rates of revenue from the latter (from around 5 percent to only 1.4 percent in 2017) are a rare quasi-official quantitative indicator of the impact of sanctions, which have tightened substantially since Kim Jong 63

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Un came to power. The so-called C1 chemical industry – an attempt to substitute imported crude oil by other, domestically available resources – has also been a key item since 2016. The 2017 SPA session for the first time included a report by the Prime Minister on the achievements of the five-year development plan (ibid.), which was announced by Kim Jong Un during the Seventh Party Congress in May 2016. Tourism was directly and indirectly highlighted as a strategic area in 2018, most likely in reaction to a substantially improved bilateral relationship with China (Pak 2018). Results were forthcoming quickly, even though numbers from different sources do not always match and seem to combine daily visitors to Sinŭiju via Dandong and those who go on a week-long tour. In May 2019, South Korean media reported that the number of Chinese tourists to North Korea, which totaled 237,000 in 2012, reached a remarkable 1.2 million in 2018 (Yun 2019), although in the absence of reliable data, the accuracy of this figure is doubted by many analysts. While tourism as a source of state income appeared to grow in 2018, the expected share of budget revenue coming from “local areas,” i.e., the provinces and localities, decreased for the first time after growing robustly from 16.1 percent in 2011 to 26.7 percent in 2017 (Ki 2017). Such numbers imply that the part of the economy that is not centrally controlled was not as dynamic as it used to be. Whether that was a result of sanctions or policy reversal, a trend with a high potential for systemic change had come to a halt. As a consequence, in 2019, a key ideological term to re-emerge in the SPA reports was charyŏk kaengsaeng (자력갱생), or “selfreliance” (Kim 2019). Another noteworthy element of economy-related SPA speeches and state budget reports under Kim Jong un has been the elevation of sports to a strategic field, with massive investment in related facilities and programs. In not previously assigning a very high priority to sports, North Korea had for decades been somewhat of an anomaly among state socialist countries such as East Germany or the Soviet Union, who had intensively tried to exploit the soft power and international recognition that comes with successful participation in international sports events. Perhaps related to this, references to “youth” featured prominently in SPA speeches, indicating a targeted effort by the North Korean government to secure the loyalty of a generation that has grown up with South Korean soap operas, Chinese joint ventures, the continuous presence of markets and consumerism and a growing and visible gap between the new middle class and the rest of the population.

Growth of the state budget as a proxy for GDP growth The North Korean economy is de facto state-owned. This is even true for agriculture, despite the fact that collectivization did not eliminate all private ownership per se but rather forced farmers to “voluntarily” pool their plots and till them collectively. The growing quasi-private economy, including a vibrant trade in food and other consumer goods in over 400 markets (Cha and Collins 2018), expanding logistics, and a gray market for housing rights, is also closely connected to the state through the supply chain. Not least, we must consider that any large-scale so-called “private” economic activities such as wholesale trade, imports and exports, and construction are usually conducted by state actors in the frame of the new management system for enterprises. The state budget neither includes the quasi-private part, nor the so-called “second economy” – the part of the economy that is operated by the military (Minnich 2008, p. 270). Even if we knew its nominal size, in absolute terms the state budget would thus not provide a very accurate guide to the actual size of the North Korean economy. However, given the close interrelatedness of the various sectors as discussed above, it is fair to assume that the state budget is a good proxy for changes in the performance of the North Korean economy: if the state budget grows, so does the economy – and vice versa. 64

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The main macroeconomic indicators provided in the budget reports on the previous fiscal year are the items of revenue and expenditure. The latter is less useful for the purpose of estimating economic growth, although it does show whether the state engages in deliberate deficit spending, or whether it wants to create the impression of a balanced budget. The key term, however, is revenue. While no absolute numbers are provided, a relative change is reported annually. A typical statement from the budget report would therefore read: “the plan of state budgetary revenue for last year was successfully fulfilled at 101.4 per cent, 4.6 per cent increase over the previous year” (Ki 2019). If we treat this value as a proxy for GDP growth, we can draw a curve of annual growth rates as follows. Figure 4.1 hints at a few potentially interesting developments. First of all, it is not a linear curve. This weakens the possible argument that this data is merely North Korean propaganda. While the latter cannot be excluded, one would in that case expect more constant rates of growth, as in the 2008–2012 period. However, the curve shows a few relatively sharp declines, in particular 2005–2006 and 2012–2013. Moreover, we note comparatively modest growth rates (6 percent and less) since the Kim Jong un era. This could be interpreted as a sign of economic decline – or of more economic realism under the new leader. Finally, the declining growth rates since 2016 suggest that there is at least a correlation, if not a causal relationship, between the hardened economic sanctions especially since 2017 and North Korea’s economic growth. It should be noted that these growth rates based on the SPA reports stand in sharp contrast to the more pessimistic estimates of North Korea’s GDP growth rates published by South Korea’s Bank of Korea. A problem with such data is that there are few ways to verify them. In any economy, GDP data are typically compiled based on information that only the state has access to: tax records, balance sheets of state-owned enterprises, customs reports, etc. With the exception of the latter, none of these are available in the case of North Korea. Concerning customs records, these are accessible via so-called reverse statistics. In other words, North Korea’s trading partners do report on their imports and exports with that country. However, more than 95 percent of North Korea’s trade in 2018 was with China (KOTRA 2019, p. 44), a country with a strong strategic interest in the peninsula, and serious doubts therefore exist as to the accuracy of trade figures reported by the Chinese. This casts a certain doubt over Bank of Korea estimates on North Korea’s economic growth, because these seem to be strongly correlated to the said numbers, and especially exports, as Figure 4.2 shows. ϭϴ ϭϲ ϭϰ ϭϮ ϭϬ ϴ ϲ ϰ Ϯ Ϭ ϮϬϬϱ ϮϬϬϲ ϮϬϬϳ ϮϬϬϴ ϮϬϬϵ ϮϬϭϬ ϮϬϭϭ ϮϬϭϮ ϮϬϭϯ ϮϬϭϰ ϮϬϭϱ ϮϬϭϲ ϮϬϭϳ ϮϬϭϴ

Figure 4.1 Annual growth rates of State Budgetary Revenue, 2005–2018 (%).

source: Rodong Sinmun and KCNA, compiled by author. 65

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Figure 4.2 North Korean exports, 2005–2018 (in million US$). Source: KOTRA.

Neither the state budget reports, nor any other available official documents tell us to what degree North Korea’s GDP is dependent on inputs and revenue from foreign trade. While the official narrative of an independent and self-sufficient economy is more of an ideal rather than a proper description of reality, North Korea is indeed less dependent on foreign trade than, for example, Iran with crude oil as a major export commodity. In a rare semi-official statement in October 2018, a North Korean economist declared in an interview with Japanese media that his country’s GDP had increased from US$29.6 billion in 2016 to US$30.7 billion in 2017, which would amount to a growth rate of 3.7 percent (Talmadge 2018). While such statements need to be taken with a pinch of salt, these rates correspond more closely with the GDP growth rates based on the state budget data and stand in sharp contrast to the Bank of Korea estimates. Figure 4.1 shows, however, that growth rates and expectations have been relatively modest under Kim Jong un if compared to the upbeat mode during the reform period 2002–2005, when they reached double-digit figures, and also the rates reported during the final years of Kim Jong il. It remains to be seen how long the “new modesty” will last, considering that Kim Jong un reiterated his promise to focus on the economy and improve people’s lives especially since 2018, which should at some point be reflected in actual and official growth rates. The data further imply that since 2008 the North Korean state has planned to spend more than it earned. However, the gap between the planned growth rates of revenue and of expenditure continued to narrow and reached 1.6 percent in 2019 (2018: 2.1 percent). This can be interpreted as a sign of increasing fiscal discipline. In general, higher growth rates for expenditure over revenue are not a sign of deliberate deficit spending since the figures for actual, or “achieved” revenue are usually higher than planned. This is a sign of a typical socialist “overfulfillment of the plan”,,but also leads to a more balanced budget and occasionally even a small surplus, at least according to the official figures. To further illustrate the point on fiscal soundness, Figure 4.3 shows that the cumulative value for achieved revenue has constantly been above 66

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Figure 4.3 Cumulative growth rates of North Korea’s state budget, 2004–2019. Source: Rodong Sinmun and KCNA, compiled by author. Note: Base year: 2004 = 100.

cumulative expenditure growth throughout Kim Jong un’s tenure. Since 2013, however, the curve for cumulative expenditure has been above the planned revenue curve. This indicates the built-in expectation that the plan will be over-fulfilled, which either implies the setting of deliberately low goals, or a risky bet on the future. To summarize what the annual economic and budget reports during regular SPA sessions tell us about North Korea’s political economy under Kim Jong un, we find that key aspects of Kim’s speeches such as the improvement of the people’s living standards or strategic goals and developments are often covered in more detail in the SPA reports. The latter also provide quantitative information on macroeconomic affairs and on the inner workings of the civilian part of the state-controlled sectors of the North Korean economy. In lieu of regular official GDP statistics, using the various growth rates of the state budget yields interesting results. Notably, it shows a more optimistic picture than data produced by South Korean analysts. Numerous open questions and doubts remain as to the reliability and relevance of foreign trade figures but even so, thanks in part to their regular nature, the New Year speeches and the SPA reports significantly improve our understanding of the North Korean economy and lay a foundation for the consideration of other ad hoc events and publications. One such document will be discussed below.

A deep dive into North Korean society: Kim Jong un’s report to the Seventh Party Congress 2016: the first Party Congress after a break of 36 years In state socialist systems with a power monopoly held by a Communist Party, regular Party Congresses are standard procedure (Kornai 1992). Such events would typically take place every five years. North Korea had not been following that rule very strictly, but nevertheless held six Party Congresses during 1946– 1980 before entering a hiatus of 36 years. It is useful to consider 67

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that in 1980, Deng Xiaoping’s reforms in China were in their early infancy, Mikhail Gorbachev was five years and three predecessors away from becoming the Soviet leader, South Korea was a military-backed authoritarian state that had just bloodily suppressed the Kwangju Uprising, the socialist camp still appeared to be rock solid and Germany was ten years away from unification. In North Korea, Kim Il Sung was to be the leader for another 14 years, Kim Jong Il had only just been semi-officially designated as his successor, there had been no Arduous March famine, no nuclear weapons program, no missile program, no monetization, no marketization, no interKorean summit, no special economic zones, not even a joint venture law. Kim Jong un was not even born. The absence of a Party Congress despite the seismic changes that were occurring in and around North Korea was a significant anomaly, with a number of very practical consequences including the fact that leading organs of the Party including the Politburo could not be elected and thus simply ceased to exist as members passed away one after the other. The announcement of the Seventh KWP Congress in October 2015 thus led to great expectations (Frank 2015). Not all of these were met when the Congress was held in May 2016, but it can nevertheless be seen as a milestone for the ideological dimension of North Korea’s economic development. Kim Jong un’s report of May 8, 2016, in the original Korean version (Kim 2016) had about 14,000 words, which in English would amount to over 30,000 words – that is three times the length of a standard academic article or book chapter.2 A detailed analysis of the five chapters of his speech can be found in Frank (2016). In this section, only the main points with regard to the topics of political economy and ideology will be discussed.

Cilateral relations with China: friendship or marriage of convenience? China is often portrayed as North Korea’s only ally and the main reason why sanctions have not been effective. In particular, the fact that the vast majority of North Korea’s foreign trade is with China forms the foundation for the argument that Beijing could force Pyongyang to act in accordance with its own policy preferences, if it so desired. Against this background, Kim Jong un’s brief but harsh verbal attack on his neighbor is noteworthy: “Despite the filthy wind of bourgeois liberty and ‘reform’ and ‘openness’ blowing in our neighborhood, we let the spirit of military-first rifles fly and advanced according to the path of socialism that we had chosen.” It is not to be expected that this position has changed significantly after 2016, so that the evidence cited for an alleged thaw in bilateral relations since 2018 should be treated with caution.

Domestic struggle against disloyalty, corruption, decadence and abuse of authority Kim Jong Un did not confine his criticisms to China, however. Especially in the fifth and final chapter of his speech, he elaborately and in harsh terms directed trenchant criticism at domestic ills, where terms denoting abuse of authority, bureaucratism, corruption and decadence (e.g., 세 도와 관료주의, 부정부패) appear no fewer than 11 times in the speech. It is worth quoting Kim at some length to get an impression of the tone and scope of the criticism: In particular the deficiencies among party officials must be eliminated completely. Party discipline is to be strictly applied against those who commit these acts … Party organizations should abandon bureaucratic methods and styles, they should stop replac­ ing actual Party work by meetings and documents, and change their course to work on the spot and with the hearts of the people … We must eliminate the working style 68

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of a fire brigade and … anticipate and prepare for future issues early on. The officials should give up the working style in which the initial enthusiasm abates after five minutes, and rather continue all tasks persistently until the end At one point Kim Jong Un even hinted at open disloyalty against the leaders: We should not remain silent even against the slightest elements that challenge the authority of Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il or of the Party … and should stifle the attacks and slander of all kinds of class enemies against the Party and the leader. There seemed to be serious concerns in this regard, considering the heightened security around statues of Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il where security cameras had been installed.

Neo-orthodox economic policy under Kim Jong un? A discouraging passage for those who expected an expansion of market reforms was Kim’s mentioning of the new buzzwords “Mallima Speed” (만리마 = 10,000 Ri horse), which is an upgrade of the 1958 term “Ch’ŏllima” (천리마 = 1,000 Ri horse), a typical Stakhanovite movement.3 The leader explicitly encouraged his people to accomplish “the tasks of ten years within only one year.” This marks a return to pre-reform economic policies when decentralized, individual material incentives were almost completely disregarded.4 In combination with the Seventy Day Battle production campaign right before the Congress, and the Two Hundred Day Battle campaign that was announced a few days afterwards,5 we encounter what looks like a deeply neo-orthodox approach. Previous examples of the application of the so-called “mass line” were “Pyongyang Speed,” “Korean Speed” or “At One Go.” It should be noted, however, that Kim also repeatedly supported the idea of balanced development (균형적 발전) in the national economy. The internal debate in North Korea has been going back and forth on this issue, so this might not be the final word on the topic.6 Nevertheless, it is noteworthy that no sector – not even heavy industry – was singled out to serve as the panacea for a chronically struggling economy.

A focus on science and technology Kim’s claim that the DPRK is becoming a world leader in science and technology belongs in the realm of propaganda. Nevertheless, the North Korean state has made a number of related investments. Among the most widely known are the new science center on an island in the Taedong River, and a new and modern residential area in Pyongyang that has been built for and named after “future scientists.” In his speech, Kim Jong un explicitly stressed that “the state budget share of expenses for science and technology has to be expanded systematically.” As core technologies or, to remain with the militaristic language of the report, “main assault targets” for future R&D efforts, Kim identified IT, nanotech, biotech, new materials, alternative energy, space technology and nuclear technology. The pragmatic implications of these moves are in turn reflected in the leader’s demand that science and technology should “open the way to economic development.” The production of energy is highlighted as the most crucial part in this regard. To achieve this and other ambitious goals, Kim announced that the number of researchers would be “more than tripled” in the years after the Congress. To nurture the needed talents, local science and technology centers are to be built around the country and connected by the intranet to the new central science center in Pyongyang. 69

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In addition, Kim Jong un’s demand that “research institutions and universities should produce high tech products and thus acquire financial resources for research and development” is noteworthy. It implies that the state is either unable or unwilling to fully finance R&D and requires related institutions to generate their own funds. This could easily lead to competition among high-tech startups, which is rather unusual in classical socialist economies, where monopolies prevail in the name of economies of scale. The existence of different brands of mobile phones and tablet computers (Arirang, Samjiyon, Pyongyang, Ullim) produced by different North Korean enterprises point in that direction.

Planned economic development: initiative, creativity and reduction of foreign trade dependency After the sober statement that “our country is politically and militarily strong, but the economy has not yet reached the desired level,” Kim Jong Un announced a five-year plan for economic development from 2016–2020. This marked another highlight of his speech. Such economic plan periods were an essential characteristic of North Korea as a socialist country until the early 1990s.7 For about a quarter of a century, except for the vague hint at some long-term ten-year state strategic plan for economic development in early 2011 (KCNA 2011), no regular plan had been made public. North Korea was thus for many years not only a socialist country without a politburo, but also a centrally planned and state-owned economy without a plan. The level of detail provided on the plan was low. However, it included what could be interpreted as a hint at a strategy that is similar to what the Chinese and Vietnamese decades ago called the “dual plan” – allowing enterprises to engage in individual production as soon as they had fulfilled a state-set quota. Kim demanded that “local areas should carefully plan activities for independent accounting and develop their local economy in a unique way.” Later in his speech, the leader again called for enough leeway to be given to single production units in order to strengthen managerial control (경영권) and to show initiative and creativity (주동, 창발) to normalize their production. In a rare case of openly admitting the state’s unease with trade dependency on China, Kim noted the need to improve “the one-sidedness of our foreign trade.” Despite sanctions, he placed high hopes on international economic exchange: “Export of finished products and trade in technologies and services should be expanded, joint ventures … are to be organized so that they contribute to the introduction of advanced technologies.” Tourism was identified as one of the strategic fields in foreign economic relations without providing further details.

Conclusion: from “military-first” to “all for economic development” When Kim Jong un came to power, North Korea was still officially in the middle of the military-first era. This economic priority on the military, and the concurrent reduction of the management role of the Party, were Kim Jong il’s answer to the difficult years after the collapse of the Soviet Union. Around 1990, North Korea had not only lost the Soviet nuclear umbrella, but also international political support and preferential access to imports of crude oil, technology and a wide range of producer goods. North Korea barely survived that shock, which found its most marked expression in the mid-1990s’ famine. The regime reacted by stepping up its efforts at replacing the lost Soviet nuclear umbrella with its own nuclear weapons program, and by accepting limited elements of a market economy. This strategy worked, but it came at a price. Especially in the new global atmosphere after 9/11, the WMD program led to harsh economic sanctions which prevent North Korea from following 70

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the East Asian model of development that has been so successfully applied by Japan, Taiwan, South Korea and China. As discussed above, economic policies that aim at coping with import and export restrictions, as well as modest economic growth rates in a country that should otherwise be booming, provide evidence of this situation. Economic freedom, albeit only limited, has been welcomed by a growing part of North Korea’s society to a degree that we can now speak of a new middle class in a hitherto uniquely economically egalitarian society. The resulting ideological contradictions are reflected in the leader’s speeches. Kim Jong un, after less than two years in power, announced the end of the sole priority on military affairs in 2013 and replaced it with the line of parallel development of the economy and of nuclear weapons, known as byungjin. This can be seen as a return to normality, because the explicit desire to develop the military and the economy simultaneously had been a mainstay of Korean political strategy since the late nineteenth century. In fact, byungjin is hardly new, but rather is strongly reminiscent of the late nineteenth-century Japanese modernization slogan fukoku kyōhei, meaning “rich country, strong military.” This concept was promoted by reformist parts of the Choson dynasty Korean elite (Sin 2007), and about a century later became a central motto of South Korea’s modernization under Park Chung-hee in the 1960s (Song 2015). From this perspective, “military-first” was an anomaly that Kim Jong un ended, even though North Korea arguably had a particularly strong focus on the military from its very foundation. However, only five years later in his report at the Third Plenary Meeting of the KWP in April 2018, Kim went a step further when he announced that “the historic tasks under the strategic line of simultaneously developing the two fronts … were successfully carried out.” He then declared that “it is the strategic line of the KWP to concentrate all efforts of the whole party and country on the socialist economic construction.” A resolution, “On Concentrating All Efforts on Socialist Economic Construction to Meet Requirements of New High Stage of Developing Revolution” was then adopted by the delegates (RS 2018b). The rationale behind this is noteworthy, as it highlights the connection between the nuclear and WMD program and economic development. The argument put forward by the North Korean side is simple: having attained a sufficiently strong and reliable nuclear deterrent, there is now no need to worry about national security, and thus all resources can be concentrated on the economy to improve the people’s well-being. Regardless of how sincere this attitude is, and whether it will be changed again, it is striking how fast North Korea’s development strategy under Kim Jong un has gone from “100% military” to “100% economy.” This has been the general direction of North Korea’s economic policy since 2011. Whether the latter will be the “new normal” is unclear, and in fact doubtful given a long-term historical view, which seems to support a 50/50 approach between the military and the economy. In addition, we need to be careful not to equal the official ideological line with actual policy. Both are closely related, but they are not congruent. Identifying the single most important economy-related policy change during the Kim Jong un era is a difficult task, but the more decentralized forms of management in agriculture and industry would certainly have to be seen in this context. As official economic reports and statistics have shown, under the new leader, there has been no “big bang” approach to reform in North Korea. Occasionally, even very orthodox approaches such as speed battles and autarky have been promoted. The Chinese example has never been fully endorsed, and occasionally it has been explicitly criticized. As discussed, economic statistics on North Korea are not reliable and offer a very different picture depending on the source, but still it is obvious that this industrialized country with a well-educated and disciplined workforce, abundant natural resources and close geographic proximity to economic powerhouses like China, South Korea and Japan is operating far below its potential. It will continue to do so unless a solution to the current 71

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sanctions regime can be found, and unless the decision-makers in Pyongyang become bolder in their reform efforts.

Notes 1 Occasionally, there is more than one such SPA meeting per year. The regular session with the budget reports usually takes place in March or April. 2 Western media analysis focused only on a much shorter 2,000-word summary that was published during the Congress by the North Korean state. When an English version of the full speech became available weeks later, interest in the West had long vanished, so that crucial contents of the speech went largely unnoticed. 3 The rationale is simple: in the absence of increased inputs of capital and technology, neither of which are sufficiently available to the government under current policy settings, the focus of attempts to increase productivity inevitably rests with the remaining factor, labor. Material incentives are underdeveloped in non-market systems, hence ideological motivation including the creation of symbols and slogans, or else the exemplification of model workers, work units or factories dominates. 4 Substantial systemic changes in North Korea’s economy started around the late 1990s and are often seen as a consequence of the mid-1990s’ famine. See also Frank (2005). 5 Using a deliberately militaristic language, people were asked to work faster and longer. 6 For a detailed analysis of such discussions, see Park (2016). 7 North Korea’s official economic plans comprise: One-Year-Plan 1947, One-Year-Plan 1948, TwoYear-Plan 1949–1950, Three-Year-Plan 1954–1956, Five-Year-Plan 1957–1961, Seven-Year-Plan 1961–1970 (extended), Six-Year-Plan 1971–1976, Seven-Year-Plan 1978–1984, Seven-Year-Plan 1987–1993; see Lee (1993).

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Political economy, ideology: Kim Jong Un KCNA. 2013. 김정은동지께서 2013년 새해를 맞으며 신년사를 하시였다 [Comrade Kim Jong un Gave a New Year Address to Welcome the New Year 2013]. Korean Central News Agency, January 1, 2013, available at: www.kcna.co.jp/calendar/2013/01/01-01/2013-0101-018.html (accessed 31 December 2013). KCNA. 2014. 경애하는 김정은동지의 신년사 [New Year Address by Respected Comrade Kim Jong un]. Korean Central News Agency, January 1, 2014, available at: www.kcna.kp/kcna.user.article. retrieveNewsViewInfoList.kcmsf (accessed January 1, 2014). KCNA. 2015a. 경애하는 김정은동지의 신년사 [New Year Address by Respected Comrade Kim Jong un]. Korean Central News Agency, January 1, 2015, available at: www.kcna.kp/kcna.user.special. getArticlePage.kcmsf (accessed October 23, 2015). KCNA. 2015b. 조선로동당 중앙위원회 정치국 당 제7차대회를 소집할것을 결정 [Decision of the Politburo of the Central Committee of the Korean Workers’ Party on Holding the 7th Party Congress]. Korean Central News Agency, October 30, 2015, available at: www.kcna.kp/kcna.user.article. retrieveNewsViewInfoList.kcmsf (accessed November 1, 2015). KCNA. 2016. 경애하는 김정은동지의 신년사[New Year Address by Respected Comrade Kim Jong un]. Korean Central News Agency, January 1, 2016, available at: www.kcna.kp/kcna.user.special. getArticlePage.kcmsf (accessed September 12, 2016). Ki, K. H. 2017. 조선민주주의인민공화국 주체１０５(２０１６)년 국가예산집행의 결산과 주체 １０６(２０１７)년 국가예산에 대하여 [On the Fulfillment of the State Budget of the DPRK for Chuch’e 105 (2016) and on the State Budget for Chuch’e 106 (2017)]. Report at the SPA session. Rodong Sinmun, April 12, 2018, available at: www.rodong.rep.kp/ko/index.php?strPageID=SF01_02_ 01&newsID=2017-04-12-0006 Ki, K. H. 2019. 조선민주주의인민공화국 주체107 (2018)년 국가예산집행의 결산과 주체108 (2019) 년 국가예산에 대하여 [On the Implementation of the DPRK State Budget for Chuch’e 107 (2018) and on the State Budget for Chuch’e 108 (2019)]. Rodong Sinmun, April 12, 2019, available at: www. rodong.rep.kp/ko/index.php?strPageID=SF01_02_01&newsID=2019-04-12-0011 Kim, C. R. 2019. 최고인민회의 제１４기 제１차회의에서 한 내각총리의 선서 [Testimony by the Prime Minister during the First Session of the 14th SPA]. Speech at the SPA Session. Rodong Sinmun, April 12, 2019, available at: www.rodong.rep.kp/ko/index.php?strPageID=SF01_02_01&newsID=20 19-04-12-0009 Kim, J. U. 2016. 조선로동당 제７차대회에서 한 당중앙위원회 사업총화보고 [Report on the Work of the KWP Central Committee]. Rodong Sinmun, May 8, 2019, available at: www.rodong.rep.kp/ko/ index.php?strPageID=SF01_02_01&newsID=2016-05-08-0001 Koh, J. S. 2014. Is North Korea Really Changing? Seoul: Korea Institute for National Unification. Kornai, J. 1992. The Socialist System: The Political Economy of Communism. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. KOTRA. 2019. 2018 북한 대외무역 동향 [Trends in North Korea’s Foreign Trade in 2018]. Seoul: Korea Trade and Investment Promotion Agency, available at: https://news.kotra.or.kr/common/ extra/kotranews/globalBbs/249/fileDownLoad/68187.do (accessed October 8, 2018). Lee, D. W. 1993. “Assessing North Korea’s Economic Reform: Historical Trajectory, Opportunities, and Constraints,” Pacific Focus, vol. VIII, no. 2, pp. 5–29. Minnich, J. 2008. “National Security,” in Robert L. Worden (Ed.), North Korea: A Country Study, Washington, DC: Library of Congress, pp. 235–305. Pak, H. C. 2013. 북한의 ‘새로운 경제관리체계’ (6⋅28방침)의 내용과 실행 실태 [Contents and Implementation of North Korea’s New Economic Management System (the 6.28 Policy)]. KDI Review of the North Korean Economy, October 2013. Seoul: Korea Development Institute, pp. 14–35. Pak, P. J. 2017. 국가경제발전 ５개년전략수행을 위한 내각의 주체 105 (2016)년 사업정형과 주체 106 (2017) 년 과업에 대하여 [On the Work of the Cabinet for Juche 105 (2016) and Its Tasks for Juche 106 (2017) for the Implementation of the Five-Year Strategy for the Development of the National Economy]. Report at the SPA session, Rodong Sinmun, April 12, 2017, available at: www.rodong.rep. kp/ko/index.php?strPageID=SF01_02_01&newsID=2017-04-12-0005 Pak, P. J. 2018. 국가경제발전 ５개년전략수행을 위한 내각의 주체106 (2017)년 사업정형과 주체 107 (2018)년 과업에 대하여 [On the Work of the Cabinet for Juche 106 (2017) and its tasks for Juche 107 (2018) for the Implementation of the Five-Year Strategy for the Development of the National Economy]. Report at the SPA session, Rodong Sinmun, April 12, 2018, available at: www.rodong.rep. kp/ko/index.php?strPageID=SF01_02_01&newsID=2018-04-12-0005 Park, P. 2016. Rebuilding North Korea’s Economy. Seoul: Kyungnam University.

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Rüdiger Frank RS. 2017. 신년사 [New Year address], Rodong Sinmun, January 1, 2017, available at: www.rodong.rep. kp/ko/index.php?strPageID=SF01_02_01&newsID=2017-01-01-0001 (accessed June 25, 2018). RS. 2018a. 신년사 [New Year address], Rodong Sinmun, January 1, 2018, available at: www.rodong.rep. kp/ko/index.php?strPageID=SF01_02_01&newsID=2018-01-01-0001 (accessed August 22, 2019). RS. 2018b. “3rd Plenary Meeting of 7th C.C., KWP Held in Presence of Kim Jong Un,” Rodong Sinmun, April 21, 2018, available at: www.rodong.rep.kp. RS. 2019. 신년사 [New Year address], Rodong Sinmun, January 1, 2019, available at: www.rodong.rep. kp. Sin, T. J. 2007.왕과 신하, 부국 강병을 논하다 [Korea’s King and His Vassals Discuss Rich CountryStrong Army]. P’aju: Sallim Ch’ulp’ansa. Smith, H. 2015. North Korea: Markets and Military Rule. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Song, C. Z. 2015: “The Use of Nationalist Ideology in the Economic Development of South Korea: Implications for the East Asian Development Model,” in S. Hua and R. Hu (Eds.), East Asian Develop­ ment Model: 21st Century Perspectives, New York: Routledge, pp. 21–43. Talmadge, E. 2018. “Economist: NKorea Eying Swiss, Singaporean-style Success,” AP News, October 29, 2018, available at: https://apnews.com/c874f3a400eb459daac89b9d46909810 (accessed August 23, 2019). Trump, D. J. 2018. Twitter post, January 2, 2018, 01:49 p.m., available at: https://twitter.com/realdonaldtrump/status/948355557022420992 (accessed August 23, 2019). Ward, P. 2018. “Markets under Kim Jong Un: Understanding the New Scope of DPRK Enterprise”, NK Pro, available at: www.nknews.org/pro/north-korean-markets-under-kim-jong-un-understandingthe-new-scope-of-dprk-enterprise/. Yun, H. C. 2019. 北관광 중국인 120만명, 1년새 50% 급증 [1.2 Million Chinese Tourists in North Korea, Rapid Increase of 50% over One Year], Chosŏn Ilbo, May 27, 2019, available at: http://news. chosun.com/site/data/html_dir/2019/05/27/2019052700242.html. (accessed August 23, 2019). Zickel, R. and Iwaskiw. W. 1994. Albania: A Country Study, Washington, DC : Federal Research Division, Library of Congress.

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Part II

The North Korean economy

5

The STrucTural

TraNSformaTioN of The

NorTh KoreaN ecoNomic

PlaNNiNg SySTem

Peter Ward Introduction Notwithstanding the subsistence of such core features of economic policy as high levels of autarky and state control, the North Korean economy has undergone major changes since the 1990s. Confronting the economic collapse and Arduous March famine of those years, the leadership allowed the spread of market commerce initiatives in foreign trade and light industry first undertaken in the mid-1980s, and also tacitly accepted an array of illegal practices related to physical survival through private economic activity. Over time, such practices have become embedded in the system, despite the continuing ideological hostility of Party and state, but time has also produced significant changes at the higher, structural levels of the economy, where many elements of these practices have become normalized and even legalized at the enterprise and state planning level. The substance of these changes has been the subversion of significant features of state control over the economy by market mechanisms. The roots of state control are profound. With the completion of both agricultural collectivi­ zation and the “socialist transformation of commerce” proclaimed in late 1958, the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK) took shape as probably the most de-monetized industrial economy in the world, with perhaps only Albania under Enver Hoxha begging comparison (Kaser and Schnytzer 1982; Zickel and Iwaskiw 1994, pp. 156–158). De-monetization, and by extension the attempt to de-commoditize not only industrial inputs but also almost all consumer goods and services, were thus a key feature of the Kim Il Sung era economy of North Korea, in which money, markets and market prices were all but completely replaced functionally by ration coupons, allocation orders, and administratively set prices (Hunter 1999; Park 2002). The consumer economy was managed through pervasive rationing with no role assigned to the market, while the economy was regulated through central planning mechanisms and administra­ tive orders, again with no role assigned to markets or private commercial activity (Lee 2002; Choi 2010). In practice, though, markets could not be entirely eliminated, and they continued to exist on the margins of North Korea’s economy. Farmers markets for some privately produced food and state-owned foreign currency shops were the retail exception for those who had access to them, while some hard currency foreign trade with capitalist countries was permitted for enterprises 77

Peter Ward

who were granted the requisite permits and who had tradable goods (Choi 1991), and these two marginal components of the North Korean economy under Kim Il Sung are where changes began to take place in the mid-1980s. Some enterprises and households were allowed to engage in sideactivities and the foreign trade sector also experienced some liberalization (Lee 1990; Yun 2018). This meant that elements of the service sector, including retail and some restaurants, switched from material output to cash profit as their key performance measure, and, very importantly, were allowed to set their own prices (Yun 2018).1 Such changes, i.e. market prices and profit-based performance evaluation, then spread to the foreign trade sector later in the 1980s, before appearing to spread across much of the rest of the domestic consumer economy and foreign trade, especially after the collapse of the Soviet bloc (Lee et al. 2013; Ward and Green 2020). This chapter consists of two sections. The first considers the material supply system in plan­ ning and economic administration, first in its general principles with respect to Soviet-type economies, and then specifically with respect to the North Korean economy under Kim Il Sung (r. 1945–1994). The roots of the system, how it was modified by Kim, and how it functioned in practice are examined, with the focus on excessive reliance on production by campaign, per­ vasive rationing, hyper-centralization and chronic aid dependency as the major features of eco­ nomic management in this era. The second section then discusses how, bginning in the mid-1980s, administrative orders, administratively-set prices, and material balance planning gradually were superseded in practice by “money plans” (profits) and market pricing.

Material balance planning and the North Korean economy under Kim Il Sung North Korea’s economic system was adapted from Soviet theory and practice, and its essential system of command, administratively-set prices, and allocation by material balance remained largely unchanged, although, as we shall see, it was in some respects a more extreme version of its avatar. Ellman (2014, p. 23) cites the following as salient features of Soviet-style economic planning: state ownership of the means of production; political dictatorship; a mono-hierarchical system; imperative planning; and a subordinate role for money, profit, prices and banks. State ownership of the vast majority of productive assets was seen as a prerequisite in Soviettype economies, given that large government bureaucracies allocate resources and set the targets for production on the basis of administrative fiat (Kornai 1992, p. 274). If the means of produc­ tion were not owned and controlled by the bureaucracy and state producers, then this would not be possible. The element of political dictatorship hardly needs further elaboration, except to note that while it is always unwise to seek to evaluate economic policies independently of their political settings, this is especially true when such a high degree of state control is vested in the person of the leader, whether he be Stalin or Kim. It is a necessary complement to a system in which all strands of meaningful power ultimately pass through the hands of the leader that sub­ ordinate units should report strictly to their superior unit and that lateral communication should be rigorously prohibited. Likewise, the execution of planning on an imperative basis was seen as essential, which meant that planning took the form of commands from higher tiers of the state to lower tiers down to supply agencies, shop floors, agricultural units of production, and so on. They could not simply be indicative, or otherwise just provide guidance to enterprise managers and economic officials on what production decisions they may decide to make (Rutland 1985, pp. 28–30), since under the Marxist-Leninist rubric of “rational scientific planning” the impera­ tive nature of the planning system appeared more important than the planning itself. At the same time, the overriding emphasis on physical units in planning and economic administration meant the subordinate role of money, banking, prices and profits. In the Soviet Union, China, and other Soviet-type economies, including North Korea, there were two 78

The North Korean economic planning system

distinct forms of money: cash and non-cash.2 The former was used to pay wages to households and for household consumption and took the form of banknotes and coins, while the latter existed solely on the accounting ledgers of the state banks and the books of state enterprises, collective farms, and other state entities. These two forms of money were not interchangeable, and only state banks were allowed to turn one into the other. This was called “control by won”, or in the Soviet case “control by ruble”, and it emphasized the primary role of state banks as mediators of all financial transactions between state entities such as state-owned enterprises and collective farms and between state entities and households (DeMaris 1963; Wilczynski 1978, pp. 30–1, 57; Go 2004, pp. 8–9). Banks did not make investment decisions, or financial resource allocation decisions as they do in capitalist countries. Prices were set administratively by state price-setting organs, rather than through interaction between firms and households in markets. Profits were an artifact of the price system, some industries were mandated to charge higher prices for their output and faced lower input prices, so they made higher profits than other industries. All this meant that prices often did not reflect that actual relative social costs of production (e.g. the use of expensive inputs over cheaper inputs), nor did they often reflect actual effective demand. In the words of Nove, they “reflect neither utility nor scarcity” (1987, p. 176; italics in the original). Nor did prices and profits play a significant in resource allocation, since resources were allocated through negotiations (plan bar­ gaining), rationing (administrative orders), and informal mechanisms (connections, black markets, etc.). Their chief use was for accounting purposes, to measure production, and to audit enterprises, farms, and other state entities (ibid., p. 175; Ellman 2014, p. 32). The economy that Kim Il Sung developed began to take shape under Soviet auspices following the liberation of Korea from Japanese colonial rule in August 1945 and was very much organized along the lines described above. Some 90 per cent of industrial production was nationalized by the end of 1946 (Jeon 1999, pp. 93–94), household production among the highly ruralized population declined dramatically as collectivization of agriculture was rapidly effected, while private com­ merce was also steadily eroded (ibid., pp. 98–100). The first countrywide annual economic plan was launched in 1947, with the country already a “people’s democracy” – in practical terms, a country under the dictatorship of a Marxist-Leninist Party presiding over an emergent Soviet-type economy under Soviet occupation (Lankov 2002, pp. 8–9).3 These trends accelerated after the Korean War as Kim Il Sung began a campaign to wipe out all forms of non-state-owned economic activity, namely independent market actors, and private farmers. Table 5.1 indicates that the private sector as a percentage of all economic production fell from 80.9 per cent in 1945 to 11 per cent in 1956, and by 1958 the private sector had all but Table 5.1 Gross social product (in cash terms) by sector and ownership type (%) Year

1945 1949 1953 1956 1959 1960

Total gross social product Industry

Commerce

Agriculture

State

Public

Private State

Public

Private State

Public

Private State

Public

Private

18.9 43.7 45.1 60.2 68.1 69.1

0.2 3.9 5.4 28.8 31.9 30.9

80.9 52.4 47.5 11.0 0 0

0 5.2 9.9 8.1 10.5 10.3

27.6 9.3 3.9 2.0 0 0

3.4 28.6 35.5 33.4 23.0 20.4

96.5 43.5 32.5 12.7 0.4 0.8

0 0 0 65.4 – 83.9

100.0 96.8 91.5 25.0 – 0

72.4 85.5 86.2 89.9 89.5 89.7

0.1 27.9 32.0 53.9 76.6 78.8

Source: Lim (2008, p. 35) based on Unification Board (1996, pp. 119–125).

79

0 3.2 8.5 9.6 – 16.1

Peter Ward

disappeared. Thus, North Korea went from being a mixed economy during 1945–1953 to being a fully state-owned, command economy by 1958. In addition to political leadership, the demands of post-war reconstruction were an important factor here. The Korean War (1950–1953) had devastated North Korea, leading to the whole­ sale destruction of most of its capital stock, industrial facilities, not to mention housing stock and transport infrastructure and agricultural infrastructure. Soviet-type economies, based on impera­ tive planning, political dictatorship and state ownership, are well suited to reconstruction, where the state uses its control over the means of production and capacity to allocate capital and labour in effective ways, as had been demonstrated in post-war Eastern Europe and, for a time, in the Soviet Union (Harrison 2002). Accordingly, the reconstruction of the country was undertaken according to Stalinist blueprints, with an overwhelming focus on heavy industry over consumer goods and services, and especially military production (Buzo 2018, pp. 46–49).4 The extent of this prioritization of investment in fixed capital assets over consumption may not have been a necessary consequence of Soviet-type planning, but it very much reflected the priorities of other states following the Marxist-Leninist model for rapid economic development, although the North Korean focus on industries capable of supporting military production was extreme.5 Having consolidated economic power in the hands of the state by 1958, Kim launched the Chollima Movement, a Stakhanovite labour mobilization movement that aimed to raise pro­ duction and productivity through long hours, faster, shockwave work tactics, and widespread promotion of ideological incentives (Lee 2000, pp. 27–29; Buzo 2018, pp. 43–44). This move­ ment became the prototype for many subsequent mobilization campaigns aimed at rapidly increasing the rate and volume of production, and in the Kim Il Sung era there were over two dozen such movements, actually increasing in frequency from the mid-1970s onward as Kim Jong Il began to play a more prominent role in Party ideology and economic mobilization.6 These movements aimed to quantitatively raise production, but as North Korean refugees who had previously worked in management have recollected, the immediate effect of such cam­ paigns was to change the way in which economic units operated, and this was the source of significant disruption at both the supply and shipment end (Yang 2002, pp. 202–203). Other refugees recollected that these campaigns also exhausted both workers and the machines that they operated (ibid., pp. 143–144). On the whole, then, these mass mobilizations rendered longer-term planning ineffectual as they led to highly improvised, uneconomic practices, and prevented effective inter-enterprise and inter-sectoral coordination (Lee 2000, pp. 28–29). Kimist practice also encompassed the management of economic units, and, in 1960, Kim enforced the Taean Work System, a system of collective Party committee management of enter­ prises similar to the system implemented in Maoist China in 1956 (Cha 1999, p. 233). Some scholars have singled out this change as further politicizing economic decision-making (Lee 2000, p. 59; Yang 2002, pp. 86–87), but others believe that the system was neither new nor special, but consonant with existing Stalinist practice (Cha 1999; Park 2002, pp. 15–16).7 From the point of view of the organization of the economy, the Taean system did not represent a particularly fundamental break with Soviet precedents, though it may have created greater inef­ ficiencies due to excessive emphasis on ideology over expertise – unequivocally “red” over “expert”. Certainly, though, it had the aim and effect of making economic units more responsive to central planning decisions.8 The actual hierarchy of the overall economic planning system continued to follow the Soviet prototype which was put in place by the Soviet occupation administration under the direction of Soviet-Korean cadres. Figure 5.1 is a visual representation of the hierarchy of the state plan­ ning system in North Korea up to 1985, with lines representing administrative authority over subordinate bodies. 80

The North Korean economic planning system

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ZĞŐŝŽŶĂů ĚŵŝŶŝƐƚƌĂƟǀĞ KƌŐĂŶŝnjĂƟŽŶƐ ;WƌŽǀŝŶĐĞƐ͕ ŵƵŶŝĐŝƉĂůŝƟĞƐ͕ ĐŽƵŶƚƌŝĞƐͿ ĞŶƚƌĂůůLJͲ ĚŝƌĞĐƚĞĚ ŶƚĞƌƉƌŝƐĞƐ

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Figure 5.1 Administrative hierarchy of the North Korean economic planning system (up to 1985).

The collective effect of these measures meant that the North Korean command economy was more centralized than the Soviet or Chinese economies. The number of mandatory indi­ cators was considerably larger in North Korea than in China under Mao or the Soviet Union under Stalin (Yang 2001, pp. 161–164). In other words, planning and control over enterprise targets were almost entirely vested in organizations above the level of the individual enterprise in the planning hierarchy, with most important decisions needing approval at the highest level. The same appears to have been true of control over materials supply in the system, with control over resources largely exercised at the level of the Administrative Council (i.e. the Cabinet) and its ministries until the 1970s (ibid., pp. 164–165).9 Centralization was epitomized by the appropriation of state resources for the creation of what amounted to a separate economy serving the needs of the leadership and elite (Yang 2002, pp. 205–206). Sometimes referred to as the palace economy, this sector included enterprises whose products could be exported for hard currency, with the proceeds then allocated to organs of the Korean Workers Party, principally through Office 39, founded in 1974 for the consump­ tion needs of the leadership and elite (Mikheev 1993; Kim, K.J. 2007). There also emerged a “second economy” for the supply of the military and security services (Mikheev 1993; Chong 81

Peter Ward

2006),10 and from the little that is known, both the palace and military economies functioned as the separate fiefdoms of their respective institutional masters but organizationally were run on the same lines as the civilian state economy – imperative planning, and centralized decisionmaking with a centralized system of resource allocation (Kim, K.J. 2007; Yang 2008). Alongside economic planning balkanization and hyper-centralization in industry, resource allocation in the consumer sector also became characterized by bureaucratic control. Food rationing was reintroduced in 1958, and many other consumer goods were also rationed for much of the Kim Il Sung era.11 Mirroring similar developments in other parts of the socialist bloc – but going much further – most consumer goods became subject to rationing in the 1970s (Choi and Koo 2003), reflecting both growing shortages due to the ongoing cannibalization of the economy induced by the scale of military production, and due to the extension to the local level of an ideologically driven system of economic organization based overwhelmingly on command and control by the state.12 Locked into this system, North Korean economic manage­ ment in the 1970s offered minimal responses to growing shortages as Soviet aid and credits tapered off and as Pyongyang acquired a hard currency debt burden that effectively isolated the North from the global technological, financial and investment markets (Buzo 2018, p. 77).13 With terms of trade with the Soviet Union and China, North Korea’s biggest trading partners, declining precipitously in the 1980–1983 period (Eberstadt, Rubin and Tretyakova 1995, p. 92). North Korea was counselled by China to pass a joint venture law in order to obtain foreign investment (Eberstadt 2010, p. 89) and this was part of a series of experiments that China sought to encourage at the time.14 It also instituted reforms to the foreign trade system and gave incen­ tives to consumer goods production, moves that would together evolve to fundamentally restructure the planning system while driving marketization. These changes will be discussed further in the next section. At the same time, in 1985, the system of enterprise management underwent its first major changes since 1965 (Figure 5.2). Multi-factory/enterprise combines (yŏnhap kiŏpso) were intro­ duced as part of an attempt to improve the planning system after some previous experimental implementation. The combines were an institutional form and approach to economic reform modelled on those attempted in the Soviet Union and many Eastern European countries in the 1960s and 1970s – Kombinat in German,15 and ob’edineniya in Russian.16 The North Korean combines were granted a degree of financial independence, setting their own budgets under an independent accounting system. This was a North Korean version of the Soviet system of “cost accounting”, which had been instituted in the North on multiple occa­ sions going back as far as 1946 (Yang 2002, pp. 351–352), and meant that the combines were to interface directly with the state planning authorities with the objective of achieving greater efficiency and more effective production planning. The economic issues at stake were relatively simple but politically complex and vexing, namely, wage and price setting, and control over residual income. Under Kim Il Sung, the state was not prepared to cede control over such issues to enterprises, given the loss of control it would have entailed and the potential social effects – income inequality – it likely would have resulted in. Thus, allocation decisions and prices con­ tinued to be set centrally, not by the combines themselves, and wages too were set in line with state norms. In other words, the fundamentals of central control over wages, prices, and resource allocation remained unchanged, so that prices did not match costs, and production was not orientated towards industrial and consumer demand. Much of the rhetoric that initially greeted this development had disappeared by 1987, and economic organization and priorities remained fundamentally unchanged (Park 2002, pp. 16–21). It was in consumer goods production and foreign trade that real change began. The former was a relatively marginal part of economic policy and actual economic output, while the use of 82

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ZĞŐŝŽŶĂůWůĂŶŶŝŶŐŽŵŵŝƩĞĞ

83 ZĞŐŝŽŶĂůĚŵŝŶŝƐƚĂƟǀĞ KƌŐĂŶŝnjĂƟŽŶƐ;WƌŽǀŝŶĐĞƐ͕ ŵƵŶŝĐŝƉĂůŝƟĞƐ͕ĐŽƵŶƟĞƐͿ

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Figure 5.2 Administrative hierarchy with Party guidance institutions (post-1985).

The North Korean economic planning system

ZĞŐŝŽŶĂůWĂƌƚLJKƌŐĂŶŝnjĂƟŽŶƐ

Peter Ward

market incentives in the latter appear to have become necessary to ensure an ongoing flow of resources for the operation of the palace economy (Yang 2008). However, just as other Soviettype economies continued to fall further behind market-based economies, the process of eco­ nomic decline continued to gather pace. Official North Korean statements on GDP (expressed here in USD terms) indicate that per capita GDP growth was sluggish in the mid-to late 1980s, growing from $2,400 in 1986 to $2,530 in 1988 before declining to $2,460 in 1991 ([ROK] Unification Board 1996, p. 66).17 The following year, North Korean officials believe that their GDP per capita declined by well over half, amounting to $950 in 1992 (IMF 1997, p. 7). These numbers may rely on different exchange rates, but they give some indication of the North Korean government’s own understanding of declining economic performance. There were multiple causes, but they can be traced back to the political logic of a system with the Kims at its center, leaders with a strong desire to control, centralize, militarize, and spend on prestige projects.18

adjusting the North Korean economic planning process This economic decline became a full-scale collapse with the withdrawal of subsidized Soviet trade, and this in turn favoured the type of changes that had already begun to emerge in the North Korean planning system, especially in the non-agricultural sector, namely, the supplant­ ing of administrative orders and material balances as key mechanisms by marketplace and money transactions in selected parts of the North Korean economy. While the outward appearance of a centralized command has largely been maintained, refugee testimony, and even official North Korean publications, including the works of the Kims, indicate that even in the mid-to-late 1980s, the system had begun to change at the margins. These changes then spread to various other parts of the industrial and urban economy during the crises of the 1990s and become par­ tially legalized post-2002 before becoming a major part of Kim Jong Un-era planning methodology. Central to an understanding of the relationship between a centrally planned system and a marketizing system is the role of assortment. Just as having an appropriate assortment of products is an important key to business success in a market economy, stipulating with precision the assortment of items to be produced and delivered by economic units in a centrally planned economy is an important key to ensuring that the production targets will be met not just quan­ titatively but qualitatively as well. It is “the actual operational plan of the economy” (Gregory 1990, p. 90). An example here would be a mining enterprise fulfilling purely quantitative quotas by mining poor quality surface coal, which is cheaper and quicker to deliver, unless it is obliged to exploit deeper, higher quality deposits by an assortment plan that stipulated different types and qualities of coal to be delivered. While the profit motive is still weak under an assortment plan, enterprises are still expected to minimize costs and maximize output in physical volume and monetary terms, and such plans are designed to stop them from doing so in a manner that will affect the efficiency of downstream users.19 Assortment planning does not ever appear to have been planned and implemented rigorously in North Korea, and its shortcomings were the subject of periodic criticism from the leadership. The “gaming” of the planning system by managers seeking to maximize output at the expense of quality and variety was clearly an entrenched issue in the North Korean economy, as it was in other Soviet-type economies, but as long as prices remained set by the state, and all trans­ actions mediated through the state banks, with most inter-enterprise transactions never resulting in the disbursement of significant amounts of actual cash,20 fulfilment of the output indicators as measured in money terms could still be achieved and at the same time do considerable damage 84

The North Korean economic planning system

to the overall plan – as Kim Il Sung himself pointed out in a 1981 speech regarding steel produc­ tion targets for the Second Seven-Year Plan 1978–84 (Kim, I.S. 2007, p. 363). This formed the background to the 3 August Consumer Goods Movement, hereafter the “8.3 Movement”, which was actually an evolving set of policies first launched in 1984 as an experiment in delegating more peripheral production decisions to enterprises. 8.3 products were priced to supply and demand under so-called “agreed prices” (habŭi kagyŏk/hyŏbŭi kagyŏk), though these prices were capped at around a 50 per cent mark-up on state-set retail prices.21 There were no assortment plans for the economic unit in question as efforts at quality control were more or less assumed on the basis of marketability, and instead their contribution to central economic planning was assessed according to the amount in cash terms that was produced. Enterprises were merely required to pay a tax on what they produced, and hence workers involved in 8.3 production themselves had a plan to fulfil in cash terms – they had a sales target, or “planned part” (kyehoekbun). Another change was the encouragement of so-called “individual side-work” and “group sidework”. 8.3 activities were a type of “side-work” (puŏp), and the 8.3 Movement seems to have become associated with side-work activities in general. These activities included married women – who were not required to have a state workplace assignment – working out of their homes or in their home gardens, as well as local groups organized under the auspices of local neighborhood groups (inminban) to make consumer goods and offer services. Side-work was not a new practice, but in the latter half of the 1980s, and as early as 1987, side-work groups and individuals were allowed to set their prices by agreement through negotiation with local, special-purpose retail outlets, or “direct sales outlets” (chikmaejŏm) under the local government (Kang 1987). North Korean refugees confirm that prices were not set by the state in these outlets, though there were price ceilings (Yang 2001, p. 366).22 The scope of side-work had also expanded to include “collectively-run restaurants” by 1989 (Chang 1991), though self-funded and partially autonomous catering had also been hinted at in official publications from 1987 (Kang 1987). North Korean official figures indicate that only about 9.5 percent of total retail sales originated from 8.3 Movement enterprises as of 1989, and it still only involved several hundred thousand workers (Lee 1990, p. 462). These numbers may involve an underestimation, however, given that many workers likely diverted at least some of their produce to markets so as to avoid price ceilings. Some sales of side-work production on farmers’ markets were legal, however, and in a 1989 speech Kim Il Sung himself directed the side-work fishing units of collective farms to sell their excess catch on farmers’ markets (Kim, I.S. 2010, p. 49). Other forms of side-work, such as house­ hold livestock rearing for sale on markets, had been legal for most of North Korea’s history, although at times it had been regulated through price ceilings or even bans, which particularly applied to the sale of certain types of products, such as grain. It is a fair assumption to make that when practices are legalized, or at least implicitly sanctioned, they are likely to become more wide­ spread, so one can plausibly conclude that markets were growing in size and importance in the late 1980s, partly as a result of state action, and partly due to the initiative that such actions unleashed. But, as far as is known, as of the late 1980s, market commerce was still largely confined to the household and the use of waste/surplus materials in enterprises, both marginal components of national output (Choi and Koo 2003). This began to change, however, from the early 1990s.

Foreign trade and the spread of markets Despite formal commitments to self-reliance, North Korea’s economy has always been highly dependent on foreign assistance and concessionary trade, which frequently resembled trade-as­ aid. However, in the late 1980s, North Korea rapidly transitioned from being highly dependent 85

Peter Ward

on concessionary Soviet trade to near-forced autarky (Eberstadt et al. 1995).23 As part of this transition, in 1991, a new system of foreign trade organization and management was introduced as foreign trade planning increasingly came to be defined by plan fulfilment in monetary terms – i.e. revenue targets – as was the case with the 8.3 Movement.24 Yang Moon-soo (2008) describes how at least some trading companies began to act independently of the state in price setting and with independent budgets, and, in fact, the sources he cites believe the practice was widespread. This may have partially been the result of official organizational changes to the trade system in the early 1990s, including the creation of regional trade companies with their own bank accounts. However, it would appear that the collapse of state capacity due to the economic crisis would explain the rise of quasi-independent trade companies (ibid., pp. 5–7). Their primary responsibility to the state became the fulfilment of “cash plans”, i.e. revenue targets. Major trade companies, being well connected to the Party elite, often worked with enterprises or obtained control over lucrative resources, as long as they fulfilled trade plans that included an assortment plan, but actual enforcement of these plans appears to have been sporadic (ibid.). Moreover, many trading companies would engage in transactions that bypassed the state banking system so as to gain access to the cash proceeds of sales (Lankov et al. 2017). The loss of Soviet concessionary trade in the early 1990s resulted in a large supply shock to the North Korean economy. The state supply system could no longer provide many of the necessary inputs required, and many state-owned enterprises (and other state entities) were thus left to fend for themselves (Lee 2003). Hence, enterprises in general disregarded their assortment plans, and what could be produced was sold at market prices, while plans were fulfilled in official prices, creating a spread between planned revenue and actual revenue – at least for those enter­ prises fortunate enough to have access to resources marketable at home and/or abroad. Indeed, Kim Jong Il himself openly admitted that many light industrial enterprises did not fulfil their assortment plans, only fulfilling their plans in monetary terms during the famine.25 It would appear that the 8.3 Movement served as the catalyst to these changes. Lee goes so far as to argue: Prior to it [the 8.3 Movement], cash plans were just the expression of material plans in cash terms … but subsequently, enterprises could choose between fulfilling material plans through the production of their main products or concentrating on fulfillment of cash plans through easily fulfilled 8.3 Consumer Goods. (ibid., p. 108) The use of market prices when buying and selling produce appears to have become widespread in the 1990s in both the regional light industry sector (often illegally), and the service sector (sometimes legally) (Yang 2002; Lee 2003; Han 2011, pp. 39–65).26 Refugee sources indicate that enterprises, regardless of whether they were under central or regional/local control, had far more freedom to decide their product assortment from the 1990s onwards (Lee 2003, p. 111). Enterprises like the Taean Electrical Equipment Works would focus their productive activities on those products in demand and with the largest mark-ups (ibid., p. 112), and also engage in illegal off-plan production for sale at market prices.27 Such off-plan production may also have been unrelated to the facility’s core operations – a media company might also produce toilet paper for market, for instance, if it had access to the required materials.28 Moreover, some enter­ prises would have operated still using materials from the state supply system, and their number may have actually risen in the aftermath of the crisis of the 1990s. It is important to note that not all enterprises are, or ever were, created equal. Lee et al. (2018, pp. 132–149) argue that there is a need for a typology of planning in North Korea, with 86

The North Korean economic planning system

some units, such as large power plants and others dealing with infrastructure, being primarily subject to volume-based material planning, or else subject to a mix of material and money-based plans, while many others are largely money-based in their planning. There is also the issue of pseudo-state enterprises described in Lankov et al. (2017), that is, de facto partially privatized enterprises that have to exist within the confines of state organizations for protection, believed to be a widespread and growing phenomenon (Yang and Yoon 2016). They also appear to operate largely in monetary terms (Lankov et al. 2017; Lee et al. 2018, pp. 149–153). Nonetheless, the changes to how the planning system worked in practice have been con­ firmed in surveys of North Korean refugees that, though not statistically significant for the whole country, nonetheless imply that central state and Party control of enterprise production collapsed in the 1990s, that plan fulfilment in monetary terms alone was widely accepted by the authorities, and that enterprises illegally sold much of their produce at market prices (Yang 2006). Such sales, if conducted in cash, would not be directly mediated by the state banking system, allowing enterprise managers and workers to pocket the proceeds of the spread between planned prices and market prices.29 Some of these practices were officially and openly recognized on 1 July 2002, when the North Korean government unveiled a range of “improvement measures”. The 2002 changes and follow-up measures in 2003 allowed state enterprises to sell some of their produce on the domestic consumer and wholesale market at market prices (not state-set prices), though there were price ceilings for some products and many commodities were still supposed to be sold at state-set prices (Yang 2006, pp. 99–100, 2008, pp. 7–8).30 In addition, some reforms introduced post-2000 appear to have allowed the use of market prices between enterprises (B2B markets), but officially the scope of these transactions was highly limited (Ward 2018a).31 This does not mean that in reality markets were not widely used, though available official sources do not give much direct indication of the prevalence of transactions conducted in market prices.32 In fact, enterprise plans in monetary terms were still largely supposed to be based on state-set prices, but refugee sources indicate that actual sales were often done in market prices (Park et al. 2016, pp. 135, 144–145). The actual price system remained largely unreformed, and this remains a vexing issue of law which is unresolved for many enterprises in North Korea even today. Legally, enterprises are often prohibited from pricing much of their output, but command-based planning does not allow them to either obtain the necessary inputs or generate the profits needed to pay their workers a living wage. This means they are forced to break the law and make use of markets and fulfil plans prim­ arily in monetary terms (Lim 2013; Park et al. 2016). That said, the state has moved to further close the gap between established practices and the law, especially since Kim Jong Un came to power, and we now turn to the legal changes that have occurred under his leadership.

the Kim Jong Un-era planning reforms Since Kim Jong Un came to power, the North Korean government has instituted a number of formal legal changes that recognize some of the existing realities of North Korean economic life. These changes can be grouped together under the umbrella term “Socialist Enterprise Respons­ ibility Management System” (SERMS), and they have a legal basis in a series of Acts passed and/ or amended in 2014–2015 which stipulated that enterprises, agricultural units of production and other unspecified entities were now permitted to set their own prices for production under­ taken outside the central/local planning system (Ward 2018a, 2018b). The idea of an “enterprise plan” is not actually a new invention of the Kim Jong Un era, and has existed since at least the 2000s (Sŏ et al. 2005). However, the scope of such planning appears 87

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to have been largely limited to non-commercial decisions, with prices, product development, and labor-related issues at least nominally outside the enterprise’s purview, at least legally. However, under Kim Jong Un, enterprise plans now encompass all of these areas and more, with enterprises free not only to price the products they develop and for which they source supplies, but also to negotiate contracts with other enterprises (so-called “order contracts”, and the seemingly related “sales contracts” and “exchange contracts”).33 Given how the North Korean economy has changed over the last 20 years, this new contracting mechanism and the provisions allowing enterprises to set prices recognize the existing realities of enterprise manage­ ment in North Korea. Importantly, the prices that enterprises charge for the products they develop themselves are known as “agreed prices”, the same term that is used for 8.3 Movement prices, and calculation methods appear to be similarly market-oriented, though still subject to effective price ceilings (Tu 2018).34 Lee et al. (2018, pp. 83–84) also note that even state-set prices have been subject to change to bring them closer to prevailing market prices. Price rationalization has thus taken place through two conduits: (1) decentralization of some price-setting decisions through the mechanism of expanded enterprise planning and agreed prices, and (2) the revision of state-set prices in line with prevailing market prices. However, it is unclear how often state-set prices are amended to reflect trends in market prices. Another significant aspect of the reforms under Kim Jong Un has been the broadening of foreign trade rights to other, non-trade company/Ministry of Foreign Trade-related entities, and the legalization of money-only planning for such entities. The Trade Act, amended in 2015, allowed for non-centrally planned indicators, i.e. enterprise-planned production, to be subject entirely to plans calculated in monetary terms – that is, no assortment plan. However, subsequent amendments to the Trade Act passed in 2018 indicate that some rights given to enterprises with permits to trade, including setting the price of products that they had developed when trading with foreign parties, had been taken away and given back to the Ministry of Foreign Trade. These are worrying signs for the prospects of further economic reform (Ward 2019). It remains to be seen how the degree of state control over the economy will fluctuate in the years to come. It would appear to be more important, if not dominant, in some sectors of the economy than others, with certain infrastructure and some networked industries, such as power and transport, being more planned through central fiat than many others. A generally plausible rule of thumb is that regional enterprises and smaller enterprises in general are more marketized and primarily subject to money plans, as are trade enterprises and trading entities of all sorts. At the same time, entities primarily reliant on central state allocation of resources are more likely to be subject primarily to central material-based planning.

Conclusion The economy that Kim Il Sung built was characterized by state-owned enterprises and col­ lective farms in which economic activity was profoundly subject to the will of the supreme leadership, the Party, the military and the government. Control was exercised through two core mechanisms: ownership of the means of production and planning of all production. Planning of production took the form of material balance planning, i.e. administrative orders, state-set prices and rationing, and the resultant Soviet-modelled system was notably inefficient and overly centralized. The system began to change in the 1970s, with the emergence of separate economic fiefs that supplied the military and the elite. However, it was not until the 1980s that more significant changes to the system began to emerge, partially as a regime action, but also due to initiatives 88

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from below. The collapse of the Soviet Union and the socialist bloc then led to a broad-based collapse in the North Korean economy, and the command economy began to be largely sub­ sumed by the market, with enterprises judged primarily by their ability to fulfil the cash com­ ponent of their plan. This brought with it much illegal and borderline legal activity, but many of these activities appear to have been partially legalized through reforms under Kim Jong Un. However, the basic system of administrative price-setting and the state’s monopoly ownership of all productive assets outside the household remain unreformed features of the North Korean system, and they continue to be the source of widespread corruption and illegal activity in many areas of the country’s economic life.

Notes 1 There is ample evidence of this provided from both refugee testimony and official sources. See Lee (1990) and Yun (2018) for discussion. Other evidence from official sources is discussed further below. 2 This exact distinction exists in North Korea, the North Korean terms being hyŏn’gŭm hwap’ye and muhyŏn’gŭm hwap’ye. 3 For a detailed breakdown of each of North Korea’s economic plans and their officially announced results, from 1947 to 1993, see Unification Board (1996, pp. 1–65). See Scalapino and Lee (1972, pp. 416–417) for useful economic data on the 1945–1953 period. 4 See Eberstadt (2010, pp. 75–84) for estimates of the composition and growth of the North Korean economy during the Kim Il Sung era. 5 Kornai (1992, pp. 165–171) offers persuasive arguments for why military production is a systemspecific feature of state socialist economies. For a recent assessment of the size of the North’s armed forces, see Tak (2018). 6 For a relatively comprehensive list of mass mobilization movements under Kim Il Sung, see Naewae tongsinsa (1995, pp. 107–111). 7 Accounts from people who worked in North Korea’s factory system also indicate that it was character­ ized by a high degree of managerial turnover, as when plans were not fulfilled, factory directors and party secretaries lost their jobs or worse (Yang 2001, pp. 208–209). Refugee surveys of the situation in the 1990s indicate that factory managers re-emerged as key decision-makers, and that conflict between them and Party secretaries was frequent (Yang 2006, p. 85). 8 Similar changes were also instituted at this time in the agricultural sector under the so-called Chongsan­ ri Method which, like the Taean work system, emphasized the importance of Party control over material incentives (Scalapino and Lee 1972, pp. 562–566). 9 Confusingly, this was preceded by an apparent attempt at decentralization, with the expansion of “local factories” (chibang kongjang). Following the nationalization of all industry in 1958, there was a big push in the early 1960s to establish an average of ten regional factories per county (Choi 1998, pp. 260–261). By 1967, the country reportedly had some 2,000 local factories, and further expanded this part of industry rapidly so that by 1980 there were 18 or more local factories per county by 1980, 25 per county by 1990, and as of 1994 there were around 4,000 in the country (Lee 1998, p. 8). Generally, these were smaller industrial operations with the number of employees counted in the dozens, although some were substantially larger (ibid., p. 11). Available data from the early 1980s indicates that 31.6 per cent of them manufactured daily necessities, 19.6 per cent of them produced textiles and fibres, 16.2 per cent were involved in food production, and the other 32 per cent were classified as producing other products (North Korea Research Center 1983, p. 883, cited in Yang 2003, p. 216). It should be remembered, though that they were subject to the same type of planning and did not have control over price setting or cash flow. 10 On the structure of the military industrial complex and its supply system, one of the best sources avail­ able is the memoir of a former North Korean official who worked in the industry before defecting. See Ko (2002). By his account, the Second Economy Committee, the committee that manages the military industrial complex and enterprises that supply and fundraise for it, controls 40 per cent of the North Korean economy, 45 per cent of its export operations, and has offices that manage production to military order from enterprises within the civilian economy (ibid., pp. 23–23). 11 Official sources do mention the existence of an “order system” for consumer goods, but scant amount of detail is offered as to how goods were actually allocated to households, incorporating preferential

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Peter Ward treatment for Party cadres. An unusual case is a speech given by Kim Il Sung in 1986 in which he did mention the existence of a special distribution system for cadres and blames it for cadres’ lack of interest in resolving the country’s economic difficulties (Kim, I.S. 2009b, p. 203). For the average person, the system appears to have started to break down in the mid-1980s, at least for people living in the border regions. On how the system functioned and broke down in the city of Haeju in South Hwanghae, see Kwak (2012). 12 There appears to be general agreement that the tipping point – that is, the point beyond which the DPRK passed beyond the limits of its system and entered into an irreversible process of economic decline – began to be reached in the late 1970s, although the dearth of statistics makes this rather specu­ lative. There are also more recent estimates that postulate that annual growth rates actually began to decline in the 1960s (Kim, Kim and Lee 2007). 13 See Yang Moon-soo (2012) on the scale of North Korea’s foreign debts. 14 O (2004, pp. 103–110) cites Chinese documents that indicate Deng Xiaoping personally met with Kim Jong Il in 1983 when Kim visited China in order to tell him about China’s reform and opening. In the next two years, over 5,000 North Koreans were estimated to have gone to China to learn about its then-new policies (ibid., p. 110). Some attempts to emulate aspects of Chinese policy were certainly evident from the Joint Venture Law (Eberstadt 2010, p. 89). Further, the recollections of Hwang Jang­ yop and official North Korean biographical literature about Kim Jong Il indicate that some cadres, including Kim Hwan (a politburo member) and an agricultural researcher Pak Chŏl were purged for their advocacy of Chinese agricultural reforms (Buzo 1999, pp. 166–167; Han 2009, p. 92). Kim Il Sung remained clearly and publicly hostile to suggestions of significant reform throughout this period (Buzo 1999, p. 144ff). 15 Granick (1975, pp. 133–233) conducted fieldwork in East Germany in 1970 and offers an analysis of how East Germany’s large vertically integrated state enterprises functioned. East Germany presents an interesting case of a state that had both Soviet-type economic planning but a large number of semi­ private and private enterprises in industry, construction and trade until 1972 (ibid., pp. 136–137). 16 Ob’edineniya, commonly translated as Industrial Associations, were introduced in 1973, amalgamating multiple related enterprises into larger entities. See Dunmore (1980). 17 The official North Korean estimates are very similar to the estimate of $2,258 for the year 1989 pro­ duced by Kim et al. (2007, p. 573). The official North Korean GDP statistics for this period are rather inconsistent, see Eberstadt (2007, p. 31) for a summary. It is also far from clear what their definition of GDP was, so these numbers should be treated with caution. 18 Trigubenko (1991, p. 6) states that the military-industrial complex comprised some 30 per cent of North Korean output when she was writing compared to just 8 per cent for the Soviet Union. The excessive spending on unproductive prestige projects is evidenced in the statements of North Korean officials. Eberstadt (2010, p. 90) reports that in 1990, they claimed the 1989 Thirteen World Festival of Youth and Students hosted by Pyongyang had cost $4.7 billion, while the West Sea Barrage, a major dam construction project in the 1980s of debatable value to the economy had cost $4 billion. 19 This issue in Soviet-type planning is well discussed in Ellman (1973) and Nove (1987). 20 Here I am echoing the traditional view of money playing a “passive role” in Soviet-type economies – i.e. as a unit of account, but not as a store of value or effective means of exchange between enterprises. Newer analyses cast doubt on whether this was the case in the Soviet Union with enterprises seemingly able to purchase consumer goods by using money held in banks (Kim 2002; Harrison and Kim 2006). In 1965, Kim Il Sung (2001, p. 147) went so far as to ban enterprises and other state organizations from using non-cash funds to purchase consumer goods, hinting that siphoning was an issue. However, this still does not mean that money played an active role in most exchanges within the economy. 21 The use of “agreed prices” and the fact that they reflect agreement between producer and consumer and/or are set by producers are openly admitted in North Korean publications. See Yun (2018, pp. 30–33) for the North Korean definition, and examples of how large the spreads between state-set prices and agreed prices could be. Also see the work of Lee (1990) on how the movement was por­ trayed in the North Korean press and why it presented such a major change. Regulations were also released in 1989 that sought to both encourage 8.3 production and other side-work, but also to ensure that the state received its share of tax revenue (Yang 2001, pp. 365–370). The North Korean news­ paper Minju Chosŏn printed articles about these regulations on 11 and 21 August 1989. 22 It is unclear from available sources whether state banks initially acted as intermediaries between 8.3 work teams and retail outlets. However, given the widespread lack of trust in the North Korean banking system among ordinary citizens, it is unlikely they did during the 1990s for most such teams.

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The North Korean economic planning system 23 From the 1970s on, North Korea’s leadership had begun to experiment with decentralizing the foreign trade system away from the Soviet model which placed an all-powerful Ministry of Foreign Trade at the apex. The trade sector became multi-layered, with General Trading Companies (ch’ongmuyŏk hwoesa) sometimes presiding over Trading Companies (muyŏk hwoesa), who themselves often presided over branches (kiji). These myriad entities are presided over by General Bureaus (ch’ongguk), Guidance Bureaus (chidoguk) under central Party, state or military organizations, or a cabinet ministry/committee (Yang 2008). Moreover, regional governments also had the right to organize their own “foreign currency earning offices” (woehwabŏri saŏpso) since 1980, and these come under regional governments, whose activities are monitored by the Trade Ministry’s Regional Government Foreign Trade Management Bureau (ibid., pp. 11–12). It should be noted that in the Kim Jong Il era, only “foreign trade enterprises” under the Ministry of Foreign Trade were permitted to engage in foreign trade. Foreign trade was planned in material and money terms, and only those with a trade plan (colloquially referred to as a waku) were permitted to legally trade with the outside world. 24 Although foreign trading companies were, and many still likely are, assigned assortment plans, many are now believed to operate on cash plans, setting their own prices and bending the rules about the quality and quantity of the product they are allowed to export. Regional trade enterprises appear to operate largely on the basis of money plans (Lim 2013, p. 54), and the same is also the case for Office 39 companies as well (Yang 2008, p. 18). 25 In a speech in July 2011, Kim Jong Il (2015, pp. 347–348) is recorded as saying: Quite a few ministries, central institutions, factories and enterprises just fulfilled their plan in monetary terms during the Arduous March [North Korea’s official name for the famine of 1994–9], claiming that everything was insufficient and difficult, and produced barely any useful and good quality daily necessities. 26 State commerce enterprises (wholesale and retail) were empowered in 1984 to set up their own “resource bases” from which to produce goods as part of the 8.3 movement (Kim Jong il 2011b: 10), and by 1995, they were permitted to sell the produce thereof at “agreed prices” (Ri 1995). 27 Unsurprisingly, with a set of formal economic institutions so divorced from the realities of economic life, corruption is also reported to be a major problem. Household expenditures on bribery have been estimated to have totalled c. 9.0 per cent of household income annually in the 1996–2007 period (Kim and Koh 2011). The author was unable to locate estimates regarding the level of corruption in industry, but it is safe to assume it would have been comparable or even higher. 28 This example was provided to the writer by a frequent traveller to North Korea who requested anonymity. 29 In conversations with the author, many refugee interviewees have described such a practice as being a completely normal part of how the North Korean economy functions today, even though it remains illegal. 30 Also see Lim (2008, pp. 272–283) for official North Korean regulations from 2002–2003. There is also evidence from official publications in the 2000s, such as Chŏng (2006), of a debate among policymakers over how far the state should allow enterprises to use market prices when selling to consumers or state commerce enterprises. The question of how to enable “planned prices” to coexist with “market prices” appears to still remain unresolved in North Korea at the time of writing. 31 Kim Jong Il first called for the creation of inter-enterprise markets for producer goods as early as May 2000 (Kim Jong-il 2013, p. 201). A North Korean book on the Party’s economic policy line gives a description of the scope and limits of inter-enterprise markets as of 2005 (So et al. 2005), but they are rarely discussed in obtainable official publications. 32 However, a classified North Korean legal reference book (Reference Volume for Cadres in the Field of Legal Struggle 2009, hereafter RVFLS; Pŏpt’ujaeng pumum ilgundŭl wihan ch’amgosŏ) indicates that the illegal use of market prices by enterprises was a serious concern as of 2009. These include instances of enterprises violating their assortment plans by selling fish at market prices, watch repairers charging market prices to make large amounts while working at a local state services outlet, and a wood processing factory charging market prices rather than state-set prices (ibid., pp. 225, 256, 313). Another book obtained by the author entitled Educational Materials for Prosecuto­ rial Personnel (EMPP; Kŏmch’al ilggunŭl wihan kyoyang charyo) and marked “Top Secret” indicates that as of 2008, a potentially military dual-use radioactive substance, thorium nitrate, was being illicitly traded on the domestic market and smuggled into China (EMPP 2010, pp. 49–50). This gives some indication of how widespread market pricing and market transactions had likely become

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Peter Ward by the late 2000s, if even controlled substances were being illegally traded on the domestic and foreign market. 33 On these changes, see, in Korean: Yang (2017), Lee et al. (2018) inter alia and in English, see Ward (2018a, 2018b) and Ward et al. (2019). 34 Agreed prices are still supposed to be based on state-set wholesale prices. According to Tu (2018, p. 141), when a new product is developed, the “agreed price” (Af) of a new product (f) should equal the product of the state-set wholesale price for product f (Sf) and the agreed price (A) of a similar product (Asim) divided by the state-set wholesale price of that similar commodity (Ssim): Af = Sf × (Asim/ Ssim). Hence state-set wholesale prices still serve as the base upon which agreed prices are supposed to be formulated, meaning that price controls, formally at least, remain in effect.

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6

Between the Markets and

the state

north korea’s fragile agriculture and food supply

Benjamin Katzeff Silberstein

Introduction In early 2019, the North Korean government sent out an “urgent call” for international food aid.1 The World Food Program (WFP) made a similar call in early May 2019, stating that at least 40 percent of the North Korean population was in urgent need of assistance.2 Although these calls for food aid may have been exaggerated, as has often seemed to be the case in the past, independent sources did confirm that for many groups, the food situation appeared to be more dire in 2019 than in preceding years.3 The North Korean government itself blamed both inclement weather and the effects of UN-mandated economic sanctions, spearheaded by the United States, for harvest shortfalls in 2018 and the looming food shortage. In its appeal it maintained that temperatures in the spring of 2018 in the country had been the highest ever on record, and that erratic rainfall, drought and flash floods had exacerbated the problem.4 Regarding sanctions, the WFP concurred that these had made it more difficult for North Korea to import spare parts for agricultural machinery, fuel, and fertilizers.5 However, in many ways, these warnings of a food shortage in 2019 were emblematic of deeper, systemic issues. This was hardly the first time the government had warned of severe food shortages, it does so routinely, and its food situation has been chronically fragile since the 1990s. It is therefore difficult to accept at face value the explanation that specific weather conditions and sanctions were the main factors involved. Adverse weather conditions have been so routinely cited in the past as to become a regular phenomenon, and no other countries in the region – such as South Korea – regularly warn of harvest shortfalls or looming food shortages due to inclement weather or external economic conditions. Moreover, while sanctions have been having a considerable effect on the overall economy, specifically limiting sales and transfers of fuel and oil to the country,6 food shortages have been occurring regularly since long before the international community instituted the unprecedented sanctions regime against North Korea in 2017. The food shortage warnings of 2019, like those in the preceding years, highlight a crucial fact about North Korean food supply and agriculture: the system itself is largely the cause of the country’s problems. North Korea experienced a devastating famine in the 1990s, sparked by the collapse of the Soviet Union, and China’s increasing unwillingness to supply crucial goods such as oil on friendship terms.7 Food supply in the country has improved since the 1990s and early 2000s mainly through a combination of external aid inputs and domestic agricultural policy changes, 97

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with the increasing space for market mechanisms in the North Korean system the most crucial change, giving actors within the system stronger economic incentives in food production and independence in planning. However, it is still important to note the difference between “markets” and “market mechanisms.” From the early 2000s and onward, the North Korean government has allowed and even encouraged the expansion of physical markets for consumer goods, and most of these markets operate within the institutional framework of the official North Korean economy.8 The introduction of these markets constitutes perhaps the most fundamental stabilizing mechanism in the supply of consumer goods and food for the majority of the North Korean public.9 Market mechanisms, however, have also been introduced and granted increasing space in the economy as a whole, and this process has accelerated since 2011 under Kim Jong Un. Such mechanisms have granted more autonomy to farmers, individuals, managers, enterprises and other entities to plan production, take their own initiatives and freely dispose of at least a portion of their profits. The extent of these changes, however, remains unclear, but what remains clear is that fundamentally, the North Korean food supply system remains inhibited by poor systemic design, corruption, planning pressures and quotas, predatory state practices such as arbitrary confiscations, a lack of protection for private property and, not the least, North Korea’s self-imposed economic isolation.

Historical background The structural problems of North Korean food supply have historical roots almost as old as the state itself. These roots may be found in the country’s ideology, military and diplomatic strategies, but primarily in its economic policy choices. After the fall of the Japanese Empire in 1945, the nascent North Korean regime, under the auspices and strong guidance of the Soviet occupation authorities, pushed through a land reform program to confiscate and redistribute farmland from so-called “wealthy” landowners,10 to formerly impoverished peasants. Especially compared with the Soviet case, resistance was relatively low key in the case of North Korean land reform,11 in no small part because due to the division of the Korean Peninsula between the zones of the American and the Soviet occupation respectively, landowners could vote against the land reform measures with their feet by moving southward, and many did so, rather than stay and put up resistance.12 After the Korean War (1950–1953), the government instituted a rapid process of collectivization in order to put farmlands fully under the control of the state and institute full economic planning of agricultural production.13 Kim Il Sung sought to finance rapid industrialization by appropriating a major proportion of agricultural production in a fashion similar to Stalin’s industrialization strategy in the Soviet Union some decades earlier. From the end of the Korean War up until the late 1950s, debates raged within the Korean Workers’ Party, North Korea’s ruling party, about whether to prioritize light industrial production and people’s living standards, or place a stronger emphasis on the heavy industry sector and arms manufacturing.14 This battle was deeply ideological: Kim Il Sung fought hard for the line of heavy industry, seeing independent weapons manufacturing capabilities as the only way to true independence in economics, diplomacy and politics, whereas many of Kim’s opponents favored a stronger emphasis on consumer goods in planning, which was much more closely attuned with Soviet Union policies in the post-Stalin era. Moreover, under the Comecon rubric, the Soviet Union did not favour any moves by North Korea to build up an independent industrial capacity, but favored an economic approach which integrated North Korea into the socialist economic bloc.15 Compared with other Communist countries, collectivization in North Korea in the immediate post-Korean War era was excessively rapid, and many Socialist Bloc allies criticized 98

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it as too extreme.16 As agricultural cooperatives increased dramatically in 1954, food production waned, and Hungarian diplomats in the country reported deaths from starvation in the northern and southern regions of the country, with many among the rural population taken to hospitals run by the Hungarian and Polish governments because of poisoning from eating grass.17 As some of the harshest measures against private trade in foodstuffs were scaled back, and as an increasing amount of aid arrived from the Soviet Union, Eastern Europe and China, the situation stabilized, but the regime continued to pursue full collectivization of agriculture. In 1958, the government declared that collectivization was fully completed, and all farms in North Korea were agricultural collectives. All farm work was done collectively, and all farming equipment and land were owned by the cooperatives, who were in turn under strict state control.18 One year earlier, in 1957, the public distribution system (PDS) for food was extended to everyone except for farmers.19 In other words, both production and distribution of food were placed almost entirely under one, unified, state-run system from the late 1950s onwards. For the North Korean regime, collectivization of agriculture served several ideological goals. To make North Korea independent of Soviet power and to preserve his leadership, Kim Il Sung sought to make the country self-reliant in food production and pursued a policy of general economic autarky. Kim’s tilt toward autarky in both politics and economics crystallized in the rise of Juche, North Korea’s official state ideology, as the unquestionable state dogma from the mid to late 1950s onwards.20 In Juche lies a strong sense of idealism and a belief that man can overcome almost any natural obstacles that he may face. Thus, North Korea’s territory and geography could not be allowed to stand in the way of industrialization and economic independence. However, North Korea’s territory is ill-suited for food production. Around 80 per cent of North Korea’s territory consists of mountains, and arable land is relatively scarce. Given the regime’s choice of economic autarky, it had to squeeze out very large amounts of food from a relatively small surface of arable land. Therefore, agricultural production quickly came to depend on extensive use of chemical fertilizers and large-scale irrigation techniques. North Korea quickly reached a high capacity in industrial fertilizer manufacturing,21 but both irrigation and chemical fertilizer manufacturing relied on the extensive consumption of oil, both to fuel factories and mechanical water pumps. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, North Korea lost much of its oil subsidies from the Soviet Union and China, and the impact on North Korean agriculture was devastating. As discussed further below, harvest figures for North Korea are often notoriously unreliable and vary greatly from source to source. The following numbers from the database of the Food and Agriculture Organization of the UN, may exaggerate North Korean harvest figures prior to the mid-1990s (Figure 6.1). They may also overstate how steep the drop was from 1994 to 1995. Presumably, the North Korean government reported these figures, and likely exaggerated the decrease to emphasize the narrative that flooding and poor weather conditions were the main culprits of the Arduous March famine of the mid-1990s. Nonetheless, that North Korean harvests dropped massively in the mid-1990s is beyond dispute.

North Korean food production in the 2000s Since the abatement of actual famine conditions in the late 1990s, the country’s food situation has improved through a number of factors, such as aid in the form of both food and fertilizer, fortunate weather conditions and relaxed state controls on management methods.22 In particular, in the late 1990s and early 2000s, South Korea’s liberal government, set on increasing economic exchange and cooperation with Pyongyang, donated significant amounts of both food and fertilizer to North Korea, before a series of North Korean military provocations in the 99

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Figure 6.1 Food production, 1990–2017, cereals (rice milled equivalent), million tonnes. Source: Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (FAO).

early 2000s, such as its missile and nuclear tests in 2006, led Seoul – and other donors – to reconsider and decrease contributions. South Korea also discontinued its fertilizer shipments, unsurprisingly causing food production to fall in North Korea.23 Inclement weather in 2006 and 2007, as well as a global increase in food prices, also made food less available to the North Korean state system for production and distribution. This section deals with changes in the agricultural management system and the rise of the markets, but it is important to note for the historical narrative that the North Korean government very much saw the famine and food shortages of the 1990s and early 2000s as temporary difficulties that could be overcome without substantially changing the economic system. The government did, however, make several attempts to restore the systems for agricultural production and food distribution to their pre-famine states in the early 2000s. In late 2005, for example, it announced a ban on private trade in grains, and attempted to revive the PDS.24 Domestic and international events, therefore, combined to cause harvests to drop around 2006 and 2007, and perhaps already in 2005 as well.25 Production figures then began to stabilize and climb, beginning around 2010. Thus, although changes in agricultural management and planning policies have taken place since the famine, the state still has not implemented grand-scale, overarching reforms such as those that revolutionized China’s agricultural productivity from the late 1970s and onward. Grain import practices likewise have not changed, and unlike most developed, industrial countries, North Korea continues to choose, as a matter of policy, to remain outside the international trading system and to rely on domestic production for the vast majority of its food supply.26 Although North Korean harvests generally have improved since around 2010, it is also true to say that North Korean food production has entered a steady state of permanent shortages and insecurity. The same structural problems that caused North Korea’s famine to begin with still largely persist. Figures 6.2 and 6.3 show total food production numbers from one UN source for the years 2009–2017. “Total” here refers to the total weight of food produced for each year. To understand the harvest numbers, we need to consider some methodological issues. Typically, food production figures are measured in “cereal equivalents.” That is, harvest figures for crops such as soybeans, potatoes and the like, are calculated into equivalent figures for cereal weight, based 100

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on the relative caloric content of the crops in question. The purpose of this calculation is to generate a uniform, coherent measure for total food availability.27 Thus, total food production in unmilled cereal equivalent is not as informative a measurement as production figures in milled terms. On average, the difference between unmilled and milled production figures was 850,000 tonnes between 2009 and 2019.28 Figures 6.2 and 6.3 show food production figures, compiled from several different data sources, in the same time period.

  































Figure 6.2 Total food production, 2009–2018 (unmilled), million tonnes. Source: Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (FAO).

      

















Figure 6.3 Total food production, 2009–2019 (milled), million tonnes. Source: Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (FAO).

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As Figures 6.2 and 6.3 illustrate, North Korean food production began to improve from 2010 onward. The situation is not stable by any means, but it is incomparably better than it was in the 1990s. Since 2010, harvests have fluctuated between four and five million tonnes in milled cereal equivalents. This is not enough for North Korea to fully feed itself, but at least for most of the years since 2010, the country has been able to produce food at a level just above the minimum required level for daily human survival.29 As the next section discusses, total food production numbers by no means give a complete picture of North Korean food consumption. We also do not yet fully know what the true limits of North Korean annual food production capacity are. Simply put, agricultural policies are unclear and arbitrary, inputs are scarce, and the country depends on imports and donations of fertilizer. In a situation like this, it is unclear how much its agricultural system is able to produce, even with the most favorable of weather conditions. The figures for total food production, however, do at least give an indication of the relative availability of food in any given year. The change in production numbers is the most central piece of information, but the harvest increases from 2010 on may prove to be the exception and not the rule, as weather conditions may turn out to have been particularly favorable during those years.

The methodology of measuring food production, and why it matters Thus far, we have discussed the estimated quantities of North Korean food production from the 1990s and onwards, and the systemic problems that make the country chronically foodinsecure. Even with a rather detailed examination of harvest figures, however, we can only tell an approximated, partial story. Quantitative data and statistics for North Korea are, to put it mildly, scarce and of poor quality. As Marcus Noland has written, one should not “trust any datum on North Korea that comes with a decimal point attached.”30 As North Korea grew more militant and isolated internationally in the 1960s, the country virtually ceased to publish statistical data.31 Due to Pyongyang’s permanent state of emergency and strict, all-pervasive control of most visitors to the country, agencies tasked with estimating food production are strongly restricted in their ability to estimate and monitor agricultural production and overall food security. UN agencies claim that their access has improved steadily over the past few years, to the extent that they can now monitor aid distribution in all provinces of the country. However, they remain heavily restricted in terms of where within the provinces they are able to conduct monitoring visit, and especially in border provinces such as Jagang and Kangwon, on the border of China and South Korea respectively, significant portions of the provinces remain out of reach of international agency monitoring.32 Most significantly, UN staff are always accompanied by North Korean government officials – “national agency staff”33 – and cannot conduct survey interviews or field monitoring independently of the government. In a state such as North Korea, where state surveillance and retribution for any acts or utterances deemed undesirable by the government are a routine part of everyday life, survey respondents would likely fear for their own safety should they make statements counter to the government’s narrative.34 While monitoring access may have improved, the issue of compiling figures that are reasonably accurate remains a key problem, although here as well the UN agencies tasked with monitoring food security in North Korea can subject official figures, such as areas harvested, yields and production figures, and other agricultural supply input information to cross-checking – for example, by using satellite imagery and meteorological data to triangulate these figures.35 Overall, though, analysts always need to bear in mind the limitations placed on them by the nature of the data they are given, and thus the constant need to interrogate these figures carefully. 102

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Food as a problem of entitlements Who has access to food, how much of it, and at what times? How much food does the general public of North Korea consume, and how do they acquire it? Questions about North Korea’s overall capacity to produce food are certainly important, but the most central questions are those of distribution. As economist Amartya Sen has famously pointed out, famines do not occur simply when there is too little food in general for people to survive. Often, famine occurs not because food is too scarce for people to survive, but because a certain population loses access to it. Sen calls this the “entitlement approach,”36 and it is a highly useful approach for understanding the problem of food production and access to food in North Korea. To begin with, most of the food that North Koreans consume in an ordinary year is produced domestically, and because the margins are small, even a fairly minor drop in production can potentially bring dire consequences to some groups. In other words, determining who has access to food is arguably an even more important question than how much food the country can produce. This question is particularly complicated in the North Korean case for two reasons. First, the North Korean system functions very differently in practice than it does in theory. In theory, North Korea remains a centrally planned economy where even food distribution amounts are set and fixed by the state, and handed out through distribution sites in each neighborhood, operated within the institution of the Public Distribution System. We see this reflected in the February 2019 memo by the North Korean UN delegation in New York referred to earlier, stating that due to the anticipated food shortage “starting from January, average food ration per capita for a family of blue or white collar workers would dwindle to 300 g (compared to State food supply standard of 550 g).”37 In practice, however, the day-to-day workings of the system are far from straightforward, because much of central economic planning broke down as a result of the famine in the mid-1990s. Second and relatedly, the state’s ambivalent attitude toward the market system, and economic policy in general, makes it very difficult to determine the institutional rules of food procurement for the North Korean public. Because the state has legalized and formalized markets and market activity incrementally, and often through decrees rather than broad and transparent legal changes, it is virtually impossible to sketch out a credible, full model for how most of the North Korean public acquires food and sustenance. There is also likely a great deal of regional variation, since more people live in farming villages in the southern provinces, often called the “rice bowl” of the country, while proximity to the Chinese border in the northern regions makes market trade more widespread.38 The PDS theoretically operates along a three-channel structure. The general PDS distributes rice and grains to most of the population, while farmers are given seeds and sprouts to plant on their collective fields. A further third channel distributes more luxurious goods such as clothes, home appliances and other goods than the staple foods supplied by the general distribution channel.39 The basic distribution of the PDS is based on such factors as political/social status, job allocation, and demography. Thus, the higher people stand in the political and social hierarchy, the better priority they receive in accessing such distributions, while workers performing heavy labour, such as miners, actually receive the highest distribution of 800 grams per day, 100 grams more than high government officials.40 On the other hand, the capital city fares much better than the rest of the country.41 Farmers in collectives are not supplied with staple foods, but instead usually get to keep a share of production on the farm, and therefore do not rely on the PDS. When the system functioned as intended, people would simply take their bags and their rationing coupons – usually handed out at workplaces – to their local PDS center and receive their share.42 103

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As North Korea ran out of food, however, the PDS simply ceased to deliver in much of the country. Markets and barter largely came to take its place, though how food distribution actually works remains unclear. Some news sources, as well as North Korean defectors, believe that the PDS has in fact ceased to exist in any meaningful way, while others say that distribution goes only to certain groups.43 For example, in one 2016 survey of defectors, 22 percent stated that their main source of food in North Korea was market trade, with 19 percent listing small-plot farming. In 2013, those same numbers were over 36 percent and 27.8 respectively.44 These reports more or less presume that the PDS has ceased to function as a significant source of food for most North Koreans.45 In one survey study conducted with defectors in South Korea in 2008,46 fewer than 10 percent reported that they relied on the PDS as their primary source of food between 2005 and 2008.47 The markets were consistently reported as the most important source for food throughout this survey, with people’s own agricultural activities (presumably in kitchen gardens and small plots), and barter, being the other main sources.48 At the very least, we may conclude that many, if not a majority, of North Koreans rely on the market system rather than the PDS for their main source of sustenance.49 With some exceptions, marketization has been the general trend in North Korea’s economic development since the early 2000s. Markets were never completely banned in North Korea, but prior to the 1990s, they served only a peripheral role. Even after North Korea’s implementation of full central planning, farmers would be allowed to sell produce outside their state-mandated quota on certain market days in cities, and residents could use some of their small extra income outside of their basic rationing coupons for such purchases.50 Then, through a series of reforms which grew out of famine survival practices and were regularized starting in the early 2000s, the markets came to occupy a central place in the food economy of North Korea. Given the scattered nature of information on microeconomic conditions in North Korea, it is therefore virtually impossible to present an accurate picture of the role of the PDS and the markets respectively in present-day North Korea. Based on the relatively few sources available, however, alongside private sourcing by sale or barter, the PDS is one of several sources of food for the general public, and distribution is unreliable and irregular. Employees in state organs and, possibly, some state enterprises, receive food rations as part of their compensation.51 This is where the problem of entitlements comes in. The fixed daily rations the North Korean government has of food for each category of citizen is, at best, an ideological aspiration, since the PDS is far from the main channel for food for most North Koreans. Some do get deliveries, but we do not know how many, how much, or how often. Thus, the total numbers for North Korea’s food production is a relatively limited data point. It is valuable insofar as the trend matters, for if harvests in the area measured by the North Korean government rise by a certain percentage, it is reasonable to assume that the same change occurs in all arable land in the country, including kitchen gardens and other private plots. Weather and other factors that impact the government’s harvest numbers should logically impact food production in the country as a whole in the same way. However, who is actually able to consume food – who has the entitlement to it, to use Sen’s language – is a different question. Without surveying the markets, it is impossible to get an accurate understanding of who consumes what quantities of food in North Korea, and how they acquire it. Moreover, access to economic opportunity is highly predicated upon social background. North Korea’s socioeconomic system is highly stratified. Social and economic privilege depends not primarily on the individual’s own efforts, but more importantly, on their place in the Songbun class ladder. The Songbun system sorts each individual into a category of political trustworthiness, based on the political loyalty and status of their parents.52 The rise of the market economy means that there is a lower correlation between material wealth and family background, outside of the 104

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Pyongyang elites, in today’s North Korea than before the famine. Even so, economic opportunity corresponds closely to social status and position, connections to power, and, not least, family background, according to the aforementioned defector survey.53 The very top political stratum had access to special distribution channels during the famine, and barring any drastic change in North Korea’s social structures, their needs will always be a special top priority for the state.54

Agriculture under Kim Jong Un: changes, but to what extent? Overall, the North Korean government policy on agriculture and food production has trended toward liberalization since the early 2000s. However, under King Jong Un, this process has not yet developed into a process of overarching economic reform. The regime itself would never term the changes that have taken place “liberalization measures” or “reforms” but rather, “improvements.”55 This all matters because “reform” connotes a break with the past, while “improvement” signifies a more incremental, steady change while still holding fast to the old institutional rules. One could argue that this is only a difference in semantics, but “improvements,” “orders,” or “measures” – all words often used to connote changes in economic management policy in North Korea – can be more easily reversed than “reforms.” They are also likely to be implemented with less consistency across the country. These differences in language are important to bear in mind when discussing economic policy changes under Kim Jong Un. While much of the general improvement in agricultural production under his tenure can likely be attributed to policy changes, there still have been no broad, sweeping reforms in agriculture such as those first introduced under Deng Xiaoping in China in the late 1970s and onward. Nevertheless, significant changes have occurred. As with much of the broader scope of market mechanisms in the North Korean economy, much of the change in agricultural policy began before Kim Jong Un came to power, but he has advanced the previously existing policies and directions further. Much of the information we have about changes in agricultural policy is based on anecdotal information that cannot be fully verified, but much of it has been reported by so many different sources, including, in some instances, North Korean propaganda outlets. In 2013, for example, the pro-Pyongyang Korean-Japanese newspaper Choson Sinbo published a report about economic changes under the banner of “Our-Style Economic Management,” one of Kim Jong Un’s most central economic policy changes.56 The central idea behind this package of management policies was to let managers at the lower levels in both enterprises and collective farms, rather than Workers’ Party officials and central planners, make decisions on production planning, and plan compensation according to production in order to increase the economic incentives of the workers.57 Crucially, since 2012, the government has experimented with the so-called “field-responsibility system,” shrinking the size of sub-work-teams on collective farm fields from 10–25 people to 3–6 people, and letting work teams keep 30 percent of production, while the state takes and distributes 70 percent.58 It is worth noting that this fact alone speaks for the continued existence of the PDS in some shape or form despite reports to the contrary, because the state simply keeping 70 percent of harvests for itself is simply not realistic. Farms have also been allowed and enabled to make investments in agricultural machinery and material and plan their input purchases themselves based on market prices. North Korean propaganda has hailed the field-responsibility system for raising the creative skills of the team members when they are given flexibility.59 The main idea behind these changes is to incentivize farmers to work harder and produce more by allowing them to keep a greater share of what they harvest. However, it is far too early to tell what impact, if any, these policy 105

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changes have had. We also do not know precisely how they have been implemented in practice, and the degree to which they vary across the country. According to reports from inside North Korea, productivity has gone up as a result of the reforms,60 but at the same time, the implementation of these changes has not been problem-free. The North Korean government’s own Korean Central News Agency (KCNA) reported in late 2018 that vice-chairman of the Workers’ Party Central Committee, Pak Pong Ju, criticized “drawbacks” on some farms, and said that farmers were not taking full advantage of the possibilities presented by the changes.61 Moreover, the share of harvests that the state takes is based not on actual production but on pre-harvest estimates. Therefore, the actual share taken by the government will often be much higher than 30 percent, if harvests turn out to be lower than expected.62 In sum, policy changes in agricultural management since the 1990s famine have likely had a positive effect on agricultural production. At the same time, too little remains known about the practice of these policies to draw any firm conclusions. As with all other facet of government policy in the country, since it rests on edicts and orders rather than on legal changes, local officials have a great deal of discretion in how they interpret and implement the orders from above. That North Korean farmers are granted more and more independence in their operations will likely continue to increase productivity in agriculture, but thus far, no changes have gone far enough to warrant talk of a paradigm shift.

Conclusion North Korea’s food situation and agriculture have improved significantly since the catastrophic years of the 1990s and early 2000s. The state has granted farmers more and more autonomy in production planning, and the rise of the market system has been crucial to provide a more efficient system of food production and distribution than the largely defunct PDS. At the same time, North Korean agriculture remains highly inefficient and susceptible to external shocks. The agricultural reforms introduced under Kim Jong Un may have contributed to making the system more efficient. However, in the absence of more overarching, fundamental reforms to the system, agricultural production figures will continue to oscillate between poor and poorer. North Korea’s economic system has changed substantially over the past few years, but the fundamental inefficiencies largely remain.

Notes 1 For a news report of the memo, see Phil McCausland and Dan DeLuce, “Top North Korean Official Says Country Faces Major Food Shortages,” NBC News, available at: www.nbcnews.com/ news/north-korea/top-north-korean-official-says-his-country-faces-major-food-n973361 (accessed September 5, 2019). As of September 5, 2019, the memo itself, uploaded by NBC, could be viewed at www.documentcloud.org/documents/5744152-NK-Food.html. 2 World Food Program, “Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK) – FAO/WFP Joint Rapid Food Security Assessment,” May 2019, available at: www.wfp.org/publications/democratic-peoplesrepublic-korea-dprk-faowfp-joint-rapid-food-security-assessment (accessed September 5, 2019). 3 Ha Yoon Ah, “Food Situation Worsening in South Pyongan Province: Government Officials Failing to Receive Rations,” Daily NK, March 14, 2019, available at: www.dailynk.com/english/foodsituation-worsening-in-south-pyongan-province-government-officials-failing-to-receive-rations/ (accessed September 5, 2019). 4 See note 1 for the memo calling for urgent food assistance. For rainfall and other weather conditions, see World Food Program, “DPRK Joint Rapid Food Security Assessment”, p. 17. 5 Ibid., p. 6. 6 Benjamin Katzeff Silberstein, “The North Korean Economy and U.S. Policy: Stability Under ‘Maximum Pressure,’ ” in The East Asian Whirlpool: Kim Jong Un’s Diplomatic Shake-Up, China’s Sharp

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Power, and Trump’s Trade Wars, edited by Gilbert Rozman, Joint U.S.-Korea Academic Studies (Washington, DC: Korea Economic Institute of America, 2019), pp. 275–301. For an overview of the famine and its structural causes, see Stephan Haggard and Marcus Noland, Famine in North Korea: Markets, Aid, and Reform (New York: Columbia University Press, 2009). Benjamin Katzeff Silberstein, “Growth and Geography of Markets in North Korea: New Evidence from Satellite Imagery” (Washington, DC: U.S.-Korea Institute at SAIS, October 2015); Philip H. Park, Rebuilding North Korea’s Economy: Politics and Policy (Seoul, Republic of Korea: Kyungnam University Press, 2016). It is, however, important not to exaggerate the centrality of these markets. Much of the evidence on the so-called process of marketization in North Korea comes from survey studies with defectors in South Korea who tend to be overwhelmingly of northern North Korean geographic origins. It would not be surprising if the northern regions, which border China, had a comparatively more flourishing market system than the southern regions, since trade with China is much more commonplace in regions with geographical proximity. Historically, in cases of socialist land reform, the lines have often been murky between large-scale, wealthy landowners, and relatively poor farmers who happened to own some scale of land. For more on this, see, for example, Chong-Sik Lee, “Land Reform, Collectivization, and the Peasants in North Korea,” The China Quarterly, no. 14 (1963), pp. 65–81. In the Soviet case, for example, peasant resistance was so strong that in places the struggle practically assumed the dimensions of a civil war within the North. See Lynne Viola, Peasant Rebels under Stalin: Collectivization and the Culture of Peasant Resistance (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996). Kim Sŏng-bo Pukhanŭi Yŏksa 1: Kŏn’gukkwa Inminminjujuŭiŭi Kyŏnghŏm (Seoul, Republic of Korea: Yŏksabip’yŏngsa, 2011), pp. 87–88. Chong-Sik Lee, “The ‘Socialist Revolution’ in the North Korean Countryside,” Asian Survey, vol. 2, no. 8 (1962), pp. 9–22. Yi T’ae-sŏp, Pukhanŭi Kyŏngje Wigiwa Ch’eje Pyŏnhwa [North Korea’s Economy Crisis and Systemic Change] (Seoul, Republic of Korea: Sŏnin, 2009), pp. 17–18. For an overview of these debates and conflicts, see Balázs Szalontai, Kim Il Sung in the Khrushchev Era: Soviet-DPRK Relations and the Roots of North Korean Despotism, 1953–1964 (Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson Center Press, 2006), Chapters 2 and 3. Ibid., p. 72. Ibid,, p. 65. Lee, “The Socialist Revolution,” p. 9. Kim Byŏng-no, and Kim Sŏng-ch’ŏl, “Pukhansahoeŭi Pulp’yŏngdŭng Kujowa Chŏngch’isahoejŏk Hamŭi [The Unequal Structures of North Korean Society, and their Socio-political Implications]” (T’ongil Yŏn’guwŏn Yŏn’guch’ongsŏ, 1998), p. 53. The Juche ideology, though important for understanding North Korean policies of self-sufficiency, does not necessarily carry the same decisive weight that some observers attribute to it. As B. R. Myers has shown, outsiders often overestimate the significance of Juche and self-reliance as an ideological goal for North Korea, thereby intentionally or inadvertently romanticizing the North Korean state project. See B. R. Myers, North Korea’s Juche Myth (Busan, Republic of Korea: Sthele Press, 2015). For more on this, see, for example, see Lee, “Land Reform.” The quantitative part of this section focuses primarily on the period from around 2010, simply because at the present time of writing, this is the period for which the most substantial information was available from reports by the FAO and WFP. Stephan Haggard and Marcus Noland, “Famine in North Korea Redux?,” Journal of Asian Economics, vol. 20, no. 4 (September 1, 2009), pp. 384–395. Ibid., p. 389. As is often the case, the figures on North Korea do not tell a straight story. Calculations by Haggard and Noland (see notes 23 and 24) suggest that harvests dropped steeply for the 2005/2006 marketing year, while numbers in the FAO database show a decline only for 2007. For more on food as a low priority for the North Korean state, see, for example, Benjamin Katzeff Silberstein, “The Problem with Aid to North Korea is Bigger Than Diversion,” 38 North, December 6, 2018, available at: www.38north.org/2018/12/bkatzeffsilberstein120618/ (accessed September 15, 2019). For more on this, see Randall Ireson, “Why Headlines about DPRK Agricultural Production Miss the Point,” 38 North, May 6, 2016, available at: www.38north.org/2016/05/ireson050616/ (accessed September 18, 2019).

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Benjamin Katzeff Silberstein 28 Author’s own calculations based on compilations from several sources. Please contact the author for specific figures and sources. 29 Haggard and Noland, “Famine in North Korea Redux?,” op. cit., p. 386. 30 The full quote reads: “Former US Vice President Walter Mondale once observed that anyone who claimed to be an expert on North Korea was either a liar or a fool. My corollary would be not to trust any datum on North Korea that comes with a decimal point attached.” See Marcus Noland, “Famine and Reform in North Korea,” Asian Economic Papers, vol. 3, no. 2 (2004), pp. 1–40, footnote 5. 31 For a thorough examination of this problem, see Nicholas Eberstadt, The North Korean Economy: Between Crisis and Catastrophe (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers, 2009), Chapter 2. Since the author penned the 2009 edition of this book, certain matters have changed, and Pyongyang has begun to work somewhat more closely with international statistical authorities on matters such as its census taking and some other data collection. However, the basic problem, that Pyongyang treats statistical data about its country as a national secret, remains. 32 For the latest available information at the present time of writing, see United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (UNOCHA). DPR Korea 2015: Needs and Priorities, 2015. available at: https://reliefweb.int/report/democratic-peoples-republic-korea/dpr-korea-2015humanitarian-needs-and-priorities (accessed September, 26, 2019). See map on p. 21. 33 Ibid., p. 20. 34 In 2011, North Korea sanctions expert and human rights advocate Joshua Stanton interviewed a WFP official who stated that one UN assessment team sent to the country that year did include a Koreanlanguage speaker, and that North Korean staff members seconded from the government had been asked to leave the room during certain points in interviews with civilians on food security. See Joshua Stanton, ”Interview: Marcus Prior of the World Food Program, on Food Aid to North Korea,” One Free Korea (blog), July 2, 2011, available at: http://freekorea.us/2011/07/02/interview-marcusprior-of-the-world-food-program-on-food-aid-to-north-korea/#sthash.s0fC74kE.bANS6s9C.dpbs (accessed September 12, 2019). With a surveillance environment as strict as North Korea’s, however, it is not clear that such seeming signs of operational progress actually matter. The climate of fear that government surveillance and repression create is so pervasive and strong that one cannot assume that respondents suddenly feel free to be as blunt and transparent as they want, regardless of government objectives, just because the government officials in question step outside. For more on this issue as a problem of survey research in totalitarian societies, see Monique Skidmore, “Darker than Midnight: Fear, Vulnerability, and Terror Making in Urban Burma (Myanmar),” American Ethnologist, vol. 30, no. 1 (2003), pp. 5–21. 35 See World Food Program of the United Nations, “Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK) – FAO/WFP Joint Rapid Food Security Assessment,” available at: www.wfp.org/.../democraticpeoples-republic-korea, p. 5. 36 Sen lays out this theory in several of his works. For an example and explanation, see Amartya Sen, Food, Economics, and Entitlements (Helsinki, Finland: World Institute for Development Economics Research, United Nations University, 1987), p. 8. 37 Kim Song, “Urgent Food Assistance Called for”, undated memo to the United Nations by the North Korean legation. Published by NBC News, February 20, 2019, available at: www.nbcnews.com/ news/north-korea/top-north-korean-official-says-his-country-faces-major-food-n973361 (accessed January 8, 2020). 38 This is a very broad and general characterization of the differences in economic environments throughout the country. For example, Pyongsong, located in the western center of the country (north of the capital city Pyongyang), is known as a hub for wholesale and distribution since it is connected via highway both to the border town of Sinuiju in the north, and Pyongyang, the relatively wealthy capital. For more on the geography of markets, see Katzeff Silberstein, ”Growth and Geography.” 39 For an excellent overview of the PDS, see Fyodor Tertiskiy, “Let Them Eat Rice: North Korea’s Public Distribution System,” NK News, October 29, 2015. 40 For a generic table of these amounts, see Haggard and Noland, Famine in North Korea, op. cit., p. 54. 41 Tertitskiy, “Let Them Eat Rice,” op. cit. 42 According to conversations the present author has had with a significant number of North Korean defectors in South Korea, primarily in 2018–2019. 43 See note 42, as well as Kim Hyŏn-a, “Singnyang Baegŭpche [The Food Distribution System]”, Radio Free Asia, October 16, 2017, available at: www.rfa.org/korean/commentary/ae40d604c544/cu-hi10162017132838.html (accessed September 24, 2019).

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North Korea’s agriculture and food supply 44 Institute for Peace and Unification Studies (IPUS), “Pukhan Sahoe Byŏndong 2017 [Changes in North Korean Society, 2017]” Research Report, (Seoul, Republic of Korea: Institute for Peace and Unification Studies, 2017), p. 85. 45 See, for example, p. 38, p. 95, and others, in ibid. 46 Stephan Haggard and Marcus Noland, Witness to Transformation: Refugee Insights into North Korea (Washington, DC: Peterson Institute for International Economics, 2011), p. 161. 47 For the survey results, see ibid., p. 52. Haggard and Noland term the years between 2005 up until the survey was conducted (presumably), in 2008, the “retrenchment era,” see p. 47. 48 Ibid., p. 52. 49 Problematically, most research on the microeconomic behavior and social rules of North Korean society tends to be extremely skewed geographically, with a whopping 74 percent of all survey participants for the 2017 sample in the aforementioned survey study came from Yanggang Province in the north, up from 58 percent in 2013 (p. 20). This skew mirrors the overall overrepresentation of people from the northern regions among North Korean defectors in South Korea, but nonetheless, the figures are too strong to be disregarded due to geographical skew. 50 Philip H. Park, for example, has argued that the North Korean regime has historically been much more prone to using market mechanisms in economic management than commonly believed. See Philip H. Park, Rebuilding North Korea’s Economy: Politics and Policy (Seoul, Republic of Korea: Institute for Far Eastern Studies at Kyungnam University, 2016). For more on the gradual growth of the role of the farmers’ markets, see Haggard and Noland, Famine in North Korea, op. cit., pp. 172–173. 51 Ha Yoon Ah, “Yŏrakhan Singnyang Sajŏng Hosohan Puk…Kwŏllyŏk Kigwan Paegŭp Majŏ Munŏjina [Amid North Korean Appeals about Dire Food Situation, Distribution Fails even to State Organs],” Daily NK, March 3, 2011, available at: www.dailynk.com/%EC%97%B4%EC%95%85%ED%95%9C%EC%8B%9D%EB%9F%89%EC%82%AC%EC%A0%95-%ED%98%B8%EC%86%8C%ED%95%9C%E5%8C%97%EA%B6%8C%EB%A0%A5%EA%B8%B0%EA%B4%80-%EB%B0%B0%EA%B8%89-% EB%A7%88%EC%A0%80-%EB%AC%B4/(accessed September 26, 2019). 52 For two excellent summaries of the system, see Kim Byŏng-no and Kim Sŏng-ch’ŏl, Pukhansahoeŭi Pulp’yŏngdŭng Kujowa, and Hyŏn In-ae, Pukhanŭi Chumin Dŭngnok Chedoe Kwanhan Yŏn’gu [Research on the Citizen Registration System of North Korea],” MA thesis, Ewha Womans University, 2008. 53 Pukhan Sahoe Byŏndong 2017, p. 83. 54 For the famine years, see Haggard and Noland, Famine in North Korea, op. cit., p. 53. 55 For example, a crucial part of the formal marketization process was Kim Jong Il’s 2002 “July 1st Economic Management Improvement Order,” liberalizing price setting and wages among enterprises. 56 Ri Tae-ho, “ ‘Uri Sigŭi Kyŏngje Gwalli Bangbŏp’ ŭi Wansŏngŭl/Naegak Kwan’gyeja Int’ŏbyu” [Interview with Official from the Cabinet about the Perfection of the Our-Style Management Method], Choson Sinbo, May 10, 2013, available at: http://chosonsinbo.com/2013/05/0510th-4/ (accessed September 27, 2019). 57 In reality, many similar changes have been underway for a long time. For a summary of some of these changes prior to Kim Jong Un’s tenure, see Philip H. Park, ed., The Dynamics of Change in North Korea: An Institutionalist Perspective (Seoul: Kyungnam University Press, 2009). 58 For an overview of these policies, see Hong Jae-hwan, “Kim Jŏng-ŭn Chŏnggwŏn 5nyŏnŭi Pukhan’gyŏngje: Kyŏngje Jŏngch’aegŭl Chungsimŭro” [The North Korean Economy under Kim Jong Un’s Five Years in Power: The Central Economic Policies], Korean Institute for National Unification, Research Series 17–18, December 31, 2017, p. 63. 59 For one example out of several, see Chŏn Myŏng-il, “P’ojŏn Damdangch’aegimjewa Kwahangnongsaŭi Chuin” [The Masters of the Field Responsibility System and Scientific Farming], Rodong Sinmun, May 11, 2015, p. 5. 60 See, for example, Ha Yoon Ah, “Puk Ilbujiyŏk Nongmindŭl, ‘P’ojŏndamdangje’ Silssie Kŭlloŭiyok Sangsŭng” [Farmers in Some Areas of North Korea say Workers’ Motivation Increased under the Field Responsibility System], Daily NK, October 4, 2018. 61 Korean Central News Agency, “4th National Meeting of Activists in Agricultural Field Held,” Korean Central News Agency, December 27, 2018. 62 Kim Yoo Jin, “State Orders Farmers to Supply More Food to the Military,” Daily NK, January 11, 2019.

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References Bank of Korea 2013. “Gross Domestic Product Estimates for North Korea in 2012,” July 12, Seoul: Bank of Korea. See the World Bank’s estimates of trade as a percentage of GDP, available at http://data. worldbank.org/indicator/NE.TRD.GNFS.ZS. Chŏn, Myŏng-il. 2015. “P’ojŏn Damdang Ch’aegimjewa Kwahangnongsaŭi Chuin” [The Masters of the Field Responsibility System and Scientific Farming], Rodong Sinmun. May 11. DeLuce, Dan and McCausland Phil. 2019. “Top North Korean Official Says Country Faces Major Food Shortages,” NBC News. Available at: www.nbcnews.com/news/north-korea/top-north-koreanofficial-says-his-country-faces-major-food-n973361 (accessed September 5, 2019). Eberstadt, Nicholas. 2009. The North Korean Economy: Between Crisis & Catastrophe. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers. Ha, Yoon Ah. 2011. “Yŏrakhan Singnyang Sajŏng Hosohan Puk…Kwŏllyŏk Kigwan Paegŭp Majŏ Munŏjina” [Amid North Korean Appeals about Dire Food Situation, Distribution Fails even to State Organs], Daily NK, March 3. Ha, Yoon Ah. 2018. “Puk Ilbujiyŏk Nongmindŭl, ‘P’ojŏndamdangje’ Silssie Kŭlloŭiyok Sangsŭng” [Farmers in Some Areas of North Korea Say Workers’ Motivation Increased under the Field Responsibility System], Daily NK, October 4. Ha, Yoon Ah. 2019. “Food Situation Worsening in South Pyongan Province: Government Officials Failing to Receive Rations,” Daily NK, Available at: www.dailynk.com/english/food-situationworsening-in-south-pyongan-province-government-officials-failing-to-receive-rations/ (accessed September 5, 2019). Haggard, Stephan, and Noland, Marcus. 2008. “Authors’ Response: Famine in North Korea—A Reprise,” Asia Policy, no. 5, pp. 203–221. Haggard, Stephan, and Noland, Marcus. 2009a. Famine in North Korea: Markets, Aid, and Reform, New York: Columbia University Press. Haggard, Stephan, and Noland, Marcus. 2009b. “Famine in North Korea Redux?” Journal of Asian Eco­ nomics, vol. 20, no. 4 (September 1), pp. 384–95. Haggard, Stephan, and Noland, Marcus. 2011. Witness to Transformation: Refugee Insights into North Korea, Washington, DC: Peterson Institute For International Economics. Hong, Jae-hwan. 2017. “Kim Jŏng-ŭn Chŏnggwŏn 5nyŏnŭi Pukhan’gyŏngje: Kyŏngje Jŏngch’aegŭl Chungsimŭro” [The North Korean Economy under Kim Jong Un’s Five Years in Power: The Central Economic Policies], Korean Institute for National Unification Research Series, December 31, 2017, pp. 17–18. Hyŏn, In-ae. 2008. “Pukhanŭi Chumindŭngnokchedoe Kwanhan Yŏn’gu” [Research on the Citizen Registration System of North Korea], MA thesis, Ewha Womans University. Institute for Peace and Unification Studies (IPUS). 2017. “Pukhan Sahoe Byŏndong 2017” [Changes in North Korean Society, 2017], Research Report. Seoul, Republic of Korea: Institute for Peace and Unification Studies. Ireson, Randall. 2016. “Why Headlines About DPRK Agricultural Production Miss the Point,” 38 North, May 6, available at: www.38north.org/2016/05/ireson050616/ Katzeff Silberstein, Benjamin. 2015. “Growth and Geography of Markets in North Korea: New Evidence from Satellite Imagery,” Washington, DC: U.S.-Korea Institute at SAIS. Katzeff Silberstein, Benjamin. 2018. “The Problem with Aid to North Korea Is Bigger than Diversion,” 38 North, December 6, 2018. Available at: www.38north.org/2018/12/bkatzeffsilberstein120618/. Katzeff Silberstein, Benjamin. 2019a. “The North Korean Economy and U.S. Policy: Stability under ‘Maximum Pressure,’ ” in Gilbert Rozman (Ed.), The East Asian Whirlpool: Kim Jong Un’s Diplomatic Shake-Up, China’s Sharp Power, and Trump’s Trade Wars, Joint U.S.-Korea Academic Studies. Washington, DC: Korea Economic Institute of America, pp. 275–301. Katzeff Silberstein, Benjamin. 2019b. “The North Korean Economy in April 2019: Sanctions Are Pinching—But Where and How Much?,” 38 North, April 19, 2019. Available at: www.38north.org/2019/04/ bkatzeffsilberstein041919/ Katzeff Silberstein, Benjamin. 2019c. “North Korea’s Food Situation: Bad but Not Catastrophic: 38 North: Informed Analysis of North Korea,” 38 North, May 29, 2019. Available at: www.38north.org/2019/05/ bkatzeffsilberstein052919/ Kim, Byŏng-no and Kim, Sŏng-ch’ŏl. 1998. “Pukhansahoeŭi Pulp’yŏngdŭng Kujowa Chŏngch’isahoejŏk Hamŭi” [The Unequal Structures of North Korean Society, and its Socio-Political Implications], T’ongil Yŏn’guwŏn Yŏn’guch’ongsŏ.

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North Korea’s agriculture and food supply Kim, Hyŏn-a. 2017. “Singnyang Baegŭpche” [The Food Distribution System], Radio Free Asia, October 16, 2017. Available at: www.rfa.org/korean/commentary/ae40d604c544/cu-hi-10162017132838. html (accessed September 24, 2019). Kim, Song. “Urgent Food Assistance Called for,” undated memo to the United Nations by the North Korean legation. Published by NBC News, February 20, 2019. Available at: www.nbcnews.com/ news/north-korea/top-north-korean-official-says-his-country-faces-major-food-n973361 (accessed January 8, 2020). Kim, Sŏng-bo. 2011. Pukhanŭi Yŏksa 1: Kŏn’gukkwa Inminminjujuŭiŭi Kyŏnghŏm, Seoul, Republic of Korea: Yŏksabip’yŏngsa1. Kim, Yoo Jin. 2019. “State Orders Farmers to Supply More Food to the Military,” Daily NK, January 11. Korean Central News Agency. 2018. “4th National Meeting of Activists in Agricultural Field Held,” Korean Central News Agency, December 27. Lee, Chong-Sik. 1962. “The ‘Socialist Revolution’ in the North Korean Countryside,” Asian Survey, vol. 2, no. 8, pp. 9–22. Lee, Chong-Sik. 1963. “Land Reform, Collectivisation and the Peasants in North Korea,” The China Quarterly, no. 14, pp. 65–81. Noland, Marcus. “Famine and Reform in North Korea,” Asian Economic Papers, vol. 3, no. 2, pp. 1–40. Myers, B. R. 2015. North Korea’s Juche Myth, Busan, Republic of Korea: Sthele Press. Park, Philip H. (Ed.). 2009. The Dynamics of Change in North Korea: An Institutionalist Perspective, Seoul: Kyungnam University Press. Park, Philip H. 2016. Rebuilding North Korea’s Economy: Politics and Policy, Seoul, Republic of Korea: Kyungnam University Press. Ri, Tae-ho. 2013. “ ’Uri Sigŭi Kyŏngje Gwalli Bangbŏp’ ŭi Wansŏngŭl/Naegak Kwan’gyeja Int’ŏbyu” [Interview with Official from the Cabinet about the Perfection of the Our-Style Management Method], Choson Sinbo, May 10, 2013. Available at: http://chosonsinbo.com/2013/05/0510th-4/ (accessed September 27, 2019). Sen, Amartya. 1987. Food, Economics, and Entitlements, Helsinki, Finland: World Institute for Development Economics Research, United Nations University. Skidmore, Monique. 2003. “Darker than Midnight: Fear, Vulnerability, and Terror Making in Urban Burma (Myanmar),” American Ethnologist, vol. 30, no. 1, pp. 5–21. Stanton, Joshua. 2011. “Interview: Marcus Prior of the World Food Program, on Food Aid to North Korea,” One Free Korea (blog), July 2, 2011. Available at: http://freekorea.us/2011/07/02/interviewmarcus-prior-of-the-world-food-program-on-food-aid-to-north-korea/#sthash.s0fC74kE. bANS6s9C.dpbs. (accessed September 12, 2019). Szalontai, Balázs. 2006. Kim Il Sung in the Khrushchev Era: Soviet-DPRK Relations and the Roots of North Korean Despotism, 1953–1964, Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson Center Press. Tertiskiy, Fyodor. 2015. “Let them Eat Rice: North Korea’s Public Distribution System,” NK News, October 29. United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (UNOCHA). 2015. DPR Korea 2015: Needs and Priorities. Available at: https://reliefweb.int/report/democratic-peoples-republickorea/dpr-korea-2015-humanitarian-needs-and-priorities (accessed September 26, 2019). Viola, Lynne. 1996. Peasant Rebels under Stalin: Collectivization and the Culture of Peasant Resistance, New York: Oxford University Press. World Food Program of the United Nations. 2019. Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK) – FAO/ WFP Joint Rapid Food Security Assessment. Available at: www.wfp.org/publications/democratic-peoplesrepublic-korea-dprk-faowfp-joint-rapid-food-security-assessment (accessed September 5, 2019). Yi, T’ae-sŏp. 2009. Pukhanŭi Kyŏngje Wigiwa Ch’eje Pyŏnhwa [North Korea’s Economy Crisis and Systemic Change], Seoul, Republic of Korea: Sŏnin. Yu, Chong-Ae. 2007. “The Rise and Demise of Industrial Agriculture in North Korea,” The Journal of Korean Studies, vol. 12, no. 1, pp. 75–109.

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7

North Korea’s iNteractioN

with the global ecoNomy

Justin Hastings

North Korea is often portrayed as totalitarian, paranoid, and isolated from the rest of the world (Hassig and Oh 2009). None of these stereotypes are wholly inaccurate, but a country truly cut off from the outside world would not have survived, even in an enervated state, for as long as North Korea has. In this chapter, I look at North Korea’s interactions with the global economy, with a special focus on how North Korea has made its way in the world since Kim Jong-un’s rise to power. North Korea’s dependence on international trade is low by world standards – trade is equivalent to perhaps only 40 percent of GDP, depending on how the figures are calcu­ lated (Bank of Korea 2013)1 – but it is of interest because of what it trades, how it interacts with the global economy, and what this means for the future of North Korea. Despite its rhetoric, North Korea has long turned to the global economy to survive, a tend­ ency that has been accentuated since the Arduous March famine of the 1990s. A combination of factors, both internal and external, have led to North Korean engagement with the inter­ national economy that is quite creative, blurring the boundary between state and non-state actors, between formal and informal trade and economic activity, and between legality and illegality. Internally, the Arduous March gave rise to new generations of North Koreans who have survived through engaging in economic activity in a very ambiguous business environ­ ment. Externally, North Korean actors have had to deal with ever-tightening sanctions in response to the North Korean state’s development of missiles and nuclear weapons. I close with a discussion of the ramifications of how North Korea interacts with the international economy for North Korea’s political and economic trajectory.

Historical context The Cold War During the Cold War, North Korea was largely reliant on aid from other Communist countries. While most other Communist countries were forced into either China or the Soviet Union’s orbit, North Korea pursued a policy that allowed it to move back and forth between the Soviet Union and China, thus maximizing the economic benefits it received in terms of technical expertise and intra-Communist Bloc trade on concessional terms, as well the leeway it had in its foreign policy (Armstrong 2013). This was especially important inasmuch as North Korea 112

NK’s interaction with the global economy

became an unattractive destination for trade and investment as the Cold War reached its denoue­ ment, and as South Korea continued to outstrip the North in levels of economic development. North Korea responded by attempting to open itself up to international trade on its own terms: a joint venture law was passed in 1984 to encourage foreign investment (Abrahamian, See and Wang 2014), and ethnic Koreans in Japan who were sympathetic to North Korea (from Chongryon, the pro-North Korean association of Korean residents of Japan) were encouraged to set up businesses in North Korea, as well as to send money and supplies to their relatives who were already living in the country (Kim, H. 1998; Kim 2008). As North Korea’s economy floundered, North Korean diplomats were forced to raise money through any means necessary, including by using their diplomatic outposts and prerogatives to smuggle alcohol, drugs, and other items for profit (Lankov 2007, pp. 256–258). Thus were established many of the ways, both licit and illicit, by which North Korea continues to engage with the international economy.

The 1990s and the Arduous March As the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, it pulled out its technical experts from North Korea, and in the aftermath of the Cold War, Russia began demanding payment in hard currency for its sales to North Korea (Zacek 1998, p. 84). North Korea’s international trade collapsed, its fertilizer-intensive agricultural production and its electrical power generation were cut off from new supplies and expertise, and what were already hard times became disastrous times as fac­ tories fell idle, crops failed, and North Koreans starved to death by the hundreds of thousands. During the great famine, referred to by Kim Jong Il obliquely as the “Arduous March,” the command economy within the country collapsed, and regular North Koreans were left to fend for themselves (Cha 2012, pp. 120–124, 186–189). North Korea’s response consisted in part of doubling down on what it had done during the Cold War. Chongryon continued to be pressed into service to support the North Korean economy, and for most of the 1990s, Japan was actually North Korea’s largest trading partner (Kim, H., 1998, p. 126; Noland 1998, p. 192; Quinones 2003, pp. 171–172). North Korea took tentative steps toward encouraging international investment through the creation of the RajinSonbong Special Economic Zone in the north-eastern corner of the country in the early 1990s, but did little to make it an attractive investment zone during the Arduous March (Reilly 2014, pp. 905–907). The North Korean state also turned its resources to making money through all avenues. North Korea used its expertise in small arms, missiles, and nuclear weapons to sell parts and expertise to a variety of countries, including Pakistan (Hastings 2016, pp. 70–80). The country also began exporting drugs – including heroin and crystal methamphetamine – produced in North Korea to overseas buyers, using state resources. North Korean ships were pressed into service delivering drugs to the next chain in the drug trafficking network (often Japanese organ­ ized crime networks), as were diplomats through diplomatic pouches (Hastings 2015). Across North Korean society, as desperation took over, there were also moves toward crea­ tive ways of interacting with the global economy. Private citizens – primarily women – initially began selling household items at private markets (jangmadang) as a way for their household to survive (Haggard and Noland 2007). Tens of thousands of North Koreans left North Korea for China to look for food and supplies, and those households that had links to relatives in China could use those connections to acquire food, supplies, and business opportunities, leading to the first fully private international trade for North Koreans (Lankov 2007, pp. 220–221, 231, 284–285). State officials with access to machinery, equipment, and anything that could not be 113

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bolted down attempted to support themselves and their work units through selling the idled items to Chinese buyers (Suh 2008, pp. 23–26). The means by which many North Koreans survived amounted to coming up with new and creative ways to engage in economic activities, inside and outside of North Korea.

Recovery from the Arduous March Inasmuch as the jangmadang represented a challenge of the North Korean state’s prerogative to provide for its population, and were foci of economic activity outside direct state control, Kim Jong Il had a tempestuous relationship with them, and more generally with the explosion of private and semi-private enterprise that emerged from the Arduous March. In the throes of the Arduous March, much of the machinery of state control, such as travel permits, forcing workers to stay in their work units, and control of food through the Public Distribution System, broke down (Haggard and Noland 2007, 2010a; Kim et al. 1997, pp. 85, 87). As North Korea recovered, the regime attempted to reassert control, if only partially successfully: border cross­ ings were gradually curtailed, the frequency with which markets were allowed to be held was decreased, and gradually market participation was limited to older women. In a bid to tighten control over the markets, Kim Jong Il’s reign was capped by the disastrous November 2009 currency revaluation, which effectively wiped out the life savings of many North Koreans – mostly regular citizens operating in the jangmadang who had done business primarily in North Korean won (Haggard and Noland 2010b). Yet in international trade, North Koreans deepened and expanded the trading networks and methods that had developed during the Arduous March: all elements of the North Korean state were turned toward making money through exporting labor and goods where North Korea had a comparative advantage, and bringing in technology and materials North Korea needed for its weapons programs: Air Koryo made flights to Macau and Southeast Asia on trade runs (Lintner 2001), North Korean diplomats served as go-betweens for trade both licit and illicit, and North Koreans ships exported weapons and drugs (Hastings 2016). As international scrutiny, such as the Proliferation Security Initiative in 2003, and then, beginning in 2006, United Nations sanc­ tions, began to bite, North Korea pulled back on using state resources so blatantly outside of the country, and began relying more heavily on foreign middlemen: the use of state-owned infra­ structure for drug trafficking seems to have ended by 2007 (Hastings 2015), and as Japan gradu­ ally banned trade with North Korea from 2006, Chinese and Taiwanese brokers came to the fore in buying and selling goods on North Korea’s behalf (Hastings 2016).

Kim Jong Un After the death of Kim Jong Il at the end of 2011, it became clear that his son and successor Kim Jong Un was pursuing a dual policy of attempting to tighten political control while allowing markets and international trade to persist. In the first few years of Kim Jong Un’s rule, purges of officials increased substantially as Kim replaced his father’s loyalists with his own. Kim also increased the frequency with which border officials were transferred in and out of positions, as a way to minimize corrupt officials’ ability to build their own networks, and crack down on illegal border crossing.2 These had the effect of rendering international trade somewhat more difficult for North Korean traders, particularly private and hybrid trade that relied on smuggling or paying off state officials. At the same time, Kim Jong Un largely left the jangmadang alone – nothing like the 2009 currency revaluation has happened under Kim Jong Un, and North Korean officials were at pains to tell their foreign counterparties that North Korea continued to 114

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be open for business (Fenghuangwang 2013). As Kim Jong Un’s rule progressed, Pyongyang also saw substantial development, which was presumably funded in some way by North Korea’s business activities, including its international trade (Collins 2016). While economic development was one of the two prongs of Kim Jong Un’s byungjin line – his formulation for the simultaneous pursuit of a nuclear-backed defence security posture and of economic development, the other – nuclear weapons development – meant that to a certain extent the two prongs were at odds with each other. Following a series of moves in 2013 which raised tensions on the Korean Peninsula to unprecedented levels, and a flurry of nuclear and missile tests in 2016 and 2017, the United Nations tightened sanctions, including banning the export of seafood, minerals, and textiles (which had been the primary legitimate sources of North Korean income up to that point), and China periodically cracked down on cross-border trade (Blanchard 2013; Bradsher and Cumming-Bruce 2013; Hastings and Wang 2018). Clearly money was coming from somewhere, inasmuch as there was a building boom in Pyongyang (which could mean that Kim was funneling money mostly to the Pyongyang elite), but North Korea’s markets also appeared to suffer from tightening of sanctions (Ryall 2018). North Korea was faced with the prospect of resorting to more extreme measures to get around sanctions, with the cooperation of fewer and fewer countries, or seeking to have the sanctions alleviated through a charm offensive with both allies and adversaries.

The North Korean way of doing business Internal and external drivers How North Koreans do business with the outside world is shaped by both internal and external drivers that have evolved since the Arduous March. Within the country, North Koreans at nearly all levels of society face the need to survive: because official wages (in won) are negligible, and the food dispersed from the Public Distribution Centers is not enough to feed the popula­ tion (when it is dispersed at all), North Koreans often must engage in business to make money and acquire food and other items necessary for living. If they are unsuccessful, they are likely to have problems feeding themselves or their families, and if they are unable to bring income for their superiors, they are likely to have political problems. North Koreans also operate in an environment of political uncertainty, inasmuch as they, their business partners, and the officials protecting them, could all be transferred away or purged without warning, and the overall attitude of the state toward (illegal) business activities could change. This is compounded on an individual basis by the illegality of much business outside that of state trading firms. While the existence of private markets was formally recognized in reforms announced in July 2002 (Choi 2007, pp. 1–2), there is always the possibility of participants running foul of the North Korean state. In practice, even those entitled to engage in business must engage in illegal activities to get what they need within the North Korean system. To avoid political risk to their business activities, private and hybrid actors must enter into relation­ ships with state officials that involve bribery, and often other criminal activities such as smug­ gling (Lankov and Kim 2008; Hastings 2016, pp. 97–124; Lankov et al. 2017). Outside of the country, North Korean trade networks struggle with illegality as well. United Nations and unilateral sanctions ban or impose strict trade regulations on certain goods that would, if they were being traded by any country except North Korea, be considered mundane and legal, such as oil, seafood, minerals, luxury goods, and certain types of machinery and high technology. Other goods that are directly implicated in North Korea’s weapons of mass destruc­ tion and missile programs are also banned by sanctions. The upshot of this is that North Korean 115

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business transactions since the onset of UN sanctions in 2006 seldom follow a standard path from start to finish – there must always be some nefarious element, whether it be money laun­ dered through banks and companies, the use of front companies, the intervention of third-party brokers, or the masking of the nature of the goods being traded. Even without a transaction being illegal per se, in other words, because North Koreans are involved in the transaction, there is likely to be some illegal activity in support of the transaction. Even for legal, formal trade, however, North Korea faces difficulty in international financing. North Korean banks are by and large not set up to provide capital for investments and trade, and North Korea has had difficulty receiving international loans for decades because of a long history of loan defaulting. In addition, financial sanctions measures against North Korea, while designed in theory to stop North Korean companies from using financial institutions to fund or supply the country’s weapons programs (or now other banned trade items, such as textiles and seafood), have the effect of scaring off all but the most risk-acceptant small banks from dealing with North Korean trade at all. Even what would be otherwise normal, legal financial transactions become money laundering because they involve North Korean firms, or because of the strategies firms must use to get around bank limitations on dealing with North Korean firms and individuals, or transferring money into or out of North Korea. Finally, North Koreans deal with what might be called the North Korea “brand” – other parties’ perception of North Koreans as exotic, mysterious, and willing to go places and provide services that other countries will not. This can be seen in mundane businesses such as North Korean restaurants, which capitalize on the allure of North Korea as a “hermit kingdom” (Stran­ gio 2010; Kang 2014; Thompson 2014), to drugs, where North Korea developed a reputation for producing high-quality heroin, and to businesses, such as missiles, Soviet-era military equip­ ment (and its maintenance), military and police training, and the like, where North Korea is willing to provide goods and services at prices developing countries can afford. The result of these internal and external drivers is a uniquely North Korean way of doing business, including internationally, that defies traditional ways of thinking about a country’s engagement with the international economy. First, North Korean trading networks blur the line between legality and illegality. Because North Korea is still formally a command economy, and private ownership of companies and land continues to be outlawed, many business activities outside of the officially licensed state trading firms are illegal within the country. At the same time, the North Korean state needs the money generated for it by the bribes that are passed up the chain as a result of the “illegal” business activity, and also needs this “illegal” trade to provide for the population (Park 2011, pp. 214–215). Second, North Koreans blur the line between formality and informality. Because the only offi­ cially recognized business entities are state-owned, all other business activity is necessarily off the books. Because the North Korean state is not an impartial arbiter, and dispute resolution mecha­ nisms are weak to non-existent, even formal contracted relationships have a substantial informal element, with social networks undergirding contract enforcement, and informal relationships allow­ ing private actors to acquire official status. While formality (in terms of the status of the business, and the nature of the trade) provides some amount of political protection, the level of corruption within North Korea is such that traders must pay bribes to officials, and develop relationships to protect their operations regardless of whether the business activity is legal or illegal, formal or informal. The result is that the question of whether to pursue legality and formality becomes a matter of costs and benefits. It is not always clear to North Koreans that legality and formality are optimal strategies for trade, and smuggling between North Korea and China in particular can be seen as a way for North Koreans and Chinese alike to mitigate some risks associated with doing business, such as political uncertainty and other costs associated with trade (Hastings and Wang 2018). 116

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Third, North Korean trading networks blur the distinction between state and non-state actors. Within North Korea, state trading companies may lease out their trading rights to other actors, while companies that are officially registered as state enterprises are operated as private companies, where the de facto owner pays state officials a fee and percentage of the profits in exchange for state status and political protection. Even more importantly for engagement with the international economy, outside of North Korea, North Korean state companies are forced by sanctions to either use state prerogatives and resources, such as diplomatic missions and North Korean state-owned ships, and face scrutiny from sanctions enforcers, or else forego those and act as private companies. This involves relying on commercial transport and finance infrastructure, or third party private companies to hide the involvement of North Korea firms (and thus avoid sanctions enforcement), to bring their transactions to a successful conclusion (Hastings 2016, pp. 10–14).

How interaction with the international economy works Given these resultant characteristics of the North Korean way of doing business, both domesti­ cally and internationally, different levels of North Korean society engage with the international economy in different ways, depending on their access to the prerogatives and resources of the North Korean state. In recent years, as sanctions have tightened, these prerogatives have dimin­ ished in salience, and a wide variety of North Korean business entities vie to engage in inter­ national trade. Private market networks – the trade networks that import and export goods for the benefit of private citizens (or state officials acting on their own), and who often buy and sell in jangma­ dang, by and large rely on social ties with relatives and business partners in China (Lankov and Kim 2008; Hastings and Wang 2017). Hybrid networks, where firms are formally state-owned, but de facto operate as private enterprises, either because the manager pays a state official for status, or because a state official goes into business on his or her own, can also use state preroga­ tives and resources, although these might be limited to political protection for the activities, as well as whatever equipment and infrastructure the state organization sponsoring the firm can bring to bear. As such, social ties are also likely to be important in interfacing with the outside world (Lim and Yoon 2011). Major state-owned firms are theoretically in the best position to engage with the international economy, inasmuch as they have trading rights and political pro­ tection from the center built into their transactions, and also have access to state diplomatic and logistical resources. These resources allow them to operate farther away from North Korea by setting up front companies and branches outside of north-eastern China, and making deals with countries far from Northeast Asia (Hastings 2016, pp. 70–92). Outside North Korea, North Korean state political protection means little, other than what may be provided by North Korean diplomatic missions, and in fact is actively harmful to eco­ nomic actors attempting to engage in trade around the world. Rather, North Koreans rely on a combination of high-risk market transactions, in which North Korean firms are willing to do business with anyone at the risk of the transaction failing due to defection or enforcement actions, and a set of third-country brokers with whom North Korean firms maintain relation­ ships across multiple transactions. A relatively high level of trust can be built up, either because of co-ethnic ties in the case of ethnic Korean Chinese firms or because of repeated business transactions in the case of genuine third-country brokers (Park 2014; Park and Walsh 2016). However this decreases the flexibility that North Korean economic actors have if they opt to shift brokers, given that building non-market ties takes time and effort, while in an environment of heavy sanctions, the number of actors willing to take on the risk of repeatedly dealing with North Koreans is not infinite. 117

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For state-supported business deals, DPRK state firms continue to use diplomatic assets, not only for transport but also as brokers who have access to diplomatic pouches and posts (which can serve as a base for front companies) rather than buyers and suppliers who actually handle the goods. In a 2013 deal, for instance, North Korean state firms supplied spare parts for Scud mis­ siles to a company in Egypt (possibly linked to the Egyptian military) by shipping the parts to Beijing on an Air Koryo flight. The company that received the parts and shipped them onwards was called Ryongsong Trading, and was based in the North Korean embassy in Beijing. State diplomatic prerogatives and resources thus served both transport and broker roles (Panel of Experts 2016: paragraph 71). As sanctions have tightened, in line with an approach to economic engagement that relies on informal networks, elision of the difference between legality and illegality, and between state and non-state status, North Korea has come to rely on third-country brokers to do business outside of North Korea. The brokers may actually be North Korean actors set up to look like third-country firms. In one case described in 2017, a nominally Malaysian company – Glocom – served as a broker of equipment shipped from China to Eritrea. Glocom was a front for two other companies that had representatives in Malaysia, Singapore, and North Korea, and were led by North Korean nationals, but were registered in Malaysia (Panel of Experts 2017: paragraphs 72–83). These brokers also often come from the countries in which they are located, so in this sense North Korea is handing off the success of its international engagement to other countries. This is a longstanding practice for North Korea, and predates Kim Jong Un’s rise to power – the role of Chongryon in sending money and goods to North Korea up through the 1990s is evidence of this, as are the Chinese brokers in the border region between China and North Korea on whom North Korean firms rely extensively for buying and selling goods. In 2013, one ethnic Korean Chinese broker described receiving orders from his North Korean trading partners (who were themselves often brokers for other North Korean firms) for goods that ranged from the mundane – fertilizer and consumer goods – to those possibly violating sanctions such as precision machinery and chem­ icals. Having received the order, the broker’s company would then place orders with suppliers around the world and have the goods shipped to them as the end users. If the suppliers would not ship to the broker’s company, the broker would activate his network of front companies, other Chinese brokers, and organizations (such as university labs in China) who could take delivery with less suspicion. Once the goods arrive in northeastern China, they would then be delivered through Chinese and North Korean customs to North Korea.3 Third-country brokers also work with North Korea further afield as well. In 2013, for instance, several Taiwanese businesspeople were indicted in the US for acquiring equipment in the US on behalf of North Korean firms over a number of transactions in the early 2000s, and then shipping the goods through Hong Kong and Taiwan (US Department of Justice 2013). Likewise, a number of the ship-to-ship oil transfers that have come to prominence since 2017 have been arranged by third-country brokers, particularly Taiwanese ship-owners, shipping agents, and oil brokers (Panel of Experts 2018, paragraphs 63–66). Similarly, in 2017, an Australian citizen of South Korean descent was arrested in Sydney, Australia, and charged with acting as a broker for North Korea. He had allegedly attempted to arrange the sale of missile, missile technology, and military training by North Korea to other countries, as well as the sale of North Korean coal in South-east Asia, all without leaving Australia (Snow, Saulwick and Massola 2017). North Koreans also engage with the international economy through straightforward smug­ gling. Given that the mechanism by which sanctions are enforced usually involves scrutiny of customs declarations and end user certificates at the import or export approval stage, or at border checkpoints, informal trade – trade which bypasses, in part or in whole, legal processes and/or checkpoints – has also become a related means by which North Korea engages with the 118

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international economy while under sanctions. The informal nature of the engagement means that the trade networks are unable to use more globalized means of transportation and are limited to what can be transported by land or by sea. In practice, this means that, with some exceptions, North Koreans’ direct involvement with informal trade ends at the Chinese border or on a ship off the coast of North Korea. This is a strength for North Koreans inasmuch as they can circumvent sanctions enforcement that occurs at border checkpoints or through official channels, and that relies on accurately identifying North Korean actors or goods (or goods intended for North Korea). It is a weakness inasmuch as dependence on third-country brokers (most of them Chinese) is amplified, and North Koreans, particularly those trading without permission from the North Korean central government, must take on a significant level of risk to trade. Finally, North Korean firms’ experience with concealing the nature of their transactions, and finding both buyers and sellers for military equipment, weapons, and items means that one of the ways in which North Korea can interact with the international economy without actually having to worry about moving items into or out of North Korea is by serving as brokers them­ selves, or by having links to non-North Korean nationals who then serve as the putative brokers in international business deals. In one case, in 2010, for instance, a Chinese national in Hong Kong placed orders with supplier companies in Taiwan, Japan, China, Hong Kong, the US, and Denmark, who shipped weapons-related items to a Chinese national-led trading company in Dalian, China. That company then shipped the items commercially to companies in Syria rep­ resenting the Syrian government. North Korean firms, specifically KOMID, the main state arms trading company of North Korea, were implicated in the deal, inasmuch as they were con­ nected to the Chinese trading companies, and likely received the order for the items from the Syrian government via their representative in Syria. Yet they never actually touched the items, nor did the items ever enter North Korea (Panel of Experts 2018, paragraph 130).

Ramifications for the future What are the ramifications of how North Korea interacts with the international economy for the DPRK’s future? Perhaps ironically, many of North Korea’s economic travails exist, even under sanctions, because North Korea’s international behavior ultimately follows a political logic (and more specifically, the strategic logic of Kim Jong-un). The economic logic of North Korea’s international behavior must operate within those constraints, particularly when what is needed for North Korea to develop or continue to engage in international business transactions is at odds with the DPRK’s overarching political or strategic goals. The history of North Korea’s economic actors is thus one of trying to make the best of a bad (and worsening) situation. The dramatic increase in ship-to-ship oil transfers in international waters since 2017 is an example of North Korean resourcefulness in the face of UN sanctions that effectively banned North Korean ships from international ports, severely curtailed oil exports to the country, and constrained foreign ships from calling at North Korean ports (Panel of Experts 2018, para­ graphs 63, 65, 66). Yet oil transfers at sea are not a particularly efficient way to acquire oil, and, even with a massive increase, it is hard to see how North Korea can provide for all of its oil needs through oil smuggling at sea. It is a case of North Korea’s economic actors operating within the constraints of a regime that has decided that nuclear weapons testing and missile launches were more important than the free passage of North Korean ships or the operation of North Korean ports. In addition, the ways in which North Korea has circumvented sanctions have paradoxically made it more susceptible to sanctions enforcement. First, relying on third-country brokers to 119

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mask North Korean involvement in trade means that while the brokers take on some amount of risk on behalf of North Korea, if those brokers are no longer available, either by defection or capture, North Korea has to accept the failure of the transaction. How much failure North Korea can handle, either as a buyer or a seller, is unclear, but the cost of putting together deals is presumably not negligible. Second, informal trade is likely limited in scale because it relies on social ties to enforce contracts, provide political protection, and resolve disputes (Haggard, Lee and Noland 2012; Haggard and Noland 2012; Hastings and Wang 2018). To the extent that those social ties are broken, North Koreans are liable to see their ability to engage in informal trade decline. While the purpose of social ties undergirding trade networks is to allow trade to weather political storms, including sanctions, they are not indestructible, and can be cut off by North Korea or other countries. Here Kim Jong Un’s purges, which have decreased somewhat in recent years, and his pol­ icies of transferring border officials through their posts relatively quickly to decrease their ability to build patronage networks, have worked against the continuation of many informal trade net­ works. To a certain extent, this is likely intended by Kim, inasmuch as these networks are unlikely to have been controlled directly by him or his cronies, but it does harm the ability of trade networks to continue providing for the general North Korean population. China can also cut off the social ties undergirding informal trade. As third countries have progressively banned trade with North Korea, North Korean trade networks have become more dependent on using North Korean brokers located in China, or brokers who are actually Chinese citizens located in China or Hong Kong. North Korea’s formal trade statistics reflect this increased dependence on China, with an estimated 90 percent of its formal trade being done with China (Liu 2018). Since much informal trade hides within formal trade or moves across land borders, of which North Korea has only two that allow formal trade, it is a relatively safe bet that most informal trade, with the exception of ship-to-ship transfers, involves China as well. However, this renders North Korea susceptible to Chinese pressure. While China has often been accused of being lax in its enforcement of sanctions, it retains, and has used, a number of tools to make North Korea feel economic pain, in part by temporarily cutting North Korea off from the international economy. This has not, of course, necessarily translated into an ability to change North Korea’s behavior substantially, let alone convince it to give up its nuclear weapons, but it does have an effect on North Korea’s interactions with the international economy. In 2017, during North Korea’s flurry of nuclear weapons and missile tests, for instance, the Chinese government not only agreed to several new rounds of United Nations sanctions, but slowed down formal trade overall at border checkpoints, ostensibly to check for sanctions viola­ tions. For trade goods that require quick transport, such as perishable food, this resulted in eco­ nomic loss for traders, and the exit of traders from the market.4 At the same time, China also notified smugglers that the government would no longer make a distinction between “bad smuggling” (drugs and weapons), and “good smuggling” (everything else, particularly goods that were needed for sustenance) and would crack down on all smuggling.5 It went a step further by transferring away Chinese border officials who had provided political protection to crossborder smuggling networks.6 When combined, these measures had the effect of breaking up the social networks that would otherwise have allowed smuggling networks to continue to operate through sanctions enforcement crackdowns. More generally, North Korea’s dependence on Chinese brokers in particular means that DPRK trade networks are susceptible to a loss of interest in dealing with North Korea by those brokers, either because the Chinese government orders them to divest themselves of North Korean business, even if temporarily, as happened during the 2017 crackdown, or because new 120

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bans on certain items make not only those items but also other items unprofitable for the brokers to trade, leading to market exit. In the case of food imports, for example, North Korea may suffer from food shocks not because food is sanctioned (it never has been) but because the brokers who provide that food are stopped because Chinese government sanctions enforcement has made the trade process a whole more tedious, or because newly banned items have reduced the ability of the broker to operate profitably in North Korea as a whole.7 When the broker pulls out of North Korea, the side business of food exports to North Korea also disappears. This can be seen from the following representative remarks by Chinese brokers about why North Korea becomes an unattractive place to which to export food under sanctions. Although the impact on food during sanctions is relatively modest, the already tedious process is even more tedious, leaving many people simply unwilling to export food during sanctions.8 Every economic sanction will cause more businessmen doing business in North Korea to stop doing North Korean business. As a result, after economic sanctions, the number of traders exporting grain to North Korea is smaller, the amount of foodstuffs being exported is naturally less, and the price of food in the private black markets on their side naturally increases.9 In effect, North Korea’s ability to engage with the international economy through a strategy of third-party brokers is not infinitely malleable, and the strategy itself paradoxically renders North Korea’s economy more and more susceptible to sanctions enforcement in some respects, even in areas that are not sanctioned.

Political ramifications North Korea’s interaction with the international economy also possibly places some constraints on the political options available to the North Korean state. North Korea’s domestic economic transformation since the Arduous March has created several classes of entrepreneurs, one whose primary interaction with the state is to pay bribes for the right to continue operating, and the other whose wealth is dependent on their position within the state through their connections with (other) state officials, and their access to imports or exports. While the thinking of the highest-level elites within North Korea is almost impossible to know, there are signs that Kim Jong Uun is cognizant of the need to win the support of these entrepreneurs, or at least not alienate them totally by cutting off their ability to make money. Depending on the nature of their businesses, entrepreneurs may also employ North Korean citizens who are harmed by a collapsing North Korean economy. In the words of one North Korean, commenting on the effects of sanctions against mineral exports: If the long-term export restrictions bankrupt the mineral companies, many innocent workers will lose a source of income. Merchants and residents connected to the export companies in various ways will struggle to find new jobs. Kim Jong Un cannot dis­ count the resentment that this will cause. (Seol 2016) Kim Jong Un’s need to keep the trade networks operating because of political considerations would explain the existence of the 2013 byungjin line in the first place (Chung, Kim and Moon 121

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2016), with its nominal prioritization of economic development and, since January 2018, the Kim regime’s pivot from confrontation and weapons development to pursuing, so far unsuc­ cessfully, more accommodating ties with the ROK and the US that could result in investment, or at least a lessening of sanctions enforcement. In addition, while the rapid pace of nuclear weapons and missile testing under Kim Jong-un could be seen as a way for Kim to keep the military on side as he has privileged the Workers’ Party of Korea within the North Korean power structure, the byungjin line, and the prioritization of economic development since 2018 can be seen as a sop to the Party elite, and to elite interests more generally (including those within the military), to maintain their support by providing them with business opportunities. To the extent that sanctions impinge on these business opportunities, Kim Jong Un has a problem.

Long-term ramifications How North Korea interacts with the international economy also has the potential for long-term political economic effects, even in a future where sanctions are lifted and North Korea comes in from the cold. The North Korean state’s attempts to formalize many aspects of the de facto economy – setting official prices in line with market prices, loosening the issuance of trading licenses (which in theory should undercut the secondary market in trading rights), granting semi-official status for markets – have all been unable to address the fundamental problem with North Korea’s economy: the state is unwilling and unable to provide anything approaching a system that can enforce contracts and resolve disputes in a relatively impartial manner. More­ over, the state actually has a strong incentive not to develop such a system, since the wealth of many state officials is based on the “services” they provide to firms because social ties and polit­ ical protection are so crucial to success. In the wake of the break-up of the Soviet Union, state managers and politically connected businessmen were able to either strip state companies of their assets, or take over state companies as they were privatized, thus becoming the original oligarchs who dominate Russia’s economy today (Goldman 2003). Much of North Korea’s legacy equipment decayed or was sold off at the end of the Cold War, so it is questionable how much more there is for state officials to plunder (Suh 2008, pp. 23–26). Thus, unlike the former Soviet Union, North Korea’s business elites derive their wealth from controlling trade networks, gaining access to resources such as minerals that can be exported, or simply from using their positions to sell political protection. In a scen­ ario where North Korea is free from sanctions but where the regime remains in place, North Korean elites would be able to profit through access to the power structures needed by foreign investors and traders to secure their investments. The more connected elites would also con­ tinue to be able to profit from (presumably) control of exportable natural resources. However, in a scenario where the North Korean regime collapsed, many business elites would find them­ selves without any major industrial assets to control. Instead, North Korea does have assets that would carry over in either a scenario where the North Korean regime opens up (and sanctions are diminished) or a scenario where it col­ lapses, namely, the experience of North Korean businesspeople, inside and outside of the country, the ties with other businesses, and the knowledge of routes and methods to circum­ vent sanctions, or more generally, any legal regime, built up over decades of operating in a hostile domestic and international business environment. The use to which North Korean businesses might put these skills in navigating black and gray market activities can be seen in the brokerage networks by which North Koreans facilitate illicit trade without ever touching the goods themselves. 122

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Moreover, it is not clear whether the North Korean state would be able to rein in the illicit networks, even if it were so inclined. The irony of state prerogatives and resources becoming more difficult to use for trade in the face of international sanctions is that North Korean busi­ nesses are thus forced to build their own business connections and use commercial routes and methods that can still be used even if the North Korean state withdraws its support. For example, drug smuggling from North Korea continued in a modified form after the North Korean central state stopped allowing the use of state-owned transport infrastructure for smuggling (Hastings 2015). Likewise, many North Korean businessmen who were called back to North Korea from overseas in the wake of the purge of Kim Jong Un’s uncle Jang Song-thaek in 2013 simply went to ground (Ahn and Kang 2013). The persistence of actors who can engage in illicit trade even after state transition is not uncommon in other countries as well: South African companies that were left unemployed after the end of South Africa’s nuclear weapons program, for instance, became involved in supplying Abdul Qadeer Khan’s nuclear proliferation network for Libya (Albright and Hinderstein 2005; Salama and Goren 2006; Hastings 2012). For North Korea, the end result of a North Korea that comes in from the cold, or collapses, is a continuation of North Koreans’ illicit means of engag­ ing with the international economy, but now with networks that span not only the distance between the rest of the world and North Korea, but also between many other points around the globe. While North Korean smuggling networks are able to move goods between China and North Korea to circumvent sanctions, that is not necessarily their main purpose, and this has ramifica­ tions for North Korea’s future political economy. Given the nature of the North Korean regime, smuggling networks are likely to persist if sanctions were to be lifted, largely because the irony for the North Korean state is that the smuggling networks that operate between North Korea and China exist as much to avoid the North Korean state as to avoid Chinese sanctions enforce­ ment. The need for official status and social networks to engage in legitimate (and even semilegitimate) commerce within North Korea, and between North Korea and the outside world, means that private businesses and state officials who do not have the imprimatur to engage in legal trade must often engage in smuggling to buy and sell otherwise mundane goods. Remarkably, food is smuggled into North Korea to bypass the North Korean government, because the smugglers either do not have formal permission to import food, or because food is otherwise not adequately distributed within North Korea to provide for sections of the popu­ lation such as those outside of Pyongyang and outside the Korean People’s Army who are not high on the priority list for the Public Distribution System supply. Likewise, even before the mineral export ban imposed by the United Nations, many of the goods smuggled out of North Korea consisted of iron ore and other minerals because the smugglers had access to mines within North Korea, but did not have permission to export the minerals (Hastings and Wang 2018). Smuggling is also used by North Koreans and Chinese alike as a hedge against North Korean policy uncertainty. At one point, for example, North Korea suddenly banned the export of seafood, causing businesses that relied solely on formal trade to lose their investment in seafood production for the season. Those that evaded checkpoints, however, were able to continue to trade.10 Hold-ups at the border, either because of corruption or inefficiency or both, also cause loss to traders – in the case of seafood, hold-ups can lead to spoilage. As a result, trade that cir­ cumvents border checkpoints is better able to avoid such hold-ups.11 Finally, the corruption inherent in doing any business in North Korea means that traders themselves sometimes see smuggling as a less costly alternative to formal trade: bribes are still necessary, regardless of the legality of trade, and it may sometimes be the case that the bribes needed, and the number of officials who need to be bribed, are less burdensome in a transaction 123

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that avoids border checkpoints in moving across the Yalu or Tumen rivers, or involves ship-to­ ship transfers at sea (ibid.). The manner in which North Korea’s economy, and, by extension, its interaction with the global economy, has developed also causes problems for what would otherwise be a major source of economic engagement in any country: foreign investment in North Korea itself. While North Korea’s labor and infrastructure problems undoubtedly hinder investment, the political uncertainty and illegality to which North Korean business have adapted are major impediments to long-term investments from foreign companies. The ability of North Korean trade networks to circumvent sanctions outside of North Korea is less useful when a foreign company is asked to place assets directly on North Korean territory, while the limitations on financing imposed by underdeveloped North Korean banks and financial sanctions are especially problematic for long-term capital projects. Moreover, without state institutions that are capable of adjudicating business disputes, foreign investors are at the mercy of their North Korean busi­ ness partners and their social ties, which can deter investment (Haggard and Noland 2012; Hast­ ings and Wang 2017). The spectacular failure of the Chinese company Xiyang’s iron ore processing venture in North Korea in 2012, for example, came about (according to Xiyang), as a result not just of the high cost of transportation and infrastructure, but also a near constant demand by the North Korean partners for bribes and gifts, an investment approval process that relied on social ties which were ultimately rejected by the North Korean central government, an apparent inability or unwillingness of the North Korean government to compensate Xiyang in hard currency, and finally the expropriation of the processing facility (21st Century Business Herald 2012a, 2012b; Kuang 2012; Zhongguo Ziyang Jituan 2012). This poor investment environment leads North Korea’s business partners to pursue their own survival strategies to minimize risk to themselves, which ultimately harms North Korea’s investment opportunities. Many Chinese businesses that would otherwise invest in North Korea often limit themselves to import and export, and minimize their physical presence in the form of personnel, goods, and money in North Korea so as to minimize costs and potential loss due to expropriation or the political winds turning against them. When Chinese firms do engage in transactions with North Korean partners, they often insist on doing deals at the border so that they do not have to enter North Korea, and exchanging cash hard currency at the point of delivery. Even firms that do invest in North Korea often take steps to minimize the benefits that accrue to North Korean firms. This can take the form of businesses that rely on services with little capital outlay such as automobile repair operations, factories that make low value-added, non-perishable goods such as wigs or cigarettes, or makes use of equipment such as certain con­ struction machinery that requires operational expertise that North Koreans do not as yet possess, as a hedge against expropriation (Hastings and Wang 2018). In sum, over the decades, North Korea has developed a unique way of interacting with the international economy, despite its reputation for isolation and paranoia. The upshot of the manner in which North Korea engages with the international economy is a set of practices founded on resilience in the face of difficult conditions – North Koreans have created pathways to external economic integration that find creative ways to deal with sanctions without, and an ambivalent, oppressive, and dysfunctional state within. At the same time, the manner in which North Korea makes its way in the global economy means that it has limited political options, it is susceptible to a range of pressures from other countries, and faces a long-term future charac­ terized by corruption, limited investment, and continued illicit activity, rather than by normal trade and development.

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Notes 1 See the World Bank’s estimates of trade as a percentage of GDP at http://data.worldbank.org/indi cator/NE.TRD.GNFS.ZS.

2 Interviews with informal Chinese traders #1, #2, #3, #4, #6, #7, #12, July 2016.

3 Interview with Chinese import-export trader, November 2013.

4 Interviews with Chinese businessmen #23, #29, October 2017.

5 Interview with Chinese businessman #24, October 2017.

6 Interview with Chinese businessman #24, October 2017.

7 Interviews with Chinese businessman #23, #30, October 2017.

8 Interview with Chinese businessman #9, October 2017.

9 Interview with Chinese businessman #10, October 2017.

10 Interview with Chinese businessman #14, July 2014. 11 Interviews with informal traders #5, #9, #12, #13, July 2016.

References 21st Century Business Herald. 2012a. “Xiyang Jituan 2.4 Yi Touzi Chaoxian: Zhou Furen Zishu ‘Beitao’ Shimo,” 25 August. 21st Century Business Herald. 2012b. “Xiyang Jituan Touzi Chaoxian Lingmeikuang Shimo,” August 17, 2012. Abrahamian, A., See, G. and Wang, X. 2014. “The ABCs of North Korea’s SEZs,” Washington, DC: US-Korea Institute, School of Advanced International Studies, The Johns Hopkins University. Ahn, S. and Kang, J. 2013. “North’s Agents in China Are Disappearing,” Korea JoongAng Daily, December 13. Albright, D. and Hinderstein, C. 2005. “Unraveling the A.Q. Khan and Future Proliferation Networks,” The Washington Quarterly, vol. 28, no. 2, pp. 111–128. Armstrong, C. 2013. Tyranny of the Weak: North Korea and the World, 1950–1992, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Blanchard, B. 2013. “China Steps up Customs Checks, but North Korea Trade Robust,” Reuters, April 30. Bradsher, K. and Cumming-Bruce, N. 2013. “China Cuts Ties with Key North Korean Bank,” Reuters, May 7. Cha, V. 2012. The Impossible State: North Korea, Past and Future, New York: Random House. Choi, S. 2007. North Korea’s Agricultural Reforms and Challenges in the Wake of the July 1 Measures, Seoul: Korea Institute for National Unification. Chung, Y., Kim, Y. and Moon, K. 2016. “State Strategy in the Kim Jong-Un Era: The ‘Byongjin’ Policy of Pursuing Economic and Nuclear Development,” Korea Observer, vol. 47, no. 1, pp. 1–33. Collins, R. 2016. “Pyongyang Republic,” Washington, DC: American Enterprise Institute. Fenghuangwang. 2013. “Chaoxian: Zhangchengze Shijian Bu Hui Yingxiang Jingji Jiang Yin Waizi Fazhan Tequ,” Fenghuangwang, 17 December. Goldman, M. 2003. The Piratization of Russia: Russian Reform Goes Awry, New York: Routledge. Haggard, S., Lee, J. and Noland, M. 2012. “Integration in the Absence of Institutions: China-North Korea Cross-Border Exchange,” Journal of Asian Economics, vol. 23, no. 2, pp. 130–45. Haggard, S. and Noland, M. 2007. Famine in North Korea: Markets, Aid, and Reform, New York: Columbia University Press. Haggard, S. and Noland, M. 2010a. “Reform from Below: Behavioral and Institutional Change in North Korea,” Journal of Economic Behavior & Organization, vol. 73, no. 2, pp. 133–52. Haggard, S. and Noland, M. 2010b. “Winter of Their Discontent: Pyongyang Attacks the Market,” Wash­ ington, DC:Peterson Institute for International Economics. Haggard, S. and Noland, M. 2012. “Networks, Trust, and Trade: The Microeconomics of China-North Korea Integration,” PIIE Working Paper 12–8. Washington, DC: Peterson Institute for International Economics. Hassig, R. and Oh, K. 2009. The Hidden People of North Korea: Everyday Life in the Hermit Kingdom, Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield. Hastings, J. 2012. “The Geography of Nuclear Proliferation Networks: The Case of AQ Khan,” Nonpro­ liferation Review, vol. 19, no. 3, pp. 429–450.

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Justin Hastings Hastings, J. 2015. “The Economic Geography of North Korean Drug Trafficking Networks,” Review of International Political Economy, vol. 22, no. 1, pp. 162–193. Hastings, J. 2016. A Most Enterprising Country: North Korea in the Global Economy. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Hastings, J. and Wang, Y. 2017. “Chinese Firms’ Troubled Relationship with Market Transformation in North Korea,” Asian Survey, vol. 57, no. 4, pp. 618–640. Hastings, J. and Wang, Y. 2018. “Informal Trade Along the China-North Korea Border,” Journal of East Asian Studies, vol. 18, no. 2, pp. 181–203. Kang, T. 2014. “New North Korean Staffed Restaurant Opens in Amsterdam,” NK News, 27 January. Kim, H. 1998. “Japan in North Korean Foreign Policy,” in S. Kim (Ed.), North Korean Foreign Relations in the Post-Cold War Era, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 116–189. Kim, K. (Ed.) 2008. North Korea’s External Economic Relations, Seoul: KINU Research Monograph. Korea Institute for National Unification. Kim, S. (Ed.) 1998. North Korean Foreign Relations in the Post-Cold War Era, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kim, S., Young, T., Oh, S., Lee, H. and Lee, G 1997. North Korea in Crisis: An Assessment of Regime Sustainability, Seoul: Korea Institute for National Unification. Kuang, J. 2012. “Xiyang Jituan Chaoxian Xiangmu Jiufen Weixi Chengnuo 3000 Wan Ouyuan Que Bian Meiyuan,” 21st Century Business Herald, 12 October. Lankov, A. 2007. North of the DMZ: Essays on Daily Life in North Korea, Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Company, Inc. Lankov, A. and Kim, S. 2008. “North Korean Market Vendors: The Rise of Grassroots Capitalists in a Post-Stalinist Society,” Pacific Affairs vol. 81, no. 1, pp. 53–72. Lankov, A., Ward, P., Yoo, H. and Kim, J. 2017. “Making Money in the State: North Korea’s PseudoState Enterprises in the Early 2000s,” Journal of East Asian Studies, vol. 17, no. 1, pp. 51–67. Lim, J. and Yoon, I. 2011. “Institutional Entrepreneurs in North Korea: Emerging Shadowy Private Enterprises under Dire Economic Conditions,” North Korean Review, vol. 7, no. 2, pp. 82–93. Lintner, B. 2001. “The Macau Connection: The Former Portuguese Colony Was a Terrorist Base for Pyongyang,” Far Eastern Economic Review, October 25. Liu, Z. 2018. “North Korea Still Looking to China for Economic and Political Security, Analysts Say,” South China Morning Post, April 28. Noland, M. 1998. “The External Economic Relations of the DPRK and Prospects for Reform,” in S. Kim (Ed.), North Korean Foreign Relations in the Post-Cold War Era, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Panel of Experts. 2016. “Report of the Panel of Experts Established Pursuant to Resolution 1874 (2009),” United Nations Security Council, New York, February, 24. Panel of Experts. 2017. “Final Report of the Panel of Experts Submitted Pursuant to Resolution 2276 (2016),” United Nations Security Council, New York, February 27. Panel of Experts. 2018. “Final Report of the Panel of Experts Submitted Pursuant to Resolution 2345 (2017),” United Nations Security Council, New York, March, 5. Park, H. 2011. “Commercial Engagements of the Party-State Agencies and the Expansion of Market in the 1990s in North Korea,” Journal of Korean Unification Studies, vol. 20, no. 1. Park, J. 2014. “The Key to the North Korean Targeted Sanctions Puzzle,” The Washington Quarterly, vol. 37, no. 3, pp. 199–214. Park, J. and Walsh, J. 2016. “Stopping North Korea, Inc.: Sanctions Effectiveness and Unintended Con­ sequences,” Security Studies Program, MIT, Cambridge, MA. Quinones, K. 2003. “Beyond Collapse: Continuity and Change in North Korea,” in E. Choi, E. Kwan, and Y. Merill (Eds.), North Korea in the World Economy, New York: RoutledgeCurzon. Reilly, J. 2014. “China’s Market Influence in North Korea,2 Asian Survey, vol. 54, no. 5, pp. 894–917. Ryall, J. 2018. “From Paper to Fuel, North Koreans Endure Widespread Shortages as Sanctions Take Their Toll,” The Telegraph, February, 23. Salama, S. and Goren, N. 2006. “Special Report: The A.Q. Khan Network: Crime…And Punishment?” WMD Insights, March. Seol, S. 2016. “Trucks Loaded with Mineral Extracts Blocked from Entering China,” Daily NK, March 7. Snow, D., Saulwick, J. and Massola, J. 2017. “Alleged North Korean Agent Arrested in Sydney, Charged with Trying to Arrange Sale of Missile Technology,” Sydney Morning Herald, December 17. Strangio, S. 2010. “Kingdom Kim’s Culinary Outposts: Inside the Bizarre World of Asia’s North Korean Restaurant Chain,” Slate, March 27.

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NK’s interaction with the global economy Suh, J. 2008. “Economic Hardship and Regime Sustainability in North Korea,” Seoul: Korean Institute for National Unification. Thompson, N. 2014. “Inside One of North Korea’s Secretive Slave Restaurants,” Available at: Vice. com. U.S. Department of Justice. 2013. “Press Release: Taiwanese Father and Son Arrested for Allegedly Violat­ ing Us Laws to Prevent Proliferation of Weapons of Mass Destruction,” news release, May 6. Zacek, J. 1998. “Russia in North Korean Foreign Policy,” in S. Kim (Ed.), North Korean Foreign Relations in the Post-Cold War Era, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Zhongguo Xiyang Jituan. 2012. “Xiyang Jituan Zai Chaozian Touzi De Emeng,” Available at: Sina.com. cn, http://blog.sina.com.cn/s/blog_916fb56901017b75.html.

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Part III

Foreign relations

8

“The enemies made This

Possible”

sino-north Korean relations after 1948

Adam Cathcart and Yujin Lim

Introduction In January 1951, Kim Il Sung stood at a point of destiny. The Chinese People’s Volunteers (CPV) and the remnants of the North Korean armed forces had conducted an offensive that had enabled them to reoccupy Seoul, and Kim was arguing strongly and publicly that this offensive should continue until all foreign forces had been expelled from Korea (Li Qingshan 2008, p. 213). Chinese support had largely stemmed from the resolution of an internal debate within the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) in which Mao Zedong had carried the day (Chen 2001a, 2001b), but after campaigns in winter and spring of 1951 had fallen short at a terrible human cost, the strain of logistical and political difficulties caused the Chinese to limit their commit­ ment to Korean reunification, while still rejecting UN overtures toward an early cease-fire (Shen and Xia 2011). Although General Peng Dehuai was preparing for a massive general offen­ sive in the summer of 1953, simultaneous armistice negotiations led to a Military Armistice Agreement on 26 July, forstalling the offensive and resulting in the CPV assuming a new role, that of reconstruction in the North (Zhang 2001, p. 107). The Chinese People’s Volunteers would ultimately leave North Korea in 1958, and the DPRK would sign a mutual security treaty with China in 1961. China’s intervention in the Korean War in late 1950 came against a long-established back­ ground of collaboration between the two states, hearkening back to joint anti-Japanese guerrilla activities in Manchuria during the 1930s. Some 30 years after the Chinese Communist triumph in the civil war in Northeast China, it was for good reason that in 1978 Mao’s successor Hua Guofeng stated in Pyongyang that In the years of our revolutionary wars, fine sons and daughters of the Korean people fought shoulder to shoulder with the Chinese people in the Changpai Mountains, on both sides of the Great Wall and on both banks of the Yangtze River. (Hua 1978, p. 15) But despite this long association and the ritual references to it in the ensuing decades, mutual enemies rather than personal friendships formed the basis for Sino-North Korean alignment in this period. 131

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Kim Il Sung spoke Chinese and had come of age in northeast China, on the fringes of the new Japanese puppet state of Manchukuo. As Han Hongkoo explains, Kim’s youth was a very practical advantage in interacting with Chinese comrades, since they did not see him as having roots in older and less loyal factions. Kim demonstrated a clear ability to leverage his relation­ ships with key CCP leaders in the northeast and survive the worst of the anti-Korean purges of the peripheral eastern wing of the Manchuria Revolutionary Committee in the mid-1930s (Han 1999, pp. 173, 183–184, 275–276). He had reasonably good contacts with the CCP beyond Mao Zedong and the Chinese leadership, and his own view of China was not particularly Mao­ centric (Koh 1978, pp. 133–134). Kim’s main point of contact with the CCP during the civil war had been the Party’s Northeastern Bureau, particularly Chen Yun and Gao Gang. While Gao would be purged in 1954 (Mehnert 1963, pp. 252–253), Chen went on to enjoy a long career as a senior cadre and an ally of Deng Xiaoping, sharing his colleague’s vicissitudes along the way. As for Mao’s view of Korea, scholarship has come to no clear consensus. Shen Zhihua has put forward a hypothesis called “Tianchao-ism,” which appears to be novel but is in fact an extension of a fairly old idea, that Mao’s perspective on Korea was essentially neo-tributary (North 1960; Mehnert 1963, pp. 404, 493). This was summed up by the ritual expression of ‘lips and teeth’ to describe the centuries-old defensive role played by dynastic Korea on China’s eastern frontier, but examination of Mao’s early writings reveals precious little attention to Korea.1 Certainly, he did not appear to see the ethnic Koreans in China as anything other than temporary migrants and placed greater focus on minority groups like Tibetans and Mongols in inner Asia, and Manchus in the northeast. In the mid-1930s, the CCP committees in Shanghai and Moscow were the main avenue for contact with Korean Communist émigrés, far more so than Mao, who was deep in the interior at Yan’an.2 His actions in Korea were thus marked by a certain ambivalence, being prepared to intervene in force, but willing to acknowledge the stalemate that had developed and acquiesce in a negotiated settlement, rather than back Kim Il Sung’s uncompromising strategy of all-out assault. A similar ambivalence emerged during the Cultural Revolution, when without any serious issues at stake other than aggressive pursuit of the Revolution, Mao allowed relations to deteriorate to the point of armed clashes along the China-DPRK border (Schram 1960). Such oscillation maintained a persistent note of uncer­ tainty in bilateral relations. For his part, Mao Zedong did not appear to know much about Kim Il Sung until Kim became prominent in the Soviet occupation of Korea. This was remedied when they met several times before and during the Korean War. Mao’s engagement with Communist resistance in northeast China had been peripheral, and his first real intervention into the security and struc­ ture of northeast China was to step in to settle a critical debate about base areas in the northeast in December 1945. China-North Korea contact then accelerated after the CCP consolidated control of northeast China in October and November of 1948 (Cathcart and Kraus 2008). Liu Shaoqi and others negotiated with North Korean cadres over power supplies and the Supung Dam along the Yalu River border, and cross-border movement grew. Bonds at lower levels, however, did not mean that Mao Zedong and Kim Il Sung saw each other as perfect comrades. Mao had not been deeply invested in the northeast China partisan activity, and Koreans in Yan’an tended to be regarded with a degree of suspicion. Circumspection was also practiced in North Korea, where Kim had little in common with, and much to fear from rivalry with the so-called Yan’an Korean faction led by Kim Tubong. Otherwise, it is hard to know what Kim’s true view of the Chinese leadership was or how it changed over time. Losing control of his forces to Peng Dehuai in December 1950 was a humiliating event for Kim, but it may have been an instructive setback. If Kim was in fact 132

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diminished by his being harnessed to the Chinese war effort backed by Soviet aid, he was now doing so in the context of the forging of a tripartite alliance against the forces of the United Nations Command. In the Korean War, 260,000 Chinese troops entered North Korea in October 1950 (Li 2014, p. xxviii), and this force increased to 950,000 by April 1951. The war also unleashed a large amount of cultural diplomacy and mutually-supportive propaganda between the two countries. Posters of Korea could be found in rural Chinese homes, and film productions like Raid or Hit the Invaders celebrated Sino-North Korean cooperation (Starobin 1955, p. 140). In both states, the Soviet World War II experience was taken as a model, but such modeling was particularly acute for the North Koreans.3 On May Day, 1953, Kim Il Sung said, The war we are waging cannot be successfully continued if we do not have the assist­ ance of our allies headed by the Soviet Union and China. The enemy is using every means to weaken this friendship, but they cannot separate us from our allies because we firmly adhere to the teaching of Lenin and Stalin.4 Pro-Chinese dignitaries like Pak Chong-ae and Kim Tu-bong remained visible,5 and there was a great deal of cultural cooperation during this period, expressed by the generally high profile of Chinese revolutionary practices in the DPRK itself. Although Soviet World War II narratives were prevalent in North Korea, in 1955, the North Koreans published a variety of pro-China materials, including a Korean version of White-Haired Girl and histories glorifying the CCP.6 The discussion of the five years after the Korean War, especially as concerns Sino-North Korean relations, tends to fall into two patterns: (1) discussion of the August Crisis of 1956 along with the purges that accompanied it, and (2) Chinese participation in the economic reconstruc­ tion of North Korea. However, there are other themes at work, and it is possible to conceive of the period from 1950–1959 as one of parallel consolidation in such areas as campaigns against the former landlord class, control of the agricultural sector, and the cultural implications for intellectuals as both countries rejected de-Stalinization. Mutual defense against all outsiders enabled all of these processes to unfold. Both North Korea and China took due notice of US Secretary of State John Foster Dulles’s 12 January 1954 speech in which he stated that stationing US troops permanently around Asia was “not sound military strategy.” Building upon recommendations expressed in a similar December 1953 speech by Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Admiral Arthur W. Radford, Dulles said: “Local defenses must be further reinforced by a massive military deterrent … The way to deter aggression is for the free community to be willing and able to respond vigorously at places and with means of its own choosing” (Dulles 1954, 108). North Korea interpreted this speech as a provocation “with the purpose of repressing the allies and liberation struggles of the colonies in order to conquer the world” (Heo 1987, p. 415). For all the color of its description of the “frantic” US military expansion, it is clear North Korean analysts in the 1950s kept a close watch on US deployments and defense spending (ibid., p. 419), and took a granular approach to reading US public statements. Meanwhile, South Korea was depicted as the “sacrificial offer­ ings of nuclear war” and an unpatriotic country that let a Western nation take over its land, decisions, and resources (ibid., p. 423). Recent scholarship on the final CPV withdrawal from North Korea, which was conducted in three waves in early 1958, suggests that it was in accord with plans drawn up by Mao, and that propaganda issues played strongly into Kim Il Sung’s decision to support the withdrawal (Tian 2014). Foremost among considerations was applying pressure on the US at the United Nations; by withdrawing troops from North Korea, the PRC could make the US look like a 133

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malevolent hegemon in the region since it was understood that the Republic of Korea was not in the least ready for an American retreat from the peninsula. China and North Korea could now call for all foreign troops to leave, then highlight the US failure to do so. 1956 continues to be used by North Korean security intellectuals to highlight the moment of exemplary American insincerity when it comes to negotiating either a withdrawal from the peninsula or a peace treaty which would prepare such an exit (Ri 2016). The DPRK’s call for foreign troops to depart Korea in 1956 was, ironically, coordinated closely with the leaders of one large group of foreign troops in Korea (i.e. the Chinese), and what appeared to be Kim Il Sung’s moment of nationalistic prickliness was well coordinated with Beijing. Mao and Zhou Enlai were apologetic about perceptions that they had interfered in North Korean internal affairs but were much more interested in diffusing rumors — both domestically and internation­ ally — about a decline in Sino-North Korean relations in late 1956. Thus, amid the tremors of the uprising in Hungary, all the parties agreed to a full withdrawal of Chinese troops from North Korea. It was helpful for Mao who later sources indicate was concerned not to be seen as “a great power chauvinist.”7 Within North Korea, the withdrawal of Chinese troops from North Korea was described as a glorious ending that opened up a new phase in resolving the issue of reunification peacefully. As the Minju Chosun (1958) put it, “This main initiative is another expression of the people’s constant efforts to resolve the Chosun issue peacefully and consolidate peace in the East, which will be an important step to further promote the peaceful reunification of our motherland.” North Korean editorials argued that the Chinese troop withdrawal had removed the rationale for the US military to reside in South Korea, which it regarded henceforth as the stumbling block for peaceful reunification. As described by a North Korean book published in 1960, North Korea “proactively” encour­ aged the Chinese troops to withdraw and ‘left no excuses’ for Chinese troops to reside further in North Korea (Jeon 1960). By doing so, North Korea positioned itself toward Southern audi­ ences in the hope of achieving peaceful unification, making gestures of economic and social development toward South Korea. As part of the celebration of the birth of Democratic Peo­ ple’s Republic of Korea, the North proposed to offer diverse aid to the South including 150,000 seok of rice (equivalent to 24 million kilograms), 10,000 tons of seafood, and four million pairs of shoes (ibid., p. 98). Perhaps the offer was meant with the understanding that it would never be required, for the United States and South Korean governments ‘rejected all the sincere pro­ posals’ made through the Supreme People’s Assembly and North Korea regarded this step as an outrageous reaction (ibid., p. 96). The introduction of tactical nuclear weapons to South Korea in 1958 by the United States raised the awareness of security challenges in Northeast Asia and set a background for SinoNorth Korean strategic relations the year after. In 1958, the Chinese People’s Volunteers returned home through Sinuiju, celebrated for their defense of the Main Line of Resistance and for having reconstructed North Korea’s rail network (Li 2008, pp. 527–537). In the next year, a monument to the Chinese war effort was erected in Pyongyang, and in 1961 North Korea and China signed what would immediately become a cornerstone of the North’s national defense and diplomatic strategy—the Treaty of Friendship and Mutual Assistance. In some ways, this pact gave the North Koreans more latitude, which they demanded and gladly took as the split between Moscow and Beijing began to widen. When the Cultural Revolution spread to northeast China in the summer of 1966, Kim Il Sung repeatedly complained that Red Guard loudspeakers along the border troubled him. Like­ wise, Kim Jong Il was disturbed by such loudspeakers during a critical 1968 trip to Hyesan. Kim Il Sung was upset that his northern frontier at times caused him more anxiety than the much 134

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shorter and much more heavily defended border with South Korea. Indeed, Shen and Xia uncovered fragmentary evidence of armed incursions by Chinese troops along the Tumen River in 1969 (Shen and Xia 2018, pp. 190–191). The North Koreans interpreted the loudspeakers as “interference in internal affairs” and made their dismantling the first precondition of any Sino-North Korean talks in September 1969 (Mao 1969; Shen and Xia 2018, p. 193). Intelligence coming into the DPRK from the Yanbian Korean Autonomous Prefecture would further have indicated that anti-Korean nation­ alism was reaching a fever pitch among Red Guards in 1968. As Dong Jo Shin has demon­ strated, the Cultural Revolution in Yanbian was hostile toward any manifestation of Korean culture and was led personally by Mao Yuanxin, the Chairman’s nephew (Shin 2016). Persecu­ tion of ethnic Koreans within China’s borders for alleged loyalty to Kim Il Sung was not a core concern for the KWP, but beyond the handshakes and geopolitics in the capitals, the ethnopoli­ tics in China did not appear propitious, and may even have triggered bad memories for Kim and some of the older cadres. Kim could not voice public displeasure with the Cultural Revolution, though Jonathan Pollack has described Kim Il Sung’s view of the Cultural Revolution as “mass lunacy” (Pollack 2011, p. 68), but behind closed doors he did not restrain his anger: “they slander us as revisionists but we stay calm” (Shen and Xia 2018, p. 179). However, after Zhou Enlai visited North Korea in April 1970, Kim moderated his stance somewhat, telling a Soviet comrade that while there was “still quite a bit of mess in China owing to the Cultural Revolution,” it “might be beneficial for China, but it was impossible to initiate it in North Korea” (Zakharov 1970, p. 2). Shen and Xia (2018) describe two supposedly key pieces of evidence that North Korea was being insulted in 1968, but there is no way of ascertaining whether the insults ever reached North Korea. British archives describe some of the potential border clashes between DPRK and China in this period (Foreign and Commonwealth Office 1969), and North Korea clearly felt heavy pressure in its border regions during the height of the Cultural Revolution from 1966–1969. China’s ideological belligerence over Maoism resulted in a full breakdown in relations with Pyongyang and the heightening of tensions along the border, but this breach was later assuaged by North Korea’s need for balance against excess Soviet influence and the necessity of Chinese support for any moves against South Korea. What ultimately rescued and revived Sino-North Korean relations in 1970 was a return to a focus on shared adversaries. As Zhou Enlai and Kang Sheng told their Albanian comrades (Hazbiu 1970), “it was our enemies” who had revived relations between the two old allies. In April 1970, Zhou Enlai was aware that his authority abroad rested in part on his ability to give voice to both Mao and Lin Biao, the putative successor. He therefore allowed hardliners to control much of the public messaging (Brun 1978). In resetting relations with North Korea, the focus on Japan-ROK relations seemed to work; it crowded out the need for declarations about Soviet revisionists and the need to attack them, and it mitigated the harmful effects of the Cul­ tural Revolution. Aid packages would flow not long thereafter to Pyongyang, and Zhou set up a communication channel for negotiations with the United States that led to the Nixon visit in February 1972. Despite this rapport between Zhou and Kim, it appears that interactions at lower levels still proved difficult. North Korean personnel were removed from Chinese military academies, and there was a reduction in Chinese exports of food and goods to North Korea (Pollack 2011, p. 68). Thus, the CCP 9th Party Congress and Zhou Enlai’s meetings with Kim in 1970 brought a kind of renewed united front which would last through the early 1970s. The 1972 Sino-US rapprochement brought changes to the foreign relations atmosphere in East Asia. Both China and the US were aware of the importance of maintaining peace in the Korean Peninsula. Two paragraphs in the Shanghai Communiqué include general clauses about the Korean Peninsula and the peace in the region. Kim Il Sung supported the rapprochement 135

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decision made by the two countries, calling it a “great victory for the Chinese people and the revolutionary peoples worldwide” (Chen 200b, pp. 273–275). As became perfectly clear, Kim wanted to use this opportunity to achieve unification of the Korean Peninsula through political changes in South Korea rather than armed attacks of subversion. North Korea continued to envision that the unification process would necessitate the withdrawal of US troops from the peninsula, a view that China continued to share, although the PRC did not call the Americans “vanquished” as Kim did.8 This aspiration was bolstered when US Secretary of State Henry Kissinger stated in 1971 that the US planned to withdraw “a substantial percentage” of its forces from South Korea.9 The early 1980s were a period when the DPRK leadership structure coalesced around hereditary succession, and was still in the process of picking up the requisite endorsements from its largest allies. As Kim Il Sung turned 70 in 1982, he was focused, at least in part, on obtaining support for his heir apparent from North Korea’s close allies and neighbors. The news of Kim Jong Il’s succession initially received a tepid response and the difficult situation was compounded by the transformations in the socialist world in the 1980s, especially in the Soviet Union and the PRC. A casual appraisal might have held that the somewhat frayed ties between the PRC and the DPRK would have been on the mend in the aftermath of China’s Cultural Revolution, but Deng Xiaoping’s program of economic reform and relatively rapid pivot toward opening to foreign investment only reinforced the divisions in Sino-North Korean relations. By the middle of the 1980s, Northeast Asia’s two largest Communist Parties found themselves more at odds with each other than ever before, particularly on ideological questions. The heyday of the Chinese-North Korean alliance had long passed, and, in spite of declarations of generational fealty, the relationship faced an uncertain future. In the mid-1980s, many Western analysts were anticipating, or at the very least were predis­ posed to hope, that North Korea would embrace an economic model akin to China’s “Opening up and Reform” and transition to a market-style economy under Chinese oversight.10 At the same time, however, American analysts recognized that North Korea viewed China as an unreliable ally. China’s links to the outside world and especially to South Korea under the post-Maoist leadership had clearly softened the PRC’s commitment to its old socialist ally in the northeast. In considering the triangular relations between the Soviet Union, the PRC, and North Korea, when the DPRK had big things in mind with its China policy, the rhythm and intensity of its interplay with the Soviet Union similarly sped up. Against the background of Kim Jong Il’s succession, North Korea opted for closer ties with the Soviet Union to balance apprehensions over China’s increasingly “revisionist” ties to the United States. China and the US had been sharing intelli­ gence, developing military-to-military ties, and cooperating on a number of global issues; North Korea was still looking to China for a modicum of support, but Beijing’s turn toward its ostensibly existential foe in Washington was both mystifying and aggravating to North Korean leaders. When Soviet aid began to be withdrawn in the late 1980s and China officially recognized South Korea in 1992, things truly changed in North Korea for the worse. Culturally speaking, North Korea weathered the Soviet collapse because the country was already fairly insulated from information from the Eastern Bloc, but they saw the Chinese recognition of South Korea especially as an act of betrayal. Nevertheless, when Kim Il Sung visited China in autumn 1991, he made particular efforts to show solicitude toward China’s return to Confucianism and in bonding with Jiang Zemin.11 Nevertheless other observers saw things as going poorly. A Hungarian assessment from Pyongyang indicated that the Sino-North Korean relationship was not very smooth, with eco­ nomic reform in North Korea being a key sticking point. There were also multiple rumors among the diplomatic community in Pyongyang that in his visit, Deng Xiaoping 136

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had urged Kim to stand aside and hand over nominal power to somebody else, while remaining in a position of influence behind the scenes, as he, Deng, had done. Kim alleg­ edly responded by saying that he would do so on his 80th birthday, i.e. 15 April 1992.12 The 1990s saw a number of crises and rebalances in Chinese-North Korean relations. These included, in 1992, the formal recognition of South Korea by China, and the famine from 1994–1997, which created a considerable humanitarian problem in the Chinese border areas. The growth of the North Korean nuclear program, and its overt testing since 2006, created yet another problem for China, but even amid this environment in which China often finds itself endeavoring to restrain Pyongyang, Party ties have strengthened and China remains firmly committed to keeping North Korea afloat. Kim Jong Un’s emergence in 2010 and his formal accession to power in 2012 have presented a challenge to China, but not an incomprehensible enigma. There was no bilateral meeting between the powers in the first six years of his rule, but since that time, he has developed relations, culminating in Xi Jinping’s visit to North Korea in 2019. Unlike his grandfather, Kim Jong Un does not speak Chinese and lacks a social network in this area, appearing to be culturally more oriented more toward Western Europe than China. Despite this, North Korean business has developed in spite of sanctions, and small things like Chinese language training and scientific exchanges between the two countries appear to be important to him. This includes cultural exchanges, as Kim’s wife attended a music conservato­ rium in China and appears to be friends with China’s First Lady. Kim Jong Un remains com­ mitted to developing the northern border region, with or without cooperation from China’s Special Economic Zones along the border. His need to control cross-border crime and migra­ tion has much more in common with his father than his grandfather, although movement across the frontier has rarely been entirely within legal limits. Looking back at the history of China’s relationship with North Korea, Mao’s romanticism is unlikely to return to Beijing, or go as far as support for Korean military intervention. Xi Jinping has portrayed himself as bold and visionary, especially in his “Belt and Road” initiative but China’s intentions for the Korean Peninsula remain negative, in that these are to negate explicit armed conflict between the two Koreas, or an explosion of hostility between the US and North Korea. For his part, Kim Jong Un appears keen to maintain elements of his grandfather’s interKorean policy, but the economic and cultural relationship between the two Koreas has largely been inverted since the 1960s and 1970s. Kim Il Sung’s actions in 1972 – including advocating free travel and communication between the two Koreas, as well as praise for the warming in US-China relations – are unlikely to be repeated or recapitulated by Kim Jong Un. Without massive economic strength, Kim Jong Un can still impress Xi Jinping through his ability to engage in powerful anticorruption campaigns, to control his citizens effectively, and through the centrality of political education even amid something that resembles economic reform. Unlike Xi Jinping, Kim Jong Un need not modify his national constitution in order to be con­ sidered a leader for life. What remains to be seen is how he will approach China’s growing role in shaping North Korea’s response to the ongoing Korean division and the form of international trade and socialism that the two states share along with their border.

Notes 1 One of Mao’s first explicit encouragements to Korean revolutionaries came with a bit of an insult, in the form of an imprecise translation by Edgar Snow: It is the immediate task of China to regain all our lost territories … this means that Manchuria must be regained. We do not, however, include Korea, formerly a Chinese colony, but

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Adam Cathcart and Yujin Lim when we have reestablished the independence of the lost territories of China, and if the Koreans wish to break away from the chains of Japanese imperialism, we will extend them our enthusiastic help in their struggle for independence. (Mao 1936) Mao is mentioned only once in Dae Sook Suh’s Communism in Korea, 1918–1948, as the target of a note to both himself and Jiang Jieshi from Korean students in North China. Han Hongkoo describes Mao as a negative example of killing purged colleagues in 1930 Jiangxi, but does not connect him at all to the Minsaengdan Incident which was Kim Il Sung’s original persecution by the CCP. 2 Han Hongkoo (1999, p. 201) explains how Kim learned of the Long March in January or February 1935 from Wu Ping, who had travel experience to Moscow. 3 One North Korean was “promoting letter-writing projects to the Soviet Union and giving touring lectures on the subject ‘the Struggle of the great Soviet People in Wartime’.” See “Association Members Urged to Assist in Victory,” Soviet-Korean Culture, vol. 16, no. 201, April 22, 1953, summarized in CIA (1953) North Korean Press Summary, CIA-RDP80S01540R003000040008-2. 4 “May Day Statement by Kim Il Sung,” Chokuk Chonson [The Fatherland Front], 2 May 1953, No. 174, p. 1, a weekly edited by Kang Mun-sok, summarized in CIA (1953), North Korean Press Summary, CIA-RDP80S01540R003000040008-2. 5 “May Day Celebration Meeting in Pyongyang,” Chokuk Chonson [The Fatherland Front], May 2, 1953, No. 174, p. 3, summarized in CIA (1953), North Korean Press Summary, CIA-RDP80S01540 R003000040008-2. 6 Oeguk Muryok Kansopkwa Kuknae Conjang Sigie Issoosoui Kongsan Tang (Communist Party During the Period of Foreign Armed Intervention and Civil War) (Labor Party Publishing House, 1955); see also Soryonui Widaehan Choguk Conjaeng Sigie Issosoui Kongsan Tang (The Communist Party and the Great Patriotic War of the USSR) (Labor Party Publishing House, 1955). Cited in CIA-RDP80­ 00809A000700240139-0, ‘North Korean Publications, 1946–1955,’; Choson Kija Tongmaeng Chonguk Wiwonhoe (All-Korea Committee of Korean Journalists League), and histories glorifying the CCP. See White-Haired Girl (Paek Mo Nyo). Choson Kija Tongmaeng Chonguk Wiwonhoe (AllKorea Committee of Korean Journalists League); Hua Kang, Chunguk Minjok Haebang Undong Sa (History of the Liberation Movement of the Chinese People), vol. 1, translated from Chinese (Pyongyang: Rodong Tang Culpansa, 1955). 7 Mao Zedong, Remarks to a delegation of League of Communists of Yugoslavia, September 1956 (editors’ translation as “Draw Historical Lessons and Oppose Big-Nation Chauvinism”), in Mao Zedong On Diplo­ macy, compiled by the PRC Ministry of Foreign Affairs and CCP Central Committee Party Literature Research Center (Bejing: Foreign Languages Press, 1998), pp. 198–199. This talk is also perhaps the only time Mao quoted his mother to his comrades, telling them “behave with tail between your legs.” 8 Kim, Il Sung, “On Some Problems Concerning the Internal and External Policies of the Workers’ Party of Korea and the Government of the Republic: Interview with the Managing Editor of the Jap­ anese Newspaper Asahi Shimbun and the Correspondent of the Kyodo Press,” September 25 and October 8, 1971, p. 251. 9 Memcon Zhou Enlai–Kissinger, Beijing 22 October 1971, 4:15–8:28p.m. FRUS Vol E-13 Documents on China 1969–1972, Document #44. Available at: http://history.state.gov/historicaldocuments/ frus1969-76ve13/d44 10 The following section is adapted from Adam Cathcart and Charles Kraus, “China’s ‘Measure of Reserve’ towards Succession: Sino-North Korean Relations, 1983–1985,” SinoNK.com, China-North Korea Dossier No. 2 (February 2012). 11 McLaren in Peking to FCO, “China/DPRK: Visit of Kim Il Sung,” 25 October 1991. UK National Archives, FCO 21/4803. At the MFA briefing, Deputy Director Zhang … [said] that the itinerary was not deter­ mined by economic or political considerations but by Kim’s wish to see the home of Con­ fucius and Shandong province and to take up a long-standing invitation from Jiang Zemin to visit his hometown. 12 The assessment further concludes that “Hungarians have separately concluded on the basis of Chinese and Russian assessments that without either substantial amounts of external aid or thoroughgoing eco­ nomic reform, North Korea cannot survive for more than 2 more years.” M.D. Reilly, Seoul, to I. Davies, head of Far East Division, “Visit of Kim Il Sung to China,” 5 November 1991, UK National Archives, FCO 21/4803 (London: Foreign and Commonwealth Office, 1991).

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references Brun. 1978. ‘Untitled Report from Brun, Polish Intelligence Station Tokyo, Concerning Hua Guofeng’s Visit to Pyongyang,’ Polish Institute of National Remembrance, AIPN, 0211/600/D, obtained by Marek Handerek and translated by Jerzy Giebultowski, in North Korea International Documentation Project website, https://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/208554 Cathcart, Adam and Kraus, Charles. 2008. “Internationalist Culture in North Korea, 1945–1950,” Review of Korean Studies, vol. 11, no. 3, pp. 123–148. Cathcart, Adam and Kraus, Charles. 2012. “China’s ‘Measure of Reserve’ towards Succession: Sino-North Korean Relations, 1983–1985,” China-North Korea Dossier No. 2, SinoNK.com (February). Chen Jian. 2001a. “Re-reading Chinese Documents: A Post-Cold War Interpretation of the Cold War on the Korean Peninsula,” in Ending the Cold War in Korea: Theoretical and Historical Perspectives, Seoul: Yonsei University Press, pp. 171–191. Chen Jian. 2001b. Mao’s China and the Cold War, Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. CIA (Central Intelligence Agency). 1953. “North Korean Press Summary,” CREST Digital Archive, doc. No. CIA-RDP80S01540R003000040008-2. DPRK Chosun Issue Research Center. 1981. The Handbook on South Chosun Pyongyang: Shidaesa. Dulles, John Foster. 1954. “The Evolution of Foreign Policy: Speech to the National Press Club on January 12, 1954,” Bulletin of the US Department of State, vol. XXX, no. 761 (January 25), pp. 107–114. Foreign and Commonwealth Office. 1969. “Democratic People’s Republic of Korea; Chinese and Korean Border Dispute,” United Kingdom National Archives, FCO 21/603. Foreign and Commonwealth Office. 1991. M.D. Reilly, Seoul to I. Davies, head of Far East Division, “Visit of Kim Il Sung to China,” United Kingdom National Archives, FCO 21/4803. Han, Hongkoo. 1999. “Wounded Nationalism: The Minsaengdan Incident and Kim Il Sung in Eastern Manchuria,” PhD dissertation, University of Washington. Hazbiu, Kadri. 1970. “Brief Summary of Conversation between Comrades Zhou Enlai and Kang Sheng on 16 June 1970 with Myself and Comrade Xhoxhi Robo,” National Archives of Albania, AQSH, F.14/AP, M-PKK, V. 1970, Dos. 5, Fl. 1–10. Trans. Elidor Mehilli. Wilson Center Digital Archive. Available at: https://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/117305 Heo, Jong Ho. 1987. The Far East Policy of the United States and Chosun, Pyongyang: Social Science Publisher. Hua, Guofeng. 1978. “Speech at Pyongyang Mass Rally, Moranbong Stadium,” 7 May, Peking Review, no. 19, pp. 12–15. Jeon, Pil Su. 1960. For Organizing the Front Line of Unification in South Chosun and Saving the Country from the United States, Pyongyang: Workers’ Party of Korea Publishing House. Kim, Eun-Jeong. 2016. “North Korea’s Response to US Army Propaganda Leaflets during the Korean War,” War and Society, vol. 35, no. 4, pp. 298–314. Kim, Il Sung. 1966. “Speech to the Workers’ Party of Korea,” October 5. Koh, B. C. 1978. “The Impact of the Chinese Model on North Korea,” Asian Survey vol. 18, no. 6 (June), pp. 626–643. Li, Qingshan. 2008. Zhiyuanjun yuanChao jishi [The Chinese People’s Volunteers: A Documentary History of Aiding Korea], Beijing: Zhonggong dangshi chubanshe. Li, Xiaobing. 2014. China’s Battle for Korea: The 1951 Spring Offensive, Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Mao, Zedong. 1936. “Interview with Edgar Snow on Japanese Imperialism,” 16 July 1936, in Stuart R. Schram and Nancy J. Hodes (Eds.), Mao’s Road to Power: Revolutionary Writings 1912–1949, Volume V, Toward the Second United Front, January 1935–July 1937, Armonk, New York: M.E. Sharpe, 1999, pp. 258–266. Mao, Zedong. 1956. “Remarks to a Delegation of League of Communists of Yugoslavia, September 1956 (editors’ translation “Draw Historical Lessons and Oppose Big-Nation Chauvinism”), in Mao Zedong on Diplomacy, compiled by PRC Ministry of Foreign Affairs and CCP Central Committee Party Literature Research Center, Bejing: Foreign Languages Press, 1998. Mao, Zedong. 1963. “Meeting with Delegation from Rodong Sinmun,” 25–26 April 1963, in Chronology of Mao Zedong (毛泽东年谱), Vol. 5, 1961.07–1966.09, Beijing: Central Archives Press, 2013, pp. 211–212. Mao, Zedong. 1969. “Conversation with North Korean Official Choe Yong-geon (excerpt), 1 October 1969, at the Tiananmen Gate,” Zhonghua Renmin Gongheguo Shilu, vol. 3, part 1, p. 522, in Wilson Center Digital Archive, https://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/111509

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Adam Cathcart and Yujin Lim Mehnert, Klaus. 1963. Peking and Moscow. Trans. Leila Vennewitz. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson. Minju Chosun. 1958. 이 땅에 남긴 중국 인민 지원군의 공훈은 영생 불멸하리라! [The Exploits of the Chinese People’s Volunteers on This Land Will Be Immortal!] Editorial, March, 15, p. 1. North, Robert C. 1960. “Peking’s Drive for Empire: The New Expansionism,” Problems of Communism, vol. 9, no. 1, pp. 23–30. Pollack, Jonathan. 2011. No Exit: North Korea, Nuclear Weapons and International Security, London: Routledge. Ri, Yong Phil. 2016. “Conclusion of a U.S.-North Korea Peace Agreement the Most Pressing Issue: DPRK’s Institute for American Studies Calls for Peace Agreement Without Denuclearization,” NK News, July 4. Available at: www.nknews.org/2016/07/conclusion-of-a-u-s-north-korea-peace­ agreement-the-most-pressing-issue/ (accessed September 29, 2019). Schram, Stuart. 1960. “The ‘Military Deviation’ of Mao Tse-tung,” Problems of Communism, vol. 9, no. 1, pp. 49–56. Shen, Zhihua and Yafeng Xia. 2011. “Mao Zedong’s Erroneous Decision During the Korean War: China’s Rejection of the UN Cease-fire Resolution in Early 1951,” Asian Perspectives, vol. 35, no. 2, pp. 187–209. Shen, Zhihua and Yafeng Xia. 2018. A Misunderstood Friendship: Mao Zedong, Kim Il Sung and Sino-North Korean Relations, 1949–76, New York: Columbia University Press. Shin, Dong Jo. 2016. “Factional Violence and Ethnic Relations in a Korean Borderland: Mao Yuanxin’s Cultural Revolution in Yanbian, 1966–1968,” Modern China Studies, vol. 23, no.2, pp. 141–162. Starobin, Joseph R. 1955. Paris to Peking. New York: Cameron Associates. Tian, Wuxiong. 2014. “Tongsheng yiqi: Zhongguo 1958 nian cong Chaoxian quanbu tuijun fang’an de xingcheng,” /同声异汽：中国1958年从朝鲜全部退军方案的形成” [Different Intentions with One Voice: The Making of Chinese Troops’ Withdrawal Package from the DPRK in 1958], HarvardYenching Institute Working Paper Series. Available at: https://harvard-yenching.org/features/hyi­ working-paper-series-tian-wuxiong (accessed 29 September 2019). Zakharov, M. S. 1970. “Col. Mieczysław Białek, ‘Record of Conversation of the Marshall of the Soviet Union Com. Zakharov with Com. Kim Il Sung during Com. Zakharov’s Visit in the DPRK’,” June 10, 1970, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, AIPN, 2602/8901. Obtained by Marek Hańderek and translated by Jerzy Giebułtowski. Available at: https://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/ document/208551 Zhang, Shuguang. 2001. “China’s Korean War Lessons and the Cold War Mentality: A Strategic-Culture Perspective,” in O. A. Wested and C.-Y. Moon (Eds.), Ending the Cold War in Korea: Theoretical and Historical Perspectives, Seoul: Yonsei University Press, pp. 91–114.

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9

Nuclear weapoNs aNd

North KoreaN foreigN

policy

Shane Smith

In 2013, North Korean Supreme Leader Kim Jong Un pledged to “increase the production of precision and miniaturized nuclear weapons and the means of their delivery and [to] ceaselessly develop nuclear weapons technology to actively develop more powerful and advanced [cap­ abilities].” Today, North Korea appears to be making good on that promise. It is estimated to have enough fissile material to build between 15 and 60 weapons and, within a few years, it could have enough for up to 100 (Gentile et al. 2019). It has conducted six nuclear tests, includ­ ing one in 2017 that reportedly produced a yield of well over 100 kilotons of TNT equivalent, lending credibility to North Korean claims of having a “hydrogen bomb” (Pabian, Bermudez and Liu 2017). And it has conducted a range of missile tests, suggesting it could soon deliver those weapons on targets located anywhere on the globe (Missile Defense Project 2018). North Korea is now poised to expand further and even deploy those capabilities, denuclearization talks notwithstanding. In many ways nuclear weapons have come to define North Korea’s foreign policy (Smith 2018). With roots dating back to the 1950s, its atomic ambitions have shaped its relations with great powers and neighbors alike for decades (Pollack 2011). Since the early 1990s, it has alter­ nately used nuclear threats and promises to denuclearize as primary tools to advance both security and diplomatic goals. Under Kim Jong Un, North Korea has accelerated its nuclear weapons developments, made increasingly bold and even preemptive nuclear threats, and held out the prospect of denuclearization to secure the first-ever summits between a North Korean leader and the president of the United States. It would be reasonable to conclude from this history that the role of nuclear weapons in North Korea’s foreign policy is likely to grow along with an increase in the number, diversity and sophistication of weapons in its arsenal, barring a dramatic change in course. This chapter explores the co-evolution of North Korea’s strategic doctrine and nuclear cap­ abilities. It reviews how North Korea has, in the words of Henry Kissinger (1957, p. 7), “trans­ lated power into policy” – identifying the purposes its nuclear program has served and its relation to policy – over the last 30 years and what that history says about the future. To do so, it builds on and updates a framework for understanding how North Korea has harnessed the power of both potential and actual nuclear weapons to affect strategic outcomes. The chapter traces how North Korea has leveraged both nuclear threats and denuclearization promises to garner much-needed political, diplomatic and economic benefits, and how over the last two 141

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decades it has adopted policies and built capabilities primarily to deter and coerce adversaries. But the evidence presented below suggests North Korea is currently pursuing a more robust and potentially dangerous nuclear warfighting strategy that enables it to launch first strikes on its neighbors, while deterring US intervention using retaliatory threats against US cities. The goal, as North Korea has explicitly laid out more than once, is to use nuclear weapons in a proactive manner – to “dictate international trends on the Korean peninsula and in Northeast Asia” (Mansourov 2014). However, it faces substantial hurdles and there are good reasons to doubt it can fulfill those ambitions.

Atomic undercurrents: drivers, motives and interests North Korea’s nuclear program has long reflected multiple motivations. These are captured in a 2014 statement by a Foreign Ministry spokesman in the following terms: The DPRK’s nuclear force serves [as] a powerful treasured sword to protect the sover­ eignty of the country and the dignity of the nation and provides a sure guarantee for focusing efforts on preserving peace and security, building economy and improving the standard of the people’s living. (KCNA 2014) These interests are so entrenched and intertwined that one expert suggests “the nation itself and nuclear weapons have been combined in a condensed symbol of intention,” which helps explain why many observers doubt North Korea will ever give up its program wholesale (Hayes 2012). However, breaking down North Korea’s motivations into three broad national goals – security, diplomatic, and political – helps frame its strategic aims and nuclear-related decisions. North Korean leaders have consistently maintained that nuclear weapons are necessary for security purposes, primarily as a deterrent against US aggression. When announcing that it had nuclear weapons in 2005, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs declared: The U.S. disclosed its attempt to topple the political system in the DPRK at any cost, threatening it with a nuclear stick. This compels us to take a measure to bolster [our] nuclear weapons arsenal in order to protect the ideology, system, freedom and demo­ cracy chosen by [our] people. We had already taken the resolute action of pulling out of the NPT and have manufactured nukes for self-defense to cope with the Bush administration’s evermore undisguised policy to isolate and stifle the DPRK. (KCNA 2005) Similarly, ahead of its first nuclear test in 2006, the Foreign Ministry explained that “nuclear weapons will serve as [a] reliable war deterrent for protecting the supreme interests of the state and the security of the Korean nation from the U.S. threat of aggression” (KCNA 2006). Kim Jong Un also made it clear in his 2018 New Year’s Address that deterring the United States is a primary driver: Our country’s nuclear forces are capable of thwarting and countering any nuclear threats from the United States, and they constitute a powerful deterrent that prevents it from starting an adventurous war … In no way would the United States dare to ignite a war against me and our country. (Rodong Sinmun 2018) 142

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There is also evidence that North Korean leaders see nuclear weapons as central to achieving security goals concerning South Korea. For decades, the North held a conventional military advantage over the South. Its thousands of artillery tubes, potentially filled with chemical muni­ tions, could devastate Seoul. Many experts considered this a powerful deterrent against any potential aggression from the South. However, this superiority has eroded over the past genera­ tion. The Korean People’s Army fields many legacy weapons systems built by China and the Soviet Union in the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s. Its capabilities and resources have dwindled along with the increase in the country’s economic and diplomatic isolation. Meanwhile, South Korea now has one of the world’s largest economies and most modern societies with a correspondingly capable military (Hackett and Fitzpatrick 2018). Faced with relative decline, John Park (2013, p. 169) argues that North Korea has viewed nuclear weapons as a way “to restore a semblance of balance on the peninsula.” Many North Korean statements suggest a belief that nuclear weapons can also be used to compel adversaries, not just deter them, and even help unify the peninsula, by force, if neces­ sary. Kim Jong Un hinted at a more offensive inclination, when he claimed: “Nuclear weapons are the sword that advances the cause of Korean reunification” (Mansourov 2014). More dramatically, a spokesman for the ironically named Korea Asia-Pacific Peace Committee released an ominous, thinly-veiled nuclear threat in 2017: The south Korean puppet forces are traitors and dogs of the U.S. … [and] should be severely punished and wiped out with fire attack so that they could no longer survive. Only then, the entire Korean nation can thrive in a reunified territory to be proud of in the world. (KCNA Watch 2017) To be sure, the North has often used nuclear threats in combination with both diplomatic and conventional military provocations to challenge what it contends to be objectionable political and territorial arrangements on the peninsula. As its capabilities grow, it is reasonable to assume the North will align its nuclear strategy to meet its more offensive aims toward a stated goal of using nuclear weapons to “dictate [not just defend against] international trends on the Korean peninsula and in Northeast Asia” (Mansourov 2014). Diplomatic interests also seem to motivate North Korean nuclear decision-making. It has never hidden the belief that nuclear weapons offer a path to greater international status and prestige. It has long argued that its nuclear capabilities afford it “equal footing” with other nuclear powers. In 2016, North Korean government TV announced its fourth nuclear test this way: By succeeding in the H-bomb test in the most perfect manner to be specially recorded in history the DPRK proudly joined the advanced ranks of nuclear weapons states possessed of even H-bomb and the Korean people came to demonstrate the spirit of the dignified nation. (Haggard 2016) Indeed, it is through leveraging its nuclear program that the North has arguably gained direct and high-profile talks with great powers, including Kim Jong Un’s summits with Presidents Donald Trump, Vladimir Putin and Xi Jinping in 2018 and 2019. There is evidence that North Korea has long used nuclear diplomacy to serve its economic interests. Some experts, such as Hazel Smith (2015, pp. 294–311), persuasively argue that North 143

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Korean leaders have always subordinated economic considerations to security imperatives, but the record suggests they have in part seen nuclear threats as a way to cajole economic aid from the international community. This would align with Nicholas Eberstadt’s (1999, pp. 51–52) characterization of North Korea as having a deeply-rooted “tribute-seeking diplomacy” in which it uses a stratagem of nuclear extortion and threats to extract monetary, energy and food transfers from others. In his estimation, maintaining a “credible military menace … is now at the heart of North Korea’s economic strategy – and of its very strategy for survival.” Here, nuclear threats are diplomatic tools to barter and blackmail for economic and financial gain. To understand the role nuclear weapons play in bolstering political legitimacy and support for the Kim regime, it is worth highlighting two essential concepts in North Korea’s political culture – Juche and songun. Juche is the dominant North Korean precept that emphasizes selfimportance, self-determination and unquestioned loyalty to the Supreme Leader. Songun or “military-first” politics was introduced by Kim Jong Il in 1997–1998 to restructure the govern­ ment and society in a manner that serves military interests above all else. It is only through songun that Juche can be realized. These have long been more than ideological tools; they have also been organizing principles for the North Korean state and society around which the Kim regime maintains its legitimacy. Even while Kim Jong Un has in recent years de-emphasized military-first politics in favor of economic priorities, as reflected in the revisions made to the state constitution in 2019, military strength remains a hallmark of North Korean leadership and underpins its system of governance (Buzo 2018). Nuclear weapons are deeply embedded in and reinforce Juche and songun. North Korea’s leaders use nuclear weapons to present themselves as the true protectors of an independent Korean people, while simultaneously portraying the South as being under the yoke of the United States. Amid other poor economic, technological and military indicators, they offer perhaps the only observable evidence of the regime’s claim to greatness and supremacy over South Korea. For the military, they are a source of strength that offers a potential path to unifi­ cation, bolstering morale and thus the backing of the armed forces for the Kim regime. There is also evidence to suggest that self-generated crises over its nuclear program may rally domestic support for the regime, feeding an internal narrative of being the sole defender against US impe­ rialism (Byman and Lind 2010).

Nuclear strategy and national goals How might North Korea align its nuclear strategy to achieve its national goals? Nuclear strategy can be broken down into three constituent parts: doctrine, command and control, and capabil­ ities (Sagan 2000). Nuclear doctrine reflects the purposes that nuclear weapons serve, and it consists of plans about when and how they might be used. It is typically revealed through declaratory policy or public statements about nuclear weapons and strategy, planning documents and/or training exercises that outwardly signal intentions. Command and control (C2) relates to how nuclear weapons are incorporated into a state’s broader military structure to ensure they are used only when and how government leaders decide they should be used. Evidence for C2 arrangements can be found in public statements as well as organizational structures, authorities and training exercises. Capabilities involve the size, shape and character of the arsenal. Estimates are generally based on a combination of observed tests, known production facilities, public statements, overhead imagery analysis and national assessments. Existing research suggests there are essentially four alternative nuclear strategies that may guide North Korea (Narang 2014; Smith, S. 2015).1 They are derived first and foremost by the primary strategic motivation that guides doctrinal, operational and capability-related decisions. 144

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The first strategy is aimed primarily at achieving political, diplomatic or economic national goals. This has the lowest barrier to entry of the four strategies because it does not require an actual nuclear weapons capability. It only requires the technical elements of a program that demonstrate the capacity to build nuclear weapons. Having the means to develop nuclear weapons some time in the future provides bargaining leverage and prestige for leaders seeking concessions from those who have interests in preventing the realization of those capabilities or, for domestic consumption, seeing those capabilities advance. Select technologies or program elements can be demonstrated for bargaining or political purposes at different times but there are no ex ante requirements for actual capability, doctrine, plans, or C2 arrangements. A second “catalytic strategy” is focused on more traditional security goals but it tends to reflect limited nuclear capabilities. It is designed to exploit the specter of nuclear war to inter­ nationalize a local crisis or essentially raise the global stakes of a potential conflict to “catalyze” third-party action. It tends to rest on the fear of at least one great power that nuclear conflict would gravely impact its interests, either directly or indirectly, and its willingness to intervene to protect those interests by restraining adversaries and restoring stability. To dependably compel outside intervention, this strategy requires convincing others that nuclear war is at least techni­ cally possible; that is, demonstrating an actual nuclear weapons capability, not merely the capa­ city to build one in the future. It does not require a large or sophisticated arsenal. A few crude weapons on standby with a simple planning and command structure to potentially deliver a weapon on a target would be sufficient to create the impression that a war could escalate to the nuclear threshold. An “assured strategic retaliation” or “minimum deterrence” strategy is primarily aimed at deterring high-end, regime-threatening attacks and coercion. It depends foremost on a surviv­ able second-strike force that can credibly withstand an initial attack and respond with attacks on an adversary’s strategic targets. A larger arsenal is thought to be required than what is minimally necessary in the first two strategies because redundancy is key to ensuring that enough weapons survive a first strike to present an adversary with “unacceptable costs,” whether that involves destroying one, two or dozens of targets. Since the goal is to pose unacceptable retaliatory costs, not to defeat an adversary’s military, it can be comprised solely of counter-value weapons or those that target soft and often very large centers of population or infrastructure. It does not need to hold at risk military targets, which might be small, hardened or mobile and require greater precision and/or variable yield weapons to destroy. Because this strategy is retaliatory in nature, warheads and delivery systems do not necessarily need to be assembled and ready for operational employment, but C2 arrangements need to make retaliation credible. Those measures might entail dispersing, hiding or hardening weapons systems to withstand an attack so they can become operational in the aftermath – no easy feat. As such, C2 tends to involve a standing military infrastructure and organization capable of con­ ducting nuclear operations. However, launch authority can still be highly centralized solely in the hands of the highest levels of political leadership. Maintaining centralized, positive control over employment decisions tends to involve a number of procedural, technical and/or physical measures to ensure the weapons can be used only at the direction of national authority. Finally, a war-fighting strategy is designed to deter regime-threatening attacks as well as to compel and even defeat an enemy’s military by threatening first use of nuclear weapons. It perhaps requires a more robust survivable second-strike capability than assured retaliation because it must deter regime-threatening attacks even after nuclear weapons have been used first. But the distinguishing characteristic is the addition of so-called tactical weapons for limited attacks on opposing military forces and bases rather than sole reliance on blunt retaliatory counter-value threats. It entails having not only a wider range of capabilities – a survivable 145

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strategic force and limited use capabilities – but also the operational capacity to use them first in a variety of conflict scenarios. Countries that have adopted this strategy in the past have tended to disperse or forward-deploy nuclear weapons to operational commands and pre-delegate launch authority to lower echelons of political and military leadership to maximize survivability, responsiveness and operational flexibility. In such circumstances, nuclear weapons tend to be highly integrated into broader military doctrine and plans.

North Korea’s evolving nuclear strategy Over the past three decades, North Korea has adopted elements of all four strategies. Its declara­ tory policy and capabilities have reflected a range of shifting circumstances and objectives. However, what the regime says and what it does do not always align neatly within a single stra­ tegic framework. For instance, the North has in the past made over-the-top nuclear threats that were not deemed credible because, by all reasonable judgments, it lacked the requisite capability to carry out its threats. It has similarly made denuclearization promises presumably to advance political or diplomatic goals that were soon undermined by tests and exercises that suggest its underlying strategy is pointed in a different direction, drawing into question the credibility of its pledges. These inconsistencies might lead some observers to conclude North Korea lacks a coherent nuclear strategy; that its related decisions are subject to the erratic personal whims of the Kim regime. However, it would be a mistake to assume North Korea’s nuclear program is not guided by a strategic logic. It has built its program over decades and across three leaders in the face of significant costs in terms of economic sanctions, diplomatic isolation, and heightened military tensions with its neighbors and the United States. Its leaders must certainly weigh up carefully the costs and benefits of its nuclear investments and activities, given its scarce resources and the risks of armed conflict. Indeed, the balance of evidence suggests North Korea long ago made a strategic decision to build an expansive nuclear program. It has steadily developed capabilities, adopted policies and built an operational infrastructure that require long-term investments and suggest it is on a determined path from the least to most ambitious nuclear strategy – from one that is primarily aimed at political, diplomatic or economic interests to an offensive warfighting strategy. But steep hurdles remain and it is unclear whether it can fully realize those objectives.

A strategy for political, diplomatic and economic goals To be sure, in the past, North Korea may have prioritized political, diplomatic and economic goals. Between 1994 and 2007, it froze or disabled elements of its nuclear program in exchange for energy assistance, food aid, diplomatic talks, security assurances, sanctions relief and eco­ nomic benefits. Some of those agreements, such as the 1994 US-North Korea Agreed Frame­ work, significantly – if temporarily – constrained North Korea’s ability to expand its nuclear capability. At the time, North Korea may have felt it had little choice but to expend equity in its nuclear program to service political, diplomatic and economic needs. It was simultaneously managing the collapse of both its historical great power patron, the Soviet Union, and its own domestic economy. Between 1994 and 1998, it suffered one of the worst famines in modern history with mass starvations in large part due to the failure of the government distribution system. Andrew Natsios concludes that North Korea’s self-generated nuclear crises and negoti­ ations during that period may have been an attempt to deflect from internal discord and rally support around a Kim regime that was facing a breakdown in domestic confidence (Crossette 1999). Others believe they were designed to extract desperately needed currency and aid from 146

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the international community (Eberstadt 1999). It is reasonable to conclude that the North’s nuclear belligerence and bargaining served both ends. North Korea likely did not have the requisite technical or operational means to credibly adopt a more ambitious nuclear strategy in the 1990s and early 2000s. US intelligence agencies estimated that the North possibly had one or two weapons in the early 1990s using plutonium it had produced prior to 1992 (CIA 2002). Whatever capabilities it might have had, however, were unproven. It did not conduct its first nuclear test until 2006. Without much of an arsenal, operations of the nuclear program were likely minimal, tightly controlled and under centralized authority. An element of the Nuclear-Chemical Defense Bureau, a bureaucratically low-level organ of the Ministry of the People’s Armed Forces, was thought by some to have been respons­ ible for managing the nuclear research program (Scobell and Sanford 2012). But there is no evidence that it had authority to plan or conduct military operations using nuclear weapons. Under Kim Jong Un, North Korea has categorically rebuffed any notion that its nuclear program can be bartered away as its capabilities have grown substantially. For instance, a March 2013 media release from a plenary meeting of the Central Committee of the Workers’ Party of Korea (WPK) stated that “nuclear weapons of Songun Korea are not goods for getting US dollars and they are neither a political bargaining chip nor a thing for economic dealings … [but are] the nation’s life [and treasure] which can never be abandoned” (KCNA 2013). Yet, it would appear from some public statements and diplomatic engagements, especially in 2018 and 2019, that North Korea may remain willing to accept constraints on its nuclear weapons program in exchange for certain concessions from the United States. For instance, Kim Jong Un was asked by a reporter prior to the 2019 Hanoi summit with President Trump: “Are you ready to denuclearize? Are you ready to give up your nuclear weapons?” His response: “If I’m not willing to do that, I won’t [sic] be here right now” (The White House 2019). Following the summit, which ended without an agreement, North Korea’s Foreign Minister, Ri Yong Ho, stated that the North had offered during the talks to dismantle fissile material production facilities at the Yongbyon nuclear complex and to permanently halt nuclear and intercontinental ballistic missile (ICBM) tests in exchange for a partial lifting of sanctions (Riechmann, Kim and Lucey 2019). On the one hand, the proposal that Ri said North Korea offered in Hanoi hints at a potential willingness to bargain away future capabilities in exchange for economic concessions. Reports suggest the dismantling of the Yongbyon facilities would have in fact shut down the North’s only known source of plutonium; potentially slowed its production rate of highly enrich uranium; and closed off one of its few sources of tritium, which is used to design high-yield thermonuclear weapons (Panda and Narang 2019). A moratorium on nuclear and ICBM tests also would have limited its progress developing more advanced capabilities. On the other hand, it would have left in place its existing capabilities as well as any missile and fissile material pro­ duction facilities located outside of the Yongbyon complex. In other words, the proposal would have had no material impact on what Kim Jong Un claimed to have already achieved in his 2018 New Year’s Address. Namely, the “various means of nuclear delivery and super-intense thermo­ nuclear weapon[s]” that meets his “strategic goal with success,” and which “no force and nothing can reverse.” His 2018 statement and unwillingness to entertain negotiations on extant capabilities during subsequent talks suggest that his primary strategic goal is no longer political, diplomatic or economic in nature.

A catalytic strategy In fact, North Korea’s strategic emphasis may have shifted to meet more direct security interests long ago. Its nuclear strategy began to reflect a catalytic model shortly after its first nuclear test 147

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in 2006. North Korea started making over-the-top nuclear threats that reflected an interest in grabbing global headlines and attention rather than conveying credible military warnings. One notable instance was during a crisis in 2013, when North Korean TV broadcast a picture of Kim Jong Un surrounded by top military officers with a “US mainland strike plan.” The strike plan portrayed simulated missile trajectories from North Korea to targets in California, Texas and Washington, DC. The picture was derided by many experts who were deeply skeptical the North could pull off such an attack (Hudson 2013). Unless Kim Jong Un was being deceived about the capabilities at his disposal or he believed foreign leaders could be deceived by a photo, it is possible the goal was more oblique: remind the world that conflict could escalate to nuclear war and that the consequences would not be limited to the peninsula. Such a goal would align with a catalytic strategy of leveraging the specter of nuclear war for coercive purposes but having only limited military means (discussed below) to carry out a threat. The major powers, especially the United States and China, have a lot at stake in stability on the Korean Peninsula. By threatening nuclear escalation, North Korea may have learned that it could catalyze Chinese or US actions to restore stability in large part because war could draw them in on opposite sides. The resulting costs for both would be extremely high, while neither faces particularly high costs for returning to the status quo ante and stability. The specter of nuclear escalation on the peninsula arguably had a “catalytic” effect following the North’s brazen attacks on South Korea in 2010 – the sinking of the ROK navy corvette Cheonan-ho and shell­ ing of Yeonpyeong-do. As former U.S. Secretary of Defense Robert Gates (Gates 2014, p. 407) writes of the crises in his memoir: “There was evidence the Chinese were … weighing in with the North’s leaders to wind down the situation,” while he, US President Barack Obama, Sec­ retary of State Hillary Clinton and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs Mike Mullen all called their South Korean counterparts to caution against “disproportionate” retaliation because “we were worried the exchanges could escalate dangerously.” As might be expected with a catalytic strategy, North Korea had demonstrated the ability to create a nuclear explosion through its 2006 test, but the military utility of its capabilities remained ambiguous. Its arsenal, to the extent it had one, likely consisted of only a few unreliable weapons. Some reports suggested that its first test may have actually been a fizzle, fueling doubts that it had a workable weapon design (Burns and Gearan 2006). Evidence at the time also suggested that its nuclear program remained under tight, centralized control and had not been militarized. The International Crisis Group assessed in 2009 that whatever nuclear weapons the North had built had not yet been transferred to a military organization capable of carrying out the complex nuclear operations that would be necessary for an assured retaliation or war-fighting strategy (International Crisis Group 2009). Nonetheless, its tests and demonstrations, combined with increasingly direct nuclear threats, reflected a strategy of conveying both the willingness and capability, no matter how limited, to use nuclear weapons. Doing so effectively raised the per­ ceived stakes for major powers in any crisis on the peninsula.

Assured retaliation Evidence that North Korea was looking to move beyond a catalytic to an assured retaliation strategy began to mount around 2012. By that time, some experts were assessing it had the ability to fashion nuclear warheads that could be delivered on short-to-medium range variants of its Scud or Nodong missiles, although with low levels of accuracy and confidence (Albright and Warlond 2012). It was also thought to have the infrastructure to rapidly expand in quantity, quality and diversity both its stockpile of warheads and delivery systems (Wit and Ahn 2015). It conducted its second and third nuclear tests in 2009 and 2013, producing progressively higher 148

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but still relatively low yields. It also launched an intensive missile testing program that emphas­ ized more capable, longer-range rockets that could hold at risk strategic targets in South Korea, Japan, as well as the United States. It was clear at the time that North Korea was designing its new delivery systems with survivability in mind. Rather than rely on fixed-site missiles that could easily be targeted by adversaries, it was developing systems that were road-mobile. Doing so would allow North Korea to exploit its mountainous terrain, tunnels and underground facili­ ties to hide and shield its nuclear weapons against disarming first strikes. Since then, North Korea has made advances in solid-fueled rocket technology that enables offroad mobility and shorter launch times, increasing pre-launch survivability (Schilling and Kan 2015). Similarly, it has conducted about a dozen tests of a submarine-launched ballistic missile to support the development of an undersea capability which could be difficult for adversaries to find and which could also enable missile launch angles to evade some US, South Korean and Japanese missile defenses in the region. The widely suspected low-accuracy of North Korea’s missiles – especially its medium- and long range systems – would make them most viable for large targets, such as cities, with less utility against military targets (Albert 2019). Its nuclear tests in 2016 and 2017 produced higher yields, consistent with boosted or thermonuclear weapon designs. Such designs would mean that the North could impose potentially strategic costs on adversaries with even a few weapons that could strike major population centers. North Korea’s declaratory policy also began to reflect the language of an assured retaliation strategy in 2013. That year, the Supreme People’s Assembly (SPA) promulgated the “Law on Consolidating the Position of Nuclear Weapons State,” which codified North Korean nuclear policy and strategy. The SPA Law states that nuclear weapons “serve the purpose of deterring and repelling the aggression and attack of the enemy against the DPRK and dealing deadly retali­ atory blows at the strongholds of aggression” (“Law on Consolidating Position of Nuclear Weapons State Adopted” 2013). The day before the Law was issued, Kim Jong Un laid out the rationale for the strategy: When one is firmly equipped with the capability to make precision strikes with nuclear weapons against aggressors and strongholds of aggression, no matter where they are on the face of the earth, no aggressor can dare to attack recklessly, and the greater and more powerful the nuclear strike capability, the greater the power of deterring aggres­ sion will be. Especially in case of our country, whose opponent is the United States … it is necessary to firmly bolster the nuclear armed forces both quantitatively and qualitatively. This language unmistakably reflects the tenets of an assured retaliation strategy. Organizationally, North Korea upgraded its Missile Guidance Bureau to the status of Stra­ tegic Rocket Forces Command in 2012. Creating the new Command put greater political and bureaucratic weight behind developing, planning and integrating nuclear operations within the broader military structure. It is believed by some to have a level of autonomy from the KPA with a commander who has a position on the Central Military Commission (National Institute for Defense Studies 2013) and who reports directly to Kim Jong Un. This direct report to Kim reinforces a highly centralized command structure, which was also stipulated in the 2013 SPA Law: “nuclear weapons of the DPRK can be used only by a final order of the Supreme Commander of the Korean People’s Army [Kim Jong Un].” With launch authority solely in the hands of Kim Jong Un, rather than with lower-level commands, North Korea may be constrained from adopting more complex nuclear operations associated with a warfighting strategy. 149

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While it has ostensibly made progress developing an assured retaliation strategy, gaps in the available evidence make it difficult to conclude that North Korea has a viable second-strike capability. First, it is unclear whether Kim would ever delegate authority over nuclear weapons to assure retaliation should something happen to him or his ability to communicate with his forces. Doing so may be too much of a stretch for a regime that is notoriously paranoid about internal rivals and seeks to maintain a tight grip on military authority (Smith 2018). Predelegating launch authority could, at least symbolically, identify a suitable successor who is capable of making such fateful decisions for the nation. Second, it is widely believed that North Korea maintains its nuclear weapons and delivery systems separately during peacetime, as previous nuclear powers have done, to reinforce central control and protect against unauthor­ ized use or diversion (Narang and Panda 2017). There are a number of procedural, physical and technical barriers that must then be overcome during a crisis to mate, disperse and prepare nuclear systems for attack. This requires many highly skilled, trusted and trained personnel to coordinate assembly and launch the weapons under a great deal of strain. Narang and Panda (2017) believe there is still reason to be skeptical that North Korea has the requisite means. Third, North Korea is currently believed to have only a limited number of nuclear-capable mobile launchers, especially for its ICBMs (Kristensen and Norris 2018). Meanwhile, the United States and South Korea have been bolstering defenses both to destroy the North’s mobile mis­ siles before they are launched and to intercept them in mid-air, if need be (U.S. Department of Defense 2019). While North Korea can presumably overcome these challenges, taken together, they raise doubts today over how assured North Korean retaliation might be.

Fighting a nuclear war Even as it continues to fill the requirements for an assured retaliation strategy, North Korea’s official statements and tests of more advanced delivery systems suggest that it may have its eyes on a regional warfighting capability. This aspiration is seen in the 2013 SPA Law, when it hints at a future role for nuclear weapons in retaliating against not only attacks but also aggression, presumably a lower and intentionally ambiguous threshold for use: “The DPRK shall take prac­ tical steps to bolster up the nuclear deterrence and nuclear retaliatory strike power both in quality and quantity to cope with the gravity of the escalating danger of hostile forces’ aggression and attack” (“Law on Consolidating Position of Nuclear Weapons State” 2013; italics added). The WPK Central Committee (2013) indeed released a report one day before the SPA Law was adopted directing the military to integrate nuclear war planning for fighting across the full spectrum of conflict, not just for strategic retaliation: The People’s Army should perfect the war method and operation in the direction of raising the pivotal role of the nuclear armed forces in all aspects concerning the war deterrence and the war strategy, and the nuclear armed forces should always round off the combat posture. (Ibid.) In his 2017 New Year’s Address, Kim Jong Un in fact made clear that retaliation is no longer the sole tenet guiding the North’s nuclear strategy. He said: “we will continue to build up our self-defense capability, the pivot of which is the nuclear forces, and the capability for preemptive strike …” (Rodong Sinmun 2017). Kim’s statement echoes a history of North Korean threats to use nuclear weapons first in both limited and decisive ways, suggesting a long-held ambition for warfighting options. 150

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North Korean nuclear and missile developments also reflect this ambition. Its series of missile tests in 2019 demonstrate a growing number of increasingly sophisticated short- and mediumrange delivery systems that are more accurate, durable and able to penetrate defenses. Some observers suggest these newer systems are designed to provide North Korea with greater opera­ tional flexibility and militarily viable options in a range of conflict scenarios, including the ability to conduct counterforce strikes against military targets, such as air and missile defense batteries, airfields, ports, and command and communications centers (Lim 2019). Indeed, North Korea conducted a nuclear exercise in 2016 that state TV described as simulating the “conditions of making preemptive strikes at ports and airfields in the operational theater in South Korea” (Kim 2016). In 2017, it also launched a salvo of four missiles that it claimed was exercising a “strike on the bases of the U.S. imperialist aggressor forces in Japan in contingency.” Some experts, such as Jeffrey Lewis (2017), conclude that North Korea is developing an offensive warfighting doctrine that involves using nuclear weapons first against regional targets, while deterring a US response through the threat of assured retaliation on US cities. This seems to be a reasonable assessment, although it faces steep, potentially prohibitive challenges doing so. Adopting and maintaining a viable warfighting strategy would be difficult for North Korea for three primary reasons. First, this kind of strategy, more so than assured retaliation, places a premium on putting a large number of nuclear weapons and the conditional authority to use them in the hands of lower-echelon political and military commands to maximize survivability, operational flexibility and wartime responsiveness. Doing so would seemingly run counter to the peculiarly hierarchical nature of North Korean government, military and social structure (Smith 2018). The North Korean Constitution enshrines nuclear weapons as a “precious legacy” of Kim Jong Il and the Workers’ Party has labeled them a “national treasure” and “the nation’s life.” Relinquishing central control over them would contradict the historical tendency of the Kim regime to maintain tight authority over all levers of national power. Some experts suggest North Korea could maintain tight control in peacetime, then rapidly disperse and pre-delegate launch authority during crises – transitioning quickly from an assured retaliation to a warfighting posture. However, doing so means relying on unproven operational capabilities and inexperienced personnel to carry out a command in a time of extraordinary stress (Narang and Panda 2017). Such an approach belies the value of a strategy intended to provide leadership with agile warfighting options. Second, a warfighting strategy is expensive. One study (Schwartz 1999) of the US nuclear weapons enterprise illustrates how the costs of a nuclear arsenal grow exponentially with the maintenance of multiple offensive weapons systems. It finds that 86 percent of the U.S. nuclear budget in the past has been dedicated to deploying a variety of offensive delivery systems and ensuring they perform correctly when ordered to do so, while also ensuring they are not diverted or launched without valid authority. Those types of costs include not only the development and upkeep of the weapons systems themselves but also the training and exercising that are required to integrate them into broader military doctrine and planning. The point here is that North Korea would likely face significantly more financial costs in fielding and maintaining the readi­ ness of weapons systems that are needed for a warfighting strategy than what is necessary for assured retaliation. For a country that is resource-constrained and faces perennial economic and food shortages, a robust warfighting posture could pose too great a financial strain. Of course, the North could take shortcuts and adopt measures that are far less expensive for its needs. Doing so, however, has its own risks, such as reducing surety and increasing the risk of diversion or unauthorized launch, which would undermine the intended strategic goal. Third, a warfighting posture entails greater risk than an assured retaliation strategy. Not only could nuclear weapons fall into the hands of internal rivals or be diverted or launched without authorization, but external reactions are also likely to drive up the financial, diplomatic as well 151

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as military risks for North Korea. International sanctions are unlikely to be loosened and could even be tightened should North Korea take measures to implement this type of strategy because it inherently entails a more offensive, threatening element than assured retaliation. A warfighting strategy could antagonize North Korea’s most important patron, China, which has shown in the past a willingness to impose both economic and diplomatic penalties on the North over its nuclear provocations. Importantly, South Korea, Japan and the United States would be expected to increase military measures, in terms of both offensive and defensive capabilities as well as exercises to ensure readiness, which could heighten tensions. Should those tensions escalate, there is an increased potential for crisis instability because the declared threshold for nuclear use is lowered in a warfighting strategy and mutual expectations for first strike are higher (Schelling 1966). Such risks of incentivizing US, South Korean or Japanese first strikes, as well as potential financial costs, could inhibit North Korea from acting fully on its warfighting ambitions.

Conclusion North Korea’s nuclear program has long served multiple foreign policy interests. At times, those interests overlap, such as when it tests a potential thermonuclear device that arguably enhances domestic prestige and legitimacy, provides for assured strategic retaliation and offers a bedrock on which to build a more ambitious warfighting strategy. At other times, those interests are in conflict. For instance, economic and diplomatic interests might be better served by showing nuclear restraint in ways that inhibit it from taking steps that would advance security-related goals. Similarly, pursuing a warfighting strategy has economic costs and also the potential to decrease overall security for the North by incentivizing much stronger adversaries to take recip­ rocal or escalatory measures, especially during crises. North Korea’s nuclear behavior often appears contradictory and inconsistent for that reason; its declared intentions and goals do not always align with its actions. North Korea appears to have long ago made a strategic decision to build an expansive nuclear program to meet an expansive range of interests, and it has leveraged its growing capabilities to meet different interests at different times. However, its capabilities, organizational developments and policy choices over three decades portray a steady progression from a nuclear strategy to serve primarily diplomatic, economic and political interest to one that is aimed at more militarily offensive aims. Today, evidence suggests that North Korea could be on the verge of having a credible assured retaliation strategy, although there remains some doubt over how assured its retaliation capabilities might be. Even as it continues to develop the requirements to bolster its assured retaliation capabilities to deter the United States, recent trends suggest the North will also pursue regional warfighting options. It still faces significant technical, economic and security hurdles, but the primary challenge it likely faces in adopting more complex nuclear operations for both assured retaliation and warfighting strategies stems from the extremely hierarchical nature of North Korean governance. Placing nuclear weapons and the authority to use them in the hands of lower-level authorities runs counter to the Kim regime’s history of maintaining a tight grip on all levers of national power. This could end up being the highest hurdle for North Korea to overcome should it continue on its current nuclear path.

Disclaimer The views expressed in this chapter are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the policy or position of the National Defense University, the Department of Defense, or the US government. 152

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Note 1 This section draws heavily from Shane Smith (2015).

References Albert, E. 2019. “North Korea’s Military Capabilities Backgrounder,” Council on Foreign Relations, available at: www.cfr.org/backgrounder/north-koreas-military-capabilities (accessed October 8, 2019). Albright, D. and Warlond, C. 2012. “North Korea’s Estimated Stocks of Plutonium and Weapons Grade Uranium,” Working Paper, Institute for Science and International Security, August 16. Burns, R. and Gearan, A. 2006. “U.S.: Test Points to N. Korea Nuke Blast,” The Associated Press, October 13. Buzo, A. 2018. The Guerilla Dynasty: Politics and Leadership in North Korea, 2nd edn. New York: Routledge. Byman, D. and Lind, J. 2010. “Pyongyang’s Survival Strategy: Tools of Authoritarian Control in North Korea,” International Security, vol. 35, no. 1, pp. 44–74. CIA (Central Intelligence Agency). 2002. Untitled report, November, available at: https://nsarchive2. gwu.edu/NSAEBB/NSAEBB87/nk22.pdf (accessed May 9. 2019). Crossette, B. 1999. “Korean Famine Toll: More Than 2 Million,” The New York Times, August 20, p. A6. Eberstadt, N. 1999. “The Most Dangerous Country,” The National Interest, vol. 57, September 1. Gates, R. M. 2014. Duty: Memoirs of a Secretary at War, New York: Alfred A. Knopf. Gentile, G., et al. 2019. Four Problems on the Korean Peninsula: North Korea’s Expanding Nuclear Capabilities Drive a Complex Set of Problems, Santa Monica, CA: The RAND Corporation. Hackett, J. and Fitzpatrick, M. 2018. “The Conventional Military Balance on the Korean Peninsula,” Working Paper, the International Institute for Strategic Studies, available at: www.iiss.org/blogs/ research-paper/2018/06/military-balance-korean-peninsula (accessed September 8, 2019). Hayes, P. 2012. “The DPRK’s Nuclear Constitution,” NAPSNet Policy Forum, Nautilus Institute for Science and Sustainability, available at: nautilus.org/napsnet/napsnet policy-forum/the-dprks-nuclear constitution/#axzz2jhUXzEj8 (accessed June 13, 2019). Hudson, J. 2013. “Battle of the Maps: North Korea’s Actual Missile Capability Vs. North Korea’s Threat­ ened Missile Capability,” Foreign Policy, March 29, available at: https://foreignpolicy.com/2013/03/29/ battle-of-the-maps-north-koreas-actual-missile-capability-vs-north-koreas-threatened-missile­ capability/. (accessed June 13, 2019). International Crisis Group. 2009. “North Korea’s Nuclear and Missile Programs,” Asia Report, no. 168, June 18. KCNA. 2005. “DPRK FM on Its Stand to Suspend Its Participation in Six-party Talks for Indefinite Period,” KCNA, February 10, 2005. KCNA. 2006. “DPRK Foreign Ministry Clarifies Stand on New Measure to Bolster War Deterrent,” KCNA, February 10, 2006. KCNA. 2013. “Report on Plenary Meeting of WPK Central Committee,” KCNA, March 31, 2013. KCNA. 2014. “Spokesman for DPRK FM Slams U.S. Frantic Anti-DPRK Campaign,” KCNA, October 4, 2014. KCNA Watch. 2017. “KAPPC Spokesman on DPRK Stand toward UNSC ‘Sanctions Resolution,’ ” September 14, 2017, available at: https://kcnawatch.org/newstream/1505345461-35556086/kappc­ spokesman-on-dprkstand-toward-unsc-sanctions-resolution/ (accessed July 23, 2019). Kim, J. 2016. “North Korea Says Missile Test Simulated Attack on South’s Airfields,” Reuters, July 19, available at: www.reuters.com/article/usnorthkorea-missiles-idUSKCN0ZZ2WO (accessed September 25, 2019). Kissinger, H. 1957. Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy, New York: Council on Foreign Relations. Kristensen, H. M. and Norris, R. S. 2018. “North Korean Nuclear Capabilities, 2018,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, vol. 74, pp. 41–51. “Law on Consolidating Position of Nuclear Weapons State Adopted.” 2013. Available at: www.kcna.co. jp/item/2013/201304/news01/20130401-25ee.html (accessed November 15, 2019). Lewis, J. 2017. “North Korea Is Practicing for Nuclear War,” Foreign Policy, March 9, available at: https:// foreignpolicy.com/2017/03/09/north-korea-is-practicing-for-nuclear-war/ (accessed October 1, 2019). Lim, D. G. 2019. “North Korea’s Recent Missile and ‘Projectile’ Tests Need Your Attention,” The National Interest, August 20.

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Shane Smith Mansourov, A. 2014. “Kim Jong Un’s Nuclear Doctrine and Strategy: What Everyone Needs to Know”, NAPSNet Special Reports, Nautilus Institute for Science and Sustainability, available at: https://nautilus. org/napsnet/napsnet-special-reports/kim-jong-uns-nuclear-doctrine-and-strategy-what-everyone­ needs-to-know/ (accessed October 20, 2019). Missile Defense Project. 2018. “Missiles of North Korea,” Missile Threat, Center for Strategic and Inter­ national Studies, available at: https://missilethreat.csis.org/country/dprk/ (accessed June 14, 2019). Narang, V. 2014. Nuclear Strategy in the Modern Era: Regional Powers and International Conflict, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Narang, V. and Panda, A. 2017. “Command and Control in North Korea: What a Nuclear Launch Might Look Like,” War on the Rocks, available at: https://warontherocks.com/2017/09/command-and­ control-in-north-korea-what-a-nuclear-launch-might-look-like/ (accessed September 25, 2019). National Institute for Defense Studies. 2013. East Asia Strategic Review, Tokyo: National Institute for Defense Studies. Pabian, F. V., Bermudez, J., and Liu, J. 2017. “North Korea’s Punggye-ri Nuclear Test Site: Satellite Imagery Shows Post-Test Effects and New Activity in Alternate Tunnel Portal Areas,” 38North.Com, available at: www.38north.org/2017/09/punggye091217/ (accessed September 15, 2019). Panda, A. and Narang, V. 2019. “The Hanoi Summit Was Doomed from the Start: North Korea Was Never Going to Unilaterally Disarm,” Foreign Affairs, March 5, available at: www.foreignaffairs.com/ articles/north-korea/2019-03-05/hanoi-summit-was-doomed-start (accessed October 10, 2019). Park, J. S. 2013. “Nuclear Ambition and Tension on the Korean Peninsula,” in A. Tellis, J. A. Denmark, and T. Tanner (Eds.), Asia in the Second Nuclear Age, Washington, DC: The National Bureau of Asian Research. Pollack, J. D. 2011. No Exit: North Korea, Nuclear Weapons and International Security, New York: Routledge. Riechmann, D., Kim, H. J. and Lucey, C. 2019. “US, North Korea Offer Dueling Accounts of Talks Breakdown,” AP News, March 1, available at: www.apnews.com/3152b3e5854849829eaabb23d9840 3d3 (accessed October 20, 2019). Rodong Sinmun. 2017. “New Year Address,” January 1, 2017, available at: www.rodong.rep.kp/ko/index. php?strPageID=SF01_02_01&newsID=2017-01-01-0001 (accessed November 14, 2019). Rodong Sinmun. 2018. “New Year Address,” January 1, 2018, available at: www.rodong.rep.kp/ko/index. php?strPageID=SF01_02_01&newsID=2018-01-Rodong%20Sinmun%2001-0001 (accessed November 14, 2019). Sagan, S. D. 2000. “The Origins of Military Doctrine and Command and Control Systems,” in P. R. Lavoy, S. D. Sagan, and J. J. Wirtz (Eds.), Planning the Unthinkable: How New Powers Will Use Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical Weapons, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, pp. 16–46. Schelling, T. C. 1966. Arms and Influence, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Schilling, J. and Kan, H. 2015. The Future of North Korean Nuclear Delivery Systems, Washington, DC: USKorea Institute at SAIS. Schwartz, S. I. 1999. “A Very Convenient Scandal,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, vol. 55, no. 3, available at: https://doi.org/10.2968/055003013 Scobell, A. and Sanford, J. M. 2012. North Korea’s Military Threat: Pyongyang’s Conventional Forces, Weapons of Mass Destruction, and Ballistic Missiles, Carlisle, PA: Strategic Studies Institute. Smith, H. 2015. North Korea: Markets and Military Rule, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Smith, S. 2015. North Korea’s Evolving Nuclear Strategy, Washington, DC: US-Korea Institute at SAIS, available at: https://38north.org/wpcontent/uploads/2015/09/NKNF_Evolving-Nuclear-Strategy_ Smith.pdf (accessed September 25, 2019). Smith, S. 2018. “North Korea’s Strategic Culture and Its Evolving Nuclear Strategy,” in J. L. Johnson, et al. (Eds.), Crossing Nuclear Thresholds: Leveraging Sociocultural Insights into Nuclear Decision-making, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 227–250. The White House. 2019. “Remarks by President Trump and Chairman Kim Jong Un of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea Before Expanded Bilateral Meeting,” February 28, available at: www. whitehouse.gov/briefingsstatements/remarks-president-trump-chairman-kim-jong-un-democratic­ peoples-republic-korea-expanded-bilateral-meeting/ (accessed September 15, 2019). U.S. Department of Defense. 2019. “2019 Missile Defense Review,” available at: www.defnse.gov/ portals/1/interactive/2018/11-2019-Missile-Defense-Review/The%202019%20MDR_Execu tive%20Summary.pdf (accessed May 9, 2019). Wit, J. and Ahn, S. U. 2015. North Korea’s Nuclear Futures: Technology and Strategy, Washington, DC: USKorea Institute at SAIS.

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10

North Korea’s Nuclear

diplomacy

Leszek Buszynski

This chapter examines the conduct of North Korea’s diplomacy in relation to its nuclear weapons program and identifies its advantages and particular strengths in comparison with its American adversaries and Chinese allies. North Korea has been singularly successful in develop­ ing its nuclear program from its beginnings as a clandestine and modest program to its present nuclear and supporting ballistic missile capability that could threaten the US. The North’s closed political system meant that it could hide its intentions while its American adversaries worked with an open hand in the negotiations, subject to media and political scrutiny. As a regular pattern of behavior, the North would signal a willingness to surrender the nuclear program in exchange for certain benefits, only to draw back after negotiations had commenced. On occa­ sion, it seemed that the North hesitated and there were signs of a power struggle between those in the North, who sought an agreement to uplift the economy, and the military hardliners. However, the hardliners reasserted their dominance of decision-making using the negotiations to gain time to develop the nuclear program. Most important, the North was able to exploit the support of China as well as Russia, both of whom shielded it from UN sanctions which could have brought its nuclear program to a halt. Despite their opposition to the North’s nuclear program, both China and Russia valued the North as a strategic asset on the Korean Peninsula against the US military presence there. China was the North’s main supporter and was obliged by its strategic interest to tolerate the North’s actions until it went too far with its nuclear and ballistic missile tests under Kim Jong Un. China then joined the US in imposing tough sanctions on the North during 2016–2017, bringing about a new chapter in the North’s diplomacy when summits were held with the ROK and US Presidents. In all its negotiations, North Korea’s nuclear diplomacy has been successful in man­ aging the expectations of its adversaries and allies alike, while advancing its nuclear program but it may now be approaching the strategic limits of this policy.

The characteristics of North Korean diplomacy It is often argued that diplomacy cannot be conducted effectively from a position of weakness and that negotiations should be based on strength. North Korea, however, has been effective in the conduct of its diplomacy against its much stronger adversaries in the development of its nuclear and ballistic missile programs despite their opposition. Though much weaker than its 155

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rivals in material terms, North Korea has certain advantages that have enabled it to successfully develop nuclear weapons to the point where the US as a superpower feels threatened. With a closed political system, the North has been able to conceal its negotiating agenda, while its oppon­ ents, particularly the US, at every step, faced the scrutiny of a free and often critical media. More­ over, the North has had little hesitation in resorting to threats or “brinkmanship.” American negotiators are the product of a diplomatic culture where the purpose of diplomacy is cast in terms of problem solving or an agreement that would finally resolve the issue according to public expec­ tations. For the North, however, agreements have served a temporary purpose as its negotiators cleverly played upon those public expectations and the fear of its adversaries that negotiations would break down and leave them without an agreement or a resolution of an issue. By going to the brink and threatening to cut short negotiations, or engaging in nuclear tests and ballistic missile launchings, the North quickly learned that its adversaries would scramble to bring negotiations back on track and indeed offer concessions. The North has learned to exploit the American expec­ tation of progress and agreement as successive American administrations have struggled to justify their negotiating positions before a critical Congress and American public. The North has manipulated certain accumulated beliefs about its behavior in order to deflect pressure from its much more powerful adversaries. One such belief was that the US stood in the way of peace on the Korean Peninsula and that the North was a victim of US hostility. The victim syndrome has helped it gain some sympathy, particularly in China and South Korea, as it claimed that its nuclear and ballistic missile programs were necessary protection against Amer­ ican threats and hostility. The North’s assertion that US hostility must be terminated before any resolution would be possible has prompted American negotiators to offer assurances of security to the North, but the vagueness of this demand has allowed the North to keep the Americans guessing. Yet another belief has been the notion that the North would trade its nuclear program and weapons for the promise of economic aid and support, an expectation often projected onto the North by international observers. It made sense to western and indeed Chinese minds that the rational course for a country’s leadership was economic development and uplifting the living standards of the people. However, North Korea’s leadership follows another agenda, that of regime survival, and although they have made various demands for economic assistance and food aid in times of adversity, they have shown no interest in trading their nuclear program for economic advantage. North Korea’s diplomacy has been facilitated by its geopolitical utility to both China and Russia, who have protected it in the UN Security Council against American and Japanese pres­ sure for tough sanctions under Chapter VII of the UN Charter. The Americans have been hamstrung in this respect and have not been able to apply the most punitive measures against the North. And despite its awesome military power, the US could not employ this asset against the North as a military strike would threaten another Korean war and a retaliatory attack on the South. For China, North Korea is a geopolitical asset against the American military presence in the South and US alliances with both South Korea and Japan. Beijing’s concern has been to protect this strategic asset and supply it with sufficient oil and grain to prevent its collapse. China expected that the North would open up to the world and adopt Chinese-style economic reforms which would be supported by the US and the international community, and that in the context of North Korean reform, the nuclear issue would be resolved. It therefore joined the US in supporting UN resolutions against the North, calling for denuclearization but it ensured that tough sanctions would be diluted.1 In the case of Russia, as Moscow moves to secure its influ­ ence on the Korean Peninsula, its influence cannot be dismissed due to its veto power in the UN Security Council. It shares similar aims with the Chinese in opposing the American military presence in the South, but does not want the North to fall entirely under Chinese influence. 156

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The North appears to understand its geopolitical importance to both China and Russia, and has learned to act with the surprising audacity and brazenness that has become characteristic of its diplomacy. It has been able to set the pace of diplomacy with its adversaries, and by engaging in well-timed threats has provoked a constant fear of conflict on the Korean Peninsula. Indeed, the North has cultivated a deliberate unpredictability and a willingness to go to the brink that characterize its diplomacy. American diplomats, schooled in the belief that negotiations should move forward toward a resolution in an orderly and systematic fashion, have been confronted with the North’s calculated efforts to unnerve them in this way. They have also been held to account by their elected government and placed under pressure from their political critics and social media, which too often gloss over the complex issues of nuclear negotiation, such as reporting, monitoring verification and inspections. By resorting to unpredictable and capricious behavior, the North has been able to stimulate public expectations for peace on the Korean Peninsula with the intention of overriding the complications of denuclearization. In this way, the North has fended off the demands of successive American administrations for verifiable denuclearization. What have been the North’s diplomatic objectives? Certain consistent patterns of behavior may be identified and validated against the declarations issued by the North’s foreign ministry and state media. North Korea may have moved toward nuclear weapons, but it wavered and hesitated at certain points and the path was not a straight line. In its first stage of development, the objective was to protect its nuclear program, and although it was willing to make conces­ sions to international agencies such as the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) and permit inspections, it would not surrender that program entirely. Under the Agreed Framework of 1994, the North froze its plutonium nuclear program but it then pursued a clandestine highly enriched uranium (HEU) nuclear program. The second stage was reached when the North lurched toward nuclear weapons after the Bush Administration invaded Iraq in March 2003 and threatened Pyongyang with a similar attack. The result was the inception of a 2003–2009 Six Party Talks process (for details, see below) but also the North’s testing of its first nuclear device in October 2006. Nonetheless, under Kim Jong Il, the North came close to agreement with the US in September 2005, and also in 2008, which was an indication of a domestic power struggle. Progress toward agreement was aborted as security interests reasserted themselves and used the Six Party Talks to gain time to bring the nuclear program to completion. The third stage was reached under a new leader, Kim Jong Un, who pushed the development of fusion nuclear weapons and ICBMs which threatened the mainland of the US. By threatening the US, the North sought to remove the Americans’ sense of being a safe distance from the Korean Pen­ insula, enticing it into negotiations which it hoped would result in de facto recognition of its nuclear status.

The development of North Korea’s nuclear program The nuclear program was the result of Kim Il Sung’s experience of the Korean War and his fear of the US nuclear threat at a time when the Americans had deployed tactical nuclear weapons in the South in the 1950s. North Korea received its first small Soviet-supplied nuclear reactor in 1965, and began expanding its nuclear facilities in Yongbyon. American tactical nuclear weapons were subsequently withdrawn from the South in September 1991 but the North con­ tinued with its nuclear program.2 At that stage, the North edged forward with this program and showed a willingness to negotiate to obtain benefits from the US such as replacement light water nuclear reactors and diplomatic recognition, for which it would put its nuclear program on hold. When the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) conducted inspections of its 157

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nuclear facilities in July and September 1992 it discovered that the North had extracted more plutonium from the Yongbyon reactor than it had declared. The North’s reaction was to with­ draw from the Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT) and from its safeguards agreement with the IAEA, according to which inspections of its nuclear sites would be conducted. When the North rejected the IAEA’s inspections, the Clinton Administration considered the idea of a military strike on the North, until former President Carter’s intervention averted war when he visited Pyongyang in June 1994 and secured Kim Il Sung’s agreement to negotiate.3 Through this crisis, the US came to realize the many constraints it faced in dealing with the North. It could not resort to a military strike without plunging the Peninsula into war with the possibility of Chinese involvement and devastation of the South, nor could it resort to UN Security Council sanctions because of Chinese opposition. The US indeed was obliged to follow the path of negotiation, and this lesson was not lost on the North, which well understood the restraints facing the US. For the Americans, an agreement was a step toward the resolution of an issue, but for the North an agreement was an opportunity to secure its nuclear program. This essential mismatch of interpretations characterized subsequent negotiations as the North understood that the prospect of an agreement could be used to stimulate expectations of a resolution and to gain time. The Agreed Framework which the Clinton Administration negotiated with the North in October 1994 brought about a temporary truce, based on the North’s willingness to freeze its nuclear program. At that time, it seemed like a victory for America’s negotiators and a demon­ stration of the North’s willingness to cooperate with the NPT. It set a framework for future negotiations with the North based on the sequencing or coordination of mutual steps that would lead to a resolution of the issue, an approach that the North continually returned to in later years. Under the terms of this agreement, the North was obliged to close its nuclear reac­ tors and in four to five years’ time accept special inspections by the IAEA. The US would then deliver the components for light water reactors (LWR) which would replace the North’s gas graphite reactors and were considered “proliferation proof.” Next, the North would remove all plutonium previously extracted and would send it outside the country, whereupon the US would then deliver the first LWR. Following this, the North would dismantle its gas graphite nuclear reactors and receive the second LWR, 10 or 11 years into the future.4 The Clinton Administration declared with some justification that the Agreed Framework was the best deal under the circumstances. It had achieved the suspension of the North’s nuclear program, and the sequencing of the benefits was protection against the North’s reneging. One study estimated that at least 10 kilograms of plutonium had been separated by the North prior to 1994, sufficient for one or two nuclear weapons, and it was expected that the agreement would prevent it from separating more.5 However, the most important component of any denucleari­ zation agreement is verifiability in the form of special onsite inspections, and these were post­ poned into the very distant future. In the meantime, the North would be removed from hostile scrutiny that would impede its nuclear activities. For the North, the Agreed Framework served as a model for future agreements with the US, based on a freeze of its existing nuclear program, while leaving aside the issue of inspections and verification. This sequencing in fact worked to the North’s advantage in a significant way as it would remove attention from the final outcome, which the Americans identified as complete and verifiable denuclearization, and made mutual accommodation the desirable outcome. Without a designated final outcome to the process, sequencing would over time elevate the aim of mutual agreement per se, whether or not denu­ clearization had been achieved, which an American administration, hemmed in by circum­ stances would be pressed to accept for the sake of peace on the Korean Peninsula. While the US thought that the Agreed Framework meant the gradual dismantling of the nuclear program, it was for the North an opportunity to continue in a clandestine way. Not 158

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long after the North had signed the Agreed Framework, it began collaborating with the A. Q. Khan network, based in Pakistan, trading ballistic missile technology for centrifuges for an HEU nuclear program. In 1998, the CIA discovered that the A. Q. Khan network had sup­ plied centrifuges, raw uranium fuel and other components for the North’s HEU program. According to Larry Niksch, the North paid $75 million for 2,000–3,000 centrifuges, which were delivered in 2000. The several hundred million dollars in funds Pyongyang received from the Hyundai company, Hyundai Asan, during this period, in return for promised economic and business concessions in the North may well have helped it finance these purchases.6 It was not until 4 February 2004, that Khan went public on television and confessed to selling nuclear weapons technology not only to North Korea, but also to Iran and Libya.7 Possibly to taunt the US, the North first admitted, then denied the existence of this program when US Assistant Sec­ retary of State James Kelly visited Pyongyang on October 4, 2002 and confronted the North Koreans with evidence.8 When this admission was made public by the US on October 12, uproar resulted and the Bush Administration abandoned the Agreed Framework. President Bush had already consigned North Korea to the “axis of evil” in his State of the Union address of January 29, 2002, and on September 20, 2002, the Bush Administration issued its National Security Strategy (NSS) which stated that a pre-emptive attack would be considered against anticipated threats from terrorists and rogue states developing nuclear, biological, or chemical weapons.9 In line with this doctrine of pre-emption, the US invaded Iraq in March 2003, alarm­ ing the North’s leaders who feared that they would be America’s next target.

The North lunges toward nuclear weapons during the Six Party Talks It was in this situation that the North broke free of the constraints of the Agreed Framework and pressed forward toward a nuclear capability that would protect it against American attack. Despite its belligerent rhetoric, the Bush Administration had no desire to become involved in a war on the Korean Peninsula, and reluctantly turned to negotiations. It was unwilling to nego­ tiate directly with the North so it appealed to China, which, under Hu , was willing to step in as mediator to bring the US and the North together in negotiations. The result was the Six Party Talks which began in August 2003 and involved the US, North and South Korea, China, Japan and Russia. Great expectations were vested in these talks. In South Korea, supporters of Presi­ dent Roh Moo-hyun regarded them as the harbinger of a peace regime on the Korean Pen­ insula. Commentators in the US saw them as the basis of a long-awaited Northeast Asian regional cooperation process, one that would provide an incentive for the North to integrate with the wider world, and become a “normal” country. The reality was much more mundane and disappointing. The US wanted denuclearization up front and expected the others to cooperate with this aim, while China and Roh Moo-hyun wanted the removal of any threat to the North, however that could be achieved, as well as eco­ nomic and security incentives to entice it to open up to the outside world and submit to denu­ clearization. This disagreement between the parties obstructed American efforts to bring the North to heel and enabled Pyongyang to behave with purposeful disinterest during the negoti­ ations. Often, the North had to be cajoled into continuing to participate, and when it threat­ ened to walk out, the agenda skewed toward enticing it to stay. This deliberate indifference to the negotiations exasperated the other parties and led to round after round where variants of the same proposals were tabled again and again.10 Meanwhile, the Six Party Talks proceeded in parallel with the North’s urgent development of its nuclear program, giving the North time and drawing the attention of the international community away from its nuclear program and toward the negotiations which the North was able to deliberately prolong. The North would express 159

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interest in a resolution of the nuclear issue and would respond to proposals to stimulate expecta­ tions of progress, while holding back by seeking refuge in vagueness or ambiguity over the critical points. Five rounds of talks had been conducted during 2003–2006, when the North tested its first nuclear device. US negotiators tabled their first formal proposal on June 23, 2004 which seemed to offer everything that the North had demanded, but it called for a commitment to denuclearization. The North was offered a resumption of shipments of heavy fuel oil for heating purposes, which had been promised under the Agreed Framework, multilateral security assurances from the US and other parties and a permanent security guarantee after the nuclear programs were dismantled. After a three-month prepara­ tory period, the North would allow the return of IAEA inspectors. State Department spokesman Richard Boucher clarified that during this period the parties in the talks would “ease the political and economic isolation of North Korea.”11 The North’s chief negotiator Deputy Foreign Minister Kim Kye-gwan rejected the American proposal and called for compensation for a freeze of the nuclear program, which brought the negotiations back to the basic trade-off behind the Agreed Framework. However, the HEU program was excluded because the North denied its existence, and there was no mention of the plutonium fuel that that the North had extracted earlier and could be used for nuclear weapons. The North was in no hurry and responded with sufficient interest to keep the negotiations going, which was its main purpose at this stage. On February 10, 2005, the North’s Central News Agency (KCNA) declared that it was now a nuclear power and that it would only return to the talks when “there are ample conditions and atmosphere to expect positive results from the talks.”12

The September 2005 Agreement The September 19, 2005 Agreement was the result of these developments and is still referred to today as a basis for the resolution of the nuclear issue. In this agreement, the North agreed to abandon “all nuclear weapons and existing nuclear programs” and to return to the NPT and to IAEA safeguards. In return, the North was promised “economic cooperation in the fields of energy, trade and investment, bilaterally and/or multilaterally.”13 Nevertheless, the real issues were left hanging in equivocal language. One problem was the phrase “all” nuclear weapons and programs as the North continued to deny the existence of the HEU program. Another was the issue of inspections and verification – that is, when and how would IAEA inspections begin and what they would include? Without agreement on the special inspections that the IAEA would demand, the North could simply keep its most critical nuclear facilities off limits. More­ over, the North linked the agreement with an improvement in relations with the US which allowed it to be the judge of when and how those relations would improve. One Korean inter­ preter called the agreement a “linguistic minefield,” as the Korean and English meanings of the key words differed. What was clear in the English version was willfully ambiguous in the Korean version as the North’s negotiators resorted to characteristic ambiguity.14 Further negoti­ ations were then precluded by the US unwillingness to provide the North with LWRs without a commitment to denuclearization and also by the U.S. Treasury Department’s action in apply­ ing sanctions on the Macau-based Banco Delta Asia for money laundering on behalf of the North. The North’s $25 million account with the bank was frozen, whereupon Pyongyang broke off further talks in November 2005. Supporters of the September 2005 agreement claimed that it represented a missed oppor­ tunity, and that North Korea had been willing to make substantial concessions. This was the message former US Ambassador to the UN Bill Richardson claimed to have received when he visited Pyongyang in November.15 More generally, others claimed that Kim Jong Il was waver­ ing under pressure from China, which had been pressing him to conclude a deal and to 160

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implement Chinese-style economic reforms which had the support of some groups within the ruling Korean Workers’ Party. In any case, however, what is clear is that even if the negotiations had continued, they would have stumbled over the HEU issue as well as verification and inspec­ tion. The North did not return to the talks until December 2006, by which time the landscape had undergone major change. It had tested its first atomic weapon, and in response the US and Japan had called on the UN Security Council (UNSC) to impose punitive sanctions. On October 14, 2006, the UNSC imposed sanctions on trade in materials that would contribute to nuclear weapons and other weapons of mass destruction as well as a ban on the trade in high-end military equipment,16 but due to Chinese and Russian opposition, it was left to members to enforce the resolution and here China, as the main supporter of North Korea, was half-hearted at best.

Close to agreement in 2008 During 2007–2008, the North once more came close to an agreement but negotiations were once again aborted. The US moved to bilateral talks with the North in Berlin in January 2007, reversing its earlier refusal to do so. The fifth round of the Six Party Talks followed in February 2007 and endorsed these negotiations, agreeing on an action plan to implement the September 2005 agreement. Under this plan, the North would stop all nuclear activity at its Yongbyon reactor in return for shipments of heavy-fuel oil. The North would then provide a complete declaration of all its nuclear programs and would dismantle its existing nuclear facilities in return for additional shipments of heavy-fuel oil. Confidence was raised when the talks also agreed on the establishment of five working groups to focus on plans for denuclearization, economic and energy cooperation, a Northeast Asia Peace and Security Mechanism, and diplomatic relations between the North and the US and Japan. In April 2007, the US lifted financial sanctions on Banco Delta Asia releasing the $25 million in the North’s account, which was speedily returned to Pyongyang via a Russian imtermediary bank. In the sixth round of the Six Party Talks con­ ducted in October 2007, the parties agreed that the North would provide an inventory of all its nuclear programs by December 31. That inventory was not submitted until June 26, 2008, and remained unpublished, although reports claimed that it was incomplete and failed to include the HEU program. On May 8, 2008, the North provided the US with about 18,000 pages of docu­ mentation relating to the operation of its nuclear facilities at Yongbyon. The records indicated that North Korea had extracted a total of about 30 kilograms of plutonium, of which 2 kilo­ grams were used for the 2006 nuclear test. That left enough material for at least 15 nuclear devices. On October 11, 2008, the US State Department negotiated an agreement on verification with the North which would allow “access to all declared facilities and, based on mutual consent, to undeclared sites.” The agreement included the “plutonium-based program and any uranium enrichment and proliferation activities.”17 The verification agreement was to be submitted to the Six Party Talks for clarification and endorsement. On the same day, the State Department responded to a Pyongyang demand that it be removed from the US list of state sponsors of ter­ rorism. It was placed on this list after the bombing of Korean Air Flight 858 on November 29, 1987, in which 115 people lost their lives. The North had gone a considerable distance with the Bush Administration to reach an agree­ ment, providing data about its plutonium program, as well as an inventory of its nuclear sites, though incomplete, for the first time. It declared that it was willing to accept IAEA inspections and verification and would shut down and dismantle its nuclear facilities in Yonbyon. It demol­ ished the cooling tower there in a public demonstration of its good intentions in June 2008. 161

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However, significant content was missing from the agreement. Verification of undeclared sites would require the consent of the North and it strongly opposed the ideas of onsite inspections or challenge inspections on short notice. The US State Department was prepared to rely on sampling of nuclear material and forensic tests but this was no substitute, as much could be con­ cealed. The North was willing to close down its plutonium nuclear facilities but would not include the HEU program, the existence of which it continued to deny. It was not until November 2010 that the North unveiled this program when former Los Alamos National Labo­ ratory Director Siegfried Hecker was shown an HEU facility by North Korean officials, which contained some 2,000 gas centrifuges.18 Subsequently, the North drew back from the expected agreement, and in the last round of the Six Party Talks, in December 2008, the North rebuffed the US demand for further clarification of verification and refused to accept a denuclearization verification protocol that would make provision for extensive inspections. US Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice said that 80 percent of the verification protocol had been agreed with the North, but it refused to go the last 20 percent which was to clarify some scientific procedures and to sample the soil.19 This proved to be the last round of the Six Party Talks held under the Bush Administration, and the incoming Obama Administration began its transition to office in November 2008 at a time when the North was threatening to test-launch its ballistic missiles and making preparations for a second nuclear test. What had happened? After Condoleezza Rice was appointed Secretary of State in November 2004, and Christopher Hill was made head of the US Delegation to the Six Party Talks as from February 2005, the US had revealed considerable negotiating flexibility to reach the point of a breakthrough. Meanwhile, however, indicators point to a power struggle in the North, muted and concealed, but a struggle, nonetheless. Kim Jong Il suffered a stroke in August 2008 and went to Paris for treatment in October.20 Some anxiety was evident about who was making the decisions with regard to the nuclear program and the negotiations. While Kim Jong Il was inca­ pacitated, the North’s negotiators followed the instructions of groups in the Korean Workers’ Party, who wanted to stress economic revival and reform with the goal of returning to the terms of the September 2005 agreement. In any case, this move was derailed by a reassertion of the hardliners in the leadership as the North’s negotiating behavior became erratic. State Depart­ ment officials noted that Northern negotiators refused in December to put into writing what they had agreed to verbally regarding verification in October. The hardliners then proceeded with the North’s second nuclear test on May 25, 2009,21 which also signaled that the North had no further use for the Six Party Talks.

The Kim Jong Un era After the death of his father Kim Jong Il in December 2011, Kim Jong Un, then 27, took over the reins of power. Selected by his father over his elder half-brother Kim Jong Nam and his brother Kim Jong-chul, he was considered more capable of wielding power and with his acces­ sion the North’s nuclear and ballistic missile programs were accelerated. Four nuclear tests were conducted, on February 12, 2013, January 6, 2016, September 9, 2016, and September 3, 2017. In September 2017, the North also declared that it had tested a fusion device though it was more likely to have been a boosted fission device. It also declared that it had developed the technology to miniaturize a nuclear weapon to place it on a missile warhead, but confirmation of this is absent. In 2017, surprising progress was made in the development of the North’s ballistic missile program. In his New Year address in 2017, Kim Jong Un declared with some pride that the North had developed a new high thrust rocket engine. Then, in May 2017, the Hwasong-12, a single-stage intermediate-range ballistic missile (IRBM) was tested with a powerful rocket 162

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engine of a kind that previously the North had not possessed. The North’s ICBM tests followed, the July 4 test of the Hwasong 14 ICBM was, Kim Jong Un declared, a present on America’s national day. The ICBM tests continued on July 28, and on November 28. These ICBMs were launched in a lofted trajectory reaching altitudes of 2,500–4,500 kms, which, if launched in a range-maximizing way, would be sufficient to reach the US mainland. Michael Elleman (2017) has claimed that the North acquired Soviet RD-250 rocket engines from either the Ukraine or Russia or both. which boosted the power and range of its Hwasong missiles. If that were the case, their delivery to the North revealed how inadequate UN sanctions have been in attempt­ ing to block imports of missile and nuclear technology to the North. What motivated these nuclear and ICBM tests? One factor was domestic, as Kim Jong Un had assumed power at a very young age and with a strong need to prevail over vested interests in the military and the party who sought to control him. The December 2013 execution of Jang Song-thaek, Kim Jong Un’s uncle by marriage, was indicative of factional struggle in the Pyongyang leadership. Jang was Chief of the Central Administrative Department of the Korean Workers’ Party and had developed lucrative trading links with China, selling coal and land for Chinese developers in the Rason economic and trade zone that had brought huge profits to his supporters.22 The military, however, was cut out of the profits and reportedly pressed for his removal (Buzo 2018, pp. 236–237) With Jang’s elimination, Kim Jong Un had removed altern­ ative centers of power in Pyongyang and had decapitated the group that had prioritized eco­ nomic reform in collaboration with China and may have pressed for an agreement over the nuclear issue. Opposition to Kim also came from the military where senior officers appointed by his father resisted him. Those who were reported as purged included General Pyon In-son, who was head of operations in the Korean People’s Army, and Defense Minister Hyon Yong-chol.23 A second factor was that these demonstrations of power ensured that the US would have to treat the North as a nuclear power and negotiate with it accordingly. In December 2017, Kim announced that the North was a “strategic state capable of posing a substantial nuclear threat to the U.S,” and that “the rapid development of the DPRK’s nuclear force is now exerting a major influence on the world political structure and strategic environment.”24 By demonstrating the threat to the US, the North would provoke alarm among the Americans as they would scramble to negotiate. It could assume a position of confident strength where it would be up to the Americans to offer concessions which the North could reject or accept. Nonetheless, Kim Jong Un had overreached himself. The Trump administration was jolted by the North Korean threat as the distance that had protected the US from conflict on the Korean Peninsula had vanished. Republican Senator Lindsey Graham reported that President Trump would go to war if the North continued to target the US with its ICBMs.25 Similar belligerent voices were heard from other members of the US Congress but Defense Secretary James Mattis was reluctant and pointed out the risks and difficulties.26 The constraint weighing on US military action was that not all US nuclear facilities and sites had been identified, as some had been placed underground and could not be eliminated in one swift blow. Moreover, the risk of high casualties in the South was a deterrent, as the North would retaliate massively with missiles and artillery fire on the greater Seoul area, which was within targeting distance of the North’s weapons of mass destruction (WMD). This time, however, China joined with the US in imposing tight sanctions on what was for the Chinese a dangerous and uncontrollable North. The Chinese had previously resisted harsh sanctions on the North and allowed only those meas­ ures that would prevent its acquisition of nuclear or ballistic missile technology and the financ­ ing for it. They had avoided those measures, demanded by the US and Japan, that could destabilize its economy. This time they fell in line with the US as Kim Jong Un threatened instability on the Korean Peninsula if he pushed the Americans too far. For the Chinese, tough 163

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sanctions were a means of bringing Kim Jong Un to heel and a way of controlling the situation on the Korean Peninsula. It did not mean that China had changed its position and reverted to the American position on denuclearization, though it would support efforts in this direction. By controlling Kim, the Chinese could then promote what they had always sought – an agreement between the North and the US that would remove the nuclear and ballistic missile problem and allow the North to benefit from economic change and transformation. With Chinese support, three Security Council resolutions were passed in 2017 which tightened the sanctions on the North. On August 5, 2017, Resolution 2371 (2017) was agreed to, Resolution 2375 (2017) passed on September 11, 2017 while Resolution 2397 (2017) of December 22, 2017 was an American-drafted resolution in response to the ICBM test of November 28. It reaffirmed previous sanctions and limited the North’s imports of crude oil to 4 million barrels annually, it capped imports of refined petroleum products at 500,000 barrels for 2019, ordered the repatri­ ation of some 100,000 North Korean workers abroad within 12 months, and expanded the list of banned exports from NK to include food products, machinery, and electrical equipment. With some allowance made for humanitarian assistance, China permitted the US to draft the most stringent sanctions ever imposed on the North, revealing the extent to which Chinese patience with the North had worn thin. Once again, the Americans pushed China to terminate oil supplies to the North and again the Chinese resisted this demand. Nevertheless, the sanctions had a severe effect, reducing the North’s exports to China and its ability to fund imports.27 South Korean reports noted signs of economic contraction in the North with food production dropping. The South Korean Central Bank estimated that the North Korean economy con­ tracted by 3.5 percent in 2017.28 The North was obliged to change tack and to repair the rela­ tionship with China which Kim Jong Un had neglected. His first visit to Beijing and his first visit abroad as leader was to Beijing in March 2018. He was to make three further visits, in May and June 2018 and again in January 2019. At the March 2018 meeting Kim sought to reassure his Chinese hosts that he would not resort to further provocations and called for their support for his diplomacy toward the South and the US. Both the South Korean media and Xinhua reported Kim’s commitment to denuclearization according to “phased and simultaneous meas­ ures” which would entail staged and synchronous steps requiring the US to respond to North Korean steps.29 The proposal for phased denuclearization was one that conformed to Chinese expectations and had been raised previously during the Six Party Talks and was, moreover, enshrined in the earlier Agreed Framework. In March 2017, the Chinese Foreign Minister Wang Yi had announced a “dual suspension” proposal which required that the North suspend its nuclear and missile activities in exchange for the suspension of US South Korean military exercises.30 On April 21, 2018, Kim Jong Un announced his first step in this phased approach when he declared that he would suspend nuclear and ICBM tests and shut down the nuclear test site at Punggye-ri, which he declared was a step toward global nuclear disarmament.31 With these gestures Kim moved to engage the US in a process of sequencing with the intention of lifting the UN sanctions that had been imposed on the North. Sequencing or staged steps could deflect the American insistence on a commitment to com­ plete and verifiable denuclearization, confining it to the status of a distant objective. Without a definition of denuclearization at the outset the individual steps along the path could not be meaningfully compared and evaluated against the final objective, and the sole criterion to assess progress would be an agreement of some sort. In this way, the North Korean approach would involve the US in a progression of steps that would continue until agreement is reached, which both sides could then call denuclearization. The North would declare an end to its nuclear and ballistic missile testing and would make a grand gesture of closing its nuclear test sites, but it would also ensure that some sort of nuclear arsenal would remain as ultimate insurance against 164

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any change of policy in the US. It would tempt an American president to declare peace on the Korean Peninsula and to claim a public triumph before a grateful international audience. Once the Americans were locked into negotiations, the North would be able to assume the upper hand, raising various other demands, as it had done in the past. They could include an agree­ ment to desist from pressing for verification measures to which the North would object, and the termination of military exercises between the US and the South, and the removal of the US military presence in the South. Indeed, the North would ensure that the US would pay a very high price for an agreement. At this juncture, Kim Jong Un turned toward South Korea, hoping that an improvement of inter-Korean ties would soften the American insistence on UN sanctions and denuclearization. By playing on kinship ties, the North hoped that the yearning for reunification in the South could be exploited in its favour. Closer inter-Korean ties could marginalize denuclearization as an issue to the point where the US would be seen as an obstacle to peace on the Korean Pen­ insula. Elected President of South Korea in May 2017, Moon Jae-in offered an opportunity for the North. Moon had been President Roh Moo-hyun’s chief of staff and had played a leading role in building Roh’s inter-Korean policies, supporting his engagement with the North and arranging the second Inter Korean Summit in October 2007.32 Roh in turn followed Kim Dae­ jung’s Sunshine Policy of the late 1990s, which was intended to pave the way for normalized relations with the North. Moon gathered around him former members of Roh’s entourage who believed that the normalization of relations with the North would bring about denuclearization and they hoped to influence the US accordingly. One such member was Moon Chung-in, who was President Moon’s special presidential advisor, who was sympathetic to the idea of sanctions relief for the North, if it took concrete steps towards denuclearization. The North joined the Pyeongchang Winter Olympics which were held in the South in January–February 2018, sending a delegation of 299 athletes and officials and stimulating hopes in the South that further steps would bring them closer. Three summits between Moon Jae-in and Kim Jong Un followed in April, May and September 2018, raising a sense of euphoria in the South. At the April summit, both leaders signed the Panmunjom Declaration for peace, prosperity and unification of the Korean Peninsula. This declaration stressed that “South and North Korea will reconnect the blood relations of the people and bring forward the future of co-prosperity and unification,” so that there “will be no more war on the Korean Peninsula and thus a new era of peace has begun,” while both South and North Korea “confirmed the common goal of realizing, through complete denuclearization, a nuclear-free Korean Peninsula.”33 The two leaders agreed to establish a joint liaison office and to move ahead with the economic pro­ jects that had previously been suspended because of the North’s intransigence.34 Moon hoped to obtain Chinese and Japanese support for the Panmunjom Declaration and then to bring the Americans on board.35 At their third summit in September 2018, Kim offered to permanently dismantle Yongbyon’s nuclear facilities and called on the US to take “corresponding measures,” including sanctions relief and security assurances for the North.36 Kim Jong Un stressed the importance of economic revival and to the South projected the image of a country that would undergo economic reform if only UN sanctions were lifted.37 In his New Year address on January 1, 2019, Kim called for “concentrating all efforts on economic construction” and “national reconciliation and unity.”38 North Korean economist Ri Ki Song of the Economic Institute of the Academy of Social Sciences claimed that North Korea was exploring a grand plan to become a regional transportation hub and, if sanctions were lifted and the political climate improved, moving the North toward emulation of countries like Switzer­ land and Singapore.39 This expression of a desire for normality and the prospect of reunification had a strong appeal among President Moon’s supporters and cast the US in the role of a 165

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hindrance. Nonetheless, the South could not break with the US and though there was support for the revival of the suspended economic projects with the North, UN sanctions prevented it.40 Moon understood that inter-Korean relations would have to improve in tandem with USNorth Korean relations and that his dream of a Korean “peace regime” depended on progress in the negotiations on denuclearization. Moreover, there were limits to the reconciliation process between North and South, and if it went too far, the Pyongyang regime would feel itself threatened by the economically prosperous and developed South. In any realistic reunification scenario, the Pyongyang regime would have no place and, for this reason, it has kept the South at a distance. Whenever the South had attempted reconciliation in the past, the North quickly brought the process to an end amid various forms of provocation. Many Americans had become frustrated with the Obama administration’s “strategic patience” as it was seen as passivity in the face of the North’s nuclear and ICBM threats and there was pressure for a return to negotiations. The Panmunjom Declaration made it possible for US President Trump in a most unexpected turn of events, to meet with Kim Jong in Singapore on June 12, 2018. He did so without consulting his Defense Secretary James Mattis and against the advice of his National Security Advisor John Bolton.41 President Trump no doubt expected a public relations triumph, hoping that personal diplomacy could succeed where formal institu­ tional negotiations had failed, while, for Kim, the meeting represented equality with the US President and a tribute to the success of his efforts to threaten the US with nuclear weapons and ICBMs. It was an opportunity for the North to negotiate an understanding with the US that would clear the past and in the spirit of a new relationship would entail America’s acceptance of the North as a nuclear state. The North’s Vice Foreign Minister and chief negotiator, Kim Kye­ gwan put the US on notice that the North would not become another Libya by unilaterally abandoning nuclear weapons, and called for a corresponding change in the US military posture, though what that meant was unclear.42 In Singapore, Trump and Kim agreed to “new” bilateral relations and, the joint communiqué noted that “President Trump committed to provide security guarantees to the DPRK, and Chairman Kim Jong Un reaffirmed his firm and unwavering commitment to complete denuclearization of the Korean Peninsula.”43 What was meant by complete denuclearization was not specified, neither was verification. The generalized statements glossed over these critical issues which encouraged the North to think that Trump’s eagerness for a deal could be exploited. From this perspective and the status it conferred on Kim, the summit was a success for the North. The second Trump-Kim Summit was scheduled for Hanoi on February 27–28, 2019. By this time, the North felt that it had not been suitably rewarded for its suspension of nuclear and ICBM tests and for the closure of the nuclear test site at Punggye-ri in May 2018, and called for sanctions relief. This time President Trump walked out on the second day and abandoned the meeting to show that the US was not desperate for a deal, telling the media that Kim wanted the removal of all sanctions “in their entirety” in exchange for partial denuclearization.44 North Korean Foreign Minister Ri Yong-ho declared that the North only wanted those sanctions imposed after March 2016 to be lifted and said that the North was willing to sign an agreement to halt its nuclear and ballistic missile tests.45 In a media conference in Pyongyang, the North’s Vice Foreign Minister Choe Son-hui claimed that Trump was open to sanctions relief providing they could be reinstated if necessary but was constrained by his aides, Secretary of State Mike Pompeo and John Bolton.46 The collapse of the Hanoi summit showed that the North had miscalculated the American willingness to come to an agreement, and reassured the ROK and Japan that the President would not settle for a freeze of the North’s nuclear weapons and ballistic missile programs and call it a victory. The South Korean media reported that the failure of the summit meant a loss 166

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of face for Kim Jong Un and it resulted in a purge in the North of officials involved in planning for the summit, including Kim Yong-chol, vice-chairman of the Party’s Central Committee, who had overseen preparations for the summit, and leading negotiator Kim Hyok-chol.47 In any case, the Americans were divided over how to deal with the North as John Bolton and Michael Pompeo were accused of blocking the path toward a resolution of the issue by insisting on denuclearization up front. An alternative approach was voiced by US special representative for North Korea, Stephen E. Biegun, who called for a sequencing of actions to break the logjam, the first step would be a freeze of North Korea’s nuclear arsenal and ballistic missile program.48 Like the South Korean President, Beigun thought that the North had turned a corner and was committed to economic development which opened up opportunities for negotiation if the US was prepared to be more flexible. The US was in a difficult position. It could not bring about the immediate abolition of the North’s nuclear weapons and ballistic missiles, nor could it recognize the North as a nuclear power, which would destroy its non-proliferation policy and encourage other proliferators, including Iran, at a time when concerns about its nuclear program had been stimulated. That in itself would prevent the US from neglecting or deviating too far from the goal of complete denuclearization in the case of North Korea. Any negotiations with the North would fall back on a process of sequencing which would link the North’s behavior with an easing of UN sanc­ tions while holding out the prospect of complete denuclearization and verification. They would be fraught with difficulty as the North would find ways of evading a commitment to complete denuclearization and it would test the US by resorting to threats and brinkmanship as it has done in the past. It would raise other demands which would prolong negotiations, such as an end to US military exercises with the South, or the removal of US military presence there, all of which the North regards as America’s “hostile” polity toward it.

Conclusion North Korean diplomacy has demonstrated how a small isolated state under authoritarian rule can turn an incipient nuclear program into a nuclear arsenal with a long-range ballistic missile capability in support. It has benefited from an exceptional combination of circumstances that allowed it to evade the prohibitions on nuclear proliferation devised by the international com­ munity. First, its closed political system has allowed it to conduct a diplomacy that has effect­ ively concealed its intentions and manipulated the expectations of denuclearization of those with whom it had negotiated. It has been able to hold out the prospect of an agreement to its adversaries but then find reasons to draw back, stimulating the demand for yet more concessions and understanding of its position. In this way, it has gained time for the development of its nuclear program and prevented its adversaries from taking decisive action against it. Second, it has had Chinese and also Russian support against American efforts to impose harsh UN Security Council sanctions on it, which could have stopped the nuclear program at an early stage. China has regarded the North as its strategic asset against the US military presence on the Korean Pen­ insula and although it seeks to curb its nuclear ambitions, it will not act decisively to undermine or weaken it. China’s support has been critical for the North but Pyongyang also understands the nature of its importance to Beijing’s strategy, and it has leveraged this to enable it to act independently, openly flouting Beijing’s demands. The North’s relationship with China deteriorated when Kim Jong Un came to power, but then he overreached himself itself with his nuclear and ICBM tests in 2017. Only then did Beijing line up with the US in applying UN sanctions. Had China and Russia agreed to tough sanctions in 2006 instead of 2017, the present situation of a nuclear and ICBM-armed North 167

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might have been avoided. Even so, the North may have gained some negotiating advantages when Kim Jong Un joined President Trump in two summits, but the North Korean leader sought more. What the North wants is recognition by the international community of its status as a nuclear power, which, however, will continue to elude it. The conferment of legitimacy as a nuclear power will be withheld from it as the US cannot do otherwise without undermining its own credibility, its alliances in Northeast Asia and its policy toward other proliferators, including Iran. In this respect, the North’s diplomacy may have reached its limits and it is unlikely to force the US hand over this issue.

Notes 1 On China’s role, see Fei-Ling Wang, “Between the Bomb and the United States: China Faces Nuclear North Korea,” in Sung Chull Kim and Michael D. Cohen (Eds.), North Korea and Nuclear Weapons: Enter­ ing the New Era of Deterrence (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 2017), pp. 157–177. 2 Michael J. Mazarr, “Going Just a Little Nuclear: Nonproliferation Lessons from North Korea,” Inter­ national Security, vol. 20, no. 2 (1995), pp. 92–122. 3 Joel S. Wit, Daniel Poneman, and Robert L. Gallucci, Going Critical: The First North Korean Nuclear Crisis (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press, 2004), pp. 226–227. 4 Statement by Defense Secretary William J. Perry, North Korea nuclear agreement: hearings before the Committee on Foreign Relations, United States Senate, One Hundred Fourth Congress, first session, January 24 and 25, 1995. 5 David Albright and Paul Brannan, The North Korean Plutonium Stock, February 2007, available at: www. isis-online.org/publications/dprk/DPRKplutoniumFEB.pdf 6 Larry Niksch, “North Korea’s Weapons of Mass Destruction,” in Young Whan Kihl and Hong Nack Kim (Eds.) North Korea: The Politics of Regime Survival (Armonk, NY: ME Sharpe, 2006), pp. 104–105, 112–113. 7 Catherine Collins and Douglas Frantz, “The Long Shadow of A.Q. Khan: How One Scientist Helped the World Go Nuclear,” Foreign Affairs, January 31 2018. 8 David E. Sanger, “North Korea Says It Has a Program on Nuclear Arms,” New York Times, October 17, 2002 9 Karl P. Mueller et al., “Striking First: Preemptive and Preventive Attack in U.S. National Security Policy,” Rand Corporation, 2006, available at: www.rand.org/content/dam/rand/pubs/mono graphs/2006/RAND_MG403.pdf 10 On the Six Party Talks, see Leszek Buszynski, The Six Party Talks and the Nuclear Issue (London: Routledge, 2013). 11 China Daily, “US Proposing Aid in North Korea Talks,” June 24, 2004, available at: www.chinadaily. com.cn/english/doc/2004-06/24/content_342131.htm 12 The New York Times, “North Korea Says It Has Nuclear Weapons and Rejects Talks,” February 10, 2005. 13 Text of N. Korea talks agreement, Monday, CNN, September 19, 2005, available at: http://edition. cnn.com/2005/WORLD/asiapcf/09/19/korea.north.text 14 For example, the statement issued in Beijing defined the goal of the Six Party Talks as “the verifiable denuclearization of the Korean peninsula,” which could allow the Pyongyang regime to link inspec­ tions in the North to demands that South Korea, as part of the “Korean peninsula,” also be subject to verification and North Korea made a commitment to “abandoning all nuclear weapons and existing nuclear programs,” but its translation used the Korean verb pogi hada, which could be interpreted to mean leaving the weapons in place rather than dismantling them. Tong Kim, “No Wonder We Don’t Agree,” The Washington Post, September 25, 2005. 15 Cameron McLauchlan, “DPRK Won’t Set Conditions on 6-Way Talks,” The Yomiuri Shimbun, October 22, 2005. 16 “Security Council Condemns Nuclear Test by Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, Unanimously Adopting Resolution 1718” (2006) United Nations Security Council SC/8853, October 14, 2006, available at: www.un.org/press/en/2006/sc8853.doc.htm 17 “U.S.-North Korea Understandings on Verification,” State Department Archive Office of the Spokesman, Washington, DC, October 11, 2008, available at: https://2001-2009.state.gov/r/pa/prs/ps/2008/ oct/110924.htm

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North Korea’s nuclear diplomacy 18 Peter Crail, “N. Korea Reveals Uranium-Enrichment Plant,” Arms Control Today, December 2010, available at: www.armscontrol.org/act/2010-12/n-korea-reveals-uranium-enrichment-plant 19 The Korea Times, “Rice Defends 6-Way Talks as Only Way to Denuclearize N. Korea,” December 22, 2008, available at: www.koreatimes.co.kr/www/news/nation/2008/12/113_36500.html 20 Steven Erlanger, “Doctor Confirms Kim Jong Il Stroke,” New York Times, December 11, 2008. 21 The Korea Herald, “Conservatives Are Reasserting in N.K.,” December 18, 2008. 22 Yu Kun-ha, “Jang Song-thaek’s Execution Bodes Ill for China,” The Korea Herald, December 27=6, 2013, available at: www.koreaherald.com/view.php?ud=20131226000179&ACE_SEARCH=1 23 Lee Yong-soo, “Purge Halts Negotiations with N. Korea,” The Chosun Ilbo, May 31, 2019, available at: http://english.chosun.com/site/data/html_dir/2019/05/31/2019053101574.html 24 Kim Rahn, “North Korea Can Pose ‘Substantial Nuclear Threat to US,’ ” The Korea Times, December 22, 2017, available at: www.koreatimes.co.kr/www/nation/2017/12/103_241347.html 25 Erik Ortiz and Arata Yamamoto, “Sen. Lindsey Graham, ‘Trump Says War with North Korea an Option,’ ” NBC News, August 2, 2017, available at: www.nbcnews.com/news/north-korea/sen­ lindsey-graham-trump-says-war-north-korea-option-n788396 26 Barbara Starr, “Mattis Has a Crucial Task – Stopping Trump from Going to War with North Korea,” CNN, January 30. 2018, available at: edition.cnn.com/2018/01/30/politics/mattis-dunford-trump­ north-korea/index.html 27 William Brown, “Special Report: North Korea’s Shackled Economy,” The National Committee on North Korea, available at: www.ncnk.org/resources/briefing-papers/all-briefing-papers/special-report­ north-koreas-shackled-economy-2018 28 Choe Sang hun, “Will Kim Jong Un Return to Brinkmanship? Weak Economy Is Forcing His Hand,” The New York Times, March 6, 2019. 29 “Kim Jong Un Offers Conditional Denuclearization,” The Korea Times, March 29, 2018, available at: www.koreatimes.co.kr/www/nation/2018/03/113_246370.html 30 “China Proposes ‘Double Suspension’ to Defuse Korean Peninsula Crisis,” Xinhua, March 8, 2017, available at: www.xinhuanet.com//english/2017-03/08/c_136112435.htm 31 South China Morning Post, “North Korea Suspends Nuclear and Missile Tests, Gaining Praise from US President Donald Trump,” April 21, 2018, available at: scmp.com/news/world/united-states-canada/ article/2142727/north-koreas-kim-suspends-nuclear-and-missile-tests 32 “Former Roh Aide Seeks to Retake Power,” The Korea Herald, September 25, 2012, available at: www.koreaherald.com/view.php?ud=20120925000757&ACE_SEARCH=1 33 Yonhap News Agency, “Seoul Eyes Regional Support for Panmunjom Declaration of Peace,” May 3, 2018, available at: https://en.yna.co.kr/view/AEN20180503006100315 34 The Japan Times, “Full Text of Panmunjom Declaration,” April 27, 2018, available at: www.japan­ times.co.jp/news/2018/04/27/national/politics-diplomacy/full-text-panmunjom-declaration/ 35 Yonhap News Agency, “Seoul Eyes Regional Support”, op. cit. 36 The North has two operational reactors in Yongbyon. One is a 2 egawatt research reactor later expanded up to 7 megawatts, The other one is a 5 megawatt graphite-moderated reactor, According to South Korea’s 2018 Defence White Paper, the North is storing some 50 kilograms of weapons-grade pluto­ nium after reprocessing spent fuel rods at least four times in the late 1980s or early 1990s, 2003, 2005 and 2009. It also has a “considerable” amount of highly enriched uranium. Yonhap News Agency, “Yongbyon Nuke Complex Key Bargaining Chip for N. Korea,” February 22, 2019, available at: https://en.yna.co.kr/view/AEN20190222002800315 37 Lee Je-hun, “Kim Jong Un Highlights Economic Development in Supreme People’s Assembly,” Han­ kyoreh, April 15, 2019, available at: english.hani.co.kr/arti/english edition/e_northkorea/890103.html 38 Kim also declared: “We are willing to resume the Kaesong Industrial Park and Mt Kumgang tourism without any precondition and in return for nothing.” See “Kim Jong Un’s 2019 New Year Address,” The National Committee on North Korea, (NCNK), January 1, 2019, available at: www.ncnk.org/ resources/publications/kimjongun_2019_newyearaddress.pdf/file_view 39 The Korea Times, “North Korea Eying Swiss, Singaporean-Style Success,” October 29, 2018, available at: www.koreatimes.co.kr/www/nation/2018/10/103_257766.html 40 Economic projects linking North and South included the Kaesong Industrial Complex, which was launched in 2004 and closed in 2016, the Mount Kumgang tourism program, which was suspended in 2008, and the agreement of December 2018 to connect North Korea’s and South Korea’s rail and road systems.

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Leszek Buszynski 41 John Hannah, “Singapore Was John Bolton’s Worst Nightmare,” Foreign Policy, June 21, 2018, avail­ able at: https://foreignpolicy.com/2018/06/21/singapore-was-john-boltons-worst-nightmare-north­ korea-trump-kim/ 42 Oren Dorell, “As Trump Summit at Risk, Here’s What Kim Jong Un Wants,” USA Today, May 16, 2018, available at: www.usatoday.com/story/news/world/2018/05/16/kim-Jong-un-north-korea­ donald-trump-summit/614946002/ 43 Yonhap News Agency, “N Korean Leader Kim Commits to Peninsula’s Complete Denuclearisation in Joint Text,” June 12, 2018, available at: en.yna.co.kr/view/AEN20180612017300315 44 Yonhap News Agency, “N.K. Leader Wasn’t Ready to Accept Trump’s ‘Big Deal’: Bolton,” March 4, 2019, available at: https://en.yna.co.kr/view/AEN20190304000300315 45 The Korea Herald, “N. Korea Says It Wants Partial Sanctions Relief,” March 1, 2019, available at: www. koreaherald.com/view.php?ud=20190301000006 46 Yonhap News Agency, “Trump Was Open to Easing Sanctions at Hanoi Summit: NK Official,” March 26, 2019, available at: en.yna.co.kr/national/index 47 The Chosun Ilbo, “Lee Yong-soo Purge Halts Negotiations with N. Korea”, May 31, 2019, available at: http://english.chosun.com/site/data/html_dir/2019/05/31/2019053101574.html 48 “Remarks on DPRK at Stanford University, Stephen Biegun, Special Representative for North Korea,” Department of State, January 31, 2019, available at: www.state.gov/remarks-on-dprk-at­ stanford-university/

References Buzo, A. 2018. The Guerilla Dynasty: Politics and Leadership in North Korea, 2nd edn. London: Routledge. Elleman, M. 2017. “The Secret to North Korea’s ICBM Success,” Survival, vol. 59, no. 5, pp. 25–36.

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11

Revival of an old fRiendship

Contemporary north Korea-Russia relations

Anthony V. Rinna

Introduction No longer bound by ideological cohesion, the DPRK and the Russian Federation have been prompted by necessity and mutual interest to revive their relationship after the collapse in bilateral ties following the demise of the Soviet Union and the end of the Cold War in 1991. The driving force behind Pyongyang’s current endeavors to recalibrate ties with Moscow derives in large part from the North Korean government’s desire to counter both its increasing diplomatic and economic isolation as well as its strong reliance on the People’s Republic of China (PRC) for economic and political support. Meanwhile, Russia views regaining influence on the Korean Peninsula as essential to its regional and global foreign and domestic policy goals. Security and economics comprise the two most significant spheres of DPRK-Russia cooperation. Security issues, however, take precedence, as it is not until the Korean conflict ends, and with it much of the rationale for the DPRK’s self-imposed economic isolation, that the DPRK and Russia will be able to productively explore their join potential. This security aspect focuses foremost on achieving a peaceful solution to Pyongyang’s ongoing acquisition of weapons of mass destruction and the related issue of preventing the outbreak of armed conflict in Korea, a focus which, of course, Russia closely shares with China. In the economic sphere, a potentially rich vein of cooperation centering around the exploitation of natural resources in the Russian Far East and the DPRK’s potential as a transport corridor to the markets of the ROK and Japan, not to mention the potential market of a transforming DPRK economy at some future date, remain stymied by the ongoing UN-mandated sanctions regime against Pyongyang as well as by prevailing economic conditions in the Russian Far East. The sum total of these factors has impeded both the strengthening of trade relations between the DPRK and Russia at the bilateral level, as well as in the context of mooted trilateral cooperation between the DPRK, the ROK and Russia (Rinna 2019a). DPRK-Russia relations, while growing at the bilateral level, cannot be fully understood, unless viewed through the lens of this broader multilateral context. The current relationship between the DPRK and the Russian Federation has its origins in policy changes first made by the Soviet Union under Mikhail Gorbachev in the late 1980s. In particular, the Krasnoyarsk Declaration of September 1988 heralded a momentous Soviet policy shift regarding the Korean Peninsula, namely, the initiation of Moscow’s bid to establish 171

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diplomatic relations with the Republic of Korea. The then-Soviet Union’s moves to normalize ties with the ROK signaled the end of Moscow’s previous policy of extending sole diplomatic recognition to Pyongyang, but efforts to gain economic and diplomatic traction in the ROK and Japan met with limited success, and, after 1991, the Russian Federation confronted the reality of its profoundly contracted influence in Northeast Asia. This was especially the case with Russia-DPRK ties. The first major test for Russia-DPRK ties post 1991 came with the 1994 crisis over the DPRK’s refusal to allow the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) to conduct on-site inspection of its nuclear facilities at Yongbyon, a move which, to many, was revealing of the extent to which the DPRK was now committed to pursuing a nuclear weapons program. The crisis emerged at a time of continuing confusion in Russian foreign policy circles over the recalibrating of the relationship with the DPRK, a particular source of which was the subsisting status of the 1961 SovietDPRK Treaty of Friendship, Cooperation and Mutual Assistance, on which mixed signals abounded. As the 1994 crisis developed, Russia joined the general international condemnation of DPRK actions, but at the same time, Russian officials continued to insist that the 1961 Treaty continued to comprise the basis of DPRK-Russia relations, while Russian politicians declared that Moscow retained the capacity to exert a positive influence on Pyongyang. However, frustrated by Russia’s abrupt post-Cold War withdrawal of economic support for Pyongyang, which came after decades of heavy subsidies, the DPRK responded dismissively to such overtures, leading Moscow to formally terminate the Treaty in 1995 (Denisov 2009, p. 109). Meanwhile, the Republic of Korea’s rise as a major economic power had also impacted on Moscow’s relations with Pyongyang. Throughout the 1990s, Moscow strove to improve ties with Seoul to attract hard currency investments in the struggling Russian economy, and the ROK was quick to perceive the leverage this afforded in the inter-Korean conflict (ibid. p. 110). Amid a growing realization of its diminishing power and influence in the region, beginning in 1996, Russia began to retreat to a stance of “equidistance” in its relations with the two Koreas in an endeavor to restore its diminished influence on the Korean Peninsula (Shin 2014, p. 132), but as the influence of President Boris Yelstin and his advisors waned, and as Vladimir Putin assumed power in Moscow, Russian foreign policy began to be reshaped, and a limited rekindling of Russia’s historically firm ties with the DPRK became a firm priority. In 1998, negotiations on a successor treaty to the 1961 treaty began, and a Treaty on Friendship, Good-Neighborly Relations and Cooperation was signed in February 2000. The treaty outlines goals such as securitizing Northeast Asia and the peaceful reunification of the Korean Peninsula (Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2000), but unlike the 1961 treaty, the current agreement omits any obligation of Russian military intervention in the case of an external attack upon the DPRK. Although the new treaty established a framework for reversing the ongoing decline in relations, few substantive developments have flowed from the new treaty. Kim Jong Il visited Russia in 2001 and 2002, during which time the two leaders agreed to expand their cooperative partnership, and with the 2001 Moscow Declaration, the two parties agreed to collaborate on promoting global strategic stability, signaling Moscow’s and Pyongyang’s mutual desire for their partnership to function beyond the regional level. Based in part on the normalization of DPRKRussia relations, Russia also secured its inclusion in the Six Party Talks, a series of negotiations that took place between 2003 and 2009, aimed at forestalling the DPRK’s nuclear weapons program and prompted by both the collapse of the 1994 US-DPRK Agreed Framework and the DPRK’s subsequent withdrawal from the Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT). Kim Jong Il also paid a final official visit to Russia during the last months of his rule in 2011. However, relations remained more or less static throughout the latter part of the Kim Jong Il era, mainly due to the Kremlin’s overriding concern over the implications of the DPRK’s nuclear weapons program, 172

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which led to Russian condemnation of the DPRK after its first nuclear test in 2005 and continuous Russian support for UN-mandated economic sanctions. Kim Jong Un’s succession as the DPRK’s supreme leader in 2012 gave new impetus to the DPRK-Russia relationship. In 2015, months after a senior member of the DPRK National Defense Commission, Choe Ryong-hae paid a week-long visit to Moscow, the DPRK declared 2015 to be a “year of friendship” with Russia. Throughout that year, Moscow and Pyongyang took steps to solidify their bilateral amity in a number of areas that had previously been neglected, which led to military exchanges and the establishment of a DPRK-Russia Business Council. This culminated in Kim Jong Un’s first official meeting with Vladimir Putin in April 2019 in Vladivostok, some seven years after he had assumed power. The timing of this meeting was likely based on several factors, including stalled diplomacy with the United States in the wake of the failed February 2019 Hanoi summit with US President Trump, the continuing effects of the UN-mandated sanctions on the DPRK economy, and the DPRK’s need for balance in regional summitry, since Kim had already met Xi Jinping three time ssince the beginning of 2018.

North Korea in Russia’s Asia-Pacific strategy The upward trajectory of Pyongyang’s ties to Moscow coincides with a renewed emphasis on the Asia-Pacific aspect of Russian foreign policy. The Kremlin’s attempts to balance ties between Pyongyang and Seoul in the 1990s occurred at a time when Moscow had largely ceased to be a force to be reckoned with in Northeast Asia. The basis for the Russian Federation’s endeavors to recalibrate its partnership with the DPRK is the need to re-establish a position of influence, which since the 2000s has increasingly taken the shape of a so-called “turn to the East.” Moscow’s attempts to expand its influence in East Asia have led to a reassertion of geopolitical influence as well as a renewed fostering of economic relations with Asia-Pacific states. For Moscow, involvement on the Korean Peninsula has implications for both the economic and security aspects of the Russian Federation’s Asia-Pacific strategy. From the standpoint of security in the Asia-Pacific, Russia’s ultimate goal is the establishment of a regional multilateral security mechanism (Blank 2010, p. 15), which Moscow assesses to be essential for the realization and maintenance of Korean security. Recent developments in Moscow’s pursuit of its economic interests include hosting the annual Eastern Economic Forum (EEF) in Vladivostok, an event that, since 2018, has brought North and South Korean officials together to discuss economic collaboration in the broader Asia-Pacific region. However, the rapid rise in China’s capacity to project its economic and military influence throughout the region has drastically altered the strategic picture. Throughout the Cold War period, and despite the Sino-Soviet split of the early 1960s, China and the Soviet Union together provided essential military and diplomatic support for the DPRK in its confrontation with the US and its allies. The US Cold War-era system of alliances in Northeast Asia has remained more or less intact, while the former Communist bloc system has disappeared (Chun 2013, p. 179), but also in a broader strategic sense, Beijing’s and Moscow’s respective interests have diverged sharply enough to preclude any re-emergence of a Sino-Russian bloc capable of challenging the United States (Davydov 2017, p. 104). The main factor here is Moscow’s historically embedded identification of the Korean Peninsula as a key theater in which Russian involvement enables it to extend its influence across Northeast Asia more broadly, especially in an era of growing Sino-American regional competition (Shin 2014, p. 139). However, it now confronts a major shift in which Chinese state power is challenging core American interests in the region (Balakin 2014, p. 126), and it believes that should Russia fail to involve itself substantially in Korean issues, it would undermine the pursuit of influence in the wider eastern Asia-Pacific region (Ha and Shin 2006, p. 13). 173

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North Korean security and the Russian Federation’s interests The Kremlin’s foremost ambition in the context of Korean security is to avoid renewed conflict on the peninsula, as conflict in Korea carries an enormous risk for the overall development of the Russian Federation’s Asia-Pacific territories (Blank 2015, p. 2). In terms of the Korean security crisis, Russia is a geographically proximate actor with vested interests in Korea but it is largely incapable of independently influencing outcomes. The deterioration of MoscowPyongyang ties immediately following the Cold War limited the Russian Federation’s ability to leverage influence on the Korean Peninsula from the outset of Pyongyang’s nuclear breakout, and meanwhile, from the standpoint of its own security, the DPRK does not perceive Russia to be a particularly relevant partner per se, in part because Pyongyang currently lacks the security assurances from Russia that it had received from the former Soviet Union. One of the key aspects of the Kremlin’s stance on the Korean question is a strong divergence with the United States over strategies to achieve a peaceful resolution to the conflict. Russia condemns Pyongyang’s provocative behavior, and yet it assigns blame for the current state of affairs to the lack of ironclad security guarantees to Pyongyang, and this ultimately places responsibility – in Moscow’s view – squarely on Washington’s shoulders (Stefanovich 2018). In contrast to Washington’s insistence on the full denuclearization of the Korean Peninsula, the Russian government has officially advocated the DPRK’s denuclearization, yet Russian officials privately express skepticism that North Korea would actually sacrifice the prospect of a nuclear deterrent. Furthermore, the Russian government does not view the DPRK’s weapons of mass destruction to be a direct threat to Russia’s national security (Gabuev 2017, p. 250), even though the Russian military has often had to scramble its forces near the Korean Peninsula in response to DPRK missile tests. For Russia, rather than a direct threat to Russian national security, the greatest danger from the DPRK’s WMD capabilities is the fact that miscalculations could prompt the US to take military action against the DPRK (Weitz 2015, p. 4). Russia’s substantially different position from the United States on Korean security in part explains why, despite Beijing’s challenges to its strategic interests in Korea, the Kremlin maintains a cooperative partnership with the People’s Republic of China in order to leverage its own standing in Korea-related diplomacy. The interconnection between China, the DPRK and Russia in this regard exists as part of the historic legacy of the Cold War era, as well as the more recent development of the Sino-Russian strategic partnership. Furthermore, cooperation between the Chinese and Russian governments over Korean security has been driven not only by an overlap in interests, but also by the Sino-Russian strategic partnership, which was codified in a 1998 Sino-Russian friendship treaty, and it has gained increased traction with the aforementioned renewed emphasis on Russia’s Asia-Pacific policy. China and Russia share mutual objectives on the Korean Peninsula which include preventing a sudden collapse of the North Korean regime as well as achieving the denuclearization of the Peninsula. Uniting these goals is the overarching theme of maintaining regional stability, which serves the economic interests of both parties. This means that Moscow’s Korea strategy is essentially aligned with Beijing’s policies of maintaining a balanced diplomatic strategy between both the DPRK and the ROK, as well as pushing for a revival of the Six Party Talks (Lee 2005, p. 17). The United States, for its part, has also been a common denominator uniting Beijing and Moscow on Korean issues, where both have been strong advocates of dialogue aimed at reducing military tensions. The most notable example of concrete Sino-Russian collaboration is the “road map” proposed by the Chinese and Russian governments in the summer of 2017, which in the short term calls for Pyongyang to halt missile tests in exchange for the US and South Korea ceasing annual joint military exercises. In the long term, the Sino-Russian roadmap 174

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envisions North Korean denuclearization in exchange for the signing of a formal peace treaty between the parties to the Korean War. Similar to the Russian perspective, Beijing views diplomatic negotiations as a way of preventing the US from resorting to unilateral military action. This, in fact, was a prime motivation for Beijing in promoting the Six Party Talks (Arbatov and Mikheev 2005, p. 19). Furthermore, despite having supported the imposition of UN sanctions, China and Russia have also iterated calls for punitive economic measures against the DPRK to be reduced, if not eliminated outright. Beijing and Moscow are of the view that the North’s continued development of nuclear weapons and threatening behavior concerning their use not only perpetuate a sense of uncertainty over Northeast Asian security, but also provide a rationale for the United States to deploy its own missile defense systems on the Korean Peninsula and in Japan, a move which the Chinese and Russian governments view as undermining their own respective missile deterrent systems.

Post-Cold War DPRK-Russia economic relations DPRK-Russia post-Cold War economic relations have also reflected the diminished nature of political relations between Moscow and Pyongyang. For the period 1991 and 2000, Russia’s share of both the DPRK’s import and export markets declined to less than 10 percent, compared to the 50 percent or so that it claimed in the late 1980s. The DPRK share of the Russian export trade likewise shrank dramatically to no more than 1 per cent. The maximum amount of trade between the DPRK and Russia since 1991 has not exceeded US$200 million, with the overall level of commercial exchange remaining significantly lower (Karakin 2011, pp. 31–32). The volume of DPRK-Russia trade averaged US$80 million per annum between 2013 and 2017 before the onset of a sharp reduction in trade due to sanctions, which saw the volume of Russia’s trade with the DPRK decline by more than half, from US$74.2 million in 2017 to US$32.1 million in 2018 (Malkov et al. 2019, p. 515). The continuing unpredictability surrounding the Korean Peninsula’s security situation also constitutes a formidable hurdle to DPRK-Russia economic cooperation, given that the risk of instability in Korea has long made Moscow averse to pursuing large-scale economic projects with North Korea (Weitz 2010, p. 4). Nevertheless, Russia has also shown a consistent willingness to pursue trilateral economic cooperation with the DPRK and the ROK, especially in contrast to China’s general skepticism regarding the viability of such collaboration (Luzyanin and Zakharova 2015, p. 31). At the heart of Moscow-Pyongyang economic relations is the development of the economic potential of the Russian Far East, in which the DPRK has a potential role to play by virtue of its geography, specifically its ability to facilitate Russian access to the Pacific Ocean, both by acting as a land bridge to the ROK or else through offering access to ice-free port facilities. Russia’s Ministry of Far Eastern Development, established in 2012, has served a crucial function in advancing the Russian Federation’s policies toward the Asia-Pacific (Troyakova 2016, p. 45), pinpointing the subdivisions of Amur, Khabarovsk and Primorye as areas that would especially benefit from enhanced economic relations with the DPRK (Lee 2012, p. xii). A stable Northeast Asia into which Russia’s Far East territories are economically integrated is essential for Russia to realize its goal of strengthening the security and economic viability of its Far Eastern regions, and in turn, the economic vitality of Russia’s Far East is crucial to the realization of the Kremlin’s goal of restoring the Russian Federation’s status as an East Asian power. Infrastructure constitutes a cornerstone element of the DPRK and Russia’s ambitions for commercial cooperation. The DPRK offers Russia access to markets in the Asia-Pacific region via the North Korean port of Rason, which is linked by rail to the Russian settlement of 175

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Khasan, forming what is commonly referred to as Rason-Khasan. Rason-Khasan has long been the focal point of multilateral economic initiatives in Northeast Asia, such as the Greater Tumen River Initiative. More generally, the common land border between the DPRK and Russia, though a mere 17 kilometers in length, opens up the possibility of developing further infrastructure-related projects in the North, including electricity transmission, trans-Korean energy pipelines and railway systems, all of which would yield commercial returns for both the DPRK and Russia (Hong 2013). Moreover, should tensions on the Korean Peninsula abate, it would become possible to connect both the DPRK and the ROK to the Russian Far East by railroad, specifically in the form of linking trans-Korean rail lines to the Trans-Siberian Railroad. Thus, while DPRK-Russia security relations are situated in a multilateral context of cooperation with Beijing, the key to the substantial development of economic relations between Moscow and Pyongyang lies in the inclusion of the ROK in a multiparty framework. However, Pyongyang’s economic relations with the Russian Federation, whether in a bilateral or multilateral format, face particular difficulties due to the continuation of punitive sanctions imposed by both the United Nations Security Council as well as those that individual states have implemented unilaterally, such as sanctions imposed by the U.S. Department of the Treasury. This offset in turn underscores the interconnectedness between security and commerce in DPRK-Russia relations. In Moscow’s view, if sanctions intensify the DPRK’s economic isolation, there is a greater risk of instability on the peninsula, as well as a loss of opportunities to connect the Russian Far East with the Korean Peninsula. It therefore seeks to strike a balance between participating in multilateral sanctions while not harming its own interests vis-à-vis the DPRK. Thus, Moscow has consistently supported tough UN sanctions resolutions and has also followed up with its own domestic legislation in support of them, assessing that such support represents the only viable way for Moscow to maintain a constructive participatory presence among the other major players in the Korea crisis (Gabuev 2017, p. 255). On the other hand, the Russian Federation has felt free to condemn what it labels a de facto economic blockade of the DPRK, and advocate that punitive measures be more narrowly targeted so that they do not affect ordinary civilians in the DPRK. Russia has also secured provisions within the sanctions regime for the continuing operation of the joint North Korean-Russian company RasonKonTrans, a two-thirds Russian-owned company which owns and operates railway assets, a coal terminal, and container port facilities in the Rason Special Economic Zone. Meanwhile, though, proposals for other large-scale projects based on these facilities have faltered due to sanctions. In 2014, the Russian Ministry of Far Eastern Development announced plans to invest US$25 billion in the North’s rail infrastructure under a program called Pobeda (“victory”), with Russia expected to benefit from access to North Korean natural resources. However, with sanctions prohibiting the DPRK from selling its natural resources on the international market, little has been done to progress this project (Zakharova 2016, p. 221). While sanctions have undermined prospective nodes of collaboration between the DPRK and Russia, punitive economic measures imposed by the UN Security Council have also undermined actual areas of economic cooperation between the two. In December 2017, the United Nations Security Council approved Resolution 2397, which stipulates that UN member states must repatriate all North Korean workers on employment contracts in their jurisdiction by December 2019. This measure added to the provisions of a United Nations Security Council Resolution 2375, passed on September 11, 2017, which prohibited countries from concluding new work contracts. At the time of the resolution’s passage, various estimates placed the number of North Korean workers in Russia at 30,000–40,000. By the middle of 2019, the Russian government reported that approximately 75 percent of DPRK guest workers had been repatriated amid warnings from Russian economists of the economic damage to the Russian Far East 176

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that would result. With the departure of a large number of North Korean laborers, regional authorities in Russia have either (unsuccessfully) petitioned Moscow to make exceptions for the ban on employing North Korean citizens, or else have sought to replace them with employees from other countries (Rinna 2019b, p. 31).

Conclusion The demise of the Soviet Union in 1991 marked the end of a massive decades-long subsidizing of the DPRK economy. This by itself produced a major contraction in the DPRK-Russia bilateral relationship, from which it still has not recovered, notwithstanding the 1999 Treaty and a brisk tempo of bilateral exchanges in a number of fields. Perceptions of common ground and common interest lie at the heart of any scope for the further development of relations, and so Pyongyang for its part values Russian ties, in part to mitigate its dependence on China, for economic and diplomatic support and also for the economic possibilities that may open up on its North East border. Russia may also serve as a counterweight to the United States, and Pyongyang will have noted with satisfaction the extent to which Russia selectively acts against US interests elsewhere in the world, such as by inserting itself into the Syrian conflict, and by seeking to undermine the US electoral process. In the long run, however, Moscow can contribute little to the DPRK’s basic security needs, for which China remains the key foreign ally. From the Russian perspective, the overall post-Cold War decline of Russian influence in East Asia has meant that Moscow’s capacity to play a significant role in Korea-centered diplomacy is quite limited. This is foremost because it is crucial for Moscow to act in ways that do not threaten Chinese interests, and so it has little choice but to act in concert with these interests. Likewise, economic relations between the DPRK and Russia currently remain stymied by broader considerations, whereby Russia’s interest in bolstering the international sanctions regime against the DPRK outweighs its interest in deepening economic ties, even though these ties contain the potential for substantial development in the Russian Far East. From the Russian end, as pivotal as shoring up economic relations with the DPRK is, security is ultimately at the heart of Russia’s interests in the DPRK, given that Moscow’s economic considerations are inseparably linked to its security interests. Russia seeks a cooperative relationship with the DPRK as part of its wider set of strategic goals in the Asia-Pacific region. Ultimately, while, in theory, Moscow and Pyongyang have a lot to gain from closer bilateral economic ties, in practice, this would require Pyongyang to adopt a more balanced approach in its ties with Beijing, but more profoundly it would require substantial internal policy changes in the DPRK, especially changes to its long-standing policy of economic autarky in order to provide a rationale for expanded foreign trade and infrastructure development. These changes are not currently in prospect, and so they hold in check the Russian grand strategy of seeking the expansion of its influence in the wider Asia-Pacific region on its power and influence on the Korean Peninsula.

References Arbatov, A. and Mikheev, V. 2005. “IAdernoe rasprostranenie v Severo-Vostochnoi Azii” [Nuclear Nonproliferation in Northeast Asia], Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, pp. 1–35. Balakin, V. I. 2014. “Rossiia v Vostochnoaziatskom Regione” [Russia and the East Asia Region], Gosudarstvo i Grazhdanskoe Obshchestvo, Znaniye. Ponimaniye. Umeniye, no. 1, pp. 125–134. Blank, S. 2010. “La politique russe en Extrême-Orient: quelle alternative à la Chine?” [Russia’s Far Eastern Policy: What Alternative to China?], Institut français des relations internationales, Russie. Nei. Visions, vol. 54, pp. 1–15.

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Anthony V. Rinna Blank, S. 2015. “Russia and the Two Koreas in the Context of Moscow’s Asian Policy,” Korea Economic Institute of America, Academic Papers Series, September, pp. 1–11. Chun, K-H. 2013. “Approches multiniveaux du dilemme de la question nucléaire en Corée du Nord et de la sécurité en Asie du Nord-Est” [Multi-level approaches to the North Korean nuclear security question and the security of Northeast Asia], Revue internationale de politique comparé, vol 19, no. 3: pp. 169–191. Davydov, A. S. 2017. “SShA-Kitay-Rossiia: Novye ‘Treugol’nye’ Igry’ ” [USA-China-Russia: New ‘Trilateral Games’], Kitay v mirovoy i regional’noy politike. Istorii͡ a i sovremennost’, vol. 22, pp. 91–108. Denisov, V. I. 2009. “Koreyskaia problema v sovremennoy vneshnej politike Rossii” [The Korean Problem in Contemporary Russian Foreign Policy], Vestnik RGGU. Seriia “Politologiia. Istoriia. Mezhdunarodnye otnosheniya. Zarubezhnoe regionovedenie. Vostokovedenie,” vol. 14, pp. 102–118. Gabuev, A. 2017. “A Russian Perspective on the Impact of Sanctions,” Joint U.S.-Korea Academic Studies, Korea Economic Institute of America, pp. 248–257. Ha, Y. C. and Shin, B. S. 2006. “Russian Nonproliferation Policy and the Korean Peninsula,” Carlisle Barracks, PA: Army War College Strategic Studies Institute, pp. 1–39. Hong, W. 2013. “Rossiia kak zalog mira na Koreiskom Poluostrove” [Russia as a Security Guarantor on the Korean Peninsula], Rossia v Globalnoi Politike, last modified May 20, 2013, available at: www.globalaffairs.ru/ global-processes/-Rossia-kak-zalog-mira-na-koreiskom-poluostrove-15976 (accessed December 27, 2018). Karakin, V. P. 2011. “Ekonomicheskiye interesy v otnosheniiakh mezhdu Rossiyey i KNDR” [Economic Interests in Relations between Russia and the DPRK],” Tamozhennaia politika Rossii na Dal’nem Vostoke, vol. 3, no. 56, pp. 30–39. Lee, T. 2005. “21 segi chunggugŭi taeoejŏllyakkwa han’gugŭi chŏllyakchŏk sŏnt’aek” [21st-Century China’s Grand Strategy and South Korea’s Strategic Choice], EAI kukka anbo p’aenŏl yŏn’gubogosŏ, vol. 8, pp. 1–23. Lee, Y. H. 2012. “Reosiaui geukdong gaebalgwabukhan nodongja” [Russia’s Far East Development and North Korean Workers], T’ongiryŏn’guwŏn, jeongchaek yeongu sirijeu, pp. 1–141. Luzyanin, S. and Zakharova, L. 2015. “Vzaimodeystviia Rossii i Kitaia na Koreyskom poluostrove: Vyzovy i vozmozhnosti” [Sino-Russian Cooperation on the Korean Peninsula: Challenges and Possibilities], Obozrevatel’, vol. 10, no 309, pp. 24–33. Malkov, P. V. et al. 2019. “Rossiia v tsifrakh 2019” [Russia in Numbers 2019], Moscow: Federal’naia Sluzhba Gosudarstvennoy Statistiki (Rosstat) [Federal State Statistical Service (Rosstat)], pp. 1–549. Rinna, A. V. 2019a. “Moscow’s ‘Turn to the East’ and Challenges to Russia–South Korea Economic Collaboration under the New Northern Policy,” Journal of Eurasian Studies, https://doi.org/10.1177/ 1879366519851984. Rinna, A. V. 2019b. “Sanctions, Security and Regional Development in Russia’s Policies Toward North Korea,” Asian International Studies Review, vol. 20, no. 1, pp. 21–37. Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs. 2000. “Dogovor o Druzhbe, Dobrosedstve i Sotrudnichestve mezhdy Rossiyskoy Federa͡tsiey i Koreyskoy Narodno-Demokraticheskoy Respublikoy” [The Treaty of Friendship, Good Neighborliness and Cooperation between the Russian Federation and the Korean Democratic Republic], last modified February 9, 2000, available at: www.mid.ru/foreign_policy/international_contracts/2_contract/-/storage-viewer/bilateral/page-223/46817 (accessed February 16, 2018). Shin, B. 2014. “Post-Cold War Russian Foreign Policy and the Korean Peninsula,” in T. Akaha and A. Vassilieva (Eds.), Russia and East Asia: Informal and Gradual Integration, London: Routledge. Stefanovich, D. 2018. “KNDR i iadernoe nerasprostranenie: smertel’nyy udar ili shokovaja terapiia?” [The DPRK and Nuclear Nonproliferation: A Lethal Strike or Shock Therapy?], Rossiiskiy Sovet po Mezhdunarodnym Delam, last modified January 23, 2018, available at: http://russiancouncil.ru/analytics-andcomments/analytics/kndr-i-yadernoe-nerasprostranenie-smertelnyy-udar-ili-shokovaya-terapiya/ (accessed April 9, 2018). Troyakova, T. G. 2016. “Rol’ rossiyskogo Dal’nego Vostoka v razvitii otnosheniy s KNDR” [The Role of the Russian Far East in Developing Relations with the DPRK], Izvestiia Vostochnogo instituta, vol. 3, no 31, pp. 45–54. Weitz, R. 2010. “Russia and the Koreas: Past Policies and Future Possibilities,” Korea Economic Institute of America, vol. 5, no. 2, pp. 1–18. Weitz, R. 2015. “Russian Policy toward North Korea: Steadfast and Changing,” International Journal of Korean Unification Studies, vol. 24, no. 3, pp. 1–31. Zakharova, L. 2016. “Russia-North Korea Economic Relations,” Joint US Korea Academic Studies, Korea Economic Institute, vol. 27, pp. 212–222.

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12

Once mOre with feeling

the US-DPrK dialogue, 1993–2020

Adrian Buzo

Introduction The June 2018 Singapore and February 2019 Hanoi summit meetings between Donald Trump and Kim Jong Un constituted a third phase in the history of US-DPRK negotiation, following on from the Agreed Framework negotiations (1993–2002) and the Six Party Talks (2003–2009), and was the first to involve the two countries’ leaders. From the outset, this phase appeared to contain many of the hallmarks of brevity, for apart from the actual meetings, neither party demonstrated any capability of departing from their fundamental and mutually incompatible stances on a series of still-intractable issues centering on the DPRK’s nuclear weapons and missile program, and by the end of 2019 all momentum had essentially been lost. This chapter briefly examines the regional setting for US-DPRK dialogue and the past record of negotiations. It then considers in more detail the Trump-Kim demarche. In setting the regional scene, we find that three major dynamics dominated the US-DPRK talks process during 2018–2019. The first was the ongoing exponential growth in the DPRK’s threat potential as it approached the capability of delivering an ICBM payload to American territory, with Guam becoming the first credible target to be publicly designated by Pyongyang. The second was the extent to which the DPRK economy is being constrained by the enforcement of a suite of strong economic sanctions resolutions effected by the UN in 2016–2017. The third dynamic was the personality of US President Donald Trump and the stringent limits his approach to diplomacy, often described as more impulsive than strategic, placed on the negotiating process. In the North Korean case, he displayed little interest in or focus on orthodox policy formulation and execution processes, such as the overseeing and coordinating of detailed staff work, focused support diplomacy, and careful messaging, relying instead on repeated claims that he had created a kind of “personal chemistry” with Kim Jong Un, and that this opened a major pathway toward changing the destiny of the DPRK and hence the region. While this was a claim to which Kim Jong Un has paid courteous, patient lip-service, it had no observable positive impact on the course of negotiations. More broadly, behind these dynamics lie a number of inter-connected regional, if not global, shifts. Chief among them are: • •

growing Chinese assertiveness in pursuit of its strategic goals; a matching decline in US power and influence in the region; 179

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• • • • •

erratic US foreign policy performance in a variety of global settings; the exacerbation of long- standing, ongoing, trade- related conflicts between China and the US; the so- far successful commitment of the DPRK leadership to a range of market economy activities firmly calibrated to regime security; the institution in 2017 of a further series of UN- mandated economic sanctions against the DPRK; further confirmation of a firm pattern of periodic ROK leadership (Kim Dae Jung, Roh Moo- hyun, and now Moon Jae- in), which is committed to active engagement with the DPRK, but which is yet to either demonstrate convincingly that this strategy is likely to diminish the threat potential of the North, or to garner broad domestic popular support.

While rhetoric can sometimes become heated among regional actors, as over the Senkaku/ Diaoyu Islands dispute and continuing Korea-Japan colonial legacy issues, these ongoing shifts have so far generated relatively mild tensions within the region, not the least because they operate against a background which also features many economic and political commonalities, not least of which is a consensus that the DPRK under Kim Jong Un continues to pose a basic challenge to the stability of the region. But such elements of stability also focus attention on the presence of more intractable issues. Chief among these we find the existence of powerful ideological residues in China and the DPRK, especially the latter with its ongoing adherence to the basic ideology of Kimilsungism and still-vibrant culture of profound nationalism and militarism, which sustains an ongoing challenge to important elements in regional political and economic practices and structures. On the US side, the avowed nationalist, nativist and protectionist content of many specific Trump administration policies has impacted on the region, not the least because such policies are manifestations of a more profound US retreat from the foreign policy of global leadership and reach it pursued in the post-World War II era. The question of who is more favored by the sum of these regional shifts is of course a vital one, and both the DPRK and the Trump Administration appear quite insistent that they have read the signals right. Of the two, however, notwithstanding the severe UN sanctions regime that it currently labors under, the DPRK would appear to be benefiting the most, mainly because of the progress it continues to make in its nuclear program, but also because of its strongly disciplined decision-making apparatus, and the emergence of a stable, politically manageable market sector in the economy. The US, meanwhile, is clearly on the defensive because time is not on its side if it is to turn back the DPRK nuclear threat, and, more broadly, if it is to develop a persuasive set of policies to counter growing Chinese regional assertiveness. In the absence of clear goals and effective diplomacy it can only fall back on one strong but limited suit – raw military power and the degree of acceptance that its longstanding post-Korean War role as regional hegemon has brought.

The past history of US-DPRK negotiation US dilemmas in dealing with the DPRK run far deeper than the performance of the current administration, for, to date, the results achieved under the Trump administration have been no worse than the performance under the somewhat perverse carrot-and-stick policies of the three previous administrations during 25 years of direct bilateral negotiations, dating back to the Agreed Framework of 1994. This agreement, the first-ever between the two parties, responded to the immediate crisis of the DPRK’s withdrawal from International Atomic Energy Agency 180

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membership in June 1994 and the unilateral commencement of downloading of weapons-grade plutonium from its Yongbyon reprocessing facility for bomb manufacture, a move almost universally seen as deeply threatening to the peace and stability of the region. Under the framework, the DPRK agreed to stop downloading further plutonium and to shut down and dismantle the Yongbyon facility, while in compensation for alleged lost power generation capacity, the US undertook to broker the construction of two light-water nuclear reactors, and in the meantime also arrange delivery of up to 500,000 tons of heavy-fuel oil per annum, well over half the DPRK’s estimated annual needs at that time. The Framework also outlined general, aspirational provisions devoted to broader issues, including the normalization of US-DPRK relations and “peace and security on a nuclear-free Korean Peninsula.”1 Evaluation of these accords has always been a somewhat partisan affair, but what is usually missing from the whole was-it-a-good-or-bad agreement discussion is a closer consideration of how the two parties arrived at the negotiating table in the first place. The key point often missed here is that the US came to the negotiating table having already fallen into a strategic fog on two key fronts. First, it had confronted the DPRK with strong rhetoric on the military consequences for the North of its downloading activity during early 1994, thus bringing a delicate situation to a crisis point, but then it had reluctantly concluded that it could not back up its threats of military action, and so its best option was to negotiate a circuit breaker agreement.2 Second, and more fundamentally, well into the 1990s, the US believed that the collapse of the North was inevitable to the specific exclusion of all other scenarios,3 and the failure to properly factor in the alternative strategic scenario of Kimist regime survival was a key error which gave important coloring to the Agreed Framework and how it played out. Specifically, it diminished the US sense of accountability for longer-term negotiated outcomes since the US believed that the DPRK regime would no longer be there, and thus it was looking at a short-term holding operation, after which, assets such as the light water nuclear reactors would aid in post-Kimist reconstruction. Thus, its objectives appeared far more coherent and achievable to the US than turned out to be justified. Concerning the DPRK mindset in 1994, the regime was going through a near-death experience amid the Arduous March famine, but it was a gross misreading of the situation for outsiders to believe that the end was near, that Pyongyang was about to repudiate the decades-old ideology and associated strategies that defined its very identity as a state, and that it was about to abandon its goal of nuclear weapons-backed security, which meant negotiating its way into some form of interdependent security arrangement involving the patent absurdity (in Pyongyang’s world-view) of accepting the ROK, the US and Japan as key security guarantors, and not see them as implacable rivals or threats. Rather, as things turned out, in Pyongyang’s eyes, the fuel oil shipments were vital, the light water reactors were not, but the maintenance of a pathway through to nuclear weapons-guaranteed survival was absolutely fundamental. In this frame of mind, then, while viewing the death by starvation of one million or more of its citizens as a kind of collateral damage, Pyongyang took full measure of the US’s various dilemmas, saw strengths where everyone else saw only weaknesses, and engaged in cautious, disciplined, tactical negotiation to make the most of the situation. Negotiations under the Agreed Framework grew out of these circumstances, and, on the whole, its achievements may fairly be described as mixed. The US achieved immediate crisis defusing and medium-term marginal threat mitigation, but it failed to have any real impact on the DPRK’s nuclear weapons program. By 2002, when the Framework collapsed amid revelations that the DPRK had been developing a parallel secret nuclear weapons program based on highly enriched uranium (HEU) technology, the North is estimated to have had enough plutonium to build a small nuclear arsenal. This was a legacy of the US’s inability to prosecute the 181

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issue of total verification, whereby in 1994 it knowingly left an unverifiable amount of plutonium in DPRK hands, thus opening the path to a subsequent program of further production.4 A key element here was that the Framework primarily addressed immediate issues, but once this mission had been accomplished, and once the US had created a situation it thought of as at least manageable, the motivation for sustained oversight at the US leadership level faded. This happened quite rapidly, and, by early 1995, Bill Clinton, master politician but no statesman, began to conclude that with the formidable, probably even insurmountable, obstacle of a hostile Congress, political capital spent in pursuit of the objectives of the Framework was not a good investment. With other priorities such as the ongoing Balkans crisis crowding the foreign policy agenda, the DPRK slid down the priority list. What seems clear in retrospect is that in their different ways, both sides believed their best interests were served by playing for time. With the immediate crisis forestalled, the US vision narrowed markedly and was undermined by blinkered expectations of collapse in the North, while the DPRK continued to believe that while the Kimist state was deeply threatened by external forces, it could somehow prevail, for there really was no other option. In this contest, Pyongyang won out, and this is an unpalatable reality which successive US administrations do not appear to have ever come to terms with – politically, strategically, intellectually, even psychologically. Of course, employing hindsight can be unfair, and no one can persuasively say what a better outcome in 1994 might have looked like, but what actually transpired does not look like a great opportunity missed, but more like just another fumbling chapter in this longdrawn-out conflict. The second phase of US-DPRK negotiations began with the final collapse of talks under the Framework in 2002. This collapse was especially alarming to China, who proceeded to broker a replacement Six Party Talks structure during 2003–2009, which, at Pyongyang’s behest, was crafted to include a significant bilateral US-DPRK component. This second phase of talks massaged the issue, and at times came close to what looked like progress, but ultimately it produced nothing new before petering out amid a US-DPRK impasse on the issue of inspection and verification of DPRK nuclear holdings, whereupon US-DPRK relations entered an extended period of stalemate under the hallmark Obama Administration policy of “strategic patience.”5 Again, US opinion has remained divided on whether this was a realistic assessment of US leverage or else an overly passive do-nothing policy. A new chapter in US-DPRK relations then opened in 2017 with the inauguration of Donald Trump. As is true in so many areas of US foreign policy under Trump, one must separate the rhetoric from the substance, and in this case, the substance of the strategic situation was that the US, the ROK and Japan continued to face an escalating existential threat from the DPRK’s nuclear program, with no evidence of any political or strategic changes on the horizon in Pyongyang. This was underlined again in 2017 when Pyongyang conducted successful test launchings of a range of intercontinental and intermediate-range missiles, as well as detonating its first thermo-nuclear device. For the Trump administration, this mandated a basic continuity with the containment policies of previous administrations, on top of which was now superimposed a layer of inflammatory rhetoric directed toward the DPRK (“fire and fury the likes of which the world has never seen,” “Little Rocket Man,” etc.). Such rhetoric continued throughout 2017 before giving way to a current phase of engagement. The DPRK’s series of 2016–2017 tests also triggered a significantly tougher UN sanctions regime, which quickly became a paramount factor in the DPRK’s diplomacy and external economic relations. Since 2006, the UN Security Council has passed nine sanctions resolutions, and an appreciation of the severity of the four most recent resolutions passed during 2016–2017 is obviously integral to understanding DPRK policy in the aftermath. The resolutions target 182

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almost every area of the DPRK economy, such is their comprehensive reach. Sanctions include: • • • • • • • •

inspection and detaining of cargo/shipments suspected of linkage to nuclear program activities; restrictions on DPRK access to the international finance and banking system; prohibitions on major DPRK exports, including textiles, seafoods and minerals, including coal, iron and non- ferrous metals; the imposition of restrictions on the size of DPRK diplomatic missions and on the range of financial activities they may engage in; suspension of non- humanitarian scientific and technical cooperation; prohibition of joint ventures; caps on petroleum imports; the repatriation of DPRK workers abroad, whose wages were a significant source of state revenue.

On the surface, the enforcement of such measures would appear to have a crippling effect on the DPRK economy, but of course, the issue of enforcement is fraught.6 Nevertheless, official Trump Administration rhetoric struck a euphoric note, with one senior official insisting that they were having a “crushing effect” on the North Korean economy.7 The first sign of momentum toward renewed engagement arrived in Kim Jong Un’s 2018 New Year’s Address, and was directed not at the US but at the ROK, toward whom he made positive comments concerning the upcoming 9–25 February Pyeongchang Winter Olympics.8 The election of Moon Jae-in as ROK President in May 2017 had given the Blue House to a leader who during 1997–2007 had been intimately involved in the ROK’s avowedly unilateralist Sunshine Policy for proactively engaging the North, and who was deeply committed to this process. Moon’s initial overtures to the North did not produce any concrete results since Pyongyang was well aware of the depth of Moon’s commitment and so it could afford to wait since Moon, bound to be increasingly handcuffed by his single five-year term of office, could only grow more anxious to achieve his objective and hence possibly concede more. Pyongyang now judged that the time was right, the atmosphere began to improve, and with Moon determined to go where he always wanted to go, Kim’s positive comments concerning participation in the Pyeongchang Winter Olympic Games, pointed toward a resumed interKorean dialogue. Official talks quickly cleared the way for senior DPRK figures to attend the Games, where an invitation for Moon to visit Pyongyang was passed on from Kim Jong Un. Then on 9 March, the two sides announced they would meet at Panmunjom on 27 April in what would be the third inter-Korean summit, following Kim Dae Jung’s talks with Kim Jong Il in June 2000 and Roh Moo-hyun’s talks with Kim Jong Il in October 2007. Meanwhile, there had been no sign of change in the US attitude toward the North at Pyeongchang, and the awkward lengths to which US Vice President Pence felt obliged to go in avoiding social contact with DPRK senior officials drew attention as a marker for an unchanged US stance.9 However, barely two weeks after Pyeongchang on March 8, 2018, the Director of the ROK National Security Office Chung Eui-yong, having just conferred with Kim Jong Un in Pyongyang over arrangements for the Panmunjom Summit, visited Washington, conferred with Trump, and announced to the White House media corps that Trump would meet with Kim “by May.”10 The sight of a senior ROK official announcing such a major change to US foreign policy with no US official present drew predictably puzzled comment, but that issue 183

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aside, Trump clearly found enough in Chung’s representations to immediately set aside his earlier strong, hostile rhetoric and adopt a policy of engagement. It is probably not worth examining too closely the motivation of Donald Trump as a leader at once mercurial, theatrical and unreflective, for tomorrow always promises a different palette to analyse. On the surface of things, though, this sudden US turnabout strongly suggests that Chung had told Trump of the Moon administration’s conviction that outside partners could engineer change in Pyongyang, that Kim was ready to deal, and that fundamental change was in the air. Trump had no means of evaluating Moon’s full interest in promoting such a conviction to all who would listen, and it would take several months for a more sober assessment of the domestic political wellsprings of ROK policy to be better appreciated, but meanwhile what clearly stood out to him was the chance to bring about a game-changing outcome in Korea for a characteristic minimal expenditure of time and effort and a major publicity dividend. Accordingly, Trump aligned himself with the positivist Moon administration agenda, official contact followed, and, on 29 March, 2018, the White House announced that a meeting between Trump and Kim would take place.11 After some further theatrics, including a threatened cancelation, the meeting took place in Singapore on June 12, 2018. On the eve of the Singapore meeting, the policy constraints on the US remained severe. First, the US simply had no means of responsibly determining what nuclear assets the DPRK held and where it held them, so in the absence of broader trust, offers to shut down one or other site or to agree to a freeze along the lines of the 1994 Agreed Framework carried little weight.12 Failure to reach agreement on a site inspection protocol was, after all, the issue that had finally led to the breakdown of the Six Party Talks in 2008. Second, the DPRK had not budged from its refusal to negotiate substantively while its self-defined security interests were threatened, a highly logical stance, but one which could not be addressed without teasing out just what might constitute the removal of such threats. Clearly, this was something perhaps short of US abandonment of the ROK and the removal of the entire US strategic footprint from the region, but the record spanning back over decades suggested that it was also something not too far short of an outcome that drastically weakened the defensive postures of both the ROK and Japan. Third, the US had no credible end-game strategy other than the exercise of military force. This was because the only other way it could pressure the DPRK was through insistence on rigorous sanctions enforcement, but here it could not control the many and varied ways in which the DPRK had shown itself able to avoid the full impact of these measures. Finally, the US leader was routinely and openly dismissive of conventional diplomatic negotiating methods, and therefore had no means of advancing a more nuanced, detailed talks process which might conceivably have advanced the core US demand of complete, verifiable and irreversible disarmament (CVID). Administration sources portrayed Trump as handling preparations “almost exclusively on his own, consulting little with his national security team beyond Secretary of State Mike Pompeo,” while Trump himself was quite open on his modus operandi, explaining that “I don’t think I have to prepare very much. It’s about attitude. It’s about willingness to get things done.”13 When we consider these factors it becomes easier to appreciate Trump’s belief that personal diplomacy and the creation of a good relationship with Kim, a person he had spent the previous year insulting and ridiculing, presented a viable means of finessing the situation. And in its own way this was a perversely logical strategy, for it calculated that either the DPRK was ready to talk, as ROK representations had insisted it was, in which case a pathway to CVID could be created, or else it was not, in which case Trump’s interest would terminate since the DPRK’s past record clearly showed that even the most painstaking diplomacy was unlikely to produce any meaningful result. 184

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However, while in these terms, this approach may have appeared logical, there were substantial problems with it. Effective personal diplomacy requires an acute understanding of one’s adversary, in this case, involving both the nature of Kim’s power as well as his thinking on the fundamental issues at stake, and here there were clearly elements beyond Trump’s intellectual horizons. Kim was far from being some sort of malleable buffoon, nor was he a Caligula-like tyrant, as so widely depicted in Western media, and his personal role in the DPRK decisionmaking process, while murky, was far more circumscribed than generally supposed. In any case, his past actions indicated that he was thoroughly in alignment with traditional DPRK strategic objectives. Trump also labored under the long-standing US miscalculation that the DPRK state was not viable in its current form, and that on some level of consciousness it was both aware of this and predisposed to replace its current regime with a functional, modern state. Offers to assist a soft landing into an alternative economy and polity, characterized by security interdependence and normal participation in the international economic and political order, were therefore mistakenly counted as a strong card.14 The depth of this miscalculation was crucial. Factoring ideology and ideological residues into North Korean equations has always been a task that has eluded people who possess far keener minds than Donald Trump, but the evidence here is that among the Pyongyang elite, there is little sign of disillusionment with the fundamentals of Kimilsungism. This is hardly surprising, for any loyal Party cadre who had come to maturity during the 1990s and had endured the years of economic collapse and famine would scarcely be able to believe the positive outcomes subsequently achieved under Kim Jong Il in his later years and under Kim Jong Un, in terms of both economic recovery and military security. A relatively stable economic structure that could ensure Party elite survival had evolved, while Pyongyang’s pursuit of its nuclear weapons program had brought a string of technological successes. Regional trends likewise favored its interests, and so Pyongyang was now far from being a state in endemic crisis but rather, economic sanctions notwithstanding, was muddling through and becoming increasingly comfortable with the terms of its relations with the outside world, such as they were.15 Certainly, as subsequent negotiations were to emphasize, amelioration of the 2016–2017 UN sanctions was strongly on Kim’s mind at this juncture, but while these may have given Kim tactical pause, they showed no sign of forcing any rethink of Pyongyang’s basic strategic priorities. The DPRK therefore now set about employing a familiar playbook, seeking to collect what it assessed it had already gained from advances in its nuclear program, or else believed it could gain from renewed talks, given the mettle of its interlocutors in both the ROK and the US. Its major objectives were traditional – drive a wedge between the South Korean public and their leaders, discomfort the ROK-US alliance, shield its nuclear weapons from outside interference, and bargain hard for economic advantages, in this case by seeking relief from the UN sanctions regime. Far from being potentially attracted to the type of change mooted by Trump, then, the DPRK had little or no incentive to think outside its traditional parameters.

The Singapore meeting On June 12, Donald Trump and Kim Jong Un held a one-day meeting in Singapore which produced a brief, general communiqué. At 403 words, it was less than half the length of the 1994 Agreed Framework document and contained nothing that had not been iterated in countless major and minor documents since 1994.16 This outcome was not so much a matter of deep strategy but a reflection of Trump’s sparse preparation and focus on “personal chemistry.” Analysis of the communiqué and of Trump’s accompanying media conference focused on a number of key areas: 185

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the sight of such an asymmetrical meeting whereby the US leader traveled across multiple time zones to meet with the autocratic leader of a small, impoverished rogue state with a shocking human rights record to whom he now offered overblown, patronising praise; the presaging of a unilateral US troop withdrawal from South Korea at some unspecified future date and in the meantime the unilateral suspension of upcoming US- ROK military exercises, described by Trump as being “provocative” and “expensive,” without prior dis cussion with either the ROK leadership or the US military;17 absence of any language indicating that key long- established US concerns such as chemical and biological weapons and their proliferation, cybercrime and human rights have a place on future agendas;18 the shortcomings of the document as a basis for subsequent negotiations, given both its lack of definition on such basic issues as what each party meant by “denuclearization,” and the absence of any indication as to what the DPRK’s intentions, much less commitment to further negotiations under the terms of the communiqué might be;19 the opportunity afforded the DPRK to take the measure of a singular interlocutor whose pre- meeting strategy would have been hard for them to read and whose mercurial ways were very different from their own cautious, mistrustful outlook.

Predictably, Trump asserted, “I signed an agreement where we get everything, everything,”20 while Secretary of State Pompeo, perhaps burdened by more detailed knowledge, was forced into a somewhat irate insistence that the true gains could not be expressed in writing and were to be found outside the agreement.21 Such messaging was directed foremost at Trump’s core constituency, most of whose members would soon have little or no recall of what had actually transpired, and the severe boundary to this core was demonstrated with Trump’s reported concern at the lukewarm level of support afforded even by Republican Members of Congress, prompting a presidential complaint by tweet that “some people would rather see this historic deal fail than give Trump a win.”22 Beyond this constituency, however, the outcomes attracted widespread criticism. Pompeo had continued to tweet the US’s commitment to CVID in the lead-up to the meeting,23 but the communiqué contained no reference to such issues as inspection and verification. While a strong case could be made that such references would have been a step too far at this stage, this still represented a win for Pyongyang because it dragged Trump away from the standard precision of language applied by his own arms control experts and into the vague terminology favored by Pyongyang. Thereafter, US negotiators were obliged to engage in a lengthy process to re-apply such precision, but after a further nine months of negotiations, US negotiators were only able to say that they had “the elements” of agreement on a shared definition of the term “denuclearization.”24 Other criticism was directed at the uncertainty and the erosion of levels of trust among the allies of the US, caused by erratic decision-making and the gratuitous squandering of negotiating leverage. Failure to consult the ROK before making the unilateral decision to cancel up-coming military exercises would clearly have pushed more ROK and Japanese actors away from US positions in ways that advantaged Pyongyang, more than outweighing any gain in DPRK “trust,” which was what Trump appeared to be aiming for. Moreover, despite US insistence to the contrary, the Singapore outcome has arguably further weakened the already-weakening will of the ROK, China and Russia to enforce economic sanctions rigorously, for while no mention was made of sanctions at the meeting, and while the US position clearly remained one of rigorous enforcement, such enforcement fundamentally relies on a coalition that contains many ambivalent if not reluctant collaborators, and so requires determined international leadership. In reading the mixed messages from Singapore, therefore, the major players would have a strong 186

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case for concluding at least for the moment that while the US itself might enforce sanctions, it was no longer as firmly committed to ensuring enforcement by other parties. And, of course, a reverse course was only a presidential tweet away.25 Having gained far more than the US in Singapore, one could not expect Pyongyang to do other than to see what else might be on offer, especially since it had come under no serious pressure to offer anything substantial in return, and it followed from this that the DPRK would be in no hurry to progress matters. Few experienced negotiators leave landmark negotiations with the DPRK government without a sense of the tense battles and brinkmanship that characterize any implementation process, and so it was not surprising to see Pyongyang immediately – and characteristically – move to consolidate the new benchmarks achieved by creating feelings of doubt and uncertainty as to the next steps. Therefore, when Pompeo made a follow-up visit to Pyongyang in July, reportedly armed with a proposed schedule for disarmament that called on the DPRK to begin the process by providing an inventory of all of its weapons, production facilities and missiles,26 he found the US being accused of making “gangster-like demands” on the North’s nuclear program, and this set the tone for the ensuing months, with the DPRK working to apply pressure to achieve forms of sanctions mitigation and to forestall significant negotiation on nuclear-related issues, mainly by driving a wedge between Trump and his negotiators, especially Pompeo.27 Pyongyang had, of course, assessed that Trump was not only the US Commander-in-Chief, but also a person whose manifest vanity inclined him to making grand gestures that brought pressure to bear not just on his allies but also on his own negotiating team.28 This culminated in a formal statement by the DPRK Ministry of Foreign Affairs in December which constituted a wide-ranging attack on “the continued commission by the United States of vicious anti-DPRK hostile actions.” The statement was aimed quite specifically at the US Departments of State and the Treasury for their sanctions enforcement activities: During the past six months since the Singapore DPRK- U.S. summit, the U.S. high- ranking politicians including the secretary of state have almost every day slandered the DPRK out of sheer malice, and the State Department and the Treasury Department have taken anti- DPRK sanctions measures for as many as eight times against the com panies, individuals and ships of not only the DPRK but also Russia, China and other third countries by fabricating pretexts of all hues such as money laundering, illegal transactions through ship- to-ship transfer and cyber- attack. The basic DPRK strategy of driving a wedge between Trump and his front-line negotiators in order to gain concessions was also made clear: The international society is unanimous in welcoming the proactive denuclearization steps taken by the DPRK and urging the U.S. to respond to these steps in a corre sponding manner. And president Trump avails himself of every possible occasion to state his willingness to improve DPRK- U.S. relations. Far from the statements of the president, the State Department is instead bent on bringing the DPRK- U.S. relations back to the status of last year which was marked by exchanges of fire. [We] cannot help but throw doubt on the ulterior motive of the State Department.29

The Hanoi summit A follow-up to the Singapore meeting had been touted during the second half of 2018, but the venue of Hanoi and dates in February 2019 were only confirmed in January 2019, whereupon 187

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Trump and Kim met for a two-day meeting on February 27–28. Given the drift of events following Singapore, it is hardly surprising that by February 2019 the US had included a significant dial-back among its array of messages, with Trump stating on the eve of the meeting, “I don’t want to rush anybody. I just don’t want testing. As long as there is no testing, we’re happy.”30 Except by implication, this did not have the status of an official US negotiating position, and again was vague (testing of what?) but it telegraphed interim tolerance of the DPRK as a nuclear-armed state, and this meant that the goal of CVID had been assigned a much longer horizon. Moreover, the statement was problematic since it told the North Koreans that they might engage in activities practically anywhere short of actual nuclear weapons and probably ICBM testing. Meanwhile, at the official level, in January 2019, US chief negotiator Biegun was ambitious for the Hanoi talks, stating: We expect to hold working- level negotiations with our North Korean counterparts in advance of the summit, with the intention of achieving a set of concrete deliverables, … a roadmap of negotiations and declarations going forward, and a shared under standing of the desired outcomes of our joint efforts.31 Whatever the actual amount of detail to be covered by this process, and whatever the slender understandings actually reached, though, this was clearly an ambitious objective to pursue in the month or so left before the Hanoi conference, especially given the non-events of the previous six months. It was therefore not surprising that on the first day of talks in Hanoi, evidence of progress on such a roadmap was lacking, and that instead Trump and Kim fell back on presentations of their major demands, whereupon they rapidly ascertained that they had unbridgeable differences on the timing, sequencing and extent of sanctions relief/denuclearization. Half-way through the scheduled second day, the talks broke up with no communiqué issued. In the words of then US National Security Advisor John Bolton, The issue really was whether North Korea was prepared to accept what the president called “the big deal,” which is denuclearize entirely under a definition the president handed to Kim Jong Un and have the potential for an enormous economic future, or try and do something less than that which was unacceptable to us. Presenting an adversarial dialogue partner with such a diktat on an issue that it regarded as fundamental to its national security could not be termed either orthodox or wise diplomacy under the circumstances and, of course, it misread the DPRK on any number of levels, most obviously in the value placed on the incentive of “an enormous economic future.” It also indicated that after one year, US strategy was still predicated on the Trump strategy of achieving a quick outcome by means of cut-through, top-down diplomacy. The two parties had moved no closer to each other, and the US leadership had no further means of influencin this situation.

After Hanoi The moves from both parties following Hanoi confirmed that an impasse had been reached, that the belief that “summitry” could achieve a breakthrough was misplaced, and that this phase of negotiation had essentially ended. The US had achieved no nuclear weapons threat mitigation, and the DPRK had achieved no sanctions mitigation. Regarding the latter, the walk-back from the March 2019 Trump tweet mentioned above, which had appeared to indicate a softer line 188

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on sanctions enforcement was in the offing continued and was confirmed by subsequent actions.32 On May 4, 2019, the US emphasized this when, citing the 2017 UN resolutions, it formally took possession of the DPRK’s second-largest merchant vessel, the Wise Hornet and its cargo of North Korean coal, which had been impounded by Indonesia in July 2018.33 For its part, the DPRK responded by chipping away at the unilateral moratorium on nuclear and missile tests which it had announced on April 20, 2018, and on May 4, 2019, it conducted the first of a series of short-range missile tests. The missile tests did not involve ICBM testing, and so in theory their direct military ramifications were confined to the ROK and Japan, but they raised the broader question of whether they represented a violation of at least the intent of negotiations, which led Trump to state noncommittally that “Nobody’s happy about it, but we’re taking a good look and we’ll see. We’ll see.”34 A similar response was forthcoming after a series of tests in late July and early August of what appeared to be a copy of the Russian Iskander short-range ballistic missile, a more mobile missile which is hard to detect, and which blurs the line between strategic and tactical weaponry. These tests provoked strong language from the ROK government,35 contrasting with Trump’s milder Twitter response,36 a contrast which suggests that Trump may be tempted to make a distinction between what poses a direct threat to US territory and what poses a threat to the DPRK’s immediate neighbors. In perspective, meanwhile, the DPRK’s nuclear testing moratorium does not necessarily amount to a strategically significant move, for its effect on the overall nuclear weapons program is moot. Knowledge of this program is of course extremely sketchy, but there is an obvious flaw in the implicit assumption that the development of nuclear weapons requires periodic testing of actual devices. Having conducted tests in 2006, 2009, 2013, 2016 (twice) and 2017, it is quite possible that for the moment the DPRK is not inconvenienced by a phase of full digestion of the results of its 2016–2017 tests while it works on such other tasks as missile development, engineering and operational challenges, as well as the holy grail of achieving moveable launching platforms that would definitively put a first strike beyond the capacity of the US. A brief moment of political theater then occurred on June 30, 2019, when Trump, then on a state visit to the ROK, tweeted a proposal to Kim that they both meet at the DMZ. The meeting duly took place, and an hour-long discussion produced an agreement to resume negotiations. The two sides duly met in Stockholm on October 5, 2019, but talks broke up within hours, with the DPRK accusing the US of arriving “empty-handed.”37 The DPRK followed this up with a series of statements, offering increasingly pointed criticism of Trump and clearing the decks for a resumption of ICBM testing as well as other new forms of nuclear weaponry at a time of Pyongyang’s choosing.

The shape of things to come Political leaders who wish to project a message of reason commonly profess a willingness to meet with adversarial counterparts, and both the media and public opinion encourages this in the sometimes rather facile belief that it is better to talk than not talk at all. This ignores the obvious reality that poorly planned and executed talks in pursuit of a poorly thought-out strategy obviously have great potential to cause harm to the interests of either or both parties. This is clearly what we have witnessed in Singapore and Hanoi, but it is also true in a more general sense with the DPRK’s interlocutors. Such interlocutors are very easily beguiled into accepting the myriad ways in which the DPRK has become adept at controlling virtually all facets of the negotiating process, beginning with timing, pace and environment, and extending to purposeful vagueness in its negotiating language. Ceding elements of control to the DPRK in this way has a tendency to be presented and justified as the price of dialogue in the first place, and interlocutors are often persuaded that 189

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applying too much pressure to Pyongyang might lead to rupture before time and proximity have somehow produced the magic elixir of “trust,” leading to progress. We have seen this most obviously in the ROK’s Sunshine Policy diplomacy, and such a mindset runs the obvious danger of inducing strategic confusion into the mix. We began this survey by identifying the three key dynamics in the current phase of USDPRK negotiations as: (1) the ongoing success of the DPRK nuclear weapons program; (2) the retaliatory UN sanctions regime; and (3) the personality and personal agenda of Donald Trump. Regarding the former, like many of Pyongyang’s interlocutors in the past, during 2018, both the US and the ROK focused on the perennial possibility of significant change to fundamental DPRK state policies, the ROK clearly proceeding from an a priori belief that in seeking to cap and turn back the DPRK’s program, its task is to nudge Pyongyang in a direction that on some unspecified level it is really prepared to go – loosely defined as a more interdependent, less ideological, more pragmatic path approximating that which has been trodden by China and Vietnam. The Trump administration was more circumspect, and rather ambiguously identified the DPRK as an adversarial party, but one that, with Kim Jong Un’s help, could become a potentially accommodating one. What, then, is currently the likelihood of this scenario playing out? At the moment, the record remains clear that notwithstanding the continuing follow-on effects of partial marketization reforms, policy directions in the DPRK provide no compelling evidence of even baby steps toward significant political, economic or social reform, whether planned, forced, or more likely in some uneasy combination of the two. If we are to begin with the basic political and governmental structures that determine policy in Pyongyang, our first observation is that the superstructure of a highly authoritarian state remains intact and functioning. In 2020, the DPRK Party, state and military institutions still meet as they have for decades, with their public media pronouncements, protocols, agenda items, communiqués, rhetoric and strategic policy prescriptions practically unchanged, and leadership still in the hands of cadres with impeccable records of lifetime loyalty to the system. Outside of this superstructure, in assessing the potential for major change arising from changes within contemporary DPRK civil society, time has afforded observers greater perspective on the practical effect of the substantial degree of marketization that has been allowed to flourish in the economy since the 1990s, and it clearly has produced little in the way of social or political challenge. Assessing the nature of the social space opened up by private economic activity is not easy, but much of superstructure of the authoritarian state remains intact, the gulag system remains in place, as do draconian, isolationist measures restricting internal travel and preventing unsanctioned contact with foreigners, including internet access. In short, all evidence points to external observers remaining stuck with the old conundrum of positing a will to seek change from an adversary which is tooled to challenge, rather than engage with the norms of the international community. And so whether they wish the DPRK well or ill, they – including Trump – remain in the curious position of advocating to Pyongyang the strong pursuit of policies that continue to be publicly and vociferously demonized. On the US side, for the moment, the personality of Donald Trump inevitably looms large, for rarely if ever in the modern era has a US leader occasioned such debate over the methods and objectives of his foreign policy, or has raised doubts about the extent to which his personal and domestic agenda leaves him unanchored to the pursuit of deeper US national interests, which may loosely be defined as defense of the essential architecture of the post-1945 international order. Globally, he has evinced a high level of distaste, if not contempt, for international institutions and the ordinary workings of international diplomacy, which he explicitly views as obstacles to the exercise of his own self-declared diplomatic prowess, and we see few, 190

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if any, departures from this pattern in his dealings with the DPRK. Thus, after entering office, Trump first subjected the DPRK to threatening and insulting language of an intensity not seen for decades, but then almost overnight opted for engagement and the extraordinarily generous Singapore outcome before the Hanoi impasse. In Singapore, Trump’s messaging evinced no clarity of purpose, trivialized the complexity of the issues involved with a calming, plausiblesounding claim that he had forged a strong, constructive relationship with Kim Jong Un,38 and claimed that the North Korean crisis, not so much vaguely, but rather opaquely defined, was somehow over. These claims played to his needs as a public person who lives very much in the moment and in the limelight, who displays an often bizarre disconnect from the complexity and seriousness of the issues at stake, and who is prepared to sweep aside the issue of what a prudent next step might constitute.39 Pyongyang quickly and astutely identified the Trump factor as a means of deflecting the US position by playing Trump off against his allies and his negotiators, and in a curious way their focus on Trump reflected Trump’s own approach, which casts Kim as an absolute ruler who can control the DPRK power structure and engineer change from inside the system on behalf of the Trump agenda. It is possible that Trump now believes he has extracted all that he can out of this process and that it is time to move on, but it may also be possible that if the DPRK, and Kim Jong Un in particular, cannot fall in with the sort of narrative that Trump has established, then further confrontation will result. Trump’s personal prestige has become deeply involved, and if the DPRK goes beyond the rules of engagement currently unilaterally mandated by the US, this could well produce a significant backlash, especially if he seeks to highlight crisis management skills in the face of a national emergency in the lead-up to the 2020 US presidential election.40 In the meantime, US leadership rests with a reluctant adherent to international norms who evinces a limited grasp of the ultimate stakes involved. The multiple dilemmas presented by the Korean conflict are not of Trump’s making, and we should be clear that in fact he has done remarkably little to disturb the traditional US military posture in the region – other than not give any observable careful thought as to what is needed to ensure that it remains fully relevant to current circumstances, of course. But instead of clarifying the issues and rallying support for a coherent course of action in the face of the regional shifts now taking place, it has been his peculiar gift not to clarify or rally support but to include the US in the giant web of obfuscating rhetorical devices traditionally deployed by the various parties to the Korean conflict. This hall of mirrors has gained a signal addition, which means that in the actual management of the situation, US regional diplomacy has gratuitously lost power, reach and subtlety, and appears to have little prospect of substantive achievement, but rather more prospect of further rhetoric. As the Covid-19 pandemic takes hold, as the 2020 US presidential campaign draws closer, as Moon Jae-in increasingly assumes the lame-duck status dictated by a single five-year term of office which expires in 2022, and as Pyongyang continues to assess the ongoing ramifications of the UN sanctions regime, current evidence points to a stalemate, conceivably punctuated by further impulsive transactional behavior by the US President, and very likely punctuated by challenging pressure from the North.

Notes 1 For the full text, entitled Agreed Framework Between the United States of America and the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, see https://2001-2009.state.gov/t/ac/rls/or/2004/31009.htm (accessed January 2020). 2 Former chief negotiator Robert Gallucci’s 2003 comment that “If we didn’t do a deal, either we would have gone to war or they’d have over 100 nuclear weapons” is perhaps extreme but is probably the most illustrative of the US quandary. See Rummy’s North Korea Connection, available at https://money.

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cnn.com/magazines/fortune/fortune_archive/2003/05/12/342316/index.htm (accessed February 2020). See, for example, the CIA’s 1998 paper, “Exploring the Implications of Alternative North Korean Endgames: Results from a Discussion Panel on Continuing Coexistence Between North and South Korea,” available at www.cia.gov/library/readingroom/docs/DOC_0001085294.pdf. Norman Levin (1997) is one of the very few at the time who analysed the implications if the North happened to survive. Estimates of this amount vary up to a worst-case estimate of c. 10 kg. It takes about 5–7 kg to manufacture a single bomb. For discussion, see Niksch (2006) and Albright and Brannan (2007). For a comprehensive account of the Six Party Talks, see Buszynski (2013). In addition to the periodic reports of Panels of Experts established by the UNSC to monitor sanctions implementation, the March 2019 Carnegie Endowment for International Peace summary of the March 2019 Panel report offers a useful summary of North Korean practice, highlighting the considerable extent to which the DPRK continues to rely on significant sanction mitigation partners, and has been evading sanctions through ship-to-ship transfers, a ramping up of international financial market penetrations through cybercrime and cryptocurrency fraud, and the utilization of a broad network of proxy operatives. See 2019 UN North Korean Panel of Experts Report: Takeaways for Financial Institutions, available at: https://carnegieendowment.org/2019/03/27/2019-u.n.-north-korea-panel-of-expertsreport-takeaways-for-financial-institutions-pub-79337 (accessed February 2020). For details on the ROK role in assisting the DPRK avoid the worst consequences of the sanctions regime, see Sung-yoon Lee (2018), For another detailed assessment which also reaches sober conclusions, see Marcus Noland (2018). At the time of writing, the most recent UNSC report from its own Panel of Experts on sanctions implementation, a 142-page document from August 2019 also listed the many and varied ways in which the DPRK continued to access the global financial economy. See www.securitycouncilreport. org/atf/cf/%7B65BFCF9B-6D27-4E9C-8CD3-CF6E4FF96FF9%7D/S_2019_691.pdf (accessed January 2020). See U.S. State Department, “Senior State Department Official on North Korea,” available at: www. state.gov/r/pa/prs/ps/2019/03/290084.html (accessed February 2020). An otherwise uncompromising text contained the following passage: As for the Winter Olympic Games to be held soon in south Korea, it will serve as a good occasion for demonstrating our nation’s prestige and we earnestly wish the Olympic Games a success. From this point of view we are willing to dispatch our delegation and adopt other necessary measures; with regard to this matter, the authorities of the north and the south may meet together soon. Since we are compatriots of the same blood as south Koreans, it is natural for us to share their pleasure over the auspicious event and help them.

See Kim Jong Un’s 2018 New Year’s Address, available at www.ncnk.org/node/1427 (accessed February 2020). 9 See “At Games reception, a hopeful dessert and a hasty exit,” available at www.sbs.com.au/news/atgames-reception-a-hopeful-dessert-and-a-hasty-exit (accessed February 2020). 10 The full context is worth repeating. The following probably represents less than the full story, but in Chung’s words: I told President Trump that, in our meeting, North Korean leader Kim Jong-un said he is committed to denuclearization. Kim pledged that North Korea will refrain from any further nuclear or missile tests. He understands that the routine joint military exercises between the Republic of Korea and the United States must continue. And he expressed his eagerness to meet President Trump as soon as possible. President Trump appreciated the briefing and said he would meet Kim Jong-un by May to achieve permanent denuclearization. See White House, “Remarks by Republic of Korea National Security Advisor Chung Eui-Yong,” available at: www.whitehouse.gov/briefings-statements/remarks-republic-korea-national-securityadvisor-chung-eui-yong/ (accessed February 2020). 11 For further details of the ROK demarche, see National Review, “Kim Wins in Singapore,” available at: www.nationalreview.com/magazine/2018/07/09/kim-jong-un-singapore-summit-north-koreawins/ (accessed February 2020). 12 As David Albright observed, “We really don’t know much about their nuclear program from a verification point of view. It really is a bit of a black box.” See New York Times, “As Bolton Says North Korea

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The US-DPRK dialogue, 1993–2020 Could Disarm in a Year, Reality Lags Promises,” available at www.nytimes.com/2018/07/01/us/ politics/north-korea-bolton-pompeo-timetable.html (accessed February 2020). 13 See Politico, “Trump and Bolton Spurn Top-Level North Korea Planning,” available at: www.politico. com/story/2018/06/07/trump-bolton-north-korea-630362 (accessed February 2020). 14 Ten months later, little appeared to have impacted on Trump’s assessment of Kim and the DPRK. In a February 3, 2019 interview on CBS, “Face the Nation,” Trump assessed Kim Jong Un’s state of mind as follows: I think he’s also tired of going through what he’s going through. He has a chance to have North Korea be a tremendous economic behemoth. It has a chance to be one of the great economic countries in the world. He can’t do that with nuclear weapons and he can’t do that on the path they’re on now.

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See Transcript: President Trump on “Face the Nation,”” February 3, 2019, available at: www.cbsnews. com/news/transcript-president-trump-on-face-the-nation-february-3-2019/ (accessed February 2020). The outside world has been learning a good deal about the mind-set of the Pyongyang elite in recent years through the defections of high-level cadres. Each case is of course individual, but notwithstanding some high-profile cases which have attracted wide publicity in the ROK and beyond, all in all, the less publicized debriefing of other lesser officials has not revealed any widespread disaffection with the political system per se. For the most part, such cadres appear to have been victims of financial or political deals gone wrong and appear to feel greater attachment to their former way of life than to the life that now beckons them in the South, in a way that strangely recalls a mind-set commonly associated with former US Mafia identities who have entered witness protection programs. This is hardly surprising, given the intensity of the socialization process these cadres have undergone from an early age and the privileges they enjoyed before defection. For more information on their pre-defection activities as members of the Pyongyang elite, see Young-ja Park (2015). The communiqué consisted of four paragraphs under which the two parties “commit to establish new U.S.–DPRK relations” and “join their efforts to build a lasting and stable peace regime on the Korean Peninsula.” The DPRK further committed to work toward the “complete denuclearization of the Korean Peninsula” as stated in the April 2018 inter-Korean summit at Panmunjom. A final sentence dealt with the recovery and repatriation of further POW/MIA remains. For the text, see www.whitehouse.gov/briefings-statements/joint-statement-president-donald-j-trump-united-states-americachairman-kim-jong-un-democratic-peoples-republic-korea-singapore-summit/. The official DPRK report of the meeting was likewise couched in generalities, and apart from passing mention of the POW/MIA issue, contained no direct mention of specific issues such as sanctions, merely observing that “the two countries should commit themselves to refraining from antagonizing with each other out of mutual understanding, and take legal and institutional steps to guarantee it.” See www.dprktoday. com/index.php?type=70&no=393&for=e. (accessed February 2020). For a discussion of just what is involved in suspending such exercises, see Mats Engman, “Consequences of Suspending U.S.-ROK Military Exercises,” available at: http://isdp.eu/consequences-suspendingu-s-rok-military-exercises/ (accessed February 2020). Subsequently the US added CBW divestment as a component of any overall deal. It is, of course, reasonable to assert that such contentious issues might better be left in abeyance at the outset, but the Trump administration went much further, being consistently dismissive of these issues as having any relevance to the issue of the North’s nuclear weapons. Arguably, they have clear and obvious relevance. Regarding denuclearization, David Albright (2018) defines it as “a commonly used, albeit vaguely defined, term that in the North Korean context typically means not only its nuclear disarmament but also the elimination of much of its industrial capability to make nuclear weapons.” This view is obviously not shared by the North, which has maintained purposeful vagueness on what its own definition might be. The ROK has tacitly accepted this vagueness, and Moon Jae-in has repeatedly attracted domestic criticism for the extent to which he has declined to elaborate on this issue, which of course says a great deal about the actual level of understanding so far reached between the two sides. For more on the issue of defining denuclearization as of January 2019, see Washington Post, “Confusion over North Korea’s Definition of Denuclearization Clouds Talks,” available at: www.washingtonpost.com/ world/asia_pacific/confusion-over-north-koreas-definition-of-denuclearization-clouds-talks/2019/ 01/15/c6ac31a8-16fc-11e9-a896-f104373c7ffd_story.html. Regarding any link between the communiqué and subsequent negotiations, Christopher Hill, chief US negotiator during the George W. Bush

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Adrian Buzo administration, pointed out the failure of the DPRK to nominate an interlocutor for US Secretary of State Mike Pompeo in the Joint Statement, observing that “Joint statements rarely have such asymmetries. Normally, if one side cannot name its negotiator, the other side should wait until it is ready to do so. But President Trump wants this deal, and badly so.” See The Hill, “Don’t Act Too Eager for a North Korea Deal,” available at: https://thehill.com/opinion/national-security/431360-christopherhill-dont-act-too-eager-for-a-north-korea-deal (accessed February 2020). 20 His post-summit Twitter text read: Just landed – a long trip, but everybody can now feel much safer than the day I took office. There is no longer a Nuclear Threat from North Korea. Meeting with Kim Jong Un was an interesting and very positive experience. North Korea has great potential for the future! See https://twitter.com/realdonaldtrump/status/1006837823469735936?lang=en. Other less euphoric media summaries in the immediate post-summit period include Jeffrey Lewis, “After the Trump-Kim Summit, U.S. and North Korea Appear as Far Apart as Ever,” available at: www.npr. org/2018/06/14/619885804/after-the-trump-kim-summit-u-s-and-north-korea-appear-as-far-apartas-ever (accessed February 2020), and Brookings Institution, “Around the Halls: Brookings Experts React to the Trump-Kim Jong-un Summit in Singapore,” available at: www.brookings.edu/blog/ order-from-chaos/2018/06/12/around-the-halls-brookings-experts-react-to-the-trump-kim-jongun-summit-in-singapore/ (accessed February 2020). For the official DPRK report on the meeting, see DPRK Today, “Historic First DPRK-U.S. Summit Meeting and Talks Held,” available at: www.dprktoday.com/index.php?type=70&no=393&for=e, which describes understandings reached in Singapore in opaque, unilateralist terms, stating inter alia: Trump expressed his intention to halt the U.S.-south Korea joint military exercises, which the DPRK side regards as provocation, over a period of good-will dialogue between the DPRK and the U.S., offer security guarantees to the DPRK and lift sanctions against it along with advance in improving the mutual relationship through dialogue and negotiation. 21 In his post-meeting press conference Pompeo was quoted as asserting that: [There were] lots of other places where there were understandings reached … We couldn’t reduce them to writing, so that means there’s still some work to do, but there was a great deal of work done that is beyond what was seen in the final document. See The Guardian, “Mike Pompeo Loses Temper When Asked About North Korean Disarmament,” available at: www.theguardian.com/us-news/2018/jun/13/north-korea-nuclear-deal-trump-nextsteps-what-will-happen (accessed February 2020). 22 See www.msnbc.com/rachel-maddow-show/trump-wants-credit-north-korea-deal-which-he-gainednothing (accessed February 2020). 23 In Pompeo’s June 11 tweet, “We remain committed to the complete, verifiable, irreversible de-nucle arization of the Korean Peninsula.” See The Guardian, “Mike Pompeo Loses Temper,” op. cit. 24 See, for example, the following extract from a March 2019 US Department of State media background briefing, presumably given by chief negotiator Stephen E. Biegun: Question: Excuse me, if I just can add you said that in Stanford, just before the [Hanoi] summit, that you didn’t even have an agreement on the definition of denuclearization. Do you now have one with the North Koreans? Senior State Department Official: We have the elements of one. We have closed some of the gaps on what that would be, and as we have closed some of the gaps on other issues, like declarations and freezes. Some of that is an accumulation of the issues we have discussed in the course of our discussions over the first three months of this year. Some of the ideas are still ours and remain to be accepted by the North Koreans. See U.S. State Department, “Senior State Department Official on North Korea,” op. cit. 25 For a cross-section of opinion on these issues, see The Guardian, “A Historic Handshake … But What Did the Trump-Kim Summit Really Achieve?” available at www.theguardian.com/world/2018/ jun/16/trump-kim-summit-analysis-north-korea (accessed January 2020). The issue of Trump staying the course on sanctions did in fact arise in March 2019 when an unexpected Trump tweet announced, “It was announced today by the U.S. Treasury that additional largescale Sanctions would be added to those already existing Sanctions on North Korea. I have today

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26 27

28

29 30 31 32

ordered the withdrawal of those additional Sanctions!” The White House Press Secretary initially commented, “President Trump likes Chairman Kim, and he doesn;t think these sanctions will be necessary,” before an inevitable process of walk-back occurred. See New York Times, “A Defiant Trump Mutes North Korea Sanctions,” available at: www.nytimes.com/2019/03/22/world/asia/northkorea-sanctions.html (accessed January 2020). See New York Times, “As Bolton Says,” op. cit. And despite the manifold technical issues raised by the North’s nuclear program, Pyongyang ensured that no substantive officials level talks took place until Biegun visited Pyongyang in December, while the first high-level DPRK negotiator, Kim Yong Chol, did not visit the US until January 2019, after a scheduled November meeting was canceled at the last minute. The extent of this vanity in the specific area of US-DPRK relations was reflected in the pursuit by the Trump camp of a Nobel Prize nomination. On February 15, 2019, Trump announced that Japanese Prime Minister Abe had nominated him for the Nobel Peace Prize. See Reuters, “Trump Makes His Case for Nobel Peace Prize, Complains He’ll Never Get It,” available at: www.reuters.com/article/ us-northkorea-usa-trump-idUSKCN1Q42FJ (accessed January 2020). See KCNA, “Press Statement of Policy Research Director of Institute for American Studies, Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the DPRK,” available at: www.kcna.kp/kcna.user.article.retrieveNewsViewInfo List.kcmsf#this (accessed February 2020). For a discussion of the policy implications of this statement, see Susan Rice, “Can Trump Avoid Caving to Kim in Vietnam?,” available at: www.nytimes.com/2019/02/26/opinion/trump-kimvietnam.html (accessed January 2010). See U.S. State Department, “Remarks on DPRK at Stanford University,” available at: www.state. gov/p/eap/rls/rm/2019/01/288702.htm (accessed February 2020). In the words of one administration official, It would be a mistake to interpret the policy as being one of a step by step approach, where we release some sanctions in return for piecemeal steps toward denuclearization. That is not a winning formula and it is not the president’s strategy. Again, see New York Times, “A Defiant Trump,” op. cit. This did not curtail periodic speculation that officials within the Administration were floating the idea of settling for an interim freeze on the DPRK nuclear weapons program in exchange for sanctions mitigation. See, for example, New York Times, “In New Talks, U.S. May Settle for a Nuclear Freeze by North Korea,” available at www.nytimes. com/2019/06/30/world/asia/trump-kim-north-korea-negotiations.html (accessed January 2020).

33 For the US Department of Justice’s announcement detailing grounds for the seizure, see “U.S. Department see North Korean Cargo Vessel Connected to Sanctions Violations Seized by U.S. Government,” available at www.justice.gov/opa/pr/north-korean-cargo-vessel-connected-sanctions-violations-seizedus-government (accessed January 2020). 34 CNBC, “Trump on Latest North Korean Missile Tests: ‘Nobody’s Happy About It,’ ” available at: www.cnbc.com/2019/05/09/trump-on-latest-north-korean-missile-tests-nobodys-happy-about-it. html (accessed March 2020). 35 See New York Times, “North Korea Tested New Ballistic Missile, South Says, Flouting U.N. Ban,” available at www.nytimes.com/2019/07/25/world/asia/north-korea-ballistic-missile.html (accessed February 2020). 36 According to Trump’s tweet: These missiles tests are not a violation of our signed Singapore agreement, nor was there discussion of short range missiles when we shook hands. There may be a United Nations violation, but Chairman Kim does not want to disappoint me with a violation of trust, there is far too much for North Korea to gain – the potential as a Country, under Kim Jong Un’s leadership, is unlimited. Also, there is far too much to lose. (https://twitter.com/realdonaldtrump/status/1157306442422136834?lang=en accessed January 2020) 37 The official Department of State Press Statement differed substantially from this blunt assessment, and remained somewhat relentlessly positivist in asserting that

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Adrian Buzo The early comments from the DPRK delegation do not reflect the content or the spirit of today’s 8 1/2 hour discussion. In the course of the discussions, the U.S. delegation reviewed events since the Singapore summit, and discussed the importance of more intensive engagement to solve the many issues of concern for both sides. The U.S. delegation previewed a number of new initiatives that would allow us to make progress in each of the four pillars of the Singapore joint statement. See www.state.gov/north-korea-talks/ (accessed January 2020). The ‘new initiatives’ focused on interim steps, such as a suspension of sanctions on coal and textiles for three years in exchange for a number of DPRK concessions, including the closure of the Yongbyon facility. See Vox, “Exclusive: Here’s the Nuclear Proposal the US Plans to Offer North Korea This Weekend,” available at: www. vox.com/world/2019/10/2/20894979/north-korea-trump-nuclear-talks-deal (accessed January 27, 2020). 38 Much later, with such claims proving to have been of little or no negotiating value, and as the DPRK cleared the decks for a threatened resumption of its nuclear weapons and/or ICBM missile testing program, on January 12, 2020, Kim Kye-Gwan, a long-time senior DPRK negotiator clarified the Trump-Kim relationship personal relationship by noting that: Even if Chairman Kim Jong Un has a high opinion of President Trump, it should remain as ‘personal opinion’. As the representative of the DPRK and champion of the DPRK interests, the Chairman would not deal with state affairs influenced by personal feelings. See KCNA Watch, “Senior DPRK Diplomat Advises S. Korea to Listen to Reason,” available at: https://kcnawatch.org/newstream/1578805236-259707825/senior-dprk-diplomat-advises-s-koreato-listen-to-reason/ (accessed February 2020). 39 Among the better-known illustrative quotes is the following from his Singapore press conference: [T]he North Koreans have great beaches. You see that whenever they’re exploding their cannons into the ocean, right? I said, “Boy, look at the view. Wouldn’t that make a great condo behind?” And I explained, I said, “You know, instead of doing that, you could have the best hotels in the world right there.” Think of it from a real estate perspective. You have South Korea, you have China, and they own the land in the middle. How bad is that, right?’ See National Committee on North Korea, “Press Conference by President Trump Following June 12, 2018 Summit with Kim Jong Un,” available at: www.ncnk.org/resources/publications/singapore_ summit_press_conference.pdf/file_view 40 This is not currently in prospect, as his November 16, 2019 tweet addressed to Kim strikes a clear takeit-or-leave-it tone. “I am the only one who can get you where you have to be. You should act quickly, get the deal done. See you soon.” Available at https://twitter.com/realdonaldtrump/status/11960800 86686011398?lang=en (accessed February 2020).

References Albright, D. 2018. Denuclearizing North Korea, Washington, DC: Institute for Science and International Security. Albright, D. and Brannan, P. 2007. “The North Korean Plutonium Stock, February 2007,” available at: www.isis-online.org/publications/dprk/DPRKplutoniumFEB.pdf (accessed January 2020). Buszynski, L. 2013. Negotiating with North Korea: The Six Party Talks and the Nuclear Issue, London: Routledge. Lee, S. Y. 2018. “Seoul’s Supporting Role in Pyongyang’s Sanctions-Busting Scheme,” Asia Policy, vol. 25, no. 3, pp. 13–19. Levin, N. D. 1997. “What If North Korea Survives?,” Survival, vol. 39, no. 4, pp. 156–174. Niksch, L. A. 2006. North Korea’s Nuclear Weapons Program, Washington, DC: Congressional Research Service. Noland, M. 2018. “North Korea: Sanctions, Engagement, and Strategic Reorientation,” Working Paper Series, RePEc, St Louis. Park, Y-J. 2015. “Informal Political System in North Korea: Systematic Corruption of ‘Power-Wealth Symbiosis,’ ” International Journal of Korean Unification Studies, vol. 24, no. 1, pp. 123–156.

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Part IV

Society

13

Human RigHtS and

noRtH KoRea

Sandra Fahy

Introduction This chapter views the well-documented scale of human rights abuse that occurs in North Korea from the perspective of both the violations that flow from structural features of North Korean society, defined as the socio-economic and political rights of the citizenry, and the vio­ lations which issue as a result of direct physical force, which we define as physical integrity rights such as torture and the direct application of state terror.1 Thus, for example, an individual’s ability to improve or alter access to food, is a matter of social, economic and political rights and devolves from the structural features of social, economic and political life, and when an indi­ vidual is tortured, for example, that is a violation of physical integrity rights. With the former, the actual perpetrators are embedded in the structure and become difficult to identify, almost to the point of invisibility, and beyond the questioning as to whether or not they actually exist. In glaring contrast, of course, with physical integrity rights, the perpetrator is right there causing harm. No dichotomy is involved here, for these two aspects strongly influence each other: the failure to uphold the one means that the other will also fail. Rights are symbiotic and mutually supportive, and in the North Korean case, their inability to influence the economic and political structure and lack of rule of law as we commonly understand the term leads them to resort to illicit means of fulfilling basic needs. These illicit behaviors in turn open the individual to the risk of physical integrity rights violations. Regarding the invisibility of the perpetrators, hermeneutical injustice, a term developed by Miranda Fricker, describes the condition whereby there is a “deficit in our shared tools of social interpretation” of a particular injustice.2 An example of this situated unknowning can be seen in oral histories from survivors of North Korea’s 1990s’ famine. A host of social, economic and political human rights violations led to the famine and sustained it, but victims of structural violations often interpret their experience from an epistemic deficit, as Fricker puts it, because “marginalized social groups are at a disadvantage in making sense of their distinctive and important experiences.”3 Thus, few survivors traced the issue of culpability for the famine back to how the country was governed when they lived in the North, and in this sense the perpet­ rators were unseen, diffuse, and, at times, even assumed not to exist.

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Human rights on a divided peninsula The two Koreas represent the material manifestation of how politics shapes culture and most profoundly how politics shapes rights, the effects of the division can be found literally in the bones of people born on either side of the 38th parallel. In 2011, researchers measured height differences in Koreans born prior to and after the division of the Korean Peninsula. When they examined the height of 6,512 defectors in South Korea, they found that North Koreans born before the division of the Korean Peninsula were taller than their South Korean peers. Combined with this, and more damning still, they found that all “North Korean cohorts born thereafter were shorter than their South Korean counterparts.”4 In other words, the bodies of North Korean defectors born after division bore evidence of extreme food shortage through stunting ranging back over decades. Stunting is the body’s way of sacrificing linear growth in order to survive, and it does not happen from a few missed meals. It is the long-term result of protracted malnutrition at critical growth periods and stands as testimony to the endemic violation of the right to food in the North. Similarly, the spread of multi-drug-resistant tuberculosis in North Korea is far higher than that of the South, while comparisons of mortality rates, such as can be determined in the North, also speak of fundamental violations of rights. The disfiguring influence of the Korean War also persists. The 1953 armistice agreement secured the cessation of armed conflict on the Korean Peninsula, but preparation for the possible resumption of war continues. Regular military exercises and the conscription of citizens—males for two years in South Korea; men and women for ten and seven years, respectively, in the North. National security laws in both Koreas restrict access to information about the other side. South Korea’s security laws have grown laxer over time and are now nowhere near the level of censorship found in the North, which is among the most severe in the world. Human rights in South Korea are not perfect, but the types of rights South Koreans fight for are on par with those sought in democracies worldwide. By contrast, the extremes on view in the North are embedded in regime ideology and in the view of the past which they enforce on a daily basis. Indignities and outright atrocities com­ mitted against Koreans since the early twentieth century, foremost under Japanese colonial rule but also with the complicity of other powerful nation-states, and then extending through the US and Soviet occupations and the actual Korean War, are crucial factors in helping us to understand the North Korean historical narrative.5 It helps to understand how the United States and Japan are perceived not just as current enemies in the North, but enemies past, present, and in their current form, future. The current prime minister of Japan, Shinzo Abe, is, after all, the grandson of the class-A war criminal and postwar prime minister Nobusuke Kishi,6 which con­ forms to the North Korean interpretation of politics as genetic inheritance (vide the Kim dynasty), and as such, the Japanese state remains pathologically committed to the perpetuation of past wrongs. These past experiences of atrocity are identified in North Korean rhetoric as the reason why life within the DPRK is difficult. The wrongs other states have committed against the Korean people, in the past and continuing, are often seen as the mitigating factors for the state’s culpability for derogation from basic human rights. However, infinite historical regres­ sion and exculpation can only go so far, particularly when the actions of the North Korean state at present are without parallel in the contemporary world for the extent of ongoing, widespread, and arbitrary persecution. The North Korean state remains accountable at the highest levels for rights violations that date back to the formation of the country and up to the present. 200

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rights and the armistice State actors often justify the curtailment of rights and their derogation on the basis of national emergency. In fact, according to the United Nations, some rights may be derogated “during times of war or public emergency”7 but “the emergency must be actual, affect the whole popu­ lation and the threat must be to the very existence of the nation.”8 Further, these derogations must be of “the last resort” and “temporary.” Due to the armistice, the Koreas are still techni­ cally at war and North Korea invokes this contingency. For example, in the North’s human rights report to the United Nations, it states: Maintenance of [the] armistice situation is the main obstacle in [the] creation of [a] peaceful atmosphere for the promotion of Human rights. Due to the persistent man­ euvers of the United States, which escalates tension on [the] Korean peninsula taking DPRK as [the] enemy and violating the armistice agreement, rights of the people for peace and development have been seriously jeopardized and [the] Korean people have been living in constant danger of war.9 However, states of emergency must be actual rather than notional, and the 1953 armistice clari­ fies that the Korean War is not actual but notional. Further, states of emergency must constitute an actual, not just notional, threat to the existence of the nation. But even if we ignore this fallacy, if the armistice is the main obstacle to a peaceful atmosphere for human rights, how is it that South Korea does not suffer the same degree of egregious crimes against humanity? How is the armistice not a threat to South Korea’s existence? When North Korea derogates citizen rights, it does so not as a temporary measure or as a last resort but pervasively, systematically, extensively, and egregiously. Furthermore, it vio­ lates certain kinds of rights that may not be derogated under any circumstances, emergency or not – the right to life, the right to be free from torture, the right to not face inhumane or degrading treatment or punishment, the right to be free from slavery and servitude, and the right to be free from retroactive application of punishment. People were denied the basic right to life when the state failed to prevent the famine, when the state failed to permit migra­ tion within and out of the country, and when the stated failed to permit people to engage in free economic activity. Therefore, the “state of emergency” claim put forward by North Korea does not hold. Rather, the use of such language shows North Korea’s tendency to wield the language of inter­ national rights norms to justify the aims of the government. North Korean state media, along with their other publications, use arguments of cultural relativism to defend their version of human rights. Within this framework, the notion of “universal” human rights is interpreted as a tool of Western imperialism; thus, resistance to Western constructs of human rights is linked to resistance to Western imperialism and Western hegemony (for which, read US imperialism). Difficulties suffered by the North Korean people are attributed to the machinations of enemy nation states. The United States and Japan have some of the strongest global economies, and since they have isolated North Korea, the North is not able to develop its economy. And according to the North Koreans’ logic, the 1990s’ famine resulted from natural disaster and inter­ national economic embargo, rather than from North Korea’s failure to liberalize its economy, to deprioritize the military, to permit people to sell freely, and to alter entitlements to employ­ ment, movement and resources. Meanwhile, the fundamental North Korean position remains clear: while claiming to uphold the protection of social, economic and political rights, it strongly justified violations of physical 201

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integrity rights as necessary for national survival. As the official KWP organ, Rodong Shinmun, explained in a 1995 article: We do not conceal or lie about our partiality, we do not obscure our class-consciousness in the context of human rights. Socialist human rights are not class-transcending human rights to grant freedom and human rights to hostile enemies who oppose socialism, or to disobedient traitors who stand against the People’s interests. Our human rights are the rights that legitimize the persecution of enemies of the class, violating human rights of the People, workers, peasants, or intellectuals.10

North Korean human rights: the 2014 UN Commission of Inquiry In 2013, the formation of a United Nations Commission of Inquiry (COI) signaled that the United Nations Human Rights Council (UNHRC) was taking seriously long-standing allega­ tions against the DPRK and stepping up its investigation. As an indication of how seriously the UN Human Rights Council viewed the situation, the decision to conduct this inquiry was carried without resorting a vote. A panel of experts was mandated the task of determining the scale and nature of human rights abuses in the North and whether these amounted to crimes against humanity defined as violations found to be deliberate, systematic, and the cause of human suffering or death on a large scale. As is customary with the UN COIs, the country under investigation is invited to participate, but North Korea declined, thus setting the scene for self-fulfilling adverse findings. Published in early 2014 and based on extensive research, including public and private inter­ views with nearly two hundred experts and defectors, the nearly four hundred pages of detailed findings leave few stones unturned. The commission held private, off-the-record hearings, but for those willing to go public, it conducted hearings in Seoul, Tokyo, Bangkok, London, and Washington, DC. The final report contextualizes the case of North Korea, explaining that “the gravity, scale and nature of these violations reveal a state that does not have any parallel in the contemporary world.”11 The commission found the state responsible at the highest levels for crimes against humanity. As an indication of the severity of the matter, North Korea’s human rights violations were put permanently on the UN Security Council agenda, and several rounds of national and international sanctions followed. For its part, North Korea accused the commis­ sioners of bias for not conducting an in-country investigation. North Korea responded by submitting its own human rights report to the United Nations on September 15, 2014, seven months after the COI report was published. The Report of the DPRK Association for Human Rights Studies maintained that North Korea’s history vis-à-vis American imperialism was not recognized as the contributing factor for current socio-economic and geopolitical isolation. However, while the UNHCR report may not have given satisfaction to the North’s historical narrative, the COI authors had included details of the historic context for rights violations in North Korea; the experience of colonization, the liberation of Korea from the Japanese, the early formation of the two Koreas, the Korean War, and the develop­ ment of North Korea up to the present are all recognized. This means the COI report included everything from punishment of colonial collaborators, to prisoners of war and abductions – whether Japanese, Korean, or other nationalities – to refoulement, or forced repatriation, from China and other countries, to forced abortions in detention facilities, to torture-induced false confessions in political prison camps, and so on. It also identified the role of China in thwarting North Koreans’ access to refugee rights. The COI report consolidates this misery of findings and makes for a disquieting read. North Korea’s report, by contrast, is indifferent to the plight of its 202

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citizens and instead focuses on the criminality of enemy states (the United States, South Korea, Japan), with an emphasis on US aggression during the Korean War. Wrongs committed against the state – namely, the violation of state sovereignty – are highlighted as the primary human rights violation.

History of present-day violations From its founding, North Korea has promoted the idea of respect for human rights. However, the roots of present-day violations lie in the early stages of its history, for while claiming to respect socio-economic and political rights, the state failed to uphold them, routinely violating physical integrity rights as a necessary measure for state protection. This devolved from the top, for while political life at the time looked diverse, with many institutions whose avowed purpose was democratic decision-making, decision-making in fact occurred via the top ranks of com­ mittees controlled by the Korean Workers’ Party. The only known serious challenge to the leadership of Kim Il Sung occurred in August of 1956, fueled externally by the post-Stalin “thaw” within the Soviet Bloc and internally by rising levels of dissatisfaction with Kim Il Sung’s hardline leadership among other senior KWP cadres, but the attempt failed, and Kim proceeded to consolidate a family dynasty that exists to this day and which has had the longest rule in Communist history.12 Kim Il Sung had already held show trials in 1953 and 1955 where rival political faction leaders were liquidated on trumped-up charges such as spying for foreign enemies,13 and after the August incident, basic human rights in North Korea were further curtailed as the country became more militarized and Kim’s cult of personality intensified. The systematic and deliberate nature of North Korea’s rights violations was not widely known to the international public until the 1970s when Amnesty International first published a report on North Korea’s arbitrary imprisonment and torture of two foreign nationals, Venezuelan Communist, Ali Lameda, and French left-wing activist, Jacques Sedillot.14 The two went to North Korea in the 1960s, relo­ cating there more or less permanently due to Communist sympathies. The two worked for the foreign propaganda office, where they were tasked with promoting Juche and Kimilsungism abroad. After a few years each raised doubts as to whether North Korea was convincingly making its case abroad, and this led to their torture and imprisonment. The treatment of Lameda and Sedillot brought some international attention to North Korea’s rights violations, but these reports were individual cases, and neither man spoke publicly about the experience. They did, however, tell Amnesty International about the condition of other prisoners, for although they were kept separate, they were able to hear others being tortured and knew something of their poor living conditions. The full extent of North Korea’s system of political prison camps, and thus the systematic nature of violations amounting to crimes against humanity, would only begin to attract more widespread international attention in the late 1990s, by which time thousands of North Korean refugees had resettled in South Korea, the vast majority due to famine. These individuals reported experience and knowledge of prison camps to South Korean intelligence upon debriefing, and to NGOs after settling in the South.

right to food, freedom from hunger: the 1990s famine The Arduous March famine of the 1990s was a disaster that evolved slowly, and in the process pressed people into behaviors that compromised and weakened their adherence to state ideo­ logy. Few people had defected from North Korea prior to the 1990s, and their decision to defect was usually taken with great reluctance, but in the past 30 years, tens of thousands have 203

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crossed the Sino-Korean border.15 However, there are strong indications that the majority of North Koreans did not see their government as primarily culpable for the food crisis. More often than not, people were too misinformed and too distracted by the complex demands of physical survival to spend time identifying the cause of the famine. People’s interpretation of cause and effect was – and continues to be – confused due to the nature of censorship in North Korea, due to the high degree of misinformation about the famine spread through state media, and due to the complexity of the famine itself. Nevertheless, one theme that has emerged from survivor interviews is that the vast majority of refugees were fleeing hunger, not human rights abuses, although the severity of such abuses were a material manifestation of failed regime ideo­ logy, politics and economics. Prior to the 1970s, famine analysis worldwide had centered on the twin causes of overpopu­ lation and geographic climactic vulnerability. Although such assessments were simplistic, if not erroneous, they persist as people draw correlations between hunger and food supply. But the belief that a decline in the available food supplies causes famines is not useful because it does not account for the dynamics of exchange economies and pre-existing social inequalities.16 We might presume there is a shortage of food when in fact there is a problem of allocation or entitlement linked to unequal power relations. Thus, causal factors may not necessarily be the same factors that sustain famine since the triggering factors, such as lack of open market access to food, can create an environment where coping strategies such as buying food at illegal markets inadvertently become sustaining causes of the famine: prices become prohibitively high, driven up by high demand and shortage, and thus may limit people’s access to available stocks of food in the country. Thus famine is not inevitable but lies within human rational control and is linked to relations of power.17 Famine highlights preexisting weaknesses in a society, and because it is a process, rather than an event, it usually seeks out these weaknesses, exacerbating them and sharpening lines of inequality. Thus it manifests itself socially in ways that make it difficult to link directly with human rights violations. This helps explain why famine is not necessarily seen – even by the survivors themselves – as resulting from the actions of those in power or in government. As food shortages in the North worsened during the 1980s and finally descended into out­ right famine, categories of wrongdoing became broad and opaque. Individuals who had never run foul of the state found themselves in compromised situations with difficult ideological choices to make between personal survival and loyalty to the state. The famine tipped the balance against law-abiding (and also ideology-abiding) ordinary North Koreans. Survival meant being elite or turning to state-defined criminality. Prior to the famine, it was possible to live a reasonable life in North Korea without the threat of physical integrity rights violations so long as you were of the correct family background and obeyed political expectations. The famine changed that because it made living day-to-day more volatile. With the famine, formerly benign things such as complaining about hunger, questioning where food was coming from, or traveling to get food or medicine became dangerously politicized as antigovernment behavior. In this respect, the famine can be identified as the inflection point of North Korea’s widening disregard for rights. North Korea’s famine in the 1990s, like those of the mid-1980s in Ethiopia, Sudan, Malawi, Madagascar, Iraq, and Bosnia, came about through deliberate acts of commission by the state and were not prevented, though they could have been.18 North Korea had what is called a “pri­ ority regime famine” in the 1990s because ideological programs and government policies were placed above feeding and providing for the hungry population. Priority regime famines are characterized by a weak local economy and a lack of political will or capacity to intervene. The culpability of government systems in the emergence of famine has highlighted the hierarchy of 204

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local, national and international responsibility and underscored how the worst famines in the last century have occurred under some of the most corrupt governments: Joseph Stalin’s Holodo­ mor in the Ukraine, Mao Zedong’s Great Leap Forward, Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge famine, Mengistu Haile Mariam’s famine in Ethiopia, and Kim Jong Il’s Arduous March.19 While the North Korean government claimed that the famine was an act of nature, they also claimed it was due to international sanctions and embargos, not the result of domestic policy. Famine scholar­ ship shows that this is highly improbable. Developments in infrastructure and technology par­ ticularly in the last half of the twenty-first century mean that North Korea could have redirected its resources and policies toward ensuring the right to adequate food, but the government chose otherwise. The famine resulted from the state’s failure to prioritize the needs of its people over political and military priorities. The famine was a material manifestation of rights violations kept in place by the highest levels of state governance. Globally, famine and food crisis are rooted in decisions that leaders in power make. The famine in North Korea highlights tensions between individual human rights and national sovereignty where arguments around failure to uphold the former are justified as the necessary price of securing the latter.

Structural discrimination The nature of North Korean state ideology lends itself to many forms of structural human rights violations, encompassing the songbun system of social discrimination, religious freedom, freedom of information, assembly and movement. The songbun system refers to a person’s genetically inherited political destiny, with all of North Korean society stratified into three basic groups: (1) core; (2) wavering; or (3) hostile. Available nutritional data on these three broad classes strongly suggests that both in terms of quantity and quality the state distributes food through the Public Distribution System, North Korea’s centralized means of distributing food, clothing and other goods throughout the country is stratified along the lines of these classifications.20 In fact, North Korean state media has explicitly stated on occasion that it cannot value all people equally. In the 1995 Rodong Shinmun article cited above, the text states that “hostile and impure elements” that oppose socialism and violate the interests of the people cannot be granted freedom and rights.21 Other publications indicate recognition of “human rights” while also identifying the import­ ance of treating people according to their loyalty. In a 1970s North Korean dictionary, human rights are defined as the “means to execute the dictatorship against the enemies of the working class,”22 while later definitions of human rights incorporate the idea of class and duty: rights are granted by the Suryeong (the Leader) in return for overt displays of loyalty. This ideological structure indicates that normative international concepts of human rights are incompatible with North Korean state ideology. Robert Collins finds that technology has facilitated quick, integ­ rated data for the state to classify its entire population, enmeshing songbun with “social, legal, criminal and political data.” With the slight relaxation of the market in North Korea, more cor­ ruption has spilled into the system. It is possible, but very uncommon, for bribery to occur during songbun investigations. At higher levels this is less likely as investigators must be particu­ larly thorough. Even if songbun could be altered, such alterations bring a network of traces that can be tracked back to lower-level fraud in future investigations.23

religious persecution State-led suppression of religious belief and practice dates back to the liberation of Korea from the Japanese in 1945. North Korea sought to disempower religious organizations further by 205

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stripping property and land from religious groups without compensation.24 It was not enough to bankrupt spaces of religious practice, in 1946, the elimination of “superstition” became a national movement that was shortly transformed into “The Campaign of Thought for StateBuilding,” which encompassed religion and superstition in one blow. Sunday was transformed into a day of work and Monday became a day of rest. Curfews were in place to eliminate the possibility of evening worship. The religious community suffered severe financial reverses, with currency reforms in December 1947 that regulated religious organizations’ possession of cash assets. To encourage distrust and dislike for clergy, their membership was accused of being land­ owning capitalists.25 As the years passed, North Korea took bishops and abbots into custody, religious relics and sacred objects were blasphemed and destroyed, while Buddhist temples were kept as cultural assets but hollowed out of religious purpose. The North Korean Constitution’s Article 68 provides for freedom of religion. North Korea’s own human rights report submitted to the United Nations in 2014 also outlines the state’s pur­ ported commitment to religious freedom. That text states: “In the DPRK, everybody is fully provided with the rights to choose and follow their religion and thought according to their own free will. Every citizen has chosen to follow the Juche Idea.”26 In reality, North Korea has adopted a parallel policy toward religion, through which the government announces to the international community that it respects and guarantees freedom of religion, whereas in practice religion is suppressed. Visitors to North Korea have attended Christian ceremonies and toured Buddhist temples, but these spaces are for the performative acts of religion that are designed to evade criticism from the international community. The South Korean government estimates that there are now 121 religious facilities in North Korea. According to the Database Center for North Korean Human Rights, the leadership has applied its policy to religion with increasing severity. In tandem with continued religious per­ secution, North Korea began reaching out to the international religious community in the 1970s. Through these international religious groups North Korea promotes the idea of “peace” on the peninsula and seeks the support of international groups toward this end. While skirting genuinely religious topics and promoting the amorphous signifier of “peace,” North Korea is able to shape South Korean and US political practices on the peninsula as inherently hostile and generally antagonistic to humanity while gathering money and ideological sympathy. The migration of North Korean citizens across the Sino-Korean border has led to an increase of religious materials flowing back into North Korea. Research by the Database Center for North Korean Human Rights shows that the 2000s saw the highest records of religious persecu­ tion. The sharp increase in border crossings that occurred during the famine years resulted in increased contact with religious believers and religious materials in China, as many groups within the activist community are religion-based. This in turn led to an increase of contact with foreign believers and religious material. After Kim Jong Un came to power, he increased border control, leading to a drop in successful migration attempts and thus a drop in reports of religious persecution, which may or may not mean a drop in actual religious persecution.

Freedom of information North Korea has no free media.27 The international organization, Committee to Protect Jour­ nalists lists North Korea as one of the world’s most censored countries.28 Media studies experts have observed the country as the “most closed media environment in the world.”29 A study by Reporters Without Borders that looked at surveillance, censorship, imprisonment, and disinfor­ mation identified three state-run agencies in North Korea as “enemies of the internet” for their control over the domestic intranet system, their crackdown on the distribution of foreign media, 206

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and their monitoring of cell phones and radio broadcasts.30 Of the 12 main newspapers, 20 periodicals, and the single national broadcaster, all content comes from the official state media agency, the Korean Central News Agency (KCNA), which is the mouthpiece of the govern­ ment. All radio and television broadcasts, music, dance, theater, literature, newspapers, and periodicals are a product of state propaganda organs. Defectors who worked professionally in North Korean media report that the style and messaging have remained virtually unchanged with the passage of time.31 Article 19 of the UN’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights states: “Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers.”32 In June 2016, the UN made a further resolution to protect freedom of opinion and expression online, extending to the virtual realm the same rights that people should have in the world.33 North Korea’s human rights report, which it submitted to the United Nations on September 15, 2014, declares that citizens have the right to “freedom of speech, of the press, of assembly, demonstration and association (article 67).”34 The text later clarifies, saying, “All kinds of advocacy of war of aggression, discrimination and violence, acts of instilling national, racial and religious antagonism and propaganda to threaten or harm the security of the state and social order are absolutely prohibited.”35 Such a quotation might might appear to pro­ scribe bomb-making manuals, but in practice religious texts such as Bibles appear to qualify for absolute prohibition. History has abundantly shown that the absence of free media creates conditions in which socio-economic disasters such as famines and crimes against humanity thrive. North Korean studies scholar, Yong Sub Choi explains that North Korea rules through force, but force is not enough. There is a “consent mechanism” that holds control in place; this consent is fostered through life review meetings, saenghwal chonghwa, such as self-criticism sessions and mutualcriticism sessions, where ideology becomes indoctrination.36 These meetings are held in fac­ tories, schools, farms, and all manner of work places where citizens over the age of 14 evaluate themselves and others publicly in relation to the state ideology.37 People are expected to give a “brief report about their personal misdeeds and unsound actions.” However, according to Andrei Lankov, “in real life these sessions are akin to theatrical performances,” where indi­ viduals will admit things that are not too damning. “Nonetheless,” he elaborates, “these sessions help to keep the population in line and in some rare cases even lead to the exposure of signi­ ficant ideological deviations.”38 Compelling people to participate in ritualized behavior about being loyal is one of North Korea’s “most efficient governing strateg[ies].”39 Restrictions on foreign media have increased since the mid-2000s, while at the same time there have been increases in foreign radio broadcasts into North Korea. Although radio jamming does occur, it is not widespread. Researchers Nat Kretchun and Jane Kim wrote an insightful report about North Korea’s “quiet” information changes; they report widespread use of illegal media such as movies, music and radio broadcasts among those they interviewed.40 They rightly identify that North Korea no longer has complete control over information inside the country. However, the state still has a huge monopoly on it. Foreign radio broadcasts enable North Koreans access to “real-time” information, while movies and television shows from South Korea and elsewhere provide engaging plot stories that capture audiences. Kretchun and Kim argue that as more and more people get access to illegal media, they are increasingly sharing the material with trusted networks. They also found that although there are strict punishments for accessing such items, the possibility of avoiding punishment exists through bribes and the irreg­ ular enforcement of punishment. Rather than the vertical, top-down structure of North Korean state media, which is still in place and powerful, the inflow of foreign media permits horizontal 207

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information flows between people. It is through their individual acts of defiance, along with improvements in technology, that North Koreans now have more access to outside information than they did 20 years ago. Consumption of foreign media, both news and entertainment, has improved North Koreans’ perceptions of South Korea and the United States, thus countering some of the state media rhet­ oric.41 However, it has been observed that North Koreans’ views of their own government and nation-state have not changed, despite access to foreign media. This finding ominously parallels that of Holger Lutz Kern and Jens Hainmueller, who found that East Germans’ access to foreign mass media did not undermine authoritarian rule but rather led to greater life satisfaction for East Germans.42 Kretchun and Kim suggest that North Koreans’ view of their government is not changing because the foreign media they consume generally cannot report on domestic events in North Korea due to the lack of access and transparency, and certainly cannot do so in real time.

Freedom of assembly North Korea’s own human rights report claims citizens “are fully provided” with the right to freedom of assembly and protest. After the United Nations released its Commission of Inquiry report in March of 2014, a large protest rally against the report was held in Pyongyang, featuring placards promising to “Smash the human rights report.” North Korea thus evoked the language of international human rights activism (protest, the citizens’ raised voice) but twists the function (it is rather an ersatz civil society), thus relegating the status of such manifestations to the level of a semiotic exercise. A group genuinely wishing to assemble and protest, according to North Korea’s human rights report, must notify the People’s Committee and the People’s Security Organ of the corresponding area three days prior. Notification of the intention to protest is not unheard of in democratic states either. North Korea’s report clarifies that gatherings which “harm the security of the State, violate social stability, order, soundness of society and morality and encroach upon other people’s rights and freedom are prohibited.” The report continues, self-consciously, “It is also regulated in the Article 21 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights.”43 Article 21 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights states: The right of peaceful assembly shall be recognized. No restrictions may be placed on the exercise of this right other than those imposed in conformity with the law and which are necessary in a democratic society in the interests of national security or public safety, public order (ordre public), the protection of public health or morals or the protection of the rights and freedoms of others.44 Given the nature of the North Korean caveats, it is hard to imagine what could possibly be pro­ tested under such conditions.

Freedom of movement North Korea has a de facto embargo on any of its citizens leaving the country without permis­ sion. This is a violation of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Article 12, Sections 1 and 2, to which North Korea is a signatory. This covenant carries components related to the freedom of movement within, into and out of one’s country. When the Korean People’s Army shot at a young soldier who defected across the DMZ in November 2017, they were also 208

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violating one of the most basic of rights: Article 3 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the right to life, liberty, and personal security. Yet the soldiers were following the instructions of their ultimate commander, Kim Jong Un. Former officials from North Korea report that a person who defects from the North is deemed a treasonous individual who should be shot to death. In his book, On Strengthening Socialist Lawful Life, Kim Jong Il wrote, echoing the words of his father, “Our laws are important weapons for the realization of our national policies.”45 Under North Korea’s revised 2012 penal code, Article 63, “Treason Against the Fatherland” encompasses “those who betray the Fatherland by fleeing and surrendering to another country” as acts punishable by capital punishment.46 Within North Korea there is a lack of labor mobility, which is a consequence of government control of human movement throughout the country. This control is achieved through a house­ hold registration system called hoju, which allows the government to determine where people live. Is it possible to get a privileged hoju and move to Pyongyang? It is not impossible but is highly restricted. If you are a university graduate with an exceptional academic and political background, if you are an entertainment or sports star who has made an outstanding contribution to society, or if you are military personnel with a record of excellent service, you may be able to get assigned to live in this coveted part of the country. One might assume that marriage could be a ticket to migration into Pyongyang, but it is required that both individuals be from the city to remain living there. However, even with these exceptionally high standards, there are other social barriers that curtail movement. First, individual social climbing would raise suspicion in North Korea. Second, many in provincial cities or rural areas are not necessarily aware of how much better their lives could be in Pyongyang. More often movement occurs in the other direction, as once-privileged residents in Pyongyang are exiled to less favorable regions of the country. Given the challenges inherent to internal migration, migration out of North Korea remains the most viable way for individuals to try to achieve better circumstances. However, the main routes out of the country are rife with danger. North Korea shares a 1,420-kilometer border with China, and many of the negotiations around preventing migration from North Korea are with China. After the death of Kim Jong Il, Kim Jong Un reportedly dispatched “storm corps” military personnel throughout the country for population control, with emphasis on the SinoKorean border.47 On the eastern side of the Peninsula, the border between North Korea and Russia is only 17.5 kilometers in length, running along the Tumen River and Lake Khasan. The Korea Russia Friendship Bridge carries a train line from Rason to Vladivostok, and some North Koreans have defected across this corridor, but the number is very low. Russia and North Korea have also negotiated a return agreement for illegal migrants.48 North Korea’s penal code distinguishes between political and economic migration, but pun­ ishment applies to both. The penal code prescribes up to two years of “labor correction” to anyone who crosses into China for economic reasons, but if the relevant North Korean security agency determines that they left for political reasons or had contact with activists while in China, the punishment could be long-term detention. The code also stipulates that those helping border crossers will be severely punished, and individuals who have helped others to defect have been publicly executed, regardless of their rank and position in society. Further, if the person is deemed to have had contact with foreigners, Christian missionaries, or South Koreans, or if the person commits an act of grave concern to the state, the code provides for imprisonment in a political prison camp or the death penalty.49 Based on extensive interviews with North Koreans in China and elsewhere, Refugees International found “almost all North Koreans face severe punishment upon deportation back to North Korea, regardless of their original motivation for leaving their country.”50 209

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Physical integrity violations According to North Korean criminal law, the principal and supplementary punishments in North Korea are short-term labor, limited term of reform through labor, lifetime of reform through labor, or the death penalty. Individuals can be divested of their right to vote (this is a performative rather than a consequential function), have property taken away, be stripped of qualifications, or have qualifications suspended.51 As stated in U.S. State Department’s Traffick­ ing in Persons report for 2016, “Forced labor is part of an established system of political repres­ sion. The government subjects its nationals to forced labor through mass mobilizations and in North Korean prison camps.”52 Forced labor brigades (dolgyeokdae) may even involve teenagers and children. These punishments are ostensibly meant to “reeducate” North Koreans as to the appropriate socialist behavior or to punish those whom the state deems to be beyond help. Setting aside for a moment whether detention itself is right or wrong, detention is punish­ ment in and of itself, not a place one goes to be punished. People are incarcerated in North Korea as and for punishment. Law is upheld not so much to protect people but to convict transgressors against the state. Punishment in North Korea is dehumanizing, cruel, and humiliating. In polit­ ical prisons and ordinary prison camps, the North Korean government physically uses up the prison population by extracting as much labor from them as possible. The physical structure of penal facilities appears designed for degradation through the treatment of prisoners, while the social and physical environment of the prison is physically and psychologically dangerous. The prisoner is doubly or triply punished, first through detention and then additionally through overwork, poor nutrition, inhumane treatment, physical abuse, and exposure to unhygienic conditions with little access to health care. Such problems are not merely a concern for a human-rights-based approach to criminal justice, but are also a concern for North Korea and the region as contagious diseases and other pathologies flourish in such conditions. Population groups sometimes cycle through the system, especially in the case of reeducation facilities. Through this, contagion can spread to other population groups. The Commission of Inquiry found North Korean in violation of several basic human rights through arbitrary detention, torture, executions, enforced disappearances, and political prison camps. North Korea has certain obligations to uphold the rights of all citizens, including detainees, according to several articles in the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR). North Korea’s practice of “crime by association” or “crime by inheritance” (yongchwajae) leads to the imprisonment of children – this is why there is the seemingly incon­ gruous mention of classrooms and school lessons in the accounts of former prisoners – in this, the state is in violation of the rights of children under the Convention on the Rights of the Child.53 Public execution in North Korea is another manifestation of the state’s intolerance for indis­ cretion and the pursuit to eliminate it. It is not enough to kill the person who has violated the law; the person must be killed in a particular way, and the method and moment of killing are used for meaning. The individual who transgresses is used by the state to reincorporate the col­ lective. Young, old, male, female – anyone can be executed. An audience is gathered to attend the criminal’s moment of “correction.” Those gathered to watch the killing will hear the gun blast, smell the sulfur, see the head explode, see heat rise from the blood, but they also witness a gathering of people who do not intervene against this moment of death. The audience is the other part of the apparatus of this style of killing. Public execution is a profoundly performative gesture in North Korea’s exercise of state power. This type of killing operationalizes anticipation, risk and the moment of action/inaction for both the individual and the collective. It is a performance, the climax of which is the 210

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moment the state acts – which is precise, grotesque, and entire – while the audience and the victim absorb the action of the state. The audience and the victim are so thoroughly acted upon by the state as to be rendered inactive, inert non-things. The audience sees the killing and sees a collective that does not intervene. What is killed along with the executed individual is any lingering belief among the citizenry that the collective can act against the overwhelming power of the state. It is the public, the populace, that is executed.

Conclusion Since 2014, the UN Security Council has held yearly meetings on human rights. To hold these meetings, the signatures of nine members are required, but for 2018 these were not forth­ coming, reflecting disagreements between the US, Russia and China as to the purpose and efficacy of the current UN sanctions regime, whereby Russia and China are advocating for sanctions relief on North Korea in return for seeing positive signs of action on human rights by the DPRK. What kind of positive action, then, could North Korea make? Even before going so far as to talk about peace on the peninsula, or denuclearization – things that are tangentially connected to rights – what other signs might North Korea take to signal its sincerity in taking actions to improve rights? Improving human rights in North Korea could happen as effortlessly as the state not taking action to inflict the most egregious forms of violation. The do-no-harm approach would mean not carrying out public or private executions, not carrying out forced abortions, not practicing the system of crime inheritance, not imprisoning border crossers. But fundamentally, lack of access to assess conditions on the ground remains the most important issue. Lack of such access was the most frequent criticism leveled at North Korea in the UN Commission of Inquiry report. If there are allegations that sanctions are worsening the lives of ordinary people, then access needs to be granted to verify such a claim. Similarly, with the linkage of sanctions to the North’s nuclear weapons policy, assertions of change to this policy require access and verification. To achieve a fundamental degree of credibility which is currently absent, the granting of access to neutral observers remains the chief stumbling block.

Notes 1 At the outset we should note that it is not possible to summarize the actual extent and nature of rights violations in North Korea, nor the manner in which the state habitually denies the substantial evidence that actual crimes against humanity are occurring. Readers are encouraged to read Fahy (2019). Por­ tions of this chapter are drawn from that book. 2 See Fricker (2007).

3 Ibid.

4 Pak et al. (2011), pp. 142–158.

5 Cumings (2005). See also Human Rights Council (2014) and United Nations General Assembly

(2014). 6 Cumings (2010), p. 39. 7 “10.2 Human Rights in Times of Emergency,” in International Norms and Standards Relating to Disability, updated October 2003, United Nations, available at: www.un.org/esa/socdev/enable/comp210. htm#10.2 8 Ibid. Emphasis added. 9 “Report of the DPRK Association for Human Rights Studies Submitted to the United Nations General Assembly Security Council,” September 15, 2014, A/69/383–S/2014/668, available at: https://undocs.org/A/69/383 Grammatical clarification added. 10 Rodong Shinmun (1995), June 24. 11 Human Rights Council (2014b). 12 Lankov (2002).

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Sandra Fahy 13 Lankov (2005). 14 Amnesty International (1979). The appendix to this report covers the case of Jacques Sedillot. 15 To this day, many North Koreans, especially in the far northeast provinces, remain vulnerable to famine and are capability-poor – a fact that is determined by government definitions of political reli­ ability, since many people in this region have been sent there as punishment, most often for their class backgrounds, their connections with the Japanese colonial government, their former family ties with the South, their actions during the Korean War, or simply post-1953 political offenses. Such factors have determined the dynamics of undernourishment, starvation and famine, and have restricted the means to alter food entitlements. 16 Sen (1976), pp. 1273–1280. 17 George (1977), pp. 206–213. 18 Devereux (2007). 19 Ibid., p. 7. 20 Collins (2012), p. 13. 21 “Chamdaun inkweoneul onghohayeo” [For the protection of true human rights], Rodong Shinmun, June 24, 1995. Quoted in Kim (2008), p. 24. 22 Kim (2008), p. 24. 23 Collins (2012). 24 Yoon et al. (2017), pp. 52–53. 25 Ibid., pp. 55–56. 26 DPRK Association for Human Rights Studies (2014), p. 72. 27 In 2016, Reporters Without Borders found North Korea to be 179th in the world, second to last ahead of Eritrea, as among the worst in the world for free media. North Korea also received the worst ranking for freedom of media, civil liberties, and political rights. See Williams (2016), and Freedom House, “Freedom in the World 2015: North Korea,” (n.d.). 28 Dietz (2012). 29 Kretchun and Kim (2012). 30 The report names the Central Scientific and Technological Information Agency, in charge of running the domestic intranet system, Group 109, which tries to control the distribution of foreign media cir­ culating domestically, and Bureau 27, which monitors phones and radio broadcasts. See Reporters Without Borders (2014). See also Williams (2014). 31 Jeong (2013), p. 4. 32 United Nations, Universal Declaration of Human Rights, Article 19, available at: www.un.org/en/ universal-declaration-human-rights 33 Human Rights Council (2016). 34 DPRK Association for Human Rights Studies (2014), p. 37. See also further elaboration on freedom of speech in North Korea on pp. 59–63 of the report. 35 Ibid. 36 Choi (2017), pp. 783–800. 37 Lankov (2015), pp. 42–43. 38 Ibid. 39 Ibid. 40 Kretchun and Kim (2012). 41 Ibid, pp. 30–31. 42 Kern and Hainmueller (2009), pp. 377–399. 43 DPRK Association for Human Rights Studies (2014) pp. 59–60, emphasis added. 44 United Nations General Assembly (1966). 45 Quotes in Han et al. (2014), p. 85. 46 Ibid., p. 102. 47 Ibid, p. 242. The storm corps are squads of soldiers from the Escort Bureau of the Korean People’s Army, the State Security Department, Kim Il Sung Military University, Security Cadre Training Center, Politics University of the MPS, and the National Defense University. 48 Eremenko (2014). 49 Charny (2004), pp. 75–97. 50 Ibid., p. 93. 51 Article 28, “Principal Punishments and Supplementary Punishments,” of the Criminal Law of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, trans. Sang hyup Lee, Hyeong Su Park, Kyung Eun Ha,

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Human rights and North Korea Markus Simpson Bell, Lillian Lee, and Andrew Wolman (Seoul: Citizens’ Alliance for North Korean Human Rights, 2009). 52 U.S. Department of State (2016), Human Rights Watch (2017). 53 The DPRK is in violation of Article 6 (right to life), Article 37 (freedom from torture and unlawful deprivation of liberty), and Article 40 (treatment in detention) of the Convention on the Rights of the Child. Human Rights Council, “Detailed Findings” (2014b).

references Amnesty International. 1979. “Ali Lameda: A Personal Account of the Experience of a Prisoner of Con­ scious in the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea,” January 1, Index Number ASA 24/002/1979, London: Amnesty International. Charny, Joel R. 2004. “North Koreans in China: A Human Rights Analysis,” International Journal of Korean Unification Studies, vol. 13, no. 2, pp. 75–97. Choi, Yong-sub. 2017. “North Korea’s Hegemonic Rule and Its Collapse,” Pacific Review, vol. 30, no. 5, pp. 783–800, available at: www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/09512748.2017.1296885?src=recsys Citizens’ Alliance for North Korean Human Rights (NKHR). 2013. “Status of Women’s Rights in the Context of Socio-Economic Changes in the DPRK,” Seoul: NKHR, available at: www.hrnk.org/ uploads/pdfs/The%20Criminal%20Law%20of%20the%20Democratic%20Republic%20of%20 Korea_2009_%20(1).pdf Collins, Robert. 2012. Marked for Life: Songbun. North Korea’s Social Classification System, Washington, DC: Committee for Human Rights in North Korea. Criminal Law of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. 2009. trans. Sang hyup Lee, Hyeong Su Park, Kyung Eun Ha, Markus Simpson Bell, Lillian Lee, and Andrew Wolman, Citizen’s Alliance for North Korean Human Rights, Seoul. Cumings, Bruce. 2005. Korea’s Place in the Sun: A Modern History, New York: W. W. Norton. Cumings, Bruce. 2010. The Korean War: A History, New York: Modern Library. Devereux, Stephen. (Ed.) 2007. The New Famines: Why Famines Persist in an Era of Globalization, New York: Routledge. Dietz, Bob. 2012. “Signs of Change in North Korea,” Committee to Project Journalists, May 17, available at: www.cpj.org/blog/2012/05/signs-of-change-in-north-korea.php DPRK Association for Human Rights Studies. 2014. Full Text of the Report of the DPRK Association for Human Rights Studies, September 13. Eremenko, Alexey. 2014. “Russia Moves to Send North Korean Refugees Back Home to Uncertain Fate,” Moscow Times, November 4. Fahy, Sandra. 2019. Dying for Rights: Putting North Korea’s Rights Abuses on the Record, New York: Colum­ bia University Press. Freedom House. n.d. “Freedom in the World 2015: North Korea,” available at: https://freedomhouse. org/report/freedom-world/2015/north-korea Fricker, Miranda. 2007. Epistemological Injustice, Oxford: Oxford University Press. George, Susan. 1977. How the Other Half Dies: The Real Reasons for World Hunger, Harmondsworth: Penguin. Han, Dong-ho, Kim, Soo, Lee, Kyu, Lee, Keum, and Cho, Jeong. 2014. White Paper on Human Rights in North Korea, Seoul: Korea Institute for National Unification, 2014 Human Rights Council. 2014a. Report of the Commission of Inquiry on Human Rights in the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, A/HRC/25/63, February 7, 2014a http://undocs.org/A/HRC/25/63 Human Rights Council. 2014b. Detailed Findings of the United Nations Commission of Inquiry into Human Rights in the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, A/HRC/25 /CRP.1, February 7, 2014b Human Rights Watch. 2017. “UN: North Korea Exploiting Children,” February 8, 2017, available at: www.hrw.org/news/2017/02/08/un-north-korea-exploiting-children Jeong, Jin-hwa. 2013. “UN Commission of Inquiry on Human Rights in the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea Public Hearing,” afternoon session, August 22, 2013, Seoul Kern, Holger Lutz, and Hainmueller, Jens. 2009. “Opium for the Masses: How Foreign Media Can Stabilize Authoritarian Regimes,” Political Analysis, vol. 17, no. 4, pp. 377–399. Kim, Soo-Am. 2008. Conceptions of Democracy and Human Rights in the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, KINU: Korea Institute for National Unification. Kretchun, Nat and Kim, Jane. 2012. “A Quiet Opening: North Koreans in a Changing Media Environ­ ment,” InterMedia, May.

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Sandra Fahy Lankov, Andrei. 2002. From Stalin to Kim Il-sung: The Formation of North Korea, 1945–1960, New Bruns­ wick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Lankov, Andrei. 2005. Crisis in North Korea: The Failure of De-Stalinization, Honolulu: University of Hawai`i Press. Lankov, Andrei. 2015. The Real North Korea: Life and Politics in the Failed Stalinist Utopia, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Pak, Sun Young, Schwekendiek, Daniel and Kim, Hee Kyoung. 2011. “Height and Living Standards in North Korea, 1930s–1980s,” Economic History Review, vol. 64, pp. 142–158. Reporters Without Borders. 2014. Report, March 11, available at: https://rsf.org/en/news/enemies­ internet-2014-entities-heart-censorship-and-surveillance Rodong Shinmun. 1995. “For True Human Rights,” June 24. Sen, Amartya. 1976. “Famines as Failures of Exchange Entitlements,” Economic and Political Weekly, vol. 11, no. 31–33, pp. 1273–1280. United Nations. 2003. “10.2 Human Rights in Times of Emergency,” in International Norms and Standards Relating to Disability, updated October 2003 United Nations General Assembly. 1966. “International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights,” December, available at: www.ohchr.org/EN/ProfessionalInterest/Pages/CCPR.aspx United Nations General Assembly. 2014. Report of the DPRK Association for Human Rights Studies Submitted to the United Nations General Assembly Security Council, September 15, 2014, available at: A/69/383– S/2014/668, https://digitallibrary.un.org/record/781479/files/A_69_383_S_2014_668-EN.pdf U.S. Department of State. 2016. “Korea, Democratic People’s Republic of: Tier 3,” in Trafficking in Persons Report, 2016, Washington, DC: Government Publishing Office, 228, available at: www.state.gov/ documents/organization/258876.pdf Williams, Martyn. 2014. “DPRK Organizations Called out for Censorship,” North Korea Tech, March 13. Williams, Martyn. 2016. “DPRK Again Second-to-Last in Press Freedom Ranking,” North Korea Tech, April 20, available at: www.northkoreatech.org/2016/04/20/dprk-second-last-press-freedom-ranking/ Yoon, Yeo-sang, Jai-ho, Chung and Hyunmin, An. 2017. “2016 White Paper on Religious Freedom in North Korea,” Seoul: NKDB, January 4, available at: www.nkdb.org/en/library/Books_list.php

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14

The “markeT value” of

people in norTh korea

Seokhyang Kim

Introduction Minority groups exist in all human societies, and non-dominant group status subjects people to structural disadvantages and discrimination, not to mention outright human rights abuses. North Korea is no exception, although the North Korean authorities have always insisted that such violations do not occur in their society. The term “minority,” or “minority group” usually refers to groups placed in a position of relative disadvantage compared to members of the dominant, or majority social group, based on such easily definable characteristics as ethnicity, regional or linguistic identity, race, religious belief and practice, sexual orientation or disability. However, the term “minority” takes on a somewhat different complexion in North Korea, for people are not placed in the positions of structural inequality associated with minority status on the basis of such characteristics. Moreover, the dominant social group – the “majority” – con­ sists of the Korean Workers’ Party elite, which is not a numerical majority. By most estimates, it comprises only 10–15 percent of the population but, through its control of the state’s coercion and control apparatus, it enforces a near-hereditary status that is tantamount to minority group status on targeted citizens on the basis of their political reliability, as determined through the Party’s elaborate songbun social status classification system. Who, then, are the minorities in North Korea? What are the main criteria that determine relative social and socio-economic status in North Korea? Who formulated these criteria? Is it possible for people to change their ascribed social status? International human rights experts are of course interested in issues affecting minorities. However, it is hard to start a concrete discus­ sion on minorities in North Korea as its reality is deeply concealed from outside gaze. This chapter discusses the social categorization process in North Korean society and how it came about. In doing so, it seeks to develop knowledge in a hitherto neglected area and to examine how and why people in North Korea experience human rights violations in their everyday life. North Korea’s state-run media frequently maintains that human rights violations against minorities occur in the US, South Korea, Japan and other countries, but not in China or North Korea.1 In examining this claim, if we begin with search results from leading academic databases such as Google Scholar containing the two keywords “North Korea” and “minorities,” we find first of all a lack of study in this field. Most studies have only been focusing on the disadvantages 215

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or discrimination North Korean defectors face in the course of escaping from their country and resettling in the South, where they comprise a new minority. The main reason why research groups have not dealt this issue academically would appear to be because it is hard to obtain research data in the face of North Korea’s denial that minorities do actually exist in their society. However, the results of in-depth interviews with North Korea defectors are clearly not in accord with North Korean claims. Since 2010, the author has carried out in-depth interviews, discussing various topics, with about 230 North Korea defectors, and this chapter takes such interviews as primary data. Many interviewees were from North Hamgyong Province but there were also interviewees from various other provinces, such as South Hamgyong, Yanggang, Hwanghae, Kangwon and Pyongan, as well as from Pyongyang. Only 20 percent of the inter­ viewees had left North Korea before 2010, while in age they formed an even distribution from teenagers to those over 60. Their level of education was higher than the average education level of other defectors in South Korea, with college and university graduates comprising 60 percent of interviewees. Some 70 percent were female, which was in keeping with the overall composi­ tion of the defector population.2 The topics explored with the interviewees included social changes and trends after 1990, especially, patriarchy, the daily lives of the disabled, daily life in the inminban unit,3 women’s money-making market activities, and the consumption and use of cosmetic products. The topics were very diverse but regardless of their former places of residence, gender, family and academic background, economic level, Party membership status and the time of their defection, the inter­ viewees revealed a keen awareness of the relationship between dominant and non-dominant groups. The inescapable conclusion was that North Korean society rigorously classifies people as belonging to majorities and minorities. The sad reality is that, except for exceptional cases, North Koreans born into a minority group firmly believe that there will be no chance for them to gain a higher social status by breaking the glass ceiling through their own efforts. And while considerable research has been done on the human rights abuses that the defectors experience, it should be pointed out that little attention has been paid to the situation within North Korea itself. This leaves in abeyance such questions as who the minorities are, how their status is determined, what their living conditions are, how their lives have changed since the 1990s, how they perceive themselves and their status, and how the authorities perceive, describe and treat them. And finally, of course, there is the question of what the human rights implica­ tions in all these issues are.

Changes in North Korea since 1990 Although the degree of societal influence may vary among individuals, it is impossible for one to live independently, unaffected by the context of the society one lives in. Before 1990, most North Koreans finished 11 years of compulsory education course in their hometown and pro­ ceeded to follow one of three common paths.4 The first path was to take up a workplace job assigned to them by the authorities. This was the path laid out for young women more than men, the common thinking being that women would in any case soon get married. By contrast, the men placed in this category by the authorities were often regarded as in some manner “flawed or defective.” The second path was to join the military. Extended military service was assigned to most men and was considered to be highly desirable as military service would heighten one’s chance of later joining the Korean Workers’ Party. The third path was to attend university, and this was open only to a selected few. Such people would proceed to become members of the elite, working as bureaucrats and managers, while the rest of the population worked as laborers. 216

The “market value” of people in North Korea

People remained in the districts in which they were born and raised for their entire lives. Before 1990, while there were cases of children moving to a different region due to their father’s employment, and there were also the unfortunate few who had been exiled to more remote regions, but most North Koreans were not given the opportunity to ever leave their home districts. Even if they temporarily left to attend university or serve in the military, they returned to their hometown at the completion of these assignments. If people had to visit relatives in different regions for family occasions, such as weddings or funerals, they needed a permit from the district authorities, and leaving the district without a permit was a punishable offense. Everyone was envious of those who visited Pyongyang for work, and those who visited a different country were considered as exceptionally fortunate. The most crucial factor that determined people’s quality of life was one’s family. This was the reason why people used to do everything they could to gain membership of the Korean Workers’ Party. If a child’s parent was a Party member, it could greatly affect the important choices in the child’s life, influencing the child’s education, job placement and promotion, and even their spouse selection. If a child’s father was not a member of the Party, the child might never be given any school leadership position and had no possibility of attending university. Children of high-ranking Party members, on the other hand, were easily able to climb up the social ladder without high academic achievements. They were only required to achieve a high score in just one subject – political studies, which consisted of studying the works of the Kim Il Sung family. While this system of three paths in life operated, the lifestyles of North Koreans were quite stable and predictable. However, during the 1990s, social changes shook the roots of this system. In 1989, serious economic difficulties began to overtake the country due to the extent to which prestige projects had dominated government spending, with nearly one-third of the country’s annual budget poured into the 1989 13th World Festival of Youth and Students, which was Pyongyang’s response to the 1988 Seoul Olympics, while the collapse of the Soviet Bloc meant the collapse of Soviet aid and trade at “friendship prices.” The devastating downward economic spiral that began at this point resulted in nine consecutive years of negative growth and a disas­ trous famine in North Korea. Due to such internal and external economic difficulties, the government abandoned the Public Distribution System which had been supplying ordinary people with food twice a month for several decades. As people watched their neighbors die of starvation without any support or protection from the central government, they began to realize that they had to find their own way to stay alive. Consequently, an increasing number of people began to engage in illegal black-market activities. This led to an enhanced level of economic empowerment among women traders, and in turn led to new standards of self-image, characterized by the demand for new fashions in clothes and better cosmetic products, which mainly had its origin in North Korean women’s observation of the appearance and grooming of South Korean activist Lim-Su Kyung, when she attended the 1989 World Festival.5 The size of the new markets gradually increased, new types of trade were introduced daily, and people who sold small amounts of goods near their homes started to travel longer distances, taking the risk to make more profit, and as more people began to trade goods, a group called donju (money masters) who accumulated considerable amounts of capital appeared.6 This gradu­ ally undermined the entire system of workplace assignment as people remained assigned but derived the bulk of their income from private market transactions. KWP membership con­ tinued to have significant implications in the North Korean society since the social status this conferred was still the most important factor determining a person’s life, but the 1990s opened up the option of making money in the marketplace and using it to bribe Party officials to 217

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effectively gain access to such privileges of Party membership as relative freedom of movement, good employment, education, and so on. People increasingly made their way not because of their conferred social status but because of their newly-acquired “market value.” “Market value” equates to the leverage people possess to extract benefits from the system and improve their lives. The interviews with defectors revealed that the concept of the “market value” of people provides the main criterion for distinguishing between people at different levels of society. The North Korean defectors often used the term “people of high/low/no market value” when describing a status group.7 What was interesting was that although they commonly used the concept of “market value of people” in this way, they themselves did not appear to have a clear understanding of what it meant. When the researcher asked who the discriminated minorities were, they said that they didn’t know, or they stressed that they themselves had never experi­ enced such discriminations. When asked, “If the reality of North Korea is that an executive’s son becomes an executive and the son of peasants cannot leave the farm, doesn’t it show dis­ crimination against the minority groups?,” they would say, “Such things do happen, but it is inevitable. That’s just the way things work. It doesn’t seem as though this could be discrimina­ tion.” However, when analysing the interviews, it became evident that they do have a deeply normalized perception of the market value of people based on criteria such as family origin, Party membership, place of residence, gender, disability, age, education level and financial status.

Market value based on social origin and KWP membership The most prominent opinion among interviewees was that people’s origin and being a member of KWP were the key factors in determining high market value. While there were cases of people of humble origin joining the Party, in practice, it was extremely difficult, if not imposs­ ible, for a person of humble origin to do so, so the interviewees all felt the limitation placed on people of humble origin ever acquiring significant market value. It was difficult for the researcher to accept that workers and peasants had become minority groups facing social discrimination in North Korea because the regime has always claimed that it gave preferential treatment to such people. However, defectors consistently described workers and peasants as habadak (literally, the lowest class), and commoners as pyeongbaeksung (literally, common people), both having “not much market value.” Their assertion was that people who became bureaucrats and managers simply because they came from a reliable family background had opportunities that common workers and peasants could never dream of. In fact, there were further divisions within the worker and peasant class, with those doing manual or physical labor, such as miners or salt farm workers, having the least market value among workers. The interviewees stressed that although coal miners were praised in newspapers and broadcasts, and there were some policies favoring the coal miners, such as increased food rations, no one willingly sought employment in this field. They further asserted that the only people coal miners or salt farm workers could “raise their voice to” – that is, feel superior to – were collective farm workers, who were assessed as having even less market value than the coal miners. It was very unusual and almost impossible for the children of collective farm workers to raise their social status to ordinary worker status. Their opinion was that this only occurred when a woman from a farmer’s family married into a worker’s family, or else, when a farmer obtained workplace reassignments, first as a coal miner and then on to other workplaces. This process would often take place over 10 to 20 years.

218

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Expulsion to rural areas Interviewees who were originally from North Hamgyong Province told basically similar stories about Pyongyang-jip – Pyongyang residents sent to the countryside as punishment. This was a longstanding practice which intensified in the early 1970s amid a campaign to “purify” Pyongyang to enhance its standing as “the capital of revolution,” and occurred in other major cities as well. However, these exiles do not all face the same situation, and according to their residual market value, could be treated either well or with disdain. Those whose exile was the result of a relatively minor transgression or who were perceived to be in temporary exile retained significant market value and were treated well. On the other hand, those whose exile was understood to be perma­ nent, either due to a major political transgression or to their having a family member with a dis­ ability, were treated as people who no longer had much market value.

North Koreans exposed to outside contact From the interview data, it was clear that North Korean authorities as well as ordinary citizens place strong emphasis on maintaining what they term a “pure bloodline” (sunhyeol). This means that ethnic Koreans born outside North Korea are immediately categorized as a minority group with low market value and no prospect of advancing their social status. A case in point is that of former Korean residents of Japan repatriated to North Korea during 1959–1984.8 Often referred to in a derogative fashion as Jjepo or Jjeki, with few exceptions, they remain objects of suspicion and are subject to various forms of restriction, with advancement to KWP membership a highly unlikely possibility. Similarly, South Korean soldiers who found themselves in the North at the conclusion of the Korean War (1950–1953) were considered to have little or no market value. This generation has now passed, but their descendants recall a life of hardship and discrimination. The soldiers were usually assigned mining jobs in remote regions, where again other residents were encouraged to keep them under close surveillance, while marriage prospects were severely restricted by their low market value. North Korean soldiers returning from wartime captivity in the South received similar treat­ ment. At the conclusion of the war in 1953, they had been offered the choice of returning to the North, remaining in the South or settlement in a third country, but those who chose to return to the North were not received as people who had performed an act of loyalty. Inter­ viewees saw them as even more disadvantaged than other minority groups, and this extended to their children. When asked why such a policy was carried out, some explained that this was because of the possibility that some had been trained as spies, but as it was impossible to deter­ mine who was loyal and who was a traitor, a blanket policy of discrimination was applied in order to neutralize any possible threat.

North Koreans with connections to China, Russia and South Korea There are many North Koreans with connections to China and it was the interviewees’ opinion that there was no particular obstacle in living a normal life in a low status occupation but that avenues to advancement beyond this were cut off. On the other hand, those with connections to Russia were descendants of the long-established Soviet-Korean community who came to North Korea during the Korean War. Numerically few, they were usually discriminated against since their appearance was “notably different.” The interviewees claim that most of the children of people with relatives in China would not have experienced serious difficulties due to their origin during their childhood. They would have grown up believing that if they studied hard and were faithful to their organization and 219

Seokhyang Kim

loyal to the Great Leader(s), there would be no particular obstacle placed in their way. However, upon graduation from high school and assignment to either workplaces, the military or further education, it would become clear to them that they could not hope for further advancement. After the North Korean famine and into the 2000s, however, North Koreans with relatives in China were re-evaluated as a group with rising market value because they were able to obtain travel documents to frequently visit China where they could earn money working or else do business. It mattered less that they were barred from advancement through formal channels because they could prosper through the new market economy. This option was largely closed to Koreans with relatives in Russia, who continued to be treated as an underclass. After the famine of the 1990s, the market value of people with South Korean connections also began to be reassessed. In the past, any such connections would of course have been a major disadvantage, but as the number of North Korean defectors living in the South has risen to around 33,000,9 the value of the remittances they send to relatives in the North, most of whom live in the border provinces, has risen. Surveys indicate that roughly two-thirds of the defector population send remittances via Chinese brokers10 and intermediaries with an estimated annual value of several million dollars. People with such connections are increasingly seen as valuable marriage partners, as well as possessing capital for use in the marketplace.

Other low market value people: women and LGBTQ people The interviewees had a clear perception of the role of gender in determining minority group status in North Korea. All the interviewees appeared to agree that in North Korea “men are sky and women are earth.” What was interesting was that to the question whether North Korea was a society with gender equality, a very high proportion of the group clearly answered that it was. When asked what the grounds for their claim was, many would emphasize that North Korea had already enacted equal gender rights legislation in 1946.11 However, they also maintained that although North Korea was an equal society, as part of the natural order of things, women should still serve men as the head of the household and should never neglect their own house­ hold duties. They also took the view that women overall had considerably less market value than men, not the least because with so many men away on extended military service “there were more women around than pebbles on the ground or sardines off the coast of Chongjin.” To sum up the interview data, in North Korea, a clear view of the gender-based role of women as homemakers prevailed, and the concept of a woman pursuing any career independent of this was rejected since a woman cannot be the head of a household. Most interviewees asserted that there were no LGBTQ people in North Korea, and an abso­ lute majority of respondents said they didn’t even know what the term meant. As a matter of fact, the social status of LGBTQ people and how they were treated in North Korea were not a topic the research had set when starting the interviews. Then, after observing that when ques­ tions related to LGBTQ were asked occasionally, they would respond in effect that “there are no such people in North Korea, it is not possible. If it is revealed that someone is homosexual, that person would be executed,” the researcher began to intentionally asked questions regarding LGBTQ people. Most of the respondents said that they only learned about LGBTQ rights after they settled in South Korea. In general, their attitude toward LGBTQ people can be divided into two broad categories. A majority responded negatively to same-sex relations, their responses summed up as “How can a person do such things? It cannot and should not be possible. Why do they do such things when there are men and women?,” while others held views modified by their exposure to LGBTQ issues in South Korea, expressing degrees of tolerance along the lines of ‘If it’s what they want to do and no harm to others, then we should just wait and see.” 220

The “market value” of people in North Korea

The disabled Many of the interviewees said that the disabled in North Korea were perceived as people with no market value. In fact, they did not use the term “disabled.” The North Korean government had enacted a Disabilities Act in 2003,12 but none of the respondents knew about this.13 When they referred to the physically disabled politely, they would use the word “crippled” but in everyday life would refer to the intellectually disabled using the derogatory term byeongshin, or “stupid.” Many of them learned about the neutral term “disabled” (jangae-in) only after they came to South Korea. Many of the respondents said that they had almost never seen a disabled person in North Korea, and that they were surprised that there appeared to be people with dis­ abilities everywhere in the South. Some surmised that the industries of North Korea were not very developed and that fewer disabled children were born because the air was cleaner. For over ten years this researcher has paid attention and collected materials on minority groups categorized depending on the criteria of whether one had a disability and its origin. This has led to the conclusion that the disabled in North Korea could be divided into the three main categories: (1) military veterans; (2) those disabled in an accident after birth; and (3) those born with a disability. Disabled veterans are a minority group with a distinctive character among the disabled in North Korea, because although they are physically disabled, their social prestige is recognized in its own way. Even when the authorities of North Korea denied the existence of disabled people and banished families with a disabled member from Pyongyang, disabled veterans received exceptional treatment. The interviewees explained that because disabled veterans were not born disabled but returned disabled from military service, it was natural for the whole society to grant them benefits. This does not mean that they are always treated as “normal” all the time, and it was the general opinion of the inter­ viewees that “they cannot be like the normal people because they are disabled,” but officials emphasize that veterans should be treated well and they pressure organizations to act accord­ ingly. However, according to the interviewees, because there is little budgetary allocation to look after the living conditions of such veterans, organizations frequently do little more than mobilize local residents to provide improvised volunteer services, such as providing firewood and food “so they would not die.”14 The other two groups of disabled persons are perceived to have very low or no market value Even those who assert that there are not many disabled in North Korea admit that many die or become disabled because of workplace accidents. During the interview, many interviewees shared stories of many people dying or suffering major injuries in this way, and when asked how they make a living afterwards, the interviewees responded that it was all left up to family members. If the injured person’s family was well off, they could be taken care of, but otherwise their future was bleak because, unlike the veterans, those injured in civilian accidents received little support from the government. The two groups described above are considerably better off than those who are born with disabilities, since the interviewees felt they were free of the stigma of possible hereditary con­ ditions. The interviewees expressed their opinion that those born with disabilities were per­ ceived as a burden to society and naturally possessed no market value. They would not receive education or only be taught skills “corresponding to their physical condition.” They were also isolated socially, to the extent of being advised not to appear too much in public where their appearance would cause discomfort to others. Even if they reached marriageable age, marriage prospects were almost non-existent, unless with a person with a complementary disability.

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Some changes in calculating the market value of people in North Korea All the interviewees agreed with the fact that North Korea society has changed a lot since the 1990s. The later the time of defection, the greater the tendency to stress that South Koreans did not know the actual situation there, and that living conditions were not as bad as they used to be. The most crucial factor in this was the Arduous March famine of the 1990s, for if people had not gone through this, they would have retained their respect for their leaders and have been more accepting of the old system. Instead, having seen so many people die, they saw their leaders in a different light, and saw that they would have to fend for themselves in order to survive. Then, after a decade of stop-start economic reform measures, the govern­ ment’s confiscatory November 2009 currency reform, in which many ordinary people saw their North Korean won-denominated savings wiped out, became a further watershed moment which also had a devastating effect on how people viewed their government and its leaders. The interviewees believed that these changes and shocks have deeply affected many aspects of North Korean society, changing traditional concepts of who belonged to the minority cat­ egory of people discriminated against by order of the dominant social group – that is, by the Korean Workers’ Party. The demise of the centrally planned economy essentially destroyed the world of a large number of people who had jobs that were socially valuable and who were of good social standing for this reason. They had been dependent upon the government and the Public Distribution Scheme, but now with no income and no status, they had to acquire new skills to avoid starvation and had to participate in the new economy. For this reason, there have been major changes to the way in which people regard KWP membership and family origin. Within the dominant social group, membership of the Korean Workers’ Party remains important, but it is not nearly as attractive as it used to be. It is the reality of North Korea today that even those invited to join the Party regardless of their background would give excuses because of conflicts of interest, since they or their family were often con­ ducting business activities and these might be compromised by the strict regulations that govern the daily lives of Party members. In such a situation, it would be better not to join the Party in the first place, rather than join and run into trouble later on. Similarly, unless a person specifi­ cally seeks to rise to an official position of authority, family origin no longer has a major influ­ ence on daily lives because the Party and government are no longer capable of systematically enforcing their authority in this area, especially as it relates to business activities, and so such people are in a better position to leverage the system. The status of women has also risen in proportion to their involvement in the new business opportunities that have opened up in the marketizing economy of the North. Of course, this does not mean that in reality women and men are treated equally or that women’s status even approximates that of men. However, those women who are successful in their business activities now possess enhanced market value. They are still generally expected to seek out a marriage partner while in their early twenties and their value tends to fall steadily after this, but successful businesswomen in their thirties remain matrimonial prospects. However, changes in North Korean society do not appear to have affected perceptions of disability. North Korea has pursued public relations-oriented changes in policy such as sending an amputee athlete to the 2012 London Paralympics and signing the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities in 2016. However, due to a continuing statistical blackout on disability-related matters, it remains impossible to assess what, if any, progress there has been. Certainly, though, analysis of interviewees’ comments shows that the discriminatory perception toward the disabled in the daily lives of citizens remains strong. 222

The “market value” of people in North Korea

Conclusion The North Korea defectors whom the researcher interviewed generally demonstrated a discrimi­ natory attitude toward different groups in society by indicating which groups they believed had high, low or no market value. The degree differed from person to person but it seemed that at the base of their consciousness they were reluctant to admit that women, LGBTQ people, the disabled or people with family connections abroad were people with equal market value as themselves. So where did the North Korea defectors’ mindset of discriminating minorities originate from? Addressing this question was the starting point of this research, and a tentative conclusion so far is that their education gave them an isolated and highly conservative view of human society, which they have deeply absorbed through an intense process of socialization. Perhaps the saddest aspect of the defector interviews was that while they assert that they suffer from social prejudices as a minority community in South Korea or wherever else they live, they appear oblivious to the level of prejudice they are demonstrating toward other groups within North Korea by using expressions such as “people with low or no market value.” Their attitudes cannot be blamed solely on their individual sense of morality since they are only reflecting the norms of the society they had been brought up in, and they have never been exposed to any different standards. However, the attitude of North Korean defectors discriminating against the minorities using the criteria of people’s “market value” cannot be ignored and should be challenged. They need the opportunity to be exposed to the diversity of social groups typical in modern societies everywhere, and to acquire a clearer perception of the equal value of all human lives.

Notes 1 For further details, see Kim (2012), pp. 243–273.

2 For details, see www.unikorea.go.kr/unikorea/business/NKDefectorsPolicy/status/lately/

3 The inminban, or “people’s unit,” constitutes a major local neighborhood unit of organization in which

all North Korean households participate. Focused on cooperation and surveillance, it is not formally part of the political security and surveillance network but operates in support of it, the units’ leaders meeting regularly with local Party authorities, and reporting on social, criminal and political transgres­ sions. Indications are that since the famine period of the 1990s and the subsequent acceptance of market reforms within the North Korean economy, the level of vigilance applied by these committees has fallen, although they still remain an important source of social and political control. 4 Currently, the North Korean education system features 12 years of compulsory education, comprising 1 year of pre-school, 5 years of elementary school, and 6 years of middle and high school. Before 2014, however, North Korea had 11 years of compulsory education, comprising 1 year of pre-school, 4 years of elementary school, and 6 years of middle and high school. Most of the researcher’s interviewees, however, did finish the 11 years of compulsory education before 2014 in North Korea. For details, see Kim and Kim (2017). 5 At the time, Lim Su-kyung was a South Korean student activist who traveled to Pyongyang for the Festival in direct defiance of a South Korean government travel ban. The North Korean authorities gave her visit major media coverage, but whatever the propaganda value, it appears that quite a few North Korean women were more influenced by her appearance, especially her clothes and hairstyle, which was considerably more stylish than the more drab local fashions. For details, see Kim and Lankov (2016) and Kim (2019). 6 Kim (2018), pp. 49–77.

7 For details, see Kim (2015).

8 Between 1959 and 1984, some 93,400 former Korean residents of Japan were repatriated from Japan

to North Korea. For details, see Morris Suzuki (2007). 9 See www.unikorea.go.kr/unikorea/business/NKDefectorsPolicy/status/lately/ 10 See www.nkdb.org/en/database/findings.php 11 Since then, the North Korean government has commemorated the enacting of this legislation annually on July 30.

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Seokhyang Kim 12 The North Korean government enacted its Disabilities Act in 2003 and revised it in 2013. 13 For more details, see Kim (2011). 14 Every once in a while, state-run media in North Korea portrays the marriage stories between those “honorable veterans” and women who are taking care them. For details, see Kim (2010).

References Kim, S. H. 2010. “북한의 공식담론에 나타나는 영예군인과 그를 돌보는 여성 이야기의 사회적 분 석,” 현대북한연구” [Analysis of the Stories of “Honorable Veterans” and Women Who Are Com­ mitted to Taking Care Them in the Official Discourse of the DPRK], North Korean Studies Review, vol. 13, no. 2, pp. 7–46. Kim, S. H. 2011. “북한 장애인의 일상생활 현황: 북한이탈주민의 인식을 중심으로, 북한연구학회 보” [The Daily Lives of the Disabled in the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK): Stories from the DPRK Defectors’ Recollections], The Korean Association of North Korean Studies, vol. 15, no. 1, pp. 85–110. Kim, S. H. 2012. “북한 내 공적-사적 인권담론 분석,” [Public and Private Discourse on Human Rights in North Korea], Ewha Journal of Social Sciences, vol. 27, pp. 243–273. Kim, S. H. 2015. “북한 내 사람값 담론과 소수자 유형 분류 시도” [Minorities in North Korea: Who Are They and Why Are They Classified as Minorities?], The Journal of Asian Studies, vol. 58, no. 1, pp. 7–37. Kim, S. H. 2018. 북조선 여성, 장마당 뷰티로 잠자던 욕망을 분출하다, 서울: 도서출판 선인 (한국 어로 쓴 단행본 책자입니다). [North Korean Society and its People: Capitalist Wife and Socialist Husband, in Whither North Korea?], Seoul: The Sejong Institute. Kim, S. H. 2019.북조선 여성, 장마당 뷰티로 잠자던 욕망을 분출하다, 서울: 도서출판 선인 (한국 어로 쓴 단행본 책자입니다). Kim, S. H. and Kim, K. M. 2017. “로동신문에 나타난 북한의 전반적 12년제 의무교육 분석” [An Analysis of North Korea’s 12-Year Compulsory Education System, from the Rodong Shinmun], Unifica­ tion Policy Studies, vol. 26, no. 1 pp. 105–134. Kim, S. H. and Lankov, A. L. 2016. “Unexpected Results of a Political Pilgrimage: Yim Su-gyong’s 1989 Trip to North Korea and Changes in North Koreans’ Worldview,” Asian Perspective, vol. 40, no. 2, pp. 245–269. Morris-Suzuki, T. 2007. Exodus to North Korea: Shadows from Japan’s Cold War, Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield.

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15

Child Mass Mobilization in

north Korea

Miju Kim

Introduction Civil society in the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK) is characterized by high levels of social mobilization. Schools are not exempt from this, and the education program therefore includes a strong component of extracurricular activity. This is not unique in itself, for many education systems worldwide include such activities, which are typically defined as being voluntary in nature, oriented toward social engagement and usually carried out through the activities of clubs and societies. However, the scope of student mobilization in the DPRK has advanced significantly beyond this to activities that resemble child labor, and this has resulted in conflicts with a number of United Nations agencies and conventions, most notably the United Nations Human Rights Council (UNHRC), the International Labour Organization (ILO) and the UN Committee on the Rights of the Child (CRC), as well as numerous NGOs focused on human rights in the DPRK. The essence of the conflict between the DPRK and the inter­ national community as represented by these organizations lies in the extent to which child mobilization in the DPRK simply involves economic production, and therefore cannot be meaningfully related to the education curriculum. This chapter outlines the course of this con­ flict and discusses the prospects for future amelioration. Perhaps the first question to ask is why the issue child labor arises in the first place in the DPRK, and this causes us to consider a number of ideological and economic factors. First, the DPRK economic system has its roots in the model of a planned socialist economy, characterized by near total government control over the allocation of labor and by high levels of social mobil­ ization. In short, the government decides who works where. Second, the DPRK appears to suffer from a chronic labor shortage, fundamentally caused by the lengthy period of conscripted military service undertaken by all North Korean men and significant numbers of North Korean women from age 18 onward, as well as by the scope of paramilitary service. Third, the DPRK is a militarized state with a militarized economy, where it is commonly estimated that 40–50 percent of all production is carried out by or on behalf of the military (Bermudez 2001). They have first call on the nation’s resources, and this relegates the civilian sector to a technologically inferior position, where it is more dependent on an unskilled and semi-skilled workforce to carry out fundamental tasks. Finally, while a significant market economy sector has emerged in the DPRK, this trend has not been accompanied by any corresponding development of a legal 225

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framework to regulate employment practices (Lankov et al. 2017, p. 157). Characteristically, the government has simply relinquished control over wide areas of governance within this sector, and that makes it possible for child labor to flourish, especially since a large proportion of the population lives in extreme poverty.1 This is why over many years testimony from refugees and defectors from the North has cumulatively painted a picture of the multi-faceted ways in which school-aged children have been directly involved in economic production, both because their labor is free and because of shortages of labor within the overall workforce. This has caused UN agencies to focus on a number of key areas and activities, and in 2017 it led the Committee on the Rights of the Child (CRC) to state: [it remained] seriously concerned about consistent reports of children continuing to spend a considerable amount of the time allocated to education on performing different types of labour, including agriculture and construction projects that sometimes involve massive mobilization for periods of one month at a time, and cases of students spending their afternoons performing tasks for teachers, such as working in fields and transport­ ing firewood. (Committee on the Rights of the Child 2017, p. 2)2 International organizations place a premium on ending child labor as it exposes children to dangerous environments and hinders both their development and their formal education. More­ over, they argue that child labor must be abolished because, unlike adults, children are unable to demand due rights in dangerous or unfair situations. The international community’s views on child labor can best be understood by referring to ILO documents, which in accordance with the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child define a child as an individual under the age of 18 years and set the target population for measuring child labor at all persons in the age group from 5–17 years. The ILO identifies four major categories for child labor, namely, (1) produc­ tion for household end use; (2) work performed for pay or profit; (3) unpaid trainee work by children for the purpose of acquiring workplace experience or skills; and (4) volunteer work, comprising non-compulsory work performed for the benefit of other parties without pay.3 As of 2016, 152 million children worldwide in this age group were engaged in child labor, com­ prising 64 million girls and 88 million boys. Some 71 percent worked in agriculture, mainly in Asian and African countries, while roughly half were engaged in work assessed as directly injuri­ ous to their health, safety and moral development. The overall trend both for the total number of child workers and for the proportion engaged in hazardous work has been downward since 2000, the former from 245 million to 152 million, and the latter from c. 170 million to 72 million. While there are many obvious issues in assembling accurate statistics across multiple self-reporting jurisdictions, this trend largely reflects greater awareness of the dangers and unfair­ ness of child labor. However, the extent of child labor in the DPRK is difficult to gauge because as a non­ member of the ILO, it is not subject to UN scrutiny, nor is it included in the ILO’s Inter­ national Programme on the Elimination of Child Labour (IPEC),4 a program established by the ILO in 1992 which focuses on the abolition of child labor in over 90 countries. However, the issue is serious enough for the DPRK to attract criticism from other UN agencies, notably the CRC, which in 2017 advised the DPRK in the following terms: While noting that national legislation prohibits child labour and the State party’s posi­ tion that child labour has been abolished as children are required to attend only three 226

Child mass mobilization in North Korea

weeks per year of “school practice”, the Committee remains seriously concerned about information on children being requested to perform extensive labour tasks that interfere with their education, physical and mental development and well-being. The Committee is seriously concerned about: (a) The fact that the State party’s labour laws do not prohibit harmful or hazardous work for children under age 18;5 (b) Children being requested to volunteer extensive periods of their day to work on farms and in mines, collect wood in the forests, weed in neighbourhoods and local towns, repair railroads, clean statues and participate in forestation initiatives and construction projects (referred to as “economic assignments”), which interferes with their rights to education, health, rest and leisure, and the practice of exempt­ ing children from these tasks in exchange for money; (c) Children being requested to participate in mass agricultural mobilizations, with long working hours per day and occasionally for one month at a time, and their being away from their families for that period; (d) The practice of accepting children aged 16 and 17 to dolgyeokdae (military-style construction youth brigades) for 10-year periods, which entail long working hours and heavy physical work, and curtail children’s access to education. (Committee on the Rights of the Child 2017, p. 13)6 In formal terms, then, what does child mass mobilization in North Korea consist of, how is it organized, and how does it depart from international norms? The DPRK authorities define child mobilization activities as educational, and include such activities as tree planting and pro­ duction labor as part of the school curriculum.7 Child mobilization also takes place outside the formal curriculum in the form of club activities during school hours and after school, where children usually collect firewood, mushrooms and other edible or medicinal plants. In par­ ticular, they are mobilized for farming to transplant rice in spring, weed fields in summer and harvest crops in fall. Children are also sent to other regions for periods of time to do farm work. They may be mobilized not just during the busy farming seasons to cover labor shortages, but also when there are major construction projects in their area such as apartment or factory con­ struction, where during school hours, they may be called upon to transport construction mater­ ials or perform miscellaneous tasks at construction sites.8 The authorities insist that such activities are educational in that they help the students to understand the lives of peasants and workers, but children from the families of high cadres and children in gifted student programs are widely exempt from such work, while the offering of bribes by parents to the school to exempt students from participation is also a common strategy. Such practices would not occur if mobilization activities were seen and accepted as an integral part of the school curriculum instead of an intru­ sion on a legitimate curriculum, and this is where the question of the difference between educa­ tion and child labor naturally arises.

Age group and size of child labor workforce in North Korea In the DPRK, a child is defined as an individual under the age of 16 years, which is two years younger than the UN definition. Therefore, 16–17-year-olds in the DPRK who are still children according to the international standards, join the workforce, and this is a key source of contention. To some extent, this is an anomaly which the DPRK appears to be aware of, and although it has not announced any plans to bring this definition into line with the UN definition, it has stated that 227

Miju Kim

it expects this issue to be resolved with the full implementation of its 2014 expansion of the com­ pulsory education system from 11 years to 12, which will mean that students will remain in school until they turn 18.9 Regarding child labor, the DPRK government insists that it is nonexistent in North Korea, on the grounds that the Constitution prohibits the employment of children under the minimum working age of 16. That said, despite the existence of this constitutional prohibition and an accompanying legal framework, the claim that there is no child labor is difficult to accept at face value since credible statistics, especially those linking age to occupation are lacking. More­ over, there is a fundamental definitional problem in that what outsiders might consider as consti­ tuting child labor, the DPRK might refer to as young people “contributing to the development of society.” We are therefore limited in our ability to apply DPRK norms to the ILO categories of child labor described above. Nevertheless, since this does represent one of the few means of narrow­ ing the definitional gap between the DPRK and UN agencies, Table 15.1 attempts to do so.

UN criticism of child mobilization and North Korea’s response Discussion between the UN and the DPRK on the issue of child labor takes place through the Committee on the Rights of the Child, one of a number of UN bodies which monitors and oversees activities in areas covered by various UN declarations, conventions and treaties. This Committee comprises interlocutors and participants from a range of countries and holds regular annual sessions to review reports submitted by member states on their activities in fulfilling their obligations as signatories to the Convention of the Rights of the Child. The Committee in turn receives these presentations as well as briefs from other interested parties, discusses relevant issues with the member state concerned and makes suggestions and recommendations. Since acceding to the Convention in 1990, the DPRK has passed through five presentations to the Committee under a mechanism known as the UNHRC Universal Periodic Review, the last occurring in 2017.10 Table 15.1 ILO categories of child labor: examples in the DPRK ILO category

Examples in the DPRK

Production for household end use

Since this is largely a rural phenomenon, given factors such as the high rate of urbanization, the compulsory education system and the high cultural value placed on achievement in the education system, this is unlikely to be significant.

Work performed for pay or profit

Older, poorer children have slipped out of the increasingly porous government welfare and distribution network as well as the education system to work in this category.

Unpaid trainee work by children for In the past the highly centralized labor allocation system would the purpose of acquiring workplace have mitigated against this, but under the market-based economic experience or skills reforms introduced in recent years, employment has become increasingly decentralized, and children from poor households may well be attracted to such work. Volunteer work, comprising nonThis is the major focus of UN agencies and humanitarian NGOs, compulsory work performed for the and available evidence suggests that it is widespread within the benefit of other parties without pay DPRK school system.

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Child mass mobilization in North Korea

Before discussing specific issues, it may be useful to view the DPRK response to UN agency criticisms in more general terms. In his 2017 report to the UN Committee on the Rights of the Child, the DPRK permanent representative to the UN made the following key points. • • • •

During the 2008–2015 period, a series of legislative and practical measures for the protec­ tion and promotion of the rights of the child had been adopted. The UN Optional Protocol on the Sale of Children, Child Prostitution and Child Porno­ graphy, a protocol to the Convention on the Rights of the Child had been ratified. UN sanctions against the DPRK “threatened the life and wellbeing of children and repres­ ented a serious challenge for the protection of their rights.” The DPRK categorically rejected refugee and defector testimony as “politically motivated dialogue based on false testimonies of the fugitives from justice.”

Table 15.2 shows some more specific responses from the DPRK delegation. Table 15.2 DPRK responses to CRC issues Issues raised by CRC

DPRK response

Independent monitoring mechanisms in the DPRK

A broad array of independent organizations participated in child protection-related activities. The independence of those organizations was fully guaranteed, without any government interference or limitation, to the extent that they acted within the framework of the law.

Discrimination through the songbun system of The songbun system did not exist in the Democratic social stratification People’s Republic of Korea, It was an imaginary concept invented by forces hostile to the Pyongyang Government. There was no discrimination under the laws or in practice as the principles of unity and equality were central to the functioning of society. Children with disabilities

The principle of non-discrimination was guaranteed by the Constitution and by legislation. People and children with disabilities were a priority concern for the Government and did not face discrimination.

Agricultural work and labor exploitation

Forced child labor did not exist in the DPRK, where all government authorities were regarded as servants of the people. Labor beyond what was expected in the curriculum was prohibited under the law, and a strict supervising system was in place; young people learned basic agricultural techniques from the peasantry; the maximum duration of the work of the fields was limited to three weeks per year. Concerning construction and labor brigades, there were no such practices; secondary school leavers could take part in work camps if they wanted to contribute to development of their country and this was not a question of forced labor.

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Such responses either did not fully address the terms of the CRC’s queries, or lacked a considerable degree of credibility, and this was reflected in the general comment of Kirsten Sandberg, Committee Rapporteur for the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, that it was “hard to believe that there were so few problems in the protection of children’s rights in the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea”11 and that more data were needed to understand the reality on the ground. More specifically, Sandberg also noted that notwithstanding a series of measures taken, relating to the rights of the child, there appeared to be no single high-level coordinating body to oversee implementation, while others commented on the gap between reporting legislative changes and reporting implementation measures. Specifically, in its con­ cluding observations, in addition to lack of data collection, the CRC singled out as key issues that under the child labor regimen children were deprived of a family environment, nutrition, and a full education.

Conclusion In its Universal Periodic Review interactions with UN agencies on human rights issues gener­ ally and on the specific issue of child labor, the DPRK has adopted a specific strategy, described by Chow in the following terms: North Korea has consistently accepted weak recommendations, rejected more specific policy changes, and implemented accepted recommendations on a limited basis, allow­ ing it to claim compliance with human rights at minimal cost. The UPR’s reliance on states’ self-reports and its inability to adjudicate competing factual claims allow North Korea to reject claims of egregious abuses, openly advocate for a radically state-centric vision of human rights, and challenge the legitimacy of human rights mechanisms like the Commission of Inquiry and Special Rapporteur while building support from other states with similar views. (2017, p. 146) This has enabled the DPRK to maintain a fragmentary response despite the international com­ munity’s wide-ranging criticism of its child mass mobilization practices. Its withholding of sta­ tistics and the screening off of its education facilities from outside observation have enabled it to maintain that the type of mobilization undergone in the education system is part of the school curriculum. In this manner it may be seen that UN scrutiny has had at best a marginal effect on such practices. It also appears from a variety of sources that the DPRK now suffers from a chronic labor shortage, especially in the area of unskilled laboring on construction projects. Huge reserves of manpower remain tied up in the armed forces, substantial labor resources previously available to the government are now tied up in the market economy, while the central government can no longer rely on either ideological incentives or the levying of workforce quotas on local Party organizations in order to fulfill its needs. The burden therefore falls more and more on child labor, who comprise around 20 percent of the total population, as practically the only remaining resource. With the DPRK currently falling under increasing pressure due to the severe UN sanctions regime imposed by the UN Security Council in response to the North’s nuclear weapons program, it does not seem like a promising time to begin a conversation on this issue. Ironically, then, the DPRK’s UN Representative was quite correct in maintaining that the burden of the sanctions falls disproportionately in children. This burden, however, is the result of choices made by the DPRK authorities, and is likely to persist for the foreseeable future.12 230

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Notes 1 In 2019, the UN Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights described the standard of living endured by most North Koreans in the following terms: According to United Nations entities operating in the country, in 2019 around 10.9 million people (over 43 percent of the total population) are undernourished and suffer from food insecurity, and also have unmet health, water, sanitation and hygiene needs. Almost 10 million people do not have access to safe drinking water and 16 per cent of people do not have access to basic sanitation facilities, increasing the risk of disease and malnutrition. The joint Multiple Indicator Cluster Survey (MICS) conducted in 2017 by the Government and the United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF) revealed that 20 per cent of children under five years of age showed signs of impaired physical and cognitive growth, with a higher stunting rate among girls (19.9 per cent) compared to boys (18.4 per cent). An estimated 3 per cent of children under five (approximately 140,000) suffered from wasting or acute mal­ nutrition. Furthermore, the 2018 Global Hunger Index classified the level of hunger as “serious” and “bordering on alarming”, ranking the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea 109 out of 119 ranked countries. The report cited the “troubling trend” of worsening hunger and undernutrition, with an index score of 34 in 2018 – an increase from 28.2 in 2017, and the highest since 2000

(OHCHR 2019, pp. 11–12) 2 This is of course expressed in the restrained language of a United Nations agency, and somewhat con­ trasts with the more detailed description of the scope of child labor offered by the NGO Human Rights Watch: [B]oth the Workers’ Party of Korea and the Ministry of Education compelled labor from children in collaboration with schools and universities. They also made use of party wings such as the Korean Children’s Union (which students between the ages of 7 and 13 are required to join), and the Kimilsungist-Kimjongilist Youth League (which is comprised of students between the ages of 14 and 30). Schools, party wings, school administrators, and teachers required students to farm, to help construct buildings, statues, roads or railroads, and collect materials (for example, scrap metal, broken rocks, pebbles, rabbit skin, old paper) that could be used or sold by the school. If a student cannot meet the required quota for prod­ ucts collected, which happens in many cases, then the student is required to pay a cash penalty.

(Human Rights Watch, n.d.)

3 UN Doc. ICLS/20/18/Resolution IV(2018), para 12. 4 See International Labour Organization, IPEC and Global Flagship Programme Implementation: Towards a World Free from Child Labour and Force Labour (Geneva: ILO, 2019), p. 12. 5 The DPRK defines adulthood as beginning at age 16, which is at variance with the CRC definition of adulthood beginning at 18. 6 In North Korea, there is a form of work force known as a “shock brigade,” (dolgyeokdae). Based on a Soviet precedent set during the Stalin era, it comprises a work force organized to provide intensive labor inputs to major construction projects where labor shortages exist. Young North Koreans may participate in this work for a period of several months or up to ten years. Participation is viewed as a gateway to becoming a member of Korean Workers’ Party (KWP), but recent defector testimony indicates that joining the KWP has become less desirable as more people are attracted to the better financial rewards available through conducting private economic activity. Consequently, fewer people join these brigades, and this has led authorities to mobilize children for them. There have been reports of primary school students being mobilized for such activities. Internationally, DPRK labor practices involving under-18s have also been scrutinized by non-government bodies. Noteworthy among these is the risk analysis firm Verisk Maplecroft’s annual Child Labour Index, an index VM describes as having been developed to enable companies to identify where the risk of association or complicity with child labour is highest in their supply chains, [and which] measures the frequency and severity of viola­ tions, a country’s adoption of laws and international treaties, and its ability and will to enforce them.

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7 8 9 10

11 12

In 2019, the index ranked the DPRK as globally the worst-performing country – that is, the country where children were in the highest state of risk, followed by Somalia, South Sudan, Eritrea and the Central African Republic. See Progress on child labour flatlining in world’s manufacturing hubs, www. maplecroft.com/insights/analysis/child-labour-in-worlds-manufacturing-hubs/. See Do et al. (2016), p. 52. The above examples are drawn from ibid., the proceedings of the UN Committee on the Rights of the Child, especially submissions by outside parties such as Amnesty International, and from accumulated defector and refugee testimony. See Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights, “Committee on the Rights of the Child Considers the Report of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea,” available at: www.ohchr.org/ EN/NewsEvents/Pages/DisplayNews.aspx?NewsID=22120&LangID=E And a further three reviews to the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights. For copies of the relevant documentation for all three OHCHR review sessions, see Universal Periodic Review – Demo­ cratic People’s Republic of Korea, available at: www.ohchr.org/EN/HRBodies/UPR/Pages/KPindex. aspx. For an analysis of the DPRK’s participation in this process, see Jonathan Chow (2017). See Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights, “Committee on the Rights of the Child,” op. cit. See Miju Kim, “A Study on Rights of the North Korean Children,” PhD thesis, Ewha Womans University, 2018, p. 218.

References Bermudez Jr, J. S. 2001. Shield of the Great Leader: The Armed Forces of North Korea. Sydney: Allen & Unwin. Chow, J. T. 2017. “North Korea’s Participation in the Universal Periodic Review of Human Rights,” Australian Journal of International Affairs, vol. 71, no. 2, pp. 146–163. Committee on the Rights of the Child. 2017. “List of Issues in Relation to the Fifth Periodic Report of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea,” available at: www.refworld.org/publisher,CRC,,PRK,5 0ffbce591,,0.html (accessed November 12, 2019). Democratic People’s Republic of Korea Central Bureau of Statistics. 2013. “Final Report of the National Nutrition Survey, 2012 September 17th to October 17th 2012,” Available at: https://reliefweb.int/ sites/reliefweb.int/files/resources/DPRK-NNS-Final-Report_eng-2013f.pdf (accessed November 12, 2019). Do, K., Im, Y., Lee, G. and Jehwan, H. 2016. Human Rights in North Korea: Women and Children, Seoul: KINU. Human Rights Watch. n.d. “UN North Korea Exploiting Children: Forced Labor and Discrimination Will Top Child Rights Committee Briefing,” available at: www.hrw.org/news/2017/02/08/un­ north-korea-exploiting-children International Labour Organization. 2017. “Ending Child Labour by 2025: A Review of Policies and Pro­ grammes,” available at: www.ilo.org/ipec/Informationresources/WCMS_IPEC_PUB_29875/lang­ en/index.htm (accessed November 12, 2019). International Labour Organization. 2019. IPEC and Global Flagship Programme Implementation: Towards a World Free from Child Labour and Force Labour, Geneva: ILO, p. 12. Kim, M. 2019. “A Study on the Rights of North Korean Children: System,Investment and Outcome,” PhD thesis, Ewha Womans University, Seoul. Lankov, A., Ward, P., Yoo, H. Y. and Kim, J. Y. 2017. “North Korea’s New Capitalists and Their Workers: Business Practice and Labor Relations,” Communist and Post-communist Studies, vol. 50, no. 3, pp. 157–167. Available at: www.riss.kr/link?id=O74866148 (accessed November 10, 2019). United Nations Human Rights Office of the High Commissioner. 2017. “Committee on the Rights of the Child Considers the Report of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea,” available at: www.ohchr. org/EN/NewsEvents/Pages/DisplayNews.aspx?NewsID=22120&LangID=E (accessed December 7, 2019).

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16

The NorTh KoreaN Diaspora

Sheena Chestnut Greitens

Introduction The past two decades have witnessed the development of a new phenomenon: a small but growing globally dispersed population of North Koreans, comprising individuals who have left North Korea since the beginning of the 1990s and whose identity is at least partially distinct from previous generations of emigrants from the Korean Peninsula. There is scholarship on the earlier waves of migration that formed the initial Korean diaspora, including the diaspora’s historical relevance to Korean state formation and contemporary forms of transnational politics in and around the Korean Peninsula. Thus far, however, little attention has focused on contemporary migration from North Korea and its relation to diasporic politics. As yet, there is relatively little work on the emerging communities of North Korean émigrés who have taken up residence beyond the Korean Pen­ insula – their destinations, their experiences, their conceptions of identity, and their engagement either in their host countries or in politics surrounding their Korean homeland, whether that homeland is considered to be the entire Korean Peninsula or North Korea alone. This chapter examines these aspects of the North Korean diaspora. It begins by outlining the migration processes and resettlement destinations of individuals who have escaped from the North, and discusses several major factors that shape where these communities have emerged. The chapter then places these developments in a diasporic framework, arguing that the global dispersion of North Korean emigrants, combined with a sense of homeland orientation and developing trans­ national ties, qualify them as a nascent diaspora. The chapter next discusses current trends in both diasporic political engagement and the North Korean regime’s policies toward its diasporic popu­ lation, suggesting that in light of North Korea’s repressive domestic environment, the diaspora represents a fragmented and limited – but still significant – source of extraterritorial contention, and one that the North Korean regime appears to take seriously. Even though it is small, the polit­ ical significance of the North Korean diaspora means that it should be factored into our thinking about North Korea’s global presence and role in world politics, now and in the future.

Describing contemporary North Korean migration and resettlement It may be helpful to think of the North Korean diaspora as one of two parallel networks that together comprise North Korea’s global presence. One of these networks is chiefly composed 233

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of diplomats and overseas workers; this network of people is projected by the state and remains affiliated with it (Hastings 2016; East-West Center and National Committee on North Korea 2019). The other is composed of refugees and defectors who have chosen to exit North Korea to seek a life elsewhere, and who have also increasingly become globally dispersed. This chapter focuses primarily on the latter. Conventional wisdom on emigration from the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK) usually portrays North Korean defectors and refugees as congregating in the Republic of Korea (ROK).1 That perception is still largely accurate. As of June 2019, approximately 33,000 defectors had entered the ROK to resettle (Ministry of Unification 2019), by far the largest concentration of permanently resettled North Korean exiles outside of the territory of the DPRK. Because South Korea is part of the Korean “homeland,” however, it is not clear whether North Korean resettlement to and within the southern half of the peninsula – even a peninsula long divided into two separate countries – counts as diasporic migration. In the narrat­ ives of both North and South Korea, these Koreans remain within their peninsular homeland. In recent years, however, an increasing number of North Korean emigrants have sought refugee status, claimed asylum, and attempted to resettle in countries other than the ROK. North Korean onward migration from South Korea to other countries has also increased, making the ROK not only a resettlement destination, but also a transit point in the broader global processes of migration (Song 2015). Today, nearly half of North Koreans who claim asylum or seek resettlement do so in a country other than the Republic of Korea: UNHRC data suggest that North Koreans had sought refugee or asylum seeker status in 37 different countries as of late 2016.2 In some countries there were only one or two applicants per country in isolated years, suggesting possible cases of diplomatic defection. In other cases, however, such as Canada, the USA and the United Kingdom, the numbers of individuals seeking asylum or refugee status are much larger and have remained relatively consistent over several years, suggesting more sustained patterns of migration and resettlement. As yet, however, research on this global population is relatively undeveloped and uneven. Some communities, such as the longstanding Korean communities in Japan, have been the subject of ethnographic or anthropological studies, while others have received little to no schol­ arly attention. The literature on the Korean diaspora, meanwhile, has been heavily focused on transnational South Korean migration for economic purposes, and the policies of the ROK government toward migrants of various backgrounds, as well as toward the broader overseas Korean community (Park and Chang 2005; Lee 2010, 2012; Brubaker and Kim 2011; Yoon 2012; Kim, M. 2013; Kim 2016; Lee and Chien 2017). Meanwhile, as noted above, studies of North Korea’s global activity have tended to focus on its formal or state-aligned diplomatic and economic activities, and have not emphasized diasporic elements in characterizing the country’s global presence. This chapter, therefore, describes patterns of migration and resettlement among the North Korean diaspora more broadly, and considers the implications of viewing this emerg­ ing population through a diasporic lens.3

Factors that shape North Korean migration and resettlement North Korean migration and resettlement beyond South Korea can be divided between “direct migration” – refugees or defectors who go straight to countries other than the ROK to resettle – and those who attempt to settle in South Korea first, but then engage in “secondary/onward migration” to other destinations. North Korean migration has also been shaped by both “push” and “pull” factors. So-called “push” factors come in two forms: first, the conditions that impel North Koreans to leave the DPRK in the first place, and second, the conditions of resettlement 234

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in South Korea that can then propel resettled North Koreans to migrate out of South Korea to take up residence elsewhere. “Pull” factors, on the other hand, are factors that either draw North Koreans toward South Korea, or that draw resettled North Koreans, who have decided to leave the South, toward specific locations beyond the ROK. The first set of factors that has shaped North Korean global migration has to do with both the circumstances that attract refugees toward South Korea and the conditions that face North Koreans after their arrival in the ROK. These circumstances have changed considerably over time as the composition of the defector/refugee population has also evolved. During the Cold War, North Korean defectors were comparatively few in number: often officials of high rank who were perceived to have significant intelligence value and treated as returning anti­ communist heroes by the South Korean state (Chung 2008; Lee 2016). In the early to mid­ 1990s, however, after economic crisis and famine swept North Korea, a larger influx of migrants began to seek resettlement in South Korea. These individuals were predominantly female, of lower socio-economic status, and from provinces such as North and South Hamgyong, which had been hardest hit by the famine (Choo 2006; Chung 2008). Over time, resettled North Koreans also brought family members to join them in the South, meaning that chain migration has played an increasing role in shaping North Korean migration flows. The changing composition of the North Korean population in South Korea has also affected resettlement outcomes, which in turn affects the impetus for onward or secondary migration. As Yoon (2001) notes, defectors who arrived after 1994 tend to exhibit lower levels of income, higher levels of unemployment, and less satisfaction with life in South Korea (see also Lankov 2006; Go 2014; Lee 2016). Unemployment rates among defectors in the South have declined significantly in recent years, from 13.7 percent in 2009 to: 6.9 percent in 2018. The percentage of North Korean resettlers who receive livelihood and welfare benefits was 23.8 percent in 2018, a steady decline from rates that exceeded 50 percent in 2008–2010, and job security and average monthly wages have also increased (Ministry of Unification 2019; Radio Free Asia 2019).4 Nevertheless, the defector unemployment rate remains significantly higher than that of the general ROK population during the same period (3.5–4 percent). Moreover, survey and interview data suggest that beyond issues of income and economic livelihood, North Koreans struggle to feel integrated into South Korean society. Their pub­ lished writings express a range of simultaneous and contradictory feelings about their experi­ ences: “guilt and appreciation, anger and sorrow, nostalgia and assimilation, hope and disappointment” (Kim, M. 2013, p. 523). Moreover, as relates specifically to feelings of belong­ ing, South Korea’s response to North Koreans is one of duality: North Koreans are viewed both as part of the community in ethnic terms, but outside it and a potential threat to it in security terms (Sohn and Lee 2012; Son 2016). Interestingly, some studies find that there are few differ­ ences in national identity between North and South Koreans (Denney and Green 2019) and that some North Koreans co-identify strongly with South Koreans (Hur 2018), but ethnographic scholarship on North Koreans in South Korea tends to emphasize their experience of “differen­ tial exclusion,” in which formal citizenship in the nation-state of the Republic of Korea does not confer full social membership in South Korean society (Castles 1995; Bell 2013). Other scholarship suggests that North Koreans are regarded less favorably compared to more affluent migrants (Seol and Skrenty 2009). These studies also suggest that religious and civic organiza­ tions, and pseudo-kinship connections among networks of North Koreans themselves, are only partially successful in filling the gaps left by state resettlement programs (Kim, E. 2010; Bell 2013; Han 2013). The challenges that North Korean resettlers face in South Korea came to the fore in summer 2019, when defector Han Sung-ok and her 6-year-old son Kim Dong-jin were found dead in 235

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their apartment in Seoul, having passed away from apparent starvation (Kim 2019; Kwon 2019). Han, who left North Korea in 2007, had been sold to a Korean-Chinese husband whom she eventually divorced. In Seoul, she struggled to care for her epileptic son and to obtain welfare support; bank statements suggested that she had withdrawn the last 3,860krw (about $3) from her account in mid-May. Her death and that of her son prompted widespread public outcry and memorializing that resonated throughout North Korean communities in the South. The Min­ istry of Unification (MOU) apologized and promised to pursue new policies aimed at minimiz­ ing “blind spots in welfare” for defectors, but a coalition of activist groups has mounted protests and urged more systematic changes – including increased availability of childcare, which is a major obstacle to employment and economic success for a population that includes many single mothers.5 Although North Korean resettlers generally report satisfaction with their resettlement and lives in South Korea (73 percent in the latest Hana Foundation survey), data from other surveys indicate that nearly a quarter have considered returning to the North. Ministry of Unification statistics record 28 cases of actual re-defection to the DPRK between 2012 and 2017, though some of these returns may have been coerced rather than voluntary (Green et al. 2015; Radio Free Asia 2019). For those who would not consider re-defection or a return to North Korea, these same conditions can provide the impetus for onward migration. One survey of North Korean migrants who have opted for onward migration to Britain, for example, suggests that secondary migration to the UK is motivated strongly by North Koreans resettlers’ perceived inability to find pathways toward social and economic upward mobility in South Korea (Bell and Song 2018). The other important enabling factor shaping pathways of secondary migration is the availability of increasingly globalized broker networks, which promise to help onward migrants find mobility and opportunity elsewhere, and which provide a wealth of practical advice on the relative benefits and challenges of resettlement in different destination countries. “Pull” factors, and their impact on the globalization of the North Korean diaspora, are less well understood, in part because descriptions of this emerging diaspora have thus far unevenly concentrated on a few communities. Early ethnographic and anthropological literature focused on the Zainichi Korean community in Japan: Japan’s estimated 700,000 Koreans are the coun­ try’s largest ethnic minority. Japan’s Korean community is somewhat different than other North Korean diasporic populations in that a substantial portion of this community maintains close ties to North Korea; the General Association of Korean Residents in Japan (Chongryon in Korean, Chosen Soren in Japanese) functions as North Korea’s de facto bridgehead in the country, while another organization, the Korean Residents Union in Japan (Mindan) is composed of Zainichi Koreans who have adopted South Korean nationality (Ryang 1997; Ryang and Lie 2009). Moreover, from 1959 to the mid-1980s, an estimated 90,000 Koreans left Japan to repatriate to North Korea, and several hundred of them have since returned to Japan (Morris-Suzuki 2007).6 Such returnees are only accepted if they can prove that they have a link to Japan, and state assist­ ance is limited, meaning that much of the burden for resettlement support and integration falls on civil society groups, especially a small number of groups that specialize in returnee assistance (Kim 2012; Bell 2016). This much smaller group of returnees are often at odds with, and in some previous cases, have filed lawsuits against, the pro-North Korean Chosen Soren. More recent literature has focused on the community of North Korean re-settlers in the United Kingdom (UK), which is concentrated in New Malden on the southwestern outskirts of London. British statistics indicated that by 2015 approximately 1,000 North Koreans were resident in the UK (Office for National Statistics 2017), but anecdotal evidence suggests that this population may in fact be larger. According to survey and interview data, many of New Malden’s Korean immigrants had previously resettled in South Korea, but did not disclose their 236

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acquisition of ROK citizenship for fear that it would render them ineligible for asylum and resettlement in the UK (Park et al. 2013; Bell and Song 2018). In recent years, the UK Home Office has also argued, and British courts have concurred, that because North Koreans seeking asylum have an alternate citizenship available to them (in the Republic of Korea), they are ineligible for asylum, regardless of whether they have settled in the ROK first or not (Wolman 2014). Government policy, therefore, has placed limits on the growth of the North Korean diaspora in the United Kingdom, at least for the time being. North Koreans who resettle in New Malden, or in the UK more generally, acquire some of the social and educational capital that they often felt unable to access in South Korea. A Western education and English language proficiency, for example, are valuable regardless of whether migrants settle permanently in the UK, or eventually return to South Korea. Moreover, these émigrés, especially young people or children born to parents of North Korean origin and raised in the UK, bring new dimensions to the UK’s Korean diaspora, which (like the Korean diaspora in many Western countries) has been oriented traditionally toward the South. On the one hand, the Korean diaspora in the UK partially replicates the peninsula’s political divide, a bifurcation that can lead to intra-diasporic tensions (Fischer 2015; Panagiotidis 2015; Han 2017). On the other hand, younger immigrants of North Korean origin often think of themselves more as “ ‘foreigners’ from two foreign states living in a diaspora in a multicultural state.” This orienta­ tion can reduce attachment to the dominant “homeland” narrative that exists among the diasporic community, lessening the sense of competition over ownership of legitimate Korean identity within the diaspora itself and also facilitating integration into the UK (Vertovec 2007; Watson 2015, p. 547). North America has also become home to sizeable communities of North Korean refugees and defectors. At one point, an estimated 1,200 individuals of North Korean origin had resettled in Canada, particularly in the greater Toronto area. Many, however, were onward migrants from South Korea who had failed to disclose that fact in their claims for asylum; the Canadian government determined that since South Korean citizenship was available to them, they were not eligible for refugee status or protection in Canada. In 2016, an appeals court ruled that this was true even for North Korean applicants who had not gone to the ROK first (Immigrant and Refugee Board Canada 2016). As such, at the time of writing, the Trudeau government was in the process of vacating the refugee status of individuals who had not disclosed their previous residence in South Korea, and deporting residents of North Korean origin to the ROK. Under these circumstances, some residents have chosen to “self-deport” to South Korea, and some have moved to other countries, such as in Europe. A third group has remained in Canada and appealed to stay on “humanitarian and compassionate” grounds, while also participating in advocacy efforts intended to highlight these cases to the public to create support for policy change (Yoon 2018; Furey 2019). Regardless, Canadian government policy has reduced the size of the North Korean community there. An estimated 220 North Koreans have entered the United States as refugees since the signing of the 2004 North Korea Human Rights Act (NKHRA), which created a legal framework for North Koreans to resettle in the United States. The NKHRA legally resolves the issue of South Korean citizenship by saying that individuals from North Korea are eligible for refugee resettle­ ment in the US provided that they have not resettled in South Korea (and thereby obtained ROK citizenship). This means that North Koreans who resettle in the US under the NKHRA do not face the same hurdles to permanent residency or citizenship encountered in Canada or the United Kingdom. The requirement that North Koreans request direct resettlement to the United States while they are still abroad, however, combined with lengthy screening processes required by the U.S. Department of State and Department of Homeland Security, explains why 237

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the numbers of North Koreans who have chosen to come to the US under the NKHRA has remained relatively small. The Trump administration’s freeze on the resettlement process for much of 2017 has limited the growth of these numbers further, though a handful of refugees entered in 2018 and 2019. According to statistics from the U.S. Department of State, North Korean refugees have been resettled in at least 20 different states, where they are initially assisted by one of nine private “voluntary agencies.”7 The George W. Bush Institute, affiliated with former President Bush’s presidential library, has conducted a survey of North Korea-based refugees in the United States and identified a number of educational and economic challenges, including English-language proficiency, transportation, and access to health care (George W. Bush Institute 2014). Since 2017, it has also administered a scholarship program to support North Koreans (Lloyd 2019). North Koreans in the United States are relatively geographically dispersed due to the organiza­ tion of the U.S. resettlement system, but many North Koreans leave their initial resettlement locations relatively quickly – for educational reasons, to join other North Koreans, or to seek out Korean communities in locations such as southern California, Chicago, or northern Virginia. Relatively little is known, descriptively or otherwise, about the other countries in which North Koreans have sought asylum or refugee status. The UN statistics discussed above suggest that there are small numbers of North Korean exiles residing in Central and Eastern Europe, and a few policy reports have called for clarification of the grounds and process under which these individuals might be eligible to remain permanently (Burt 2015; Levi 2017). There is also a community of onward migrants in Australia (Jung et al. 2017). Finally, there is a comparatively large community of North Koreans living in China, particu­ larly in and around the Yanbian Korean Ethnic Autonomous Prefecture in the northeast, which is also home to an estimated two million people of Korean ethnicity who hold Chinese citizen­ ship (Chaoxianzu or Chosonjok). North Korean nationals in northeastern China may be laborers who have been dispatched to China under DPRK government auspices, or are formally permit­ ted by both states to cross the border for work purposes; North Korean women who have been trafficked into marriages in rural China where gender imbalances are particularly acute; or escapees in hiding or engaged in the illicit labor market (Haggard and Noland 2011; Cathcart 2019; Greitens 2019). These North Koreans exist in a borderlands space where they mix with Chosonjok and a smaller community of South Korean expatriates. In northern China in par­ ticular, the number of North Koreans who maintain close ties within North Korea, hold North Korean citizenship, and return to North Korea is higher than in other diasporic communities described above.

A North Korean diaspora? As noted earlier, discussions of North Korean resettlers encounter difficulties of nomenclature, as each potential term possesses valences of meaning and emphasis. The term diaspora is similarly contested and multivalent. Some definitions are objective: Gamlen, Cummings, and Vaaler (2019, p. 511), for example, use the term more or less synonymously with “emigrants and their descendants,” while Brubaker (2005, p. 12) views diasporas as intrinsically defined by selfperception, as “an idiom, a stance, a claim.” Others combine elements of both definitions: Vertovec (2009, p. 5) refers to a diaspora as “an imagined community dispersed from a professed homeland” (see also Safran 1991, p. 83). Amid these variations, the increasing globalization of the North Korean migrant population community clearly moves it closer to a diaspora. Betts and Jones (2016, p. 3) define diasporas as 238

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“communities that are transnationally dispersed, resist assimilation, and have an ongoing home­ land orientation,” while Adamson (2019) similarly views them as “constituted by a narrative of dispersion, attachment to a homeland, and a sense of group identity.” Shain and Barth (2003) describe a diaspora as: A people with a common origin who reside, more or less on a permanent basis, outside the borders of their ethnic or religious homeland – whether that homeland is real or symbolic, independent or under foreign control. Diaspora members identify themselves, or are identified by others – inside and outside their homeland – as part of the homeland’s national community. North Koreans beyond the Korean Peninsula are dispersed from the homeland, whether that homeland is defined as North Korea or the entire Korean Peninsula. Many share a common sense of identity (Green and Denney 2019), and are recognized as North Koreans by others. At the same time, however, there is variation in the degree to which North Koreans in South Korea self-identify with the national community (Hur 2018); no real systematic data exist on the extent to which North Koreans who have resettled beyond the Korean Peninsula retain an “ongoing homeland orientation” or how they perceive themselves in terms of group identity. One study in the UK found that identity perceptions were stratified by age: younger North Koreans thought of their identity primarily in terms of “foreign immigrants in a multicultural country,” while older North Koreans were more likely to think about themselves in terms of membership in specifically Korean diaspora networks (Watson 2015). In other cases of North Korean resettlement abroad, ongoing homeland orientation and national identification do clearly help define a diasporic community. In these cases, network ties among individuals from North Korea are typically stronger than ties to those outside that com­ munity,8 and individuals of North Korean origin form transnational linkages oriented around their common origin. Bell (2016, p. 265), for example, describes North Korean returnees in Japan who have participated in anti-regime demonstrations with defector groups based in other countries, or who align with defector-oriented organizations in South Korea, the UK, and the US – sometimes as a deliberate alternative to deepening ties with (non-defector) civic organiza­ tions in Japan. South Korea-based defector advocacy groups have also visited and collaborated with groups in the United States and United Kingdom. Yeo and Chubb (2018, p. 4) argue that despite significant normative contestation among those who advocate for North Korean human rights, an international network of such advocates, including several defector-led organizations, successfully pressed the international community to establish the UNHRC Commission of Inquiry on Human Rights in the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea in 2014. Thus, while Betts and Jones (2016, p. 5) remind us that “not all groups of exiles or migrants that leave a country adopt a diasporic stance as a mode of political representation,” enough North Korean exiles appear to have done so to qualify the group as an emerging or nascent diaspora. At the same time, this transnational network of North Korean exiles is overlaid onto, and embedded within, a much larger Korean diaspora that emerged earlier in Korea’s history, and was generated by different processes and factors. Cohen (1997) classifies diasporas into four types: victim/refugee; imperial/colonial; labor/service; and trade/commerce. As noted above, many studies of the Korean diaspora to date have been either colonial or economic in their orientation. By contrast, North Koreans more closely fit the victim/refugee concept, meaning that one can think of North Koreans as threads of a refugee diaspora that is now being overlaid and woven into the existing fabric of a post-colonial and labor/commercial diaspora. This is, of course, an oversimplified narrative,9 but it may be broadly helpful for understanding both the 239

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contemporary nature of Korean diaspora communities, and especially how intra-diasporic dynamics are perceived by their newest North Korean members. The term “diaspora” is itself multivalent enough to allow fluidity: North Koreans are simultaneously members of a trans­ national network that is specific to North Korea, and members of a broader Korean community that has been dispersed by global forces of violence and development since the beginning of the twentieth century.

Regime calculations and diasporic politics: implications for North Korea and the world What are the implications of an emerging North Korean diaspora for world politics, and for the (North) Korean homeland itself? To answer this question, it is useful to think about two primary questions: how diasporas engage with their homelands, and how homelands seek to engage with and manage diaspora populations. Scholars generally argue that the propensity of diasporas to engage with the homeland is shaped by “motive, opportunity, and means: that is, a diaspora should both want to exert influ­ ence and have the capacity to do so” (Shain and Barth 2003, p. 462). More concretely, the propensity of a diaspora to be actively engaged, including in political activities directed at the homeland, depends on a range of factors: the demographic size of the diaspora, its cohesion, its institutional ability to generate a sense of communal identity and sustain it over time, migration politics and the foreign policy of host states, and the homeland legal and ideological approach to outside nationals. (Shain 1999, pp. 9–12) What do these factors tell us about the North Korean diaspora? First, the global North Korean population remains small by comparative standards. Moreover, the fact that many potential “host states” now redirect North Korean migrants and asylees “back” to a South Korean home­ land (even if the migrants in question have never set foot in the ROK), limits the future size and geographic dispersion of this diaspora, and is thereby likely to constrain its political impact. Smaller communities may also find it hard to forge a cohesive identity, especially when they are as geographically dispersed as the population in the United States, though social media and technological platforms have the potential to partially offset this disadvantage and facilitate com­ munal identity and mobilization. Finally, the North Korean defector community within most host countries is seldom uniform; communities display internal cleavages and organizational divides that can limit the institutional potential for sustained and collective engagement. Political engagement by the North Korean diaspora, however, has arguably already had an outsized impact on international policies toward North Korea. Yeo and Chubb (2018) note that the inclusion of defector voices in international campaigns against North Korean human rights violations has been both “transformative and controversial.” In the absence of credible testi­ mony from domestic civil society inside North Korea, refugees and defectors have provided important evidence and bolstered movement legitimacy; by doing so, they have served as a sub­ stitute for local actors in the “boomerang pattern” wherein international and domestic actors interact to exert leverage against repressive regimes (Keck and Sikkink 1998). An incident in early 2019, in which a group called Free Joseon (previously Chollima Civil Defense) raided the DPRK embassy in Madrid and subsequently proclaimed a provisional government, also raised speculation that North Korean defector activism could be taking a more militant turn (Hudson 240

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2019; Park 2019; Shorrock 2019; Smith and Shin 2019)10 – but to date, there appears to be little potential for sustained armed diasporic resistance. Similarly, thus far the North Korean diaspora’s ability to lobby for their own interests in host states abroad also appears to have been relatively limited. North Koreans have had some success in changing resettlement policies in South Korea, but the success of these communities in altering host country domestic policies outside the Korean Peninsula – for example, pressuring the Canadian government to create a legal pathway that allows individuals and families of North Korean origin to remain in Canada – remains to be seen. Beyond the factors that shape or constrain the political engagement of North Korean com­ munities abroad, there are many unanswered questions about the dynamics of their interaction with the North Korean regime. Studies of diasporic influence on the homeland often frame their theories using implicitly democratic logic, as when Shain and Barth (2003, p. 461) suggest that diasporas can exert influence on homeland politics through civil society projects and polit­ ical contributions to candidates or parties; alternatively, they can focus on diasporas as a potential source of economic strength through remittances, investment or educational capital (Ye 2014). With the exception of Japan’s Chosen Soren population, which has played a financially support­ ive role, neither of these frameworks is cleanly applicable to North Korea, which is both non­ democratic and relatively economically isolated. North Korea, therefore, falls within a smaller subset of cases where the diaspora engages with a homeland under authoritarian rule. Previous work in comparative politics and international relations has demonstrated that when contentious politics are suppressed at home, diasporas can become an important source of anti-regime activity, and that authoritarian regimes strategically manage both migration and diasporic politics to mitigate these risks and control populations that reside abroad (Ragazzi 2009; Betts and Jones 2016; Glasius 2018; Miller and Peters 2018; Tsour­ apas 2018; Adamson 2019). North Korea limits out-migration, dispatching workers on tightly supervised temporary assignments to locations where it can control their housing, monitor their movements, and control the financial flows that their work abroad generates. Defector testi­ mony consistently confirms that movement in and out of the DPRK is virtually forbidden unless it is sponsored and controlled by the regime. North Korean defectors do send remit­ tances, but outside formal and direct channels: they use brokers in China to send money to family members, who are then often subject to “informal taxation” via bribes paid to local offi­ cials inside the DPRK (Greitens 2019). North Korea, therefore, appears to place tighter controls over migration and limit diasporic contact to a greater extent than a typical “authoritarian” regime. The DPRK regime also appears to feel a genuine sense of threat from North Korean escap­ ees and defectors – if not to regime security itself, then to the narrative of paternal protection and succor upon which the Kim family bases its legitimacy. The most dramatic evidence of this was the assassination of Kim Jong Nam, Kim Jong Un’s half-brother, at Kuala Lumpur Airport in Malaysia in February 2017, an operation widely believed to have been planned in Pyongyang (Berlinger 2019). Beyond this high-profile case, DPRK officials go to great lengths to denounce human rights campaigns at the UN and other international fora, and state broad­ casters produce documentaries that are designed to name, shame, and discredit defectors, especially those who have spoken publicly about their experiences in the DPRK (Fahy 2019, pp. 233–257). Under Kim Jong Un, the North Korean regime has also tightened border policing to reduce the number of defections, and has also publicly emphasized cases of “double-defection” (return migration to North Korea) holding press conferences to demon­ strate its warm welcome of returned defectors and using their voices to criticize the South (Gleason 2012; Green et al. 2015). 241

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Finally, the present-day relationship between the North Korean regime and its diaspora raises questions about the diaspora’s potential role in future unification scenarios. Although defectors and refugees in third countries have had a considerable impact on the campaign about North Korean human rights, the exile community based in South Korea is likely to carry more weight in unification planning, given their geographic concentration, the diasporic sentiment and support for unification that many of these individuals express toward their northern homeland, and the role that the ROK government accords to North Korea-born individuals in its current vision of the unification process. Indeed, the ideas that the integration of North Koreans in South Korea is a “test case” for unification, and that North Korean defectors will play a leading role in the unification process in the future, are both commonplace in Seoul, which is why onward or return migration due to dissatisfaction in the South are both widely perceived as policy failure on the part of the ROK government (author’s interviews; see also Go 2014; Bae 2018; Suh n.d.). The globalization of the North Korean diaspora therefore raises new and interesting ques­ tions for how unification planning, especially in the Republic of Korea, can or should evolve in response to this development. Beyond various policy modifications aimed at improving North Koreans’ satisfaction with resettlement in the South, there has been little systematic discussion of the role that a global diaspora could or will play in unification. Placed in historical and com­ parative context, this appears to be an oversight: diaspora communities in post-socialist Europe, even those that had been isolated from their homelands for long periods, did play significant and varied roles in both democratization processes and post-democratization political life (Koinova 2009), and the Korean diaspora itself was deeply involved in homeland struggles for anti-colonial liberation (Kim 2011; Park 2015). It is an open question, therefore, how the global dispersion of North Korean diaspora communities will affect attitudes toward and future engagement in unification scenarios, on the part of both government and diaspora actors.

Conclusion This chapter has sought to describe an emerging North Korean diaspora, shaped by the recent tendency of escapees from the DPRK to migrate to destinations other than South Korea. The global distribution of North Korean emigration and resettlement is shaped by the opportunities and limitations that North Koreans encounter in South Korea; by social networks and brokers that advertise alternatives elsewhere; and by host government policies that have channeled North Koreans into particular third-country locations at particular points in time, while redi­ recting them back to the Korean Peninsula at others. The small communities of emigrants that have emerged from this process are now globally dispersed, and at least some exhibit a shared identity, homeland orientation, and transnational connections. Although small in number, they have exerted a measurable effect on international advocacy vis-à-vis human rights in North Korea, and their extraterritorial contention appears to be taken seriously by the North Korean regime. Looking forward, factors such as host government policies, diaspora size and dispersion, the degree of cohesion versus cleavage within diaspora communities themselves, and the pol­ icies of both the ROK and DPRK governments are all likely to shape diaspora members’ lived experiences, as well as their broader impact on global politics. While this trajectory has yet to unfold, North Korean émigrés have already added their voices and identities to Korea’s long history of global migration and resettlement, thereby contributing a new and important strand to its diverse and evolving global diaspora.

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Acknowledgments The author thanks Edward Goldring and Yu Bin Kim for excellent research assistance; Steven Denney, Aram Hur, and Andrew Yeo for feedback; and the Laboratory Program for Korean Studies of the ROK Ministry of Education and the Korean Studies Promotion Service of the Academy of Korean Studies for financial support (AKS-2016-LAB-2250001).

Notes 1 In South Korea, these individuals have been called talbukja, saetomin, or the official term Bukhan italju­ min; in English, defectors, refugees, exiles, migrants, re-settlers, immigrants. Overseas Koreans are referred to either by the homeland-oriented gyopo, or the more transnational and ethnically-oriented dongpo (“compatriots,” but with an added connotation of familial connection). On terminology, see Brubaker and Kim (2011); Chung (2008). 2 These countries were: Angola, Australia, Austria, Belgium, Canada, Cambodia, Chile, Costa Rica, Denmark, Egypt, Finland, France, Germany, Hungary, Ireland, Israel, Japan, Kuwait, Kyrgyzstan, Luxembourg, the Netherlands, New Zealand, Mexico, Norway, the Philippines, Poland, Russia, Sin­ gapore, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, Thailand, Turkey, Ukraine, Uzbekistan, the USA, and Yemen. Note that a North Korean who claimed asylum in one of these countries could have eventually reset­ tled in South Korea, so the two categories are not mutually exclusive. 3 A further point worth noting is that the North Korean diaspora has emerged during a period when the DPRK government’s global reach is constricted by the UN sanctions regime, although at the time of writing in autumn 2019, the country still maintains a diplomatic presence of some kind in approxi­ mately 50 countries. 4 Regularly updated summary statistics are available in English on the Ministry of Unification’s webpage, www.unikorea.go.kr/eng_unikorea/relations/statistics/defectors. The best source of more detailed, systematic data on North Korean experiences in South Korea over time is the survey data published each year by the Hana Foundation, a government-funded organization in Seoul that assists North Korean resettlers. See Hana Foundation (n.d.). 5 The North Korean defector population entering South Korea has been more than 70 percent female since the mid-2000s. Two-thirds of the respondents to a recent survey done by the Ministry of Unifi­ cation reported that childcare was a significant obstacle to finding work. 6 For an English-language memoir by one such individual, see Ishikawa (2018).

7 U.S. State Department data on refugee admissions and resettlement are available at www.wrapsnet.org/

8 See Bell (2013) for a description of this phenomenon.

9 The Korean community in the United States had its origins in during the colonial period of Japanese

occupation (1910–1945), additional Koreans then migrated to the United States after 1945, and transnationalism is deeply embedded in the study of Korean identity and membership politics (Park 2005; Kim 2008; Kim 2011; Kim 2016). 10 This group had previously received attention for claiming to have rescued Kim Jong Un’s nephew, Kim Han-sol, after the highly publicized assassination of his father, Kim Jong Nam, at Kuala Lumpur International Airport. It claims to be partly composed of North Korean exiles, but its actual member­ ship is unclear.

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Part V

Culture

17

The evoluTion of CulTural

poliCy and praCTiCe in

norTh Korea, seen Through

The journal Chosŏn ŭmak

[Korean music]

Keith Howard Introduction Since the late 1960s, ideology has dominated cultural production in North Korea. There is no space for dissent, and artists are required to serve the state, following specific styles and forms, and maintaining the official history and the hagiography of the leadership. In this chapter I argue that cultural production in North Korea has not always been monochromatic and monolithic in this way, ideology has not always been placed before considerations of practice, and that prior to 1968 there was space for debate and discussion about what production was appropriate, what traditional arts should be maintained, and what should be modified or abandoned. In order to illustrate this, I explore the critical period from 1955 – the year in which Kim Il Sung (1912–1994) delivered the “Juche [chuch’e] speech” – to 1968, when Kim Jong Il (1942–2011) took the reins of cultural policy, through the contents of the journal Chosŏn ŭmak [Korean Music], produced in Pyongyang between January 1955 and March 1968.1 As this period began, the potential for debate and discussion remained: what production was appropriate? Which arts should be main­ tained and promoted, as national (minjok) forms reflecting the people? Which traditional arts should be modified or abandoned? Then, over time, options narrowed, conformity was imposed, ideology grew to dominate, and cultural production in North Korea adopted the uniform, unchanging formulae that we witness today.

Chosŏn ŭmak, the journal Chosŏn ŭmak was initially published under the aegis of the Union of Korean Composers (Chosŏn chakkokka tongmaeng). From January 1961, its publisher became the Central Committee of the Union of Korean Musicians (Chosŏn ŭmakka tongmaeng chungang wiwŏnhoe), an adjustment that resulted from a speech Kim Il Sung delivered in November 1960 that critiqued the lack of party control over cultural production.2 Kim’s speech led to the reconstitution of the over-arching Korean Federation of Literature and Art Unions (Chosŏn munhak yesul ch’ongdongmaeng) in March 1961, with a set of seven unions beneath it covering workers in literature, fine arts, 251

Keith Howard

dance, music, theatre, film and photography. As one of the seven, the Union of Korean Musi­ cians replaced the Union of Korean Composers. In 1968, the journal’s demise came after the sixth plenary session of the Central Committee of the Workers’ Party of Korea, held in 1967, ruled that state ideology must be unchallengeable, and as Kim Jong Il took a central role in directing artistic policy. In 1955, artists and intellectuals, including composers, musicologists and musicians, retained some independence. During the previous decade Soviet cultural advisers had cultivated them as they encouraged cultural and educational development (Armstrong 2003b). However, many of the artists and intellectuals who had settled in Pyongyang had trained in Japan during the colo­ nial period that ended with the close of the Pacific War in 1945, and arguably were not familiar with Soviet socialism. While the latitude that was initially permitted can explain the room for debate which continued in Chosŏn ŭmak, at times, the journal entered artistic territory that was at some remove from the policies and practices promoted by the Korean Federation. This can be seen by comparing Chosŏn ŭmak with the Federation’s primary journal for the performing arts, Chosŏn yesul [Korean Art]. The latter was first published in September 1956, its inaugural edition opening with a statement from Kim Il Sung about “our new people’s arts”. The fron­ tispiece was a photograph capturing Kim meeting the new Soviet leader, Nikita Khrushchev. At the time this signalled much. Chosŏn yesul announced it would cover film, drama, dance and music (1956/9, p. 75), but it quickly narrowed its coverage to theatre (yŏn’gŭk) and dance (muyong), leaving music to Chosŏn ŭmak. Dissenting voices are hard to find in Chosŏn yesul. Again, later accounts typically ignore discussions from the Chosŏn ŭmak period,3 reflecting what became a singular approach centred around the application of the ideology of Juche (an ideology often glossed as “self-reliance”, but see below). The pages of Chosŏn ŭmak, then, stand witness to transition, and attest to how composers and musicologists negotiated the shifting sands of an evolving ideology in respect to the creation, performance and dissemination of music. Although intended as a monthly journal, only four 1955 issues of Chosŏn ŭmak (January– April) are held in the collections I have examined, along with five from 1956. Additionally, in 1965, one issue suffices for November and December. From January 1967, Chosŏn ŭmak began to decline, as a smattering of articles on music began to reappear in Chosŏn yesul. The latter’s coverage of music increased markedly only in January 1968, when it published an appeal to use songs to bring the “final victory” of socialism, “T’ujaenggwa sŭngni-erŏ purunŭn hyŏngmyŏng kayo” (1968/1, pp. 53–56), accompanied by notations of seven revolutionary songs (hyŏngmyŏng kayo). By then, Chosŏn yesul contained an obligatory opening section comprising editorials, speeches and commentaries on speeches. Kim Il Sung’s speeches would be printed before any­ thing else: in 1967, his speech to artists given on 30 June 1951 was reprinted in the dual May– June issue, followed by reflections on this by prominent artists; his speech to world students of 12 December 1951 was carried in the August issue, followed by reflections; his speech of 27 November 1960 about living in the era of Ch’ŏllima appeared in the November issue; the fron­ tispiece of the December issue was a full-page photograph of Kim; and his speech to the Supreme Assembly, plus commentary, covered the first 37 pages of the January 1968 issue. The final Chosŏn ŭmak was issued in March 1968, and its last issues conformed with what had become the requirement to foreground state concerns – the first 33 pages of the January 1968 issue, for instance, were devoted to a speech by Kim Il Sung, and the rest of the issue celebrated his work as leader and as the inspiration for artistic creation. Chosŏn yesul henceforth covered all perform­ ance arts, alongside separate journals for fine arts (Chosŏn misul) and, later, film (Chosŏn yŏnghwa). On 25 March 1946, Kim Il Sung announced the establishment of the North Korean Federa­ tion of Art Unions (Puk Chosŏn yesul ch’ongdongmaeng). This became the Korean Federation of 252

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Literature and Art Unions (Chosŏn munhak yesul ch’ongdongmaeng)4 in 1951, with a set of unions beneath it. One of these, the Union of Korean Composers, was established as the armistice was signed in the Korean War in 1953. By the time of the inaugural edition of Chosŏn ŭmak, the Union was active as a publisher and promoter. In 1954, it published a set of “people’s songs”, Chosŏn inmin kayo koksŏnjip [Korean People’s Song Collection], giving pride of place to two songs by the composer Kim Wŏn’gyun (1917–2002): “Kim Ilsŏng changgun ŭi norae/Song of General Kim Il Sung” and “Aegukka/Patriotic Song”. The former set lyrics by Ri Ch’anshi and had been written in 1946, and arguably helped set up the authorized history which remains today at a time when Kim Il Sung still lacked majority support; the latter was written in 1947 and today remains the official national anthem. A third song was added, straight after Kim Wŏn’gyun’s paean, but this would soon prove problematic: “Ssŭttallin taewŏnsu ŭi norae/Song of the Generalissimo Stalin”, composed by Ri Myŏnsang (1908–1989).5 The Union launched a project to transcribe folksongs into Western staff notation that same year, leading to eight slim volumes published in mimeographed form in July 1956 by the state newspaper, the Rodong shinmun [Worker’s Daily]. Among those who contributed transcriptions were Ro Myŏngjuk, Ra Wŏnsŏp and Cho Ryŏngch’ul. This project expanded to become a more encyclopaedic four-volume collection, Chosŏn minjok ŭmak chŏnjip: minyo p’yŏn [Korean National Music Collection: Folksong Volumes] (1958–1959, reissued 1998–1999). The bigger project required the participation of many composers as well as scholars, with its first volume, which collected agricultural songs for rice paddies (non) and dry fields (pat), overseen by the then youthful composer Sŏng Tongch’un (b. 1937). The Union also sponsored a volume discussing “new” socialist singing styles, written by Kim Hiryŏl in 1955, and a 1956 survey of North Korean music since liberation from the Japanese colonial yoke, Haebanghu Chosŏn ŭmak, which was edited by Ri Hirim and others (note that the second edition of this survey, published in 1979, omits the first edition’s considerable discussion of Soviet influence and the performances of foreign music in Pyongyang, and backdates ideology and practice from later years). These publications, together with Chosŏn ŭmak, demonstrate that the Union’s agenda matched that of the Union of Soviet Composers, established in 1932, with its agenda outlined in English in an early – December 1934 – article by W.H. Kerridge: musical composition, music for children, for workers and for theatre, musical criticism and historical research, theory and pedagogy, investigation and encouragement of national folk music, recording, mass propaganda, concerts and other performances.6 Chosŏn ŭmak was, then, surely intended to be the equivalent to the Union of Soviet Composers’ long-established journal, Sovetskaya muzika [Soviet Music].

the times were a’changing: Juche and Chollima Lee Chong-Sik long ago remarked that Kim Il Sung’s allies, the anti-Japanese guerrillas who had spent the 1930s in Manchuria and some of whom had withdrawn to the Soviet Far East around 1940, were “made up preponderantly of the illiterate and indigent” (1963, p. 9; see also Pihl 1993, p. 94). Although Sŏn Chŏngdo, a former Methodist clergyman, is cited by Bradley Martin, reminiscing how a young Kim Il Sung played the chapel harmonium “very well” (2004, p. 26), Kim never showed, as Suk-Young Kim remarks, “concrete evidence of his artistic exper­ tise or creative activities” (2010, p. 139). The result was that the artistic community initially was given latitude over developing cultural production. But, excluding the anti-Japanese guerrillas, the community comprised four factions:7 (1) a large contingent of southern artists and writers who had settled in Pyongyang (including at least 57 musicians who are listed by No Tongŭn (1989, p. 181)); (2) those associated with the geographical North; (3) leftist intellectuals who had migrated to China (some of whom had been with the Chinese Communists at Yan’an); and (4) 253

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a small group of Soviet Koreans (some of whom were sent on assignment to Pyongyang by the Soviets).8 It was not a community unified in its approach to cultural policy, and so as criticism of cultural production emerged, it tended to follow factional lines, reflecting the familiar Confu­ cian hierarchical system of the past. Factionalism ensured a “patrimonial functioning of the cul­ tural apparatus” (Myers 1994, p. 151). And, much as had been the case in the early Soviet Union, where latitude and avant-garde tendencies were initially permitted and, just as in the late 1920s under the culture commissar and playwright Anatoly Lunacharsky and with the 1930s roll-out of “socialist realism” in Moscow, control began to be imposed in North Korea as ideo­ logy – and a nationalism that verged on isolationism – was worked out. This working-out accelerated as the implications of Kim Il Sung’s speech, “On eliminating dogmatism and formalism and establishing Juche in ideological work” (the “Juche speech”), sank in, and with the roll-out of the Ch’ŏllima (“flying horse”) mass mobilization campaign (the Ch’ŏllima undong). The former was delivered on 28 December 1955,9 while the latter, according to retrospective northern texts, began in December 1956 when Kim gave a speech on increasing production at the Kangsŏn steel mill. Both the speech and the campaign made Kim sole arbiter through what became the dogma of yuil sasang (single/unitary ideology), delinking Korea from international influence and reinforcing a nationalistic binary world-view of Korea-and-the-rest (Jae-Jung Suh 2013, pp. 8–15).10 The speech is often considered to have had a slow burn (see, e.g., Cumings 1997, p. 413). Lankov (1999, p. 53) notes that a 1981 general history of Korea only mentions the speech “briefly and vaguely, not even referring to its precise name or date”, and Brian Myers (2006) questions whether the speech actually marked the watershed that has been claimed. Indeed, the first discussion of Juche in Chosŏn ŭmak only came in the July 1958 issue, where the composer Kim Wŏn’gyun explored what a “Juche direction in music” should be (1958/7, pp. 24–29). He noted that North Korean compositions were still influenced by Soviet models, and compared the national sentiment in Shostakovich’s fifth and tenth symphonies with recent Korean works such as Cho Kilsŏk’s (1926–1996) “Ri Sunshin changgun/General Ri Sunshin” and Pak Minhyŏk’s (1922–1988) violin concerto. Korean composers, he remarked, now used standard Western orchestral forces, although their compositions “properly” reflected the social­ ist reality of the northern state. Again, with respect to vocal music, he noted that Verdi opera arias were sung in Pyongyang, but claimed these were very different from the vocal writing in Korean songs such as Ri Myŏnsang’s then-recent “Chongdalsae/Skylark”. Towards the end of his exploration, a text box announced the release of a Soviet report on opera, but this is blacked out in several copies of the journal I have inspected: could this be evidence of an ongoing debate about the national and its relation to the foreign? Still, the three compositions Kim Wŏn’gyun discussed had little connection to what became normative under Juche (as outlined below). Note, though, that Juche had already been invoked in the inaugural edition of Chosŏn yesul where, broadly consistent with its genesis if not its mature form, it was defined as a matter of national culture, requiring artists to reflect the people rather than to yearn for a cosmopolitanism that embraced the foreign (1956/9, p. 19). In 1958, Kim Wŏn’gyun had just returned from study in Moscow. I find his July 1958 article distant from the purges that the Ch’ŏllima campaign had begun to unleash against (among others) the Soviet faction in Pyongyang, which Kim was surely aware of. Indeed, the common inter­ pretation of the origins of the Ch’ŏllima campaign is as a reaction to Soviet reforms that followed the death of Stalin and which were confirmed in Khrushchev’s February 1956 “secret” speech. During the summer of 1956, members of the Chinese and Soviet factions in Pyongyang had sought to limit Kim’s authority by imposing a collective leadership, and in autumn the Soviets refused to provide aid to support Kim’s new economic plan (Jin 2012; Armstrong 2013, 254

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pp. 79–111, 2014, pp. 42–45). Still, Chosŏn ŭmak suggests that it took time for Ch’ŏllima to become part of the discussions of cultural matters, since the first discussion of the campaign came in the January 1959 issue – as a short text that noted “workers had risen up” two years before. That brief mention, then, identified Ch’ŏllima as mass mobilization – as a Korean version of the Soviet Stakhanovite movement.11 It also noted that five years had passed since the cam­ paign had been announced, thereby backdating the campaign to 1955.12 The first song I know of with “Ch’ŏllima” in its title was co-written by Kim Wŏn’gyun and Cho Kilsŏk in 1958, “Urinŭn ch’ŏllima t’ago tallinda/Ride and Run Our Ch’ŏllima”. As the campaign made dependence on the state’s leadership ordinary and everyday for agri­ cultural and industrial guidance, so art, including music, began to use genre conventions to repeatedly frame what was being established as the official history of Kim Il Sung, the triumphs of the socialist state, and ideology. Hence, the campaign coincided with an extension of “peo­ ple’s worker” (inmin nodongja) awards to artists as “merit artists” (konghun paeu or konghun yesulga) and “people’s artists” (inmin paeu or inmin yesulga), using an honour system inherited from the Soviet Union that later added North Korean distinction when the highest award, the Kim Il Sung Prize, was established. Ri Myŏnsang, for example, became a merit artist in 1955 and a people’s artist in 1961. Kim Wŏn’gyun, likewise, was made a merit artist in 1961, and Chosŏn ŭmak celebrated both, along with an additional nine merit artists and five people’s artists in its August 1961 issue (1961/8, pp. 22–28). Kim, as a socialist-compliant proletarian artist – in that, at least officially, he had not received training in music13 – had been sent to Moscow to study in 1952, where he had stayed until 1957, writing instrumental music such as a violin sonata and a string quartet, and an orchestral graduation piece, the tone poem “Hyangt’o/Birthplace,” rather than more songs that would satisfy the regime. Ri, in contrast, had during the 1930s cut his “chops” in Japan working for recording companies, writing popular songs and “new folk songs” (shin minyo), but in Pyongyang quickly built a formidable reputation writing songs that pro­ moted the new state and its leader, marking battles and triumphs during the colonial period and the Korean War. Both Kim and Ri would later, in 1972, receive the Kim Il Sung Prize. Juche literally means “subject”, and has been defined by commentators as “culturally specific ethnic nationalism” (Jorgenson 1996, p. 282) or as an ideology that makes people masters of the revolution (Cha 2012, pp. 37–43). Alzo David-West argues for a more complex understanding, on the basis of three volumes of Kim Il Sung’s biography, as “independent stand”, “spirit of self-reliance” and “principle of self-reliance”, but finds all three consistent with Stalinism, as well as chiming with Mao Zedong’s notion of man as the decisive factor (2007, pp. 138–140). By 1959, Juche was regularly discussed in Chosŏn ŭmak, and it coupled to a shift towards show­ casing songs rather than instrumental and orchestral music. For example, the composer Shin Tosŏn (1924–1975), at the time celebrated for his Soviet-influenced first symphony,14 offered an article introducing model songs (1959/6, pp. 6–10), arguing on the basis of 800 songs com­ posed during the previous three years (“of which half are good and maybe 30 outstanding”) that Juche as a creative ideology used folk songs (minyo) as the base but improved on them. Juche, he wrote, called for realism, and so instrumental and military music should arrange songs, rather than being abstract in terms of subject and material (1959, p. 8). In the same issue, four short articles followed Shin’s, documenting “advances” made in writing lyrics, developing techniques for vocalization, and so on. Two further articles, one an editorial on the theatrical form of ch’anggŭk (1959, p. 20) and the second by Kim Hakmun on vocal style in ch’anggŭk’s precursors (p’ansori – epic storytelling through song – and folk song) (1959/6, pp. 30–34), associate Juche with the development of a national (minjok) music culture. A more developed articulation was evident in an editorial printed a year later, when Juche was claimed to have provided a new direction for creativity, with guidance from Kim Il Sung and the Korean Workers’ Party, 255

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through which music inherited from the past had been developed, resolving its problems of elitism in structure and performance practice so that it now properly reflected the contemporary socialist reality. Juche was, however, also interpreted as matching a Western orientation to Korean characteristics (1960/9, pp. 10–16). Commentators routinely associate Juche and its impact on cultural production with the late 1960s and early 1970s, as Kim Jong Il took the helm, and in particular with the roll-out of revolutionary operas (hyŏngmyŏng kagŭk) that began with “P’i pada/Sea of Blood” in 1971. However, Chosŏn ŭmak demonstrates that much had happened before then. By August 1960, for example, when a meeting of composers was held to celebrate the fifteenth anniversary of liberation from Japanese colonialism, Juche was identified as core to musical creation. According to a report of that meeting by Shin Yŏngch’ŏl and Ch’ae Kidŏk carried in the October issue, Juche as ideology had shown how to establish appropriate elements that would unify a composi­ tion, putting in place model melodies to be used as foundations for new creativity (1960/10, pp. 33–44). Juche was the “bright daylight” (pulgŭn sŏgwang) brought to the Ch’ŏllima era, impacting creation and performance, eliminating bourgeois elements, removing avant-garde chromaticism and imposing straight functional harmony based on (residual) pentatonic melo­ dies. These, though, are matters that required considerable input from musicians themselves. In addition, it had established songs as the primary output – both as a set of song genres and as the foundations for all other music creation. Key composers has been involved in this, and now they publicly allied themselves to Juche and to the campaign, as Chosŏn ŭmak carried pledges from Kim Wŏn’gyun, Kim Kilhak, Kung Kyŏngil, Pak Seyŏng, Ri Chŏngŏn, Pak Sŭngwan, Kim Yunbong, Mo Yŏngil, Kim Ch’oewŏn, Mun Hakch’un, Ri Sŏk, Kim Yŏnggyu, Shin Yŏngch’ŏl, Ch’ae Kidŏk and Pak Yŏngsang (1960/10, pp. 26–33). In December, an editorial reported how resolutions from the August meeting had been enacted in a November assembly of the Union where, I assume, composers spoke their pledges (1960/12, pp. 6–18). The different aspects of Juche were then outlined in a series of articles, leading to what I believe to have been the first book-length working-out, appearing in 1963 in an unattributed volume published by the over-arching Federation, Hyŏndaesŏnggwa uri ŭmak (The Present Day and Our Music).

Composers and crafting compositions To dig deeper, in this section I consider how the journal reflected the concerns of composers. As already noted, in the initial years following liberation, Pyongyang looked to the Soviet Union,15 and by the end of 1949, the year in which North Korea signed the cultural exchange agreement with the Soviet Union (Armstrong 2003b: pp. 82–83) that would soon take Kim Wŏn’gyun to study in Moscow, performances by composers including Ashrafi, Dargomïzhsky, Glinka, Ivanov, Kabalevsky, Mussorgsky, Radishchev, Rimsky-Korsakov, Shostakovich and Tchaikovsky had been given in Pyongyang (Ri Hirim et al. 1956: p. 248ff). Not surprisingly, then, Chosŏn ŭmak frequently discussed Soviet practice. The February 1955 edition opened, after a report on a Union meeting, with an eight-page discussion of Soviet music, and closed with two articles written by Soviet musicians (duly translated into Korean), while the March edition featured a long discussion by Mun Chongsang about the development of Soviet music. In January 1956, an analysis of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony was juxtaposed with articles on Mozart’s creativity, Soviet composi­ tions, and Fredrich Engels, while in January 1957 Pak Han’gyu offered “notes on creativity”, starting with Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” and Mikhail Glinka’s 1836 “Ivan Susanin” (the Sovietfriendly name for the revived ‘Zhizn za tsarya/A Life for the Tsar’). Even though this was a time when state policy had begun to move towards what Armstrong terms “revolutionary nationalism” (2013, p. 183), composers felt much was still to be learnt 256

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from abroad, in particular from the Soviet Union. Hence, by March 1957, an article looking at Soviet song writers was juxtaposed with Ri Hyŏngun’s discussion on the Soviet choral tradi­ tion, and in April 1957 Kim Hiyŏl expanded on these to explore Soviet vocal styles. May saw Mun Chaedong cite Russian and Soviet compositions as he explored techniques for brass instru­ mental writing, and in August, Mun Kyŏnguk discussed Soviet practice in vocal and instrumen­ tal accompaniments while Ch’oe Hunbŏm looked at the use of tonality and modulation in Soviet operas and an additional article explored Mussorgsky’s outputs (1957/3, pp. 23–27, 53–59, 1957/4, pp. 42–48, 1957/5, pp. 49–53, 1957/8, pp. 11–15, 20–23). In October 1957, Ri Hirim marked two anniversaries of socialism: ten years in North Korea and 40 years in the Soviet Union. Again, November 1958 saw a special issue on Soviet music, including articles by both named and unnamed Koreans and Russians, and the December issue included an analysis of Shostakovich’s one-year-old eleventh symphony. (1957/10, pp. 16–20, 1958/11, pp. 14–38, 1958/12, pp. 33–35). Coverage then decreased, belatedly falling in line with the state’s turn from the Soviet Union and purges of the pro-Soviet faction. Discussion was not completely abandoned, however, and the August 1961 issue carried articles on Soviet and Albanian music, while the November issue translated a short article on Lenin and music (1961/8, pp. 44–49, 1961/11, pp. 44–46). Korean literature and art had evolved rapidly during the Japanese colonial period. Although Korean musicologists remain reluctant to see Japan as the conduit for new ideas and practices (preferring, at least in South Korea, to focus on the influence of Christian hymnody), many Korean composers studied in Japan as they embraced the work concept of Western art. There, they were trained to create pastiches of Western art music, using a vocabulary that from a Euro­ pean perspective was, roughly, modelled on mid-nineteenth-century Romanticism, or learned to compose or arrange songs, at times, as with Ri Myŏnsang, working for Japanese-based recording companies. In Pyongyang after 1945, while the initial direction was to enhance skill levels, the conduit for knowledge, training, and expertise switched to the Soviet Union. Only gradually, though, did Soviet notions of proletarianism take root: in its early years North Korea needed artists (including composers) who were already trained. Among the composers was Kim Sunnam (1917–1986), who had graduated from Tokyo in 1942 and who, back in Seoul prior to moving northwards in 1947 came to the attention of the southern police for socialist-leaning songs such as “Inmin hangjaengga/Song of People’s Resistance” and “Kŏn’guk haengjin’gok/Foundation March for the Nation”. The chief officer for music under the US military administration in Seoul, the pianist Eli Haimowitz, admired Kim’s work and in an attempt to avoid his arrest arranged for Kim to undertake further study in America (Hye-jung Park 2019), but instead, Kim moved northwards to Pyongyang. Pyongyang sent him to Moscow to study under Khachaturian in 1952, but ordered him back as the armistice was signed that effectively ended the Korean War. He was soon accused of neglecting Korean roots in his promotion of a Western music style by the writer who led the southern faction, Han Sŏrya (Szalontai 2005, pp. 40–42). The bourgeois compromise, in other words, had begun to unravel. Chosŏn ŭmak contains two articles setting out the criticism of Kim, by the musicologists Mun Chongsang and Wŏn Hŭngnyong (1956/2, pp. 58–65, 1956/3, pp. 65–79). Mun argued that contemporary Amer­ ican and European music was not revolutionary and did not serve the people, whereas con­ temporary music should always start with the people. It was useless to follow foreign practice, then, but Kim didn’t consider the lives of today’s people, taking his Korean perspective merely from the music of the defunct court. Wŏn argued that Kim clumsily set lyrics in his songs, imi­ tating – poorly – Soviet songs, and choosing inappropriate meters and tempi so that normal people couldn’t sing them. He hammered his critique home with the comment: “We must rely on composers born on North Korean soil, since some who have settled here from the south 257

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have betrayed us.” Kim was forbidden to compose and sent into internal exile to the port of Shinp’o in South Hamgyŏng province. He was only allowed to return to Pyongyang eight years later, a return signalled by an article in the April 1964 journal issue that praised his past works.16 Such critiques underlined that composers should move from non-programmatic instrumen­ tal and orchestral music to songs for everyday people. As Juche ideology was applied, it placed the clarity of message centre-stage, and songs, through their lyrics, avoided any of the vagueness inherent in instrumental music (which Lenin had once argued against). Lyrics carried the mes­ sages; from 1972, the concept of “seeds” (chongja) within “seed theory” (chongjaron)17 was in place, upholding content above form since, in Kim Jong Il’s words, “music without politics is like a flower without scent” (cited in Yi Hyŏnju 2006, p. 167). Instrumental compositions would henceforth prioritize arrangements (p’yŏn’gok) of songs, enhancing the “seeds” by inter­ preting them through settings and textures (Yi and Sŏ 2013, pp. 84–97). But, the shift did not happen overnight, and in October 1965, to mark the twentieth anniversary of liberation from colonialism, Chosŏn ŭmak could still list what its editors regarded as the most significant orches­ tral and instrumental works produced since liberation: symphonies by Shin Tosŏn (written in 1955), Ch’oe Sudong (1955) and Mun Kyŏngok (1961); a violin concerto by Pak Minhyŏk (1957); string quartets by Cho Kilsŏk (1956) and Hong Sup’yo (1956), and a string quintet by Ch’oe Sudong (“P’yŏnji padŭn chŏnsa/Letter-Receiving Soldier”, 1955); a piano trio by Ri Hakpŏm (1958); programmatic symphonic poems by Ri Chŏngŏn (“Sŭngnirŭl hyanghayo!/ Victory Direction!”, 1953), Cho Kilsŏk (“Chogugŭl wihayo/To the Fatherland”, 1954, and “Hyŏngmyŏng ŭi pul kil/Bright Road of Revolution”, 1959), Mun Kyŏngok (“Haengbok/Happi­ ness”, 1956), Kim Wŏn’gyun (“Hyangt’o/Birthplace”, 1957) and Kim Yunbong (“Hango ŭi pul kil/Bright Road Formation”, 1960); ensemble works by Mun Kyŏngok (“Sŭngni/Victory”, 1951), Shin Tosŏn (“Haengbok ŭi kil/The Path of Happiness”, 1956), Kim Rinok (“Padaga-esŏ/ Coming from the Sea”, 1956) and Kim Yunbong (“Kyŏngch’uk sŏgok/Small Piece for Celebra­ tion”, 1962); and folk song medleys for string ensemble by Cho Kilsŏk (1954) and Mun Kyŏnok (1955) (1965/10: pp. 30–31). Tracking back through the journal, many of these works had been analysed and many of their performances had been reviewed. A number of these composers regularly contributed to the journal. When it first appeared, Shin Tosŏn edited Chosŏn ŭmak. As a composer, his folk song medley was discussed with respect to Soviet music by Mun Kyŏnuk (1957/8, pp. 14–15), and Ch’oe Ryongnin wrote about his symphony, a conventional four-movement work with a sonata-form first movement and a scherzo-with-trio second. Ch’oe reported that the first per­ formance in Pyongyang in 1958 was poor, but a much more accomplished rendition was given in April 1959 (1959/4, pp. 38–40). Shin remained respected in 1966, when Kim Chungil com­ pared his symphony to his programmatic “The Path of Happiness” (1966/2, pp. 15–17). Shin, though, was a Soviet-trained technocrat, who as a composer initially followed the textbook first published in 1939 by the so-called “Brigade of the historical-theoretical cathedral of the Moscow Conservatoire”. In Chosŏn ŭmak, his approach gradually matured. First, he translated Soviet musicology (e.g., 1955/2), outlined composition craft (e.g., 1956/1–1956/5, 1957/11–1958/1) in respect to Western features (melody, harmony, rhythm), outlined key dates in the develop­ ment of Soviet music (1957/11, pp. 10–15) and even wrote a small profile of Prokofiev, five years’ after Prokofiev had the misfortune to die on the same day as Stalin (1958/3, p. 35). Shin’s November 1957 outline of Soviet music was either particularly brave or politically naïve, given the atmosphere in Pyongyang at the time. He opened his account with nineteenthcentury Russian composers, then mentioned the October Revolution, policy changes that began in 1925, the arrival of socialist realism in 1932, and the reining-in of artistic freedom 258

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initiated by Zhdanov’s speech in 1948.18 He described a tentative new direction that began in 1951, but which accelerated as artistic freedoms were restored after the death of Stalin. Despite this, by 1959, he had conformed to the demands of the North Korean state. In February, he wrote about “national music” (minjok ŭmak) in farming communities, and how Kim Il Sung inspired all citizens to follow the socialist road. In April, he issued a clarion call: “Let’s raise up music composition further!” By June, he detailed outstanding model songs created since the proclamation of Juche, announcing that “our music of the Juche era elevates folk songs, instru­ mental and military music in all forms. Now that we have overcome all problems, our music will continuously develop” (1959/2, pp. 7–8, 1959/4, pp. 3–20, 1959/6, pp. 6–10). Beginning in February 1960, Shin returned to the craft of composition in a new series of articles. Shin’s later articles were juxtaposed with articles on writing songs by Kim Wŏn’gyun. When Kim returned from Moscow, he realized his orchestral graduation piece, Hyangt’o, was out of step with evolving ideology. Written between October 1956 and May 1957, it broadly con­ formed to sonata form. It started, adagio, with a fanfare featuring complex brass triplets, and throughout featured considerable chromaticism. The evident avant-garde tendencies suggest Moscow’s composition scene as Zhdanov’s 1948 speech and its criticism of composers faded into an ever-more distant history, but would have jarred with the ears of Kim Il Sung, who had argued some seven years before that, Our writers and artists have failed to represent the noble ideas and sentiments of the people and their life … Their creative activities have lost touch with life … Writers and artists should know that the genuine creator of great art is always the people.19 Kim Wŏn’gyun sought a way to avoid criticism, and found it by penning his discussion of Juche and music in July 1958’s Chosŏn ŭmak. In September 1958, he went further, promoting songs rather than instrumental and orchestral compositions. In this, though, he took the opportunity to showcase his own credentials, highlighting his first acknowledged song, “Chosŏn haengjin’gok/ Foundation March for Korea”, which he had written the day after liberation in 1945.20 By November, he had established his position as a leading light, and wrote about how national orchestral, instrumental and choral music should be based on songs, should be suitable for today rather than reflecting the past, and should be written for groups rather than soloists to fit with the unity of socialism (1958/9, pp. 24–26, 1958/11, pp. 39–41). Thereafter, he was frequently encountered, guiding others in the proper creation of songs (e.g., 1959/11, pp. 40–43, 1959/12, pp. 38–40, 1960/8, pp. 41–45, 1960/11, pp. 35–39, 1960/12, pp. 43–45).

Squaring circles: traditional music becomes national music The musicologist Ri Ch’anggu told me in an interview in June 1992 that the four-volume col­ lection of folk songs, Chosŏn minjok ŭmak chŏnjip: minyo p’yŏn, had been intended as a study aid from which theoretical and pedagogical texts could be produced – and they subsequently were, written, for example, by Ri Ch’anggu himself (1990).21 At the outset, however, it was not clear how minjok ŭmak – national music – could embrace tradition. First, the state demanded national music be contemporary, but Kim Il Sung stated that it must emanate from and be loved by the people, hence, the oral inheritance those expert in traditional music (kugak) were the product of – years of copying by rote from a master – had to be challenged. Attempts to do so were reported in Chosŏn ŭmak in February 1957. A symposium had been held in December 1956, where composers explored strategies; seven were quoted, commenting on the use of Western instruments in national music, lamenting the decline in national music in South Korea (because 259

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it was a proxy state for the USA), and so on, while Ri Hirim added an ideological frame in which national music from the people was to be maintained by composers working under the guidance of the Korean Workers’ Party (1957/2, pp. 7–14, 32–43). Second, folk songs of old were full of vocal colouring generated by nasal and chest resonance, ornamentation that ran counter to steady-state pitching (referred to by South Korean musicologists as “microtonal shading”), glottal stops, and heavy vibrato, but Kim Il Sung had remarked that national folk songs were melodious and lyrical, and so aspects of colouring needed to be discarded. Again, Kim announced that national music was to be raised up by combining the local with the foreign (that is, Western, or more precisely, Soviet, music). Chosŏn ŭmak thus announced that composers should arrange folk songs. Han Shihyŏng discussed this in the inaugural issue (1955/1, pp. 40–50). Kim Oksŏng took up the theme, arguing composers needed to learn from folk songs since they were “great art”, and Kim Wanu explored how folk songs could be improved by creating choral settings that followed the Soviet policy of promoting “singing circles” over solo singers (1957/1, p. 12, 1957/2, pp. 29–31). Orchestral and instrumental medleys of folk songs were encouraged, and, once created, were analysed (e.g., by Ri Hirim, 1959/5, pp. 5–11). And, with the process of collection complete, attention turned to estab­ lishing the characteristics of folk songs (e.g., 1959/6, pp. 30–34, 1960/9, pp. 21–26, 1960/10, p. 45, 1960/12, pp. 33–37), which were extracted to be defined as national characteristics – pat’ang (but after losing elements that challenged Kim Il Sung’s comments on lyricism). Because folk songs were considered to emanate from the people their characteristics, once defined, were considered to mark the national character, disposition, and temperament of Koreans (Rim Kwangho 2014, Chapter 3). Hence, folk songs, provided the building blocks for national music. In much the same way, Chosŏn ŭmak documented the “improvement” (kaeryang)22 of tradi­ tional instruments as national instruments, a project made official by a five-year plan announced at the Fourth Congress of the Korean Workers’ Party in September 1961. This, however, came after a decade of activity in which instrument construction had migrated from artisan studios to factories, and as North Koreans learnt from earlier attempts at “improvement” in China and the Soviet Union. Two articles in the February 1955 issue, by Cho Kyŏngha and Kim Chesŏn, recorded how the formerly pentatonic kayagŭm 12-stringed zither had begun to be “improved” to play Western diatonic scales, increasing its strings to a total of 1823 and – reflecting Kim Il Sung’s comments on lyricism – how ornamentation particular to individual instruments needed to be removed so that instruments could accompany songs and play harmoniously together in ensemble (1955/2, pp. 39–48). Distinctiveness was championed as a way to distinguish national from Western instruments, discussed in terms of tuning, voice, colour, and timbre (ŭmgye, ŭmyŏk, ŭmnyang, ŭmsaek), and from June 1958 Chosŏn ŭmak juxtaposed short articles on national and Western instruments, deliberately avoiding matching like-for-like, so that saxophones were detailed alongside kayagŭm zithers, Western drum kits alongside ajaeng bowed zithers, tanso ver­ tical flutes alongside guitars, and the p’iri oboe alongside the cello (1958/6, pp. 57–65, 1958/7, pp. 62–66, 1958/9, pp. 55–65, 1958/12, pp. 60–67). From 1961 onwards, articles explored new construction methods for instruments (e.g., discussing turning wind instrument bodies and drill­ ing finger holes: 1961/7, pp. 31–34), modifying playing techniques (1961/11, pp. 23–26), and documenting the number of instruments that had been reformed and displayed at exhibitions (1961/10, pp. 47–51, 1962/2, pp. 28–35, 1962/3, pp. 37–41). During 1967, a series of articles introduced and analysed new compositions for national instruments, the first five written by Shin Yŏngch’ŏl (1967/4, pp. 25–26, 1967/5, pp. 52–56, 1967/6, pp. 38–39, 1967/7, pp. 34–40, 1967/9, pp. 34–36, 1967/11, pp. 35–40, 1967/12, pp. 33–37). These belatedly appear to push the notion of a composer being more than just a worker who creates songs, and I am tempted 260

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to see them as an unsuccessful attempt to carve out territory that the journal could continue to serve if it was allowed to continue publishing. Creating a socialist national music did not initially require traditional music to be discarded. Some expert traditional musicians had settled in Pyongyang, and they were celebrated in the 1960s. Among them, An Kiok (1894–1974) was a revered kŏmun’go six-stringed zither player and Chŏng Namhŭi (1905–1984) a revered kayagŭm zither player as well as a singer. An traced his lineage back to the founder of the best-known traditional instrumental form, sanjo, and Chŏng was one of An’s first disciples. From 1952 onward, An was closely involved with “improving” instruments, while for a decade until 1970 Chŏng led the national music division of the Pyongyang Music and Dance College. An became a merit artist in 1952 and a people’s artist in 1956 while Chŏng gained these awards in 1952 and 1959, respectively; both featured in a celebration of artists carried in Chosŏn ŭmak in January 1960. During 1959, An wrote a series of articles on traditional rhythmic cycles (changdan) for the journal. Chŏng discussed a new version of ch’anggŭk – an opera-like genre based on p’ansori that had developed in the early twentieth century (1959/2, p. 36) – then a year later argued how modernization could make ch’anggŭk suitable for the socialist state (1960/4, pp. 13–16). Again, Pak Tongshil (1897–1968) had long been celebrated as a ch’anggŭk singer, and prior to 1945 was particularly known for “Yŏlsaga/Song of the Patriots”, a new p’ansori-style repertoire that told of four independence fighters against the Japanese (one being An Chunggŭn (1879–1910), who, in 1909, assassinated the Japanese four-time prime minister Itō Hirobumi). After settling in Pyongyang, Pak was appointed merit artist in 1955 and people’s artist in 1961. Still, some writers critiqued traditional music. Han Ŭngman was one of the first to openly criticize ch’anggŭk and p’ansori in the pages of Chosŏn ŭmak, arguing that its vocalization – highly ornamented lines, a hoarse vocal quality, and a four-octave range beyond the normative male and female range – was undesirable. To him, reforming either genre was not possible since this would create a “pseudo-tradition” (1957/6, pp. 15–22); in this he echoed Kim Il Sung’s comments about avoiding “resurrectionism” and “revivalism”.24 Defending ch’anggŭk and p’ansori was initially more common in the journal (e.g., 1959/2, p. 36, 1959/3, p. 44, 1959/4, pp. 34–38, 1959/5, pp. 16–23, 56, 1959/6, p. 20, 1960/1, pp. 31–36, 1960/2, pp. 23–26). Debate was ongoing, but this ended when Kim Il Sung effectively nailed the coffin for both genres shut in a speech to artists and writers delivered on November 7, 1964: P’ansori lacks interest since it is old-fashioned … P’ansori does not inspire the people nor arouse them to struggle. It is utterly ridiculous to imagine soldiers rushing into battle inspired by p’ansori … Koreans generally have beautiful voices, and it is really terrible to hear a good-looking girl make hoarse sounds.25 Not surprisingly, then, by 1965, traditional musicians were being challenged. But Chosŏn ŭmak continued to allow them a voice. Chŏng Namhŭi’s defence, “Inside the bosom of the Party”, was carried in the April 1965 issue (1965/4, pp. 10–12). Pak Tongshil, too, turned to the journal in 1966, in the April issue arguing that, as he turned 70, he should be allowed to reminisce on the history of the music genre to which he had dedicated his life, and how that genre must be considered a national treasure, since it celebrated the geography and people of the Korean nation. Continuing in May and June, he outlined how ch’anggŭk had developed, emphasizing that it had always served the people as a uniquely Korean genre (1966/4, pp. 36–38, 1966/5, pp. 26–27, 1966/6, pp. 38–39). The editors of the journal episodically continued to defend p’ansori and ch’anggŭk. In June 1964, nine short articles about reforming and reviving both, to make them “match the mind” 261

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of contemporary people, were published, while in October 1965 a list of significant ch’anggŭk performances since 1948 was given. In the same issue, Kim Namo outlined the genre’s distin­ guished history. And the journal persisted in marking ch’anggŭk as a critical part of North Korean theatre until autumn 1966 (1964/6, pp. 11–24, 1965/10, pp. 18–23, 44, 1966/9, pp. 2–4, 1966/10, pp. 25–26). But its editors could no longer resist falling into line.

Conclusion It was once commonplace to regard cultural production during the Chinese Cultural Revolution as monochromatic and stagnant, centred on eight model works and their offshoots such as the “Red Classics”. Today, access to those who lived through the decade of upheaval has allowed researchers to document what might better be described as a “continuous revolution” in which cultural forms were “hybrid and transcultural” (Mittler 2012, pp. 187–88, 384–387; see also Pang 2017, pp. 95–106). With North Korea, we have no such benefit of hindsight, and have no unfet­ tered access to musicians and other artists who live within its borders. The standardized account that comes out of Pyongyang is monolithic and puritanical. It is controlled by ranks of censors and ideologues, who ensure consistency and block any hint of dissent from within, and telling only what it has been decided can be known to those of us in the world outside what Suk-Young Kim (2010) argues is a “theatrical state”. We face, to cite Sandra Fahy, the “phenomena of access without access, telling without telling, truth without truth, information without information” (2019, p. 15). The result is that we must read tea-leaves as we create our accounts. In this chapter, my tea-leaves are the pages of a long-defunct journal, Chosŏn ŭmak, containing the writings of musicologists, musicians, composers and educators from an earlier generation. Although only teasing out a few strands from the thousands of articles that might be considered, I have attempted to demonstrate that the journal reveals debates and discussions that were going on when its monthly issues were published. At times, personal matters come to the surface in the pages – responses to criticism, resolutions to challenges, and so on – and occasionally individual writers or editors appear to subtly question directives from above. The journal reveals that once there was telling, there was truth, and there was information; and, since the journal has been archived outside the borders of North Korea, we still have the opportunity to uncover it.

Notes 1 I use the McCune-Reischauer romanization system throughout this chapter, but I respect familiar spellings of names (Kim Il Sung, Kim Jong Il, Seoul, Pyongyang) and use “shi” rather than “si” to reflect pronunciation; North Korea tends to use a modified system close to McCune-Reischauer but without its diacriticals. Note that I consider it inappropriate to use the current system promoted by the South Korean government. 2 “Ch’ŏllima shidae-e sangŭnghan munhwa yesurŭl ch’angjohaja: chakka, yesurindŭlgwa ŭi tamhwa,” later published in Uri hyŏngmyŏngesŏ ŭi munhak yesul ŭi immu (1965, pp. 30–31), as cited in Myers (1994, p. 126). 3 Such accounts include the 13 volumes of Chuch’e ŭmak ch’ongsŏ (Juche Music Collection; various authors, 1990–1992) and Chuch’e ŭi ŭmak yesul riron (Juche Musical Art Theory; Yi Yongdŭk and Sŏ Chaegyŏng 2013), as well as the second edition of Haebanghu Chosŏn ŭmak (Korean Music After Lib­ eration; edited by Ri Hirim, et al. 1979). 4 The normative South Korean translation of this, taken from a dictionary published by the University of North Korean Studies (Pukhan taehakwŏn taehakkyo) in Seoul, is the “General Federation…” It is occasionally given in texts as “Ch’ongyŏnhaeng”. 5 An earlier volume from 1952, Shinjak kagokchip (Newly Written Song Collection), omits “Aegukka” and for Ri’s song substitutes what by the late 1950s would have been the equally problematic “Ssŭttallin ch’an’ga/Song of Stalin” (1937) by the Soviet composer Alexandrov (1883–1946).

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cultural policy and practice in north Korea 6 Kerridge (1934). There are, of course, many more recent accounts of Soviet music, notably by Taruskin (e.g., 1997, 2008), Frolova-Walker (e.g., 2007, 2016) and Fairclough (2016). 7 The four factions have been widely discussed by, e.g., Scalapino and Lee (1972), Dae-Sook Suh (1988), Lankov (2003), Armstrong (2003a, 2013), Szalontai (2005) and, in respect to literature and art, Myers (1994) and Gabroussenko (2010, pp. 134–166). 8 Note, however, that Szalontai considers there was no substantial Muscovite faction in Pyongyang (2005, 18). 9 In Kim Il Sung, Selected Works 1 (1971, pp. 582–606). 10 Although nationalism and the associated distrust of other nations built on the history of Japanese colo­ nial control over Korea as well as the early 1930s bloody Minsaengdan incident in which Korean Com­ munists in China were purged by their Chinese brethren, it arguably retained Stalin’s autarkic economic model of socialism in one country, thereby modelling a Korean approach to socialist state-building (Suh 1988; Gittings 1993; David-West 2007, pp. 130–41; and, for the Minsaengdan incident, Hongkoo Han 2013). 11 The details offered in Chosŏn ŭmak are scant. Pyongyang championed a Korean train engineer, Kim Hoeil, as the equivalent to the Soviet miner Stakhanov who reputedly shifted 102 tons of coal in a shift. 12 Commentators disagree about when Ch’ŏllima began. Myers writes that it was backdated to 1956 in a deliberate ploy by later northern historians to make Ch’ŏllima look less like the parallel Chinese move­ ment (2010, p. 41), while Cheehyung Kim states that the earliest written reference is to 1958, and claims that the work team element did not predate 1959 (2018, p. 109). 13 Kim’s biography has it that he had trained in art but struggled to make a living, so when his father died in 1939, he took over the family smallholding on the outskirts of Pyongyang. 14 Written in 1955 and published and first performed in Pyongyang in 1958 (with a front page giving both the title and author’s name in Korean, Russian, Chinese and English – in English, his name is Roman­ ized as ‘Sin Do Sun’). The first performance was poor, but April 1959 brought a much more accomp­ lished reading, at least according to Ch’oe Ryongnin in Chosŏn ŭmak (1959/4, pp. 38–40). 15 The Soviet Union’s All-Union Society for Cultural Relations with Foreign Countries (VOKS), oper­ ated in Pyongyang through the Korean-Soviet Culture Society (Chosso munhwa hyŏphoe), set up in November 1945 and by 1949 claiming a local membership of 1,300,000 (Armstrong 2003b, p. 83). The Society published Chosso ch’insŏn [Korean-Soviet Friendship]. Note, however, that VOKS typically employed only a small number of cultural officers at any one time, and this may give the context for the comment by the American journalist Anna Louise Strong, who visited North Korea in 1947, that “the only concentration of Russians was in the capital … and they were not very conspicuous even there” (Strong 1949, p. 11). 16 A 1965 volume of vocal music issued by the Federation, 1965-nyŏndo ŭmak chakp’umsŏn, illustrates that Kim had been fully reinstated. It prints his ambitious, harmonically complex, and extended choral piece about the earnest wish of southerners to join the socialist fold, “Namnyŏk ŭi wŏnhanŭl ich’i marara”, before short but celebrated songs by Kim Oksŏng (1916–1965) and Ri Myŏnsang. 17 Chongjaron, as a term, first appeared in 1972: “the seed constitutes the core of art and determines its essential value” is how a 1990 English-language publication from the (South) Korean Association of Literary Criticism has it (1990, pp. 20–21; in Korean and from North Korea, see Kwahak paekkwa sajŏn 2002). 18 Andrei Zhdanov’s concluding speech to the January 1948 meeting of Soviet music workers (available at: www.marxists.org/subject/art/lit_crit/zhdanov/lit-music-philosophy.htm), although reflecting Stalin’s criticism of Muradeli’s opera “Velikaya Druzhba/The Great Friendship”, sought to increase control over artistic production. Six leading composers were denounced, including Shostakovich, Prokofiev and Khachaturian (see, e.g., Fairclough 2016, pp. 201–213). 19 “Talk with writers and artists,” June 30, 1951, in Kim Il Sung, Selected Works 1 (1971, pp. 305–312). Kim was undoubtedly channelling Mao Zedong’s Yan’an talks; Mao, in turn, was undoubtedly chan­ nelling Stalin, and Stalin – notes Charles Armstrong – unknowingly channelled Plato (2003a, p. 170). 20 In an interview in Pyongyang in June 1992, Kim told me that he had written “Foundation March” on August 16, 1945, the day Emperor Hirohito ordered the ceasefire, and a day after he had told his people in a radio broadcast that the Pacific War must end. 21 See also Nam Yŏngil (1991) and Ŏm Hajin (1992). 22 I give “improvement” in parentheses because, and although this translates the Chinese term gailiang (K. kaeryang), many who value tradition – including many musicians who play traditional instruments in

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Keith Howard South Korea – would question whether any improvement is actually involved; “reforming” or “mod­ ernization” might be a more appropriate gloss. 23 Later, the modified instrument settled on a standard 21 strings. 24 A 1982 tract by Kim Jong Il goes further, stating that people should “distinguish between what is pro­ gressive and popular and what is obsolete and reactionary in our cultural legacy” (“On the Juche idea: the treatise sent to the national seminar on the Juche idea, held to mark the seventieth birthday of the Great Leader Comrade Kim Il Sung”, March 31, 1982). 25 “On creating revolutionary literature and art”, in Kim Il Sung, Selected Works 1 (1964, pp. 159–161).

references References to articles in Chosŏn ŭmak and collections of song and other music notations are given within the text, as are references to speeches by Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il. Armstrong, Charles K. 2003a. The North Korean Revolution, 1945–1950, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Armstrong, Charles K. 2003b. “The Cultural Cold War in Korea, 1945–1950”, Journal of Asian Studies 62 (1): 71–99. Armstrong, Charles K. 2013. Tyranny of the Weak: North Korea and the World, 1950–1962, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Armstrong, Charles K. 2014. The Koreas, New York: Routledge. Cha, Victor. 2012. The Impossible State: North Korea, Past and Future, New York: HarperCollins. Cumings, Bruce. 1997. Korea’s Place in the Sun: A Modern History, New York: W. W. Norton. David-West, Alzo. 2007. “Marxism, Stalinism, and the Juche Speech of 1955: On the Theoretical DeStalinization of North Korea”, The Review of Korean Studies 10 (3): 127–52. Fahy, Sandra. 2019. Dying for Rights: Putting North Korea’s Human Rights Abuses on the Record, New York: Columbia University Press. Fairclough, Pauline. 2016. Classics for the Masses: Shaping Soviet Musical Identity under Lenin and Stalin, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Frolova-Walker, Marina. 2007. Russian Music and Nationalism: From Glinka to Stalin, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Frolova-Walker, Marina. 2016. Stalin’s Music Prize: Soviet Culture and Politics, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Gabroussenko, Tatiana. 2010. Soldiers on the Cultural Front: Developments in the Early History of North Korean Literature and Literary Policy, Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai‘i Press. Gittings, John. 1993. “The Secret of Kim Il Sung”, Papers of the British Association for Korean Studies, 4: 31–58. Han, Hongkoo. 2013. “Colonial Origins of Juche: The Minsaengdan Incident of the 1930s and the Birth of the North Korea-China Relationship”, in Jae-Jung Suh (Ed.), Origins of North Korea’s Juche: Colonial­ ism, War, and Development, Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, pp. 33–62. Jin, Guangxi. 2012. “ ‘The August Incident’ and the Destiny of the Yanan Faction”, International Journal of Korean History, 17 (2): 47–74. Jorgenson, John. 1996. “Tan’gun and the Legitimization of a Threatened Dynasty: North Korea’s Rredis­ covery of Tan’gun”, Korea Observer, 27 (2): 273–306. Kerridge, W. H. 1934. “The Union of Soviet Composers”, The Musical Times, 75 (December 1934): 1073–1075. Kim, Cheehyung Harrison. 2018. Heroes and Toilers: Work as Life in Postwar North Korea, 1953–1961, New York: Columbia University Press. Kim, Il Sung. 1964. Selected Works, Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House. Kim, Il Sung. 1971. Selected Works, Pyongyang: Foreign Languages Publishing House. Kim, Suk-Young. 2010. Illusive Utopia: Theater, Film, and Everyday Performance in North Korea, Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Korean Association of Literary Criticism. (Ed.) 1990. Forty Years of North Korean Opera and Theater, Seoul: Sinwon. Kwahak paekkwa sajŏn. (Ed.) 2002. Chŏngjarone kwanhan ch’ŏlhak nonmunjip, Pyongyang: Kwahak paekkwa sajŏn ch’ulp’ansa. Lankov, Andrei. 1999. “Kim Il Sung’s Campaign against the Soviet Faction in Late 1955 and the Birth of Chuch’e”, Korean Studies, 23: 43–67.

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cultural policy and practice in north Korea Lankov, Andrei. 2003. From Stalin to Kim Il Sung: The Formation of North Korea, 1945– 1960, New Bruns­ wick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Lee, Chong-Sik. 1963. The Politics of Korean Nationalism, Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Martin, Bradley K. 2004. Under the Loving Care of the Fatherly Leader: North Korea and the Kim Dynasty, New York: Thomas Dunne Books. Mittler, Barbara. 2012. A Continuous Revolution: Making Sense of Cultural Revolution Culture, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center. Myers, Brian. 1994. Han Sŏrya and North Korean Literature, Ithaca, NY: East Asia Program, Cornell Univer­ sity. Myers, Brian. 2006. “The Watershed That Wasn’t: Re-Evaluating Kim Il Sung’s ‘Juche Speech’ of 1955”, Acta Koreana, 9 (1): 89–115. Myers, Brian. 2010. The Cleanest Race: How North Koreans See Themselves—And Why It Matters, Brooklyn, NY: Melville House Publishing. Nam, Yŏngil. 1991. Minjok ŭmak ŭi kyesŭng palchŏn, Pyongyang: Munye ch’ulp’ansa. No, Tongŭn. 1989. Han’guk minjok ŭmak hyŏndan’gye, Seoul: Segwang ŭmak ch’ulp’ansa. Ŏm, Hajin. 1992. Chosŏn minyo ŭi yurae, Pyongyang: Yesul kyoyuk ch’ulp’ansa. Pang, Laikwan. 2017. The Art of Cloning: Creating Production During China’s Cultural Revolution, London: Verso. Park, Hye-jung. 2019. “Ethnographic Approaches to Private Collections: Re-discovering the Activities of Ely Haimowitz and the U.S. Army Military Government in Korea”, unpublished paper presented at the conference of the Society for Ethnomusicology, Indiana University, November 7, 2019. Pihl, Marshall R. 1993. “Contemporary Literature in a Divided Land”, in Donald N. Clark (Ed.), Korea Briefing 1993, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, pp. 79–98. Ri, Ch’anggu. 1990. Chosŏn minyo ŭi choshik ch’egye, Pyongyang: Yesul kyoyuk ch’ulp’ansa. Ri, Hirim, Ri, Hwail, Chu, Yŏngsŏp, Han, Ŭngman, Han, Pyŏnggak, and Mun, Chongsang. 1956. Hae­ banghu Chosŏn ŭmak, Pyongyang: Chosŏn chakkokka tongmaeng wiwŏnhoe. Ri, Hirim, Ham, Tŏgil, An, Chongu, Chang, Hŭmil, Ri, Ch’ayun and Kim, Tŭkch’ŏng. 1979. Haebanghu Chosŏn ŭmak, Pyongyang: Munye ch’ulp’ansa. Rim, Kwangho. 2014. Urishik kojŏn ŭmak. Chosŏn sahoe kwahak haksulchip 493: Munhak p’yŏn, Pyongyang: Sahoe kwahak ch’ulp’ansa. Scalapino, Robert and Lee, Chong S. 1972. Communism in Korea, Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Strong, Anna Louise. 1949. In North Korea: First Eye-Witness Reports, New York: Soviet Russia Today. Suh, Dae Sook. 1988. Kim Il Sung: The North Korean Leader, New York: Columbia University Press. Suh, Jae-Jung. 2013. “Making Sense of North Korea: Juche as an Institution”, in Jae-Jung Suh (Ed.), Origins of North Korea’s Juche: Colonialism, War, and Development, Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, pp. 1–32. Szalontai, Balázs. 2005. Kim Il Sung in the Kruschev Era: Soviet-DPRK Relations and the Roots of North Korean Despotism, 1953–1964, Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson Center Press. Taruskin, Richard. 1997. Defining Russia Musically, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Taruskin, Richard. 2008. On Russian Music, Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Yi, Hyŏnju. 2006. Pukhan ŭmakkwa chuch’e ch’ŏlhak, Seoul: Minsogwŏn. Yi, Yongdŭk and Sŏ, Chaegyŏng, 2013. Chuch’e ŭi ŭmak yesul riron. Chosŏn sahoe kwahak haksulchip 426, Pyongyang: Sahoe kwahak ch’ulp’ansa.

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18

Love of the Lover, Love of

the Leader

Youth romance in North Korean fiction

Alek Sigley

The North Korean propaganda apparatus has for long sought to problematise and address the topic of romantic love via literature. It is a state imperative to channel the emotions and sexual energy of the nation’s youth away from what is perceived as bourgeois bodily pleasures, towards such loftier ideological obligations as serving the Party and the Leader. This is a function of the didactic role that literature plays in North Korean society, where little foreign literature is available and nothing is to be found in bookstores but books printed by a handful of state-controlled publishers. The key role state-sponsored fiction plays in attempting to channel human conduct and shape the ideological agenda in an authoritarian society makes the study of contemporary literature in North Korea worthy of scholarly inquiry. In the 1980s, North Korean novels began to feature portrayals of romantic love which were at the same time both more direct and more nuanced than their predecessors. This chapter will examine this evolution, discussing the political and economic context of literary production, as well as offering in-depth analysis of the form and content of several exemplary novels, to explain why and how the 1980s marked such a change. I will also reference North and South Korean literary scholarship and criticism to further explore the motivations, patterns, and limitations of the portrayal of romantic love in North Korean literature. Despite North Korean literature’s unchanging role as a form of state propaganda, its portrayal of youth romance has developed over time. While pre-1980s’ fiction gave centre stage to flawless Stakhanovite revolutionary heroes whose ardent zeal for the revolution alone was able to win love and desire from their partners, stories from the 1980s unveiled a new and more complex archetype of the revolutionary lover. In contrast to previous writing, such stories present a portrait of lovers grappling to embrace each other’s flaws, who criticise and correct each other, and help each other develop on the path to becoming “true” patriots and revolutionaries. These developments followed the emergence of the “Socialist Reality Themed Novel” (Sahoejuŭi hyŏnshil chuje chakp’um), which did away with the bombastic storytelling of the past in favour of a more subtle, heightened form of realism. This chapter will focus on this latter period of literary production, as these latter works are considered the exemplary works dealing with youth love in today’s North Korea.

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Studying at Kim Il Sung University: a personal note I began a master’s degree at Kim Il Sung University, North Korea’s premier university, in April 2018. I was enrolled as a student in the College of Literature (Munhak taehak), from which many of North Korea’s best-known writers have graduated, where I took three semesters of coursework on contemporary North Korean fiction. As a foreign student, I was not permitted to take courses alongside local students, but instead received one-on-one tuition based on the standard curriculum. The courses included: Literary Theory (Munhak inon), Literary Analysis (Chakp’um punsŏk), History of Contemporary North Korean Fiction (Hyŏndae chosŏn munhaksa), Theory of Narrative Structure (Munhak chakp’um kusŏngnon), and Literary Movements (Munhak sajonon). I also received thesis supervision from one of the North Korea’s leading literary critics, Professor Han Yunmi (pseudonym). Where necessary, I will refer to the content of these classes. My first contact with North Korean fiction came from Paek Namryong’s Friend (Pŏt), which was republished to acclaim in South Korea during the Sunshine Period of engagement with the North (1997–2007). Soon after arriving, I discussed my thesis direction with Professor Han, and told her that I would like to focus on novels such as Friend, which portray the lives, loves, and travails of ordinary North Korean workers. Personally, I had enjoyed Friend very much, and thought that novels in this vein would have the most appeal to a Western readership. This was in stark contrast to the Immortal History (Pulmyŏrŭi yŏksa) and Immortal Leadership (Pulmyŏrŭi hyangdo) series, which novelise the lives of Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il respectively. These two series, which take an already highly distorted version of history and further embellish it with a novelist’s flair, are at the centre of the contemporary North Korean canon. They represent the maturation of the North Korea’s tradition of “Leader Literature” (Suryŏng hyŏngsang munhak), a genre specialising in fulsome representations of the Kims. They hence play an important role in promoting the Kims’ personality cult, as well as in North Korea’s national myth making, and for such reasons are certainly worthy of research (Kang 2009), but I did not want to spend my thesis time focusing on what is essentially hagiography, which would have been too sensitive an issue for a foreigner to examine in any case. For reasons of personal interest and cultural sensitivity, I therefore chose “ordinary” fiction.1 After some discussion, my supervisor and I decided on themes of youth romance in contemporary North Korean fiction as the topic. Professor Han prepared a long reading list of key stories dealing with the theme. In addition to this, my Literary Analysis course was tailored to consist of in-depth analysis of novels that would be most relevant to my thesis. Each week I discussed one novel with a member of the Korean Writers Union who was also a Kim Il Sung University academic appointed as one of my teachers. These short stories and novels numbered 13 in total, and I will take an in-depth look at four of them in this chapter.

Loving the model worker: themes of youth romance in early period North Korean fiction One of the earliest North Korean stories of some importance in contemporary North Korea to contain a romance plot was “A Letter from Haeju-Hasong” (Haeju-hasŏngsŏ on p’yŏnji), by Kim Pyŏnghun (1929–2013). This short story, published in 1960, appears in the current North Korean middle school curriculum as required reading. The author, a Korean War veteran, is one of the most notable in his generation, later taking up several important positions in the cultural bureaucracy, such as chairman of the Korean Writers Union. Two of his stories, “Kiltong mudŭl” and “A Letter from Haeju-Hasong”, are included in the Korean Short Story Collection 2 (Chosŏn tanp’yŏnjip 2), which forms part of a numbered series of short story collections released 267

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once a decade or so, and containing the best works of that period. The other two short stories examined in the next section come from later volumes of this series. “A Letter from Haeju-Hasong” is set during the Chollima Movement of the late 1950s, the first of a series of a state-orchestrated mass movements modelled after the USSR’s Stakhanovite movement and China’s Great Leap Forward. The Movement aimed at promoting economic growth in the aftermath of the Korean War, which had left the country’s economy in a shambles and infrastructure ruined in the wake of heavy US bombing. Each of these campaigns emphasised the themes of patriotic mass mobilisation, the presentation of exemplars to be followed, direct links to state economic objectives, and the widespread use of propaganda. In the Chollima case, the protagonist Sŏ Ch’ilsŏng is an exemplary “Chollima Rider” (Ch’ŏllima kisu), and his love interest falls for him in a plot arc that is tied closely to her realisation of his heroic nature as a worker and a revolutionary. The story takes place during the construction of the eponymous railway between Haeju and Hasong in South Hwanghae Province, work on which was carried out by youth volunteers. Ch’ilsŏng is on holiday in the beautiful Mount Kumgang Resort area when suddenly, he hears the voice of Kim Il Sung on the radio exhorting the youth of the country to come forth and volunteer for work on the construction of the Haeju-Hasong Railway. He cuts short his holiday, and without even pausing to obtain permission from his workplace to avoid delay, makes the journey down to South Hwanghae Province to present himself as a shock brigade (Tolgyŏkdae) volunteer. There, he meets Myŏnghŭi, a telephone operator. Myŏnghŭi thinks he is a bit eccentric at first, but slowly begins to take a liking to him in his role as the first and only male to volunteer for the cooking shock brigade, organised to meet an urgent deficiency in proper cooked meals for the workers. When they continually fail to properly cook the rice in bulk – ending up as what they jokingly dub “three-layer-rice” (Samch’ŭngbap), raw on the top, fine in the middle and scorched on the bottom, Ch’ilsŏng runs to the nearby town of Haeju in the rain, where all through the night he receives instruction from a cafeteria chef, followed by a morning of practical experience, after which he returns to camp, successfully cooks a large vat of rice and instantly becomes a minor celebrity, earning the job “cafeteria director” (Shiktang chibaein). Next, construction of a bridge falls behind schedule and threatens to stall the entire project. This prompts Ch’ilsŏng to disappear, after which Myŏnghŭi finally discovers him digging dirt on the slopes of Mount Maehwa. It turns out that the weathered granite-like hard rock found in the soil of Mount Maehwa can be used to make concrete blocks that will speed up construction of the bridge and bring the project back on schedule. The two subsequently spend the night fabricating concrete blocks together. During this event, Ch’ilsŏng mentions to Myŏnghŭi that he fought on Mount Maehwa during the Korean War, and that it was his platoon commander, an architect, who told him of the characteristics of Mount Maehwa’s hard rock. The final hurdle is the construction of a tunnel, and yet again Ch’ilsŏng comes to the rescue, designing a specialised conveyer belt to help extract dirt from the excavation site. After he disappears yet again, Myŏnghŭi finds him at the same spot on Mount Maehwa, clutching his university entrance application. Despite the entreaties of everybody around him, he has put off applying to university to continue working on the railway. His application is covered in his scribbled designs. Ch’ilsŏng then tells Myŏnghŭi the full story of how his comrades fought a desperate battle against the Americans on this very hill, he being the sole survivor as he was ordered to deliver a message to headquarters just before the battle. It was at this emotional parting that he had promised his brothers-in-arms to make the place prosper after the war. This explains his consuming drive to contribute to the construction of the Haeju-Hasong Railway. Ch’ilsŏng’s conveyor belt machine contributes single-handedly to speeding up completion of 268

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the tunnel, after which everybody yells in unison “Long Live Kim Il Sung!” The couple finally resolve to spend the rest of their lives together, building railroads across the country. They will talk of marriage, still referred to as “that problem”, after they graduate from university and receive their train driver licences. The last line of the story reads as follows. They will spread their wings vigorously and fly away like a pair of eagles towards the crimson sunset of Communism far on the horizon. (author’s translation) In my Literary Analysis course, I was asked to point out the theme (chuje) of each work. In North Korean literary theory, which I studied in my Literary Theory course, theme is characterised as the “presentation of a human problem” (in’ganmunje chegi). The usage of “human” here in turn derives from Kim Jong Il’s definition of Juche literature as “the study of humankind” (in’ganhak), which has a twofold meaning with the depiction of realistic human life (san in’gan) on the one hand, and the need for literature to “serve humankind” (in’gane pongmuhanda) on the other. This highlights the role literature plays in political “education” (kyoyang) and propaganda (sŏnjŏn). Theme, as the posing of a problem, in turn requires an answer. That answer comes in the form of ideology (sasang), in effect, the political message of a given work. Thus, in my explorations of the theme of a particular story, it was expected that I would tease out the ideology too. In the model answers provided by my Literary Analysis teacher, himself a published author and member of the Korean Writers Union, the theme of “A Letter from Haeju-Hasong” was: “What characterises the most beautiful youth?”. The corresponding answer to this was: “One who lives the life of knowing how to completely dedicate one’s entire self to the Fatherland and the people.” This in turn was linked to the Chollima period as depicted in the novel. Sŏ Ch’ilsŏng is seen to embody the spirit of the times. In my Literary Analysis course discussion of the “plotline structure” (iyagi chulgŏri chojik), it was pointed out that the short story employs the “understanding plotline method” (ihaesŏn chojik subŏp). This technique is aimed at facilitating character development (sŏnggyŏk palchŏn), but one which comes about through a gradual process whereby Ch’ilsŏng’s nature is come to be understood in the eyes of the story’s other characters, in this case, Myŏnghŭi. Ch’ilsŏng essentially projects a flawless personality, which Myŏnghŭi merely comes to understand through the story’s events, and this slowly allows Ch’ilsŏng’s character to be gradually revealed to others. In discussion of the story’s “sentimental organisation” (kamjŏng chojik), another important concept in North Korean literary theory which refers to a story’s emotional pull on the reader, it was further explained that the story “unfolds a dramatic process of change by which Myŏnghŭi comes to accept Ch’ilsŏng’s aspirations and internal world [naemyŏn segye] as her own”. The story’s character development thus hinges upon Myŏnghŭi coming to take the already perfected and complete Ch’ilsŏng as an exemplar. She then resolves to emulate Ch’ilsŏng. As we shall see, this forms a stark contrast with the stories from the 1980s where both lovers are imperfect, and simultaneously improve as both people and revolutionaries. In this respect, the romance plotline between Ch’ilsŏng and Myŏnghŭi is closely connected to their character development. Upon graduating from high school, Myŏnghŭi writes in her diary that she “doesn’t want to walk the flat and tranquil path”. Rather, she wants to “walk the difficult and steep path to the summit”, for it is only then that she can “taste the fruits of an authentic life”. She resolves to leave the “greenhouse” that she has lived in all her life and volunteers for the Haeju-Hasong Railway project as a telephone operator. Describing the feeling of seeing the first train move along its tracks, she compares it to “hearing the cries of 269

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one’s firstborn”, but quickly corrects herself, writing that this expression is too vulgar and individualistic. This hints at the development she undergoes through her relationship with Ch’ilsŏng, which crystallises at the end of the story. After Ch’ilsŏng and Myŏnghŭi stay up all night on Mount Maehwa producing concrete blocks, the construction battalion’s commander congratulates the two. “Sŏ Ch’ilsŏng, you must be glad to have Myŏnghŭi as your fervent supporter,” he says. Myŏnghŭi’s reaction is: “I felt like a bonfire had been lit on my face and fled into the kitchen.” Given it was known that the two spent a night together alone in the wilderness, it was perhaps natural that rumours began to spread within the battalion, but Myŏnghŭi insists that the two of them do not have any special relationship. However, when Myŏnghŭi’s friend approaches her and asks her what she sees in such a man who, despite being an “innovator” (hyŏkshinja), is gangly and awkward, Myŏnghŭi feels insulted on his behalf, and begins to realise that she does indeed have feelings for him. As soon as she acknowledges this, however, she criticises herself for being frivolous, and goes back to admiring the rising arrows on the production charts, which make her heart flutter. As construction draws to a close, she feels a suffocating need to open her heart to Ch’ilsŏng and tell him how she feels and begins to worry that she will never get an opportunity to do so, as he has vanished once again. When she finds him on the mountain with his university application, this brings about the final step in her transformation. She realises that previously she had thought of “serving the fatherland” merely as “beautiful words”, but Ch’ilsŏng’s story made her aware of its gritty, real-life obligations. She then goes into a long monologue on Ch’ilsŏng’s character, his sincere desire to serve the Fatherland, the Party, and the Leader, and his selfless and noble nature. She realises that her previous desire to “walk the difficult path” was vain, conceited and individualistic. She merely wanted to define herself against others. While she was moving earth on the construction site, she was approaching it as if it were a 100 metre sprint in school, her intention being to prove herself rather than sacrifice that self for the Fatherland. She cries out melodramatically: “Fatherland, forgive this naïve daughter!” In short, this story’s romance plotline contains several key features, which are shared by all pre-1980s stories. First, a man and a woman come together in a naïve, innocent, and almost childlike romance. Portrayal of this romance is completely devoid of any description of physical contact. “A Letter from Haeju-Hasong” lacks any objectifying depiction of the locus of romantic desire’s attractive physical features; everything revolves around his personality and his revolutionary credentials. Second, the moral exemplar in the couple becomes both romantic object and moral example for the other to emulate. As the pair’s love intensifies, this brings about a realisation on the part of the morally inferior partner as to their own faults and the superiority of their partner. This culminates in a process whereby the inferior partner strives to become like the moral exemplar and object of romantic desire. Third, and finally, the Leader, whether in the form of a direct appearance in the story, a quote of his words, or evocation of his will, is instrumental in bringing the couple together. In “A Letter from Haeju-Hasong”, this takes the form of the two lovers working to bring the railroad to completion according to the Leader’s will, and the cries of “Long Live Kim Il Sung!” just before Ch’ilsŏng first attempts to confess his love to Myŏnghŭi. Sonia Ryang points out that this is reminiscent of the role God plays in Christian relationships, as both God and Kim Il Sung take the role of third member in the relationship, and medium through which love of both partners must pass in order to be legitimate. Ryang dubs this the “Eternal Triangle” (2012, p. 60). The novel mixes a story of economic production with youth romance in a tale “rich with lyricism”, as noted in my Literary Analysis course. Yet it should be noted that the Chollima Movement was not merely about building factories and houses, but also about the inculcation of revolutionary ideology (sasang), morality (todŏk), and spirit (chŏngshin) (Yu 2008, p. 128), 270

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features which subsequent mass movements would inherit in some way or another. Literature would play an important role in this by being the vehicle through which such revolutionary values would be transmitted.

The 1980s and the flawed revolutionary in North Korean fiction: political context The year 1980 marked a period of change in North Korean cultural production in which literature played a key role. Such a change was enabled by modifications to cultural policy directed by Kim Jong Il, who was already well in the process of establishing himself as successor. These developments were foreshadowed by the Three Revolutions Red Flag and Three Revolutions Team Movements of the mid to late 1970s (Yi 1999, pp. 302–303; Kim 2008, p. 290). These two movements are interlinked through promotion of the so-called “Three Revolutions” – ideological, technological and cultural. The Three Revolutions Team Movemet has been described as North Korea’s much less anarchic counterpart to the Chinese Cultural Revolution, and as pointed out by Chung Young Chul, the Three Revolutions mark a shift from what he terms “breakthrough mass movements” such as Chollima, to “routine mass movements”, where emphasis has moved from achieving an economic breakthrough to ideological indoctrination (Chung 2003). The Movement were led directly by Kim Jong Il, and have been analysed as a move to promote supporters from his generation into positions of influence – a generational change from second to third generation of the revolution (Pak 1999, p. 221). This involved the dispatch of teams of young intellectuals into work units across the country, with the aim of contributing to both ideological “cultivation” (kyoyang) and practical matters of economic production (Yi 1999, p. 306; Kim 2008, p. 290). The preoccupation with young intellectuals found in the literature of the 1980s, which continued as part of the Hidden Heroes Movement (Sumŭn yŏngung ch’atki/Sumŭn yŏngung ttara paeugi undong) can be said to have had its roots here (Pak 1999, p. 221). The economic construction-focused 1980s’ Speed Battle Movement (P’alshim yŏndae soktojŏn) – branded by Kim Il Sung as a successor to the original Chollima Movement – is also key to understanding these new developments in 1980s’ literature. These mass movements took place in the context of a North Korea in the 1970s and 1980s which was facing slowing production, an inability to keep up with South Korea’s economic and military development, and the gradual drying up of assistance from China and the USSR (Yi 1999, pp. 302–303). The Three Revolutions and Hidden Hero Movements featured calls for economic restructuring aimed at scientific and technical development (Pak 1999, p. 270), and in tandem with two of Kim Jong Il’s campaigns to increase production of medium and full-length novels to mark the 70th and 77th anniversaries of Kim Il Sung’s birth in 1982 and 1989 respectively, led to a proliferation of new short stories, (ibid., pp. 234, 268). An emphasis on increasing the production of quality medium and full-length novels in particular became a feature of 1980s’ literary policy under Kim Jong Il (Kim 1994, p. 260). The Hidden Heroes Movement and its precepts are central to the new developments seen in 1980s’ North Korean literature. The Korean Writers Union Third Grand Conference was held in January 1980, and it was here that direct orders were given from Kim Jong Il to discover and depict “Hidden Heroes” (ibid., p. 259). The Sixth Korean Workers Party Congress later in the year, in which Kim Jong Il was officially designated as successor, and the country’s official ideology changed from orthodox Marxism-Leninism to Juche “Our-Style Socialism”, is also contextually important to 1980s’ literature and the portrayal of Hidden Heroes (Kim Kwanung et al. 2006, p. 274). It was here that the Hidden Hero was designated as the archetype of the 271

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Communist human being, and “Learn from the Hidden Heroes” was initiated as a mass movement (Sin and O 2000, p. 319). These Hidden Heroes are different from the heroes of old, such as Sŏ Ch’ilsŏng in “A Letter from Haeju-Hasong”, who are so heroic that there is no point of comparison between them and ordinary people. The older stories also laid emphasis on a glorified, heroic revolutionary past, and thus lack contemporaneity. In them, the heroes derive their inspiration from an order the Leader gave in the past, or events that unfolded during the AntiJapanese Armed Struggle of the 1930s, The Fatherland Liberation War (the Korean War), and the stories themselves, penned in the 1960s or the 1970s, were often set during the Chollima Movement. The new stories of the 1980s, in contrast, feature heroes who appear ordinary at first glance, exhibiting a certain heroism of character only on closer inspection. Their heroic deeds furthermore do not attract widespread attention. Hidden Hero stories are set in the present, and thus restore a sense of contemporaneity to North Korean literature. They are not unlike their predecessors, deriving their ultimate inspiration from Kim Il Sung, but it is more likely to be a Kim Il Sung of the present rather than one of the Arduous March (the original 1937 Arduous March during the Anti-Japanese Revolutionary Armed Struggle), while the role of the Leader, and its concomitant deus ex machina plot resolutions in which he appears like a divine apparition, become less marked. Hidden Heroes often work in isolated, faraway places, rather than on prestige projects that are widely touted in North Korea’s propaganda, such as the Haeju-Hasong Railway that Ch’ilsŏng labours on. Whereas previous stories highlighted epic deeds achieved in a semi-mythological past by heroes whose sublime nature won them widespread fame, the new heroes of the 1980s were happy to live in obscurity, content with the thought that their work has benefited others. Rather than trumpeting a golden age in the past, this new strain of 1980s’ fiction dealt with the problems the reader was facing in the present. While the lineage of leadership-focused Juche literature established in the 1970s, following the promulgation of the Monolithic Ideology System of 19672 continued into the 1980s with the expansion of the Immortal History series, dealing with Kim Il Sung’s life, and the creation of the Immortal Leadership series, which dealt with Kim Jong Il’s, it grew in tandem with this new tradition of Socialist Reality Themed Novels, which depict real life and deal with social problems from a comparatively diverse range of perspectives. It is the latter that displays the novelty of 1980s’ fiction. These novels, whose characterisation, setting, and other formal elements exhibit the principles of the Hidden Heroes Movement, allowed a profusion of themes hitherto unexplored in North Korean fiction. These range from inter-generational conflict to critiques of bureaucratism, the disparity between urban and rural areas, and gender inequality.3 These novels also placed love and marriage in a new focus. Paek Namryong’s Friend (Pŏt), for example, became a bestseller in the North before reaching the South, where it surprised readers there with its honest confrontation of marital strife and divorce. The Hidden Heroes Movement expanded the horizons of North Korean fiction, and, as the South Korean scholar of North Korean literature Kim Chaeyong put it, presented a “critique of the heroism of the past and a rediscovery of the quotidian” (Kim 2006, p. 100). At the same time, it presents the first focused exploration of romantic love in North Korean fiction, accompanied by the presence of worldly, individualistic desire in a form never before seen in North Korean literature. Paralleling a move from the “one great big family” (hanaŭi taegajŏng) of the state to portrayal of the family as a unit of its own (Ko 1999, p. 290, 2008, p. 307), representations of romantic love began to shift from a revolutionary love which was subordinated to the cause of “our style socialist construction” to one which, while still emphatically intertwined with nationalism and comradely love, did allow love to function more as a relationship between autonomous individuals. 272

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These trends reflect the status of the 1980s as a relatively open period in North Korean cultural history, which was marked by efforts to cater to the literary tastes of the younger generation, who were better educated and more sophisticated than their predecessors. This was accompanied by sensual portrayals of women (and men to a lesser extent), passages featuring hugging (although kissing remained taboo), and frivolous date scenes, which would have been inconceivable in the literary milieu of the previous decade. On a formal level, North Korean novels of the 1980s also exhibited major improvements in artistic technique, displaying a more developed psychological and internal description of characters and an increasingly refined use of perspective. Writing improved and third person narration that had the feel of oral literature gave way to detached first- and third-person narration.

A triptych of three exemplary North Korean novels of the 1980s The revolution in character portrayal of the 1980s is first hinted at in works such as Kim Pongch’ŏl’s “Until Knowing Him” (Kŭrŭl algikkaji), published in 1981 and collected in the Korean Short Story Collection, Volume 4 (Chosŏn tanp’yŏnjip 4). This is a transitional work, in its characteristics somewhere in between the pre-1980s’ stories and with the new themes not quite as fully developed as they were to become. The story is set in a mountain village which is the base for a team of mineral explorers. Hyeshim is a doctor at the explorers’ clinic and is troubled by a patient named Ri Ŭnsŏk, who for almost a year has insisted on monthly stomach X-rays despite showing no sign of illness. Hyeshim looks at his medical record in disgust, having long reached the conclusion that he is merely a malingerer who is wasting her time. Ŭnsŏk, a renowned geologist and member of the exploration team, is, however, loved by all others in the village, and much to the chagrin of the village’s young ladies, is still a bachelor at 32. Hyeshim hears from a mutual friend that Ŭnsŏk, who has apparently never been romantically attached before, has a crush on her, which only further intensifies her distaste towards him. Eventually she confronts him about his strange behaviour, asking him why he continually demands check-ups from her, but he only says that it is because “he requires them”. Insulted, she tells him to stop coming, at which point he coolly takes back his medical record for use at another hospital. Later, Hyeshim is summoned to the Geological Research Summary Meeting, where she is perplexingly asked to give a report. There, she sees Ŭnsŏk explaining that he had been conducting the chemical analysis of a substance that he had newly discovered, one which has potential pharmaceutical uses. Hyeshim is asked to confirm that Ŭnsŏk’s stomach showed no sign of damage, to which she, shocked, replies in the affirmative. It comes to light that Ŭnsŏk had forestalled announcing the discovery of this substance for a year so that he could regularly ingest it himself to make sure that it did not have any adverse effects on the human body. Hyeshim is angry at being deceived, but realises that Ŭnsŏk had no choice, because if he had given the true reason for his check-ups, she would have refused. The story ends with an encounter between the two as Ŭnsŏk visits her office soon after the meeting to return her medical bag, which she had accidentally left behind. As the moral exemplar in “Until Knowing Him”, Ŭnsŏk still conforms to the flawless, selfless hero of the pre-1980s’ stories, but the story diverges significantly in the way that the hero’s love interest fundamentally misunderstands the hero. In the North Korean criticism in my Literary Analysis class, this is said to be carried out via a formal technique known as the “misunderstanding plotline structural technique” (ohaesŏn kusŏng subŏp). This formal technique is characteristic of many 1980s’ stories and comes to supersede the previous “understanding 273

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plotline”. While the latter entailed characters beginning with little or no knowledge of the hero and gradually coming to understand their heroic nature, the former brings the problem of knowledge into new relief by depicting characters who have a seriously flawed, negative understanding of the hero, which comes to be drastically overturned. This radically different epistemology comes about in “Until Knowing Him” through Hyeshim’s bare contempt for Ŭnsŏk. The story goes to great lengths to illustrate this. She looks at his medical record and a “cold smile” appears on her face. The medical record had “muddied her heart” and sent “unpleasant ripples through her soul”. Looking at the name “Ri Ŭnsŏk” written on the record, she felt as if his name were “piercing the pupils of her eyes” and causing her great pain. That characters could feel such hatred for the revolutionary hero is unprecedented, but certainly contributes to the innovativeness of such stories. Despite modernism being condemned in my Literary Movements course and elsewhere in North Korean literary criticism as a “reactionary bourgeois and depraved” literary movement, the novel even features the occasional abstract, symbolic image: “Hyeshim shut her mouth and lowered her head. She resolved to stop thinking about such a person. Outside the window on a steep slope within the pebbly riverside, the lily flowers burned like flames” (author’s translation). The short story’s writing is considerably more refined and artistic than much of what can be seen in the pre-1980s’ short stories: The light of the X-ray occasionally illuminates not only people’s inner organs but also shines right into the bottom of their souls. This is not cause for celebration. That is because discovering something else which diminishes the good side of one’s comrade is rather unpleasant. (author’s translation) As for the story’s romance plotline, it lies somewhere in between “A Letter from Haeju-Hasong” and the more sophisticated 1980s’ novels. Like Sŏ Ch’ilsŏng, Ŭnsŏk is an awkward character, whose musings include: Love really is a different kettle of fish to geology, is it not? It truly is a difficult science. With geology, all one needs is facts, patience, and contemplation, and all can be resolved, but love … It seems that one requires a lot more than that. (author’s translation) which elicit laughter, as well as respect, from the women in his workplace. But unlike “A Letter from Haeju-Hasong”, “Until Knowing Him” features descriptions of both young lovers which stress physical attraction. Ŭnsŏk is depicted not only as conscientious and reliable, but manly in appearance, and popular among the ladies. The middle-aged women in his dormitory have been trying to set him up, but to no avail, and this is most disappointing to them, since he is considered a very eligible marriage partner. Hyeshim herself has “pouting, beautiful lips”, and is portrayed as a beautiful young woman. In the North Korean criticism of the story I encountered in my Literary Analysis course, it was elucidated that the theme of the story was about how “the most ordinary people” could become heroes through “sacrifices made unbeknownst to others and without any expectation of reward or praise”. Ŭnsŏk’s work in an isolated area, which was for most of the time unknown to those around him, as well as the fact that his work is not inspired by Kim Il Sung in a direct sense, also form a contrast with Sŏ Ch’ilsŏng from “A Letter from Haeju-Hasong” and set 274

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Ŭnsŏk up as a Hidden Hero. Indeed, at the end of the story, Ŭnsŏk is praised as a “Hidden Hero” (sumŭnyŏngung), a direct reference to the political dimension of the novel and Kim Jong Il’s Hidden Hero Movement. An Ode to Youth (Ch’ŏngch’un songga) by Nam Taehyŏn, first published in 1987, is considered the first North Korean novel to deal with “the problem of youth love” as its central theme. Unlike the short stories analysed previously, An Ode to Youth is a full-length (changp’yŏn) novel. The author is a Zainichi Korean, born in South Korea and raised in Japan, where his father, Nam Siu, was an author and teacher at the Chongryon run Korea University (Chosŏndae hakkyo). At age 15, he was “repatriated” to North Korea through Chongryon’s repatriation program.4 In Pyongyang, he attended Kim Il Sung University where he graduated as a literature major. He became a successful novelist, joining the 415 Literary Group. An Ode to Youth is his best-known work and one of the most famous novels in North Korea. An Ode to Youth, which my Literary Analysis teacher compared favourably with Goethe’s The Sorrows of Young Werther, interweaves romance plotlines with scientific research and factory production, and was apparently based on certain experiences Nam Taehyŏn had during his university years. According to one rumour, he was exiled to a refinery for having a relationship with the daughter of a high-ranking cadre, but was rehabilitated by Kim Jong Il, who could not stand to see the son of Nam Siu in such a position (Kim 2008, pp. 286–287). The story’s protagonist, Ri Chinho, is a thermal engineer who graduated from university in Pyongyang. At the beginning of the story, he is about to accept a position as engineer at a foundry in the provinces. It has been his long-held goal to find for the steel production process a method of replacing its primary fuel source oil, which needed to be imported, with an indigenously sourced substitute. He had been conducting his own fuel substitute research for many years already, first as a student, and then at a research institute. There, his research had failed to bring about any results, and even caused an accident, which brought him into conflict with Myŏngsik, the head of the research institute’s metallurgy section. This causes tension in his relationship with his girlfriend and sweetheart from his university days, Hyŏnok, who happens to be Myŏngsik’s younger sister. Under the influence of Myŏngsik, Hyŏnok begins to doubt Chinho. Unable to tolerate this, Chinho breaks up with Hyŏnok just before going to the foundry. At the foundry, Chinho meets a host of other characters, such as the other romantic couple in the story, Chŏnga and Kich’ŏl, who are also both engineers. Kich’ŏl is working on his own research project – a fuel conservation design, aimed at reducing rather than replacing oil usage, which results in him becoming rivals with Chinho and his fuel substitution design. Chŏnga, who has been in love with Kich’ŏl since she was his student years ago, respects him as a scientist just as much as she feels pulled to him romantically, and naturally supports his research. But at an engineers’ meeting, when Chinho criticises Kich’ŏl’s fuel conservation design as lacking in foresight, she begins to gravitate towards Chinho’s own fuel substitute design, eventually becoming his assistant. Although still in love with Kich’ŏl, this results in her criticising his fuel conservation project at a meeting. She later explains to Chinho that, as counterintuitive as it may be, that she did this out of love for him. Chŏnga also provides romantic counselling to Chinho, teaching him her philosophy of love, which in a nutshell was that love is not something which is pregiven, but something which both sides must “create” (ch’angjo handa) and cultivate together. The analogy she makes is one of love and horticulture, painting an image of love as an orchard filled with flowers in full bloom and fruit-laden trees. This later helps Chinho to reconcile with Hyŏnok, who appears by his hospital bed when his research yet again results in accident, this time leaving him covered in bandages after crawling into a gas-filled smokestack. While Chinho was at the foundry, she had been 275

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working at a science library, where she had been conducting her own fuel substitution research on the side. She later gives Chinho her notes, which play an instrumental role in resolving the deadlock he had hit in his research. Towards the end of the novel, Chinho succeeds in demonstrating his fuel substitution prototype, and Myongsik is proven to be the narrow-minded and conservative one. Kich’ŏl and Chŏnga are reconciled, just as Chinho and Hyŏnok are about to do in the novel’s final scene, which depicts them boarding a ferry together. Although it does not depict as intense a generational conflict as certain other 1980s’ novels do, in that Chinho inherits his obligation to serve the Leader and the Fatherland from his father, An Ode to Youth’s love plotline, or in North Korean terms, its examination of “the ethics of love” unfolds amid a celebration of the vigour of youth and a typically 1980s’ criticism of bureaucratism depicted through the conflict between Chinho and Myŏngsik (Kim 2006, pp. 103–104; Kim 2008, p. 290). While North Korean literary critics claim that their country’s literature does not feature love triangles, which are the preserve of “depraved reactionary bourgeois” literary currents such as modernism, it is interesting to note that South Korean readers and critics infer a love triangle, even a love square in the story (Pak 1999, pp. 266–267), some seeing this as the first-ever love triangle in North Korean fiction (Yi 1999, p. 310). According to this reading, Chŏnga momentarily becomes infatuated with Chinho as she realises the technical superiority of his fuel replacement plan and begins to work alongside him. This is lent support by her evident feelings of jealousy upon meeting Hyŏnok, and a scene towards the end of the novel where Ri’s younger sister mistakes Chŏnga for Ri’s lover. This is an interesting reading indeed as it signals a shift from Ryang’s “eternal triangle” of two lovers and the apotheosis of Kim Il Sung, to a regular love triangle consisting of three people. Another key concept that emerged in my Literary Analysis discussion of An Ode to Youth, and one which is evidently a new feature of the 1980s’ novels, is the notion that the character of the protagonist is “incomplete” (wansŏngdoen sŏnggyŏgi anira). This seems almost to be a euphemistic way of employing “politically correct” North Korean critical vocabulary to say that these revolutionary heroes harbour individualistic, backward, or pessimistic features which need to be worked on if they are to become true revolutionaries. This same term was used to describe the protagonists in other 1980s’ novels, but none from the earlier period. My Theory of Narrative Structure teacher also mentioned that An Ode to Youth’s ideology is that one should not aspire to love the perfect person, rather, love is a process through which both lovers help each other overcome each other’s flaws. If the love triangle reading is to be taken seriously, this can be viewed perversely by saying that Chinho wields the creativity of science, while Chŏnga is versed in the creativity of love, and that each complements the other in imparting their respective creativities which the other lacks. Chŏnga helps Chinho correct his unrealistic understanding of love. His “formula” for love was that the ideal woman is a perfect combination of looks and ideals, the latter taking precedence, but in exchange for showing her the way of the scientist, she teaches him to accept imperfection, remedying an ideal of the perfect partner which arguably went against the Hidden Hero ideal (Pak 1999, p. 266). It should also be noted that as intellectuals who go to the site of production to stimulate economic growth, where they go about difficult yet important work in obscurity, both the idealistic and independent Chŏnga and the dogged Chinho fit the Hidden Hero archetype (ibid., pp. 257, 269–270). The novel’s “philosophy of love” (Ko 2010, p. 91), as North Korean critical responses in North Korea’s premier literary journal Chosŏn munhak and my class notes have both called it, is redolent of the discussions of theme (chuje) regarding the previous novels. However, rather than merely drawing an outline of the kind of person who deserves love, or describing how love changes people, the focus has shifted to love itself. The critical response to An Ode to Youth that we went through in my Literary Analysis class emphasised love through the trials 276

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and tribulations of working for the Fatherland, but there is evidently much more to be said about the story’s presentation of the theme of romantic love. The means by which the characters emphasise the link between science, love and creativity give the novel a unique view of love (aejŏnggwan) (Pak 1999, p. 267). The novel’s summoning of youth romance and love into the limelight as core themes speaks to its historical significance, and the changing, more open social atmosphere of the 1980s. Love is still presented as ultimately linked to the Leader and to campaigns to raise productivity, but it now appears on an individual level for the first time. Despite my class notes from Kim Il Sung University explicitly denying any focus on the individual in the novel’s exploration of love, which may be so, given that the love plotline is ultimately made dependent on Chinho’s research, a tension between love as individuals and revolutionary love can be read into the novel. Compared to previous stories, the romance plotline in An Ode to Youth features less comradely love, and comparatively more scenes of physical love which would have been unimaginable in the decade before the novel’s release. For example, early in the novel there is a whimsical flashback scene depicting Chinho and Hyŏnok’s first encounter. This was at a university ice hockey tournament grand final, where Chinho scored the winning goal. Hyŏnok, who had already heard of his fuel substitute research, was there as a spectator cheering their university’s team on. When the match results in their victory, she comes out to bring him a bouquet of flowers and slips on the ice. Chinho rushes to help her get up and in that moment where they appear to be embracing, a journalist takes their photograph, which ends up, much to their embarrassment, in the student paper. The novel also presents a scene where Chinho and Hyŏnok go on a date in Moranbong Park, which features much exposition of their tender feelings towards each other as young lovers. Like other 1980s’ novels, An Ode to Youth also features desirous depictions of young lovers, for example, Hyŏnok is described as their university’s “rumoured beauty”. Lastly, the Leader still plays a pivotal role in inspiring Chinho to develop his fuel replacement research via a flashback depicting an entreaty Chinho’s father made to his son while he was a boy. However, a feature of An Ode to Youth as well as other novels of this period is that the presence of the Leader is placed slightly more in the background, and plot resolution comes about through the efforts of the characters themselves without the direct intervention of the Leader. South Korean critics have viewed An Ode to Youth’s theme of youth love as a crack in the façade of North Korea’s ideology (Ko 2010, p. 90). In the novel’s interstices, in the more evocative segments where senses and emotion are brought into relief, a tension between revolutionary love and individual love can be felt. This is especially keen in the relationship between Chinho and Hyŏnok where Hyŏnok doubts Chinho’s revolutionary credentials. Chinho feels that her love should be unconditional but is unable to express himself, and so feels an inner conflict, torn between love and ideology. Ultimately, revolutionary love triumphs, but the tension is nonetheless palpable. Regardless, the novel’s place in North Korean literary history is assured. Han Ung-bin’s “After the Storm” (P’okp’ungu chinan twie), published in 1992 and later appearing in the Korean Short Story Collection 5 (Chosŏn tanp’yŏnjip 5), serves as a prime example of the perfected post-1980s’ North Korean love story. Han Ung-bin, who has been described by South Korean scholar of North Korean literature, Jeon Yeong-seon, as “North Korea’s Chekhov” (Jeon 2008, p. 211), is known for his creativity and humour. He was born in Yanji in northeast China before Korean independence and later led a successful career as a writer in North Korea. His novels are written in a simple yet poignant style and populated with pathosfilled characters. His character portrayal is noted as being “close to life”, and his style is “not ardent or grandiose but cool and explanatory” (ibid., pp. 214–215), which in many ways goes 277

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against the grain of mainstream North Korean fiction. Jeon further assesses that Han’s stories “do not embellish or exaggerate, but present subtle and artistic slices of life” (ibid., p. 215). The heroes in Han’s stories are the most ordinary people, and elsewhere the author has himself emphasised that protagonists ought to be close to the reader, for the reader “lives with the protagonist”, and in that sense his protagonists fit the Hidden Hero ideal (ibid., p. 215). He is acknowledged as an author who has made an important contribution to the portrayal of the Hidden Hero in the 1980s, making use of an intellectualism rare among North Korean authors in his critique of bureaucratism (Lee 2003, p. 293). His novels do not show one how to be a hero, rather, they lead readers to rethink what it is to be a hero, and the meaning of wihun (“great deeds”). This often extends to disillusionment with the idea of wihun, or at least the oldfashioned, trite concept of it. Instead he offers a more rational view on work, emphasising actual results over myth and emotion, which in many ways brings him into conflict with North Korean literary theory and its notions of “sentimental organisation” (kamjŏngjojik). His critiques of vanity, which are placed alongside his condemnation of bureaucratism, also reveal his rationalist inclinations (ibid., p. 306). This is to such an extent that some South Korean critics have characterised his tone as “cynical” (naengsojŏk). In “After the Storm”, Han Ung-bin addresses the theme of taking pride in one’s work, which has already been well explored in North Korean fiction. He does this, however, with unique flair. The story’s protagonist, Hyŏnho, a lowly earthworks labourer, is mocked by his squad leader as someone “with not a single girl following him”. Not only does he have no love life to speak of, but his work is frustrating too. During a push to gather scrap iron, in which the different squad’s performances were measured against each other, his group had the bulk of its scrap iron requisitioned, leaving them last when they should have been first, and resulting in them being the butt of criticism during a self-criticism (ch’onghwa) session. Their squadron leader is particularly aggrieved, but Uncle Sŏnggil, the stoic older man in the squadron and their voice of reason and experience, tells them that if they are always expecting to do great deeds, factories will never get built. Despite considering himself a “loser in the realm of love”, Hyŏnho does begin to exchange small talk with Sunhŭi, a telephone operator. He confesses to her, but she tells him that she has someone “who she is promised to”. Han Ung-bin’s characteristic humour is displayed in conversations between Hyŏnho and a male friend, whose fiancé knows Sunhŭi. He calls Hyŏnho an idiot for being dejected, in response to which Hyŏnho remarks that he had never been so glad to be called an idiot, for the friend, who professedly understands women, explains that she is playing hard to get, and it is in fact unclear who the idiot really is. The story’s titular storm then envelops their workplace. Sunhŭi, realising that if water seeps into the cement storage area, the cement could be ruined, rushes to patch up the roof. She becomes a hero for this deed and is extolled in propaganda. However, an accident occurs as a result of her not being at the telephone for that short period, and only Hyŏnho and his squadron know this. When randomly questioned by the factory’s manager, Hyŏnho ends up mentioning this, which causes some confusion as his interlocuters question why he reported the woman he was known to be in love with. Hyŏnho’s response is to aver that true love is that which embraces even the faults of one’s beloved. Sunhŭi is understandably distraught, and approaches him, asking why he reported her, to which he again declares that it was because of his love for her. With Hyŏnho’s romantic prospects looking dim, Uncle Sŏnggil invites him to his house for dinner, and introduces him to his daughter, who turns out to be Sunhŭi. “After the Storm” differs significantly from the general run of pre-1980s’ works. First and foremost, its hero is not the type of perfect personality seen in the earlier stories. It is emphasised that Sunhŭi is flawed, and that true love involves facing those flaws head on and embracing 278

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them. This is taken to the point of having Hyŏnho report her mistake to their superiors. Such criticism of the hero would not be conceivable in the earlier period. This leads to a much more nuanced and sophisticated character depiction, one which is more believable and realistic. Character development is more in line with the modern realist novel in that the hero undergoes trials and development throughout the course of the story, rather than coming pre-packaged as a perfect and fully developed human being. Like the pre-1980s’ works, the romance plotline between the young man and woman is linked to a “social problem”, as the North Korean criticism in my Literary Analysis class referred to it. The theme is in fact the same one as addressed in earlier novels, namely, the need to “protect one’s post” and take pride in one’s job, yet the manner through which it is explored is radically different. Instead of a moral exemplar showing the laggard the way, and the laggard falling in love with the exemplar as a result of his or her moral superiority – as in the case of “Attachment” (Aech’ak) by Ch’oe Ch’anghak, a 1966 short story in Korean Short Story Collection 3 (Chosŏn danp’yŏnjip 3) we analysed in Literary Analysis, the lovers advance morally by criticising each other, and neither is the perfect revolutionary or worker, in fact, both consider changing professions to something “bigger”, and openly discuss this with the other at one point. Both characters display the characteristics of the Hidden Hero as in “Until Knowing Him” – being the most ordinary of people, making sacrifices and going about one’s work heroically and without any anticipation of credit. Hyŏnho wants a love that “does not depart from obligation”, and he is thus willing to report Sunhŭi’s mistake and see that as not in conflict with the essence of love. Lastly, “After the Storm” showcases the increasingly open depiction of physical attraction characteristic of the 1980s’ novels. Sunhŭi has “shoulder-length hair”, which “gently sways as she walks”, a “slender, delicate neck and face”, “large eyes, with a hint of plaintiveness”, and despite an “adult’s figure seen from afar”, has a certain air of “childishness about her when seen up close”. Indeed, in a scene that evokes Nabokov’s Lolita, Hyŏnho has a daydream where he examines her appearance, looking at her “slender neck and her large eyes, which contain a hint of surprise”, and telling her “You really do look like a child”, to which she responds, “Yes, I am.” In another scene, Hyŏnho describes the feeling of bumping into her during the evening walk home as having his heart thumping, and giving him “a shock like electricity, which spread to his entire body”.

Conclusion North Korean literature’s ostensible purpose is to provide moral “edification” (kyoyang) to its readers through the presentation of model personalities. This is in turn linked to efforts to stimulate economic productivity. It thus plays an important sociological role. While the 1980s’ lineage of Socialist Reality Themed Novels and its Hidden Hero ideal share this objective with the tradition of Leader hagiography and Stakhanovite portrayals of the previous period, there can at times be felt a subtle conflict between the two. This tension is often revealed when these novels deal with the theme of love and do so in a way which lays bare the contradiction between love as an individual and love as a member of a revolutionary collective, between physical desire and comradely obligation. Despite increased artistic freedom, the tradition still has discernible limits, which in turn highlight the bounds of Juche literary theory and Juche literature itself. First, Juche literary theory, in its goal of serving the state, is unable to acknowledge such contradictions. It is also unable to link literary analysis with the political and economic context of literary production, remaining fixated on artistic technique. This is despite the fact that North Korean literary criticism uses 279

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base-superstructure Marxist analysis in its approach to foreign literature and Korean literature from before the “Juche Era”.5 It cannot fully recognise that Hidden Heroes is yet another form of political expediency – a form of social control more subtle than its predecessors aimed at raising productivity in the relatively carefree and loose social atmosphere of the 1980s (Pak 1999, p. 257). Like their forebears, these novels blend moral didacticism with elements of the modern novel, almost reminding one of The Pilgrim’s Progress at times. They just happen to do so using more relatable characters, more compelling plotlines, and more refined prose than before. It is for these reasons that even in the more realistic Hidden Heroes tradition one cannot have a morally ambiguous or negative protagonist, for that would not fit the mould of a hero (Kim 1994, p. 274). Hidden Heroes may be ordinary, but they cannot be profane, that is the domain of the negative characters (Sin and O 2000, p. 320). Yet portraying Hidden Heroes does mean that through viewing the process of overcoming the profane, and description of the profane, the profane becomes more specific and realistic than it has ever been in North Korean fiction. Plot resolution must still be carried through simplistically; collective needs win over that of the individual despite the new portrayal of the individual, and characters heed the call of the Fatherland or the hometown through which negative characters reform themselves and others come to recognise their own faults (Kim 1994, p. 275). In this context, a social answer to the problem of individual desire must be given, and North Korean critical responses to the portrayal of love in Hidden Heroes novels refer to the issue as a whole as “the problem of the ethics of love” (aejŏng yulli munje) or else the “portrayal of the morality of love” (aejŏng yulli hyŏngsanghwa) (Ko 2010, p. 91). This is perhaps natural in a totalitarian society where both literature and the individual are expected to serve the state, but it ultimately impedes the believability and depth of such novels as one is reminded that they are ultimately produced in the context of tight top-down control and for the purposes of propaganda. The corollary of this is that notwithstanding the new realism, North Korean literature still cannot directly address certain influences on romance and marriage in contemporary North Korean society, such as songbun, the discriminatory categorisation of all citizens on the basis of their class background and the regime’s assessment of their political reliability, open discussion of which remains taboo. These novels do, however, bring new depth to North Korean literary tradition, and have already carved out an important place in North Korean literary history. The 1980s’ tradition has done much to cement the status of the “revolutionary romance” novel which was still flourishing into the 1990s and beyond (Pak 1999, p. 246). Its exploration of reallife issues paved the way for the development of the 1990s’ family melodrama and light comedy films, and further developments in literature.6 More importantly, despite obvious limitations, it has given the reader a number of novels with definite literary value.

Notes 1 The authors of both types of novel are often the same. Once authors become famous through their own work, they often end up in the 415 Literary Production Unit, where they are tasked with writing volumes in the Immortal series. 2 This system was instituted after Kim Il Sung had successfully purged all opposition to his one-man rule and personality cult from the Party and established North Korea as a state based on his leadership and ideology alone. 3 The last of which is explored by Immanuel Kim (2018). 4 Chongryon (full title: Chae Ilbon Chosŏnin Ch’ongryŏnhaphoe) is an organization representing Korean residents in Japan with North Korean affinities. The Zainichi Korean Repatriation Movement as an organised program was conducted by the strange bedfellows of the Japanese and North Korean governments under the aegis of the Red Cross. It began in the 1950s, was especially strong in the early 1960s, and resulted in the permanent relocation of approximately 90,000 members of the Korean

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Youth romance in North Korean fiction diaspora in Japan, most of whom traced their ancestral roots to South Korea, to the North. For details, see Morris-Suzuki (2007, 2011). 5 For example, Shakespeare is assessed as a Renaissance humanist whose oeuvre deals with the corrupt nature of feudal society. His works contain a clarion call for human equality in the face of such feudal oppression. 6 Yi Myong Cha’s North Korean Film and Modernity (Yi 2005) addresses the former. Tatiana Gabroussenko’s research deals with the latter, see Gabroussenko (2008, 2009).

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19

Mass culture in the KiM

Jong un era

continuities and changes

Tatiana Gabroussenko

Historically, cultural development in the DPRK has always borne the deep marks of the influ­ ence of the personality and policy of its current leaders. The situation today is no exception, and although Kim Jong Un pays significantly less attention to cultural issues than his predecessors, his personality and policy remain important formative factors in the North Korean cultural land­ scape. This chapter analyses the continuities and changes that have emerged in North Korean fiction and films under Kim Jong Un. It argues that forms of cultural change are occurring in the North and discusses both the underlying causes and the possible outcomes of the new tend­ encies that have emerged since he assumed the leadership in 2011. When Kim Jong Un officially took power, commentators took note of his experience of studying in Switzerland and his lack of visible connections with the DPRK old guard, and this fueled speculation that the DPRK might soon embark on a process of significant liberalization. In addition, some unorthodox initial steps by Kim Jong Un appeared to suggest that under his leadership, the DPRK was moving in this direction. The primary examples here were the public image of Kim’s wife Ri Sol-ju as a young, fashion-conscious woman, which contrasted markedly with previous consorts, Kim’s friendship with the eccentric US Hall of Fame basket­ ball personality Dennis Rodman, his engineering of the downfall and execution of his father’s close ally and counsellor Jang Song Thaek, and public performances by the quasi K-pop girlie group Moranbong (Cathcart and Denney 2013, p. 30). This enthusiasm soon faded as it became clear that DPRK policymakers were not going to give up their traditional all-embracing control over cultural affairs. Despite the various novel features introduced by the Moranbong band, the actual content of their performances and especially the lyrics of their songs demonstrated no trace of an alternative intellectual frame­ work to the mode of post-Mao Chinese culture established during 1979–1989 (Gu 1999), as these lyrics served to promote the same old ideas of loyalty to the Leader, Party and State. For example, the trademark song of the popular band became ‘Let Us Study’ (Paeuja) – a thematic song from the 2008 television drama Flames (Pulkil), which promoted the idea of technolo­ gical revolution in the North Korea of Kim Jong Il after the Arduous March famine period of the mid-1990s. In this drama, the song is delivered by a collective of workers in drab uniform, and although Moranbong performed it in a novel, sexy style, the song retained the same old lyrics, with calls to save your precious time, study for the sake of the country, and “create a paradise in our own style.” 283

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Developments in other areas of North Korean official culture also seemed to confirm that a genuine cultural opening was not going to occur in Kim Jong Un’s DPRK. Before anything else, official propaganda began to mold the political image of the young Kim around his blood and spiritual connection with his father and grandfather. The slogan which opened the era of the new leader, “Kim Jong Un is the Kim Il Sung of today, Kim Jong Un is the Kim Jong Il of today” contained an unambiguous promise of continuity of the previous political line, as did the very naming of Kim Jong Un’s epoch as the Mallima epoch, literally “epoch of the ten thou­ sand-li horse,” which echoed Chollima (“one thousand-li horse”), the mass mobilization cam­ paign first set in motion by Kim Il Sung in the late 1950s, which largely followed the pattern of the contemporaneous Great Leap Forward campaign in China, and was a product of Kim Il Sung’s drive to resist the post-1956 deStalinization trend within the socialist bloc. And yet, a closer investigation of North Korean culture under Kim Jong Un shows that it is experiencing some subtle but important changes. These changes should be considered not as a manifestation of radical perestroika, which led to the dismantling of socialism in the Soviet Union of the late 1980s, but rather viewed within the context of perestroika’s long-term predecessor, the Thaw of the 1950s. In the USSR, the Thaw or ottepel was an umbrella term which signified the Party-initiated multidimensional process of liberalization of Soviet life after Stalin’s death in 1953. This trend which occurred in the years following 1953 was associated primarily with the authority of the new Soviet leader, Nikita Khrushchev. Following the definition by Polly Jones, the developments of post-Stalin Soviet Union included liberalization of the authoritarian political culture of Stalinism, a greater emphasis on individual welfare and material well-being, … [and] ‘Thaw(s)’ of the Stalinist freeze on freedom of expression, and modifications to the autarkic chauvinism especially charac­ teristic of Cold War Stalinism. (2006, p. 3) While North Korean political thought under Kim Il Sung denounced the Soviet Thaw as an attempt at the “restoration of capitalism,” it was a far cry from this. If it implied any revisionism or restoration, it was rather a restoration of idealized pre-Stalinist forms of socialist revolution, which in contemporary popular imagination had connotations of equality, candor, romanticism and freedom of expression. The ultimate goal of the Thaw was not the dismantling of the exist­ ing system but rather an endeavor to mend it and make it work in a more efficient way. After all, in the 1950s and 1960s, many Soviet citizens still perceived socialism as an attractive national achievement and one to be proud of. This vision was backed up by the recent achievements of the Soviet Union, such as victory in the Great Patriotic War (1941–1945) and the rapid post­ war restoration of the economy. Socialism had not yet lost its credibility in the eyes of millions of domestic supporters. However, also, to many, it was becoming increasingly clear that the rigid political framework of Stalinist Communism required some softening and revitalization, or, to use later political parlance, “a human face.” Proponents of such changes sought to strengthen Soviet Communism, not to destroy it. The need for renewal was acutely sensed in the cultural sphere. The initial breakthrough occurred in 1954 with the publication of the novel, The Thaw (‘Ottepel’), written by the distinguished war-time journalist Ilya Ehrenburg. The plot of the novel centered on a seemingly innocuous conflict between old-style defensive, formalistic bureaucrats and new, more forward-thinking proponents of technical progress. However, Soviet readers unmistakably sensed a major underlying call of the work to become “free from despotic oppression and regain the old way of revolutionary work and life” (Schattenberg 2006, p. 68). 284

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The novel won Ehrenburg a huge audience, particularly among the Soviet intelligentsia. In fact, Ehrenburg’s work signaled that a process had been adopted within the Party and aimed at retreating from the cult of personality style of leadership established by Stalin. Meanwhile, in popular imagination, the Thaw turned into a slogan of the post-Stalin era, which quickly acquired attractive connotations of freedom, love, youth and spring. The impact of the Thaw on Soviet culture were not limited by purely social polemics, however. A significant feature of the new literature and the arts was the introduction of politi­ cally neutral literature, in which Soviet writers “treat the private lives of individuals without taking up any explicit or implied political positions” (Hingley 1962, p. 46). In the opinion of Boris Groys, ‘socialist realism began to yield to a traditional realism’, with an emphasis on eternal values (1992, p. 76). The modernization of such formal devices and conventions of literature gave the new style of writing a special cultural meaning, and in their totality, the changes in Soviet literary writings, films and drama which occurred during the Thaw can thus be summa­ rized as follows: • • • • • • • • • •

use of bright colors and romantic images; increase of individual and private motifs; wider use of entertaining genres; consumerist messages; abundance of city landscapes and images of city youth; romanticization of rural landscapes, images of city- educated youth moving to the rural areas for their modernization; more romanticized/sexualized depictions of gender; wider borrowing of foreign artistic techniques; introduction of contemporary examples of foreign art; availability of thus- far forbidden old classics.

The overwhelming mood of the Thaw was youth and spring, as metaphors for desirable invig­ orating change. As Reid put it, “Youth was one of the most valorized themes in the symbolic system of the Thaw, cogently embodying the party’s promises of rejuvenation of the socialist project, of social and scientific progress, and of the imminent advent of communism” (2006, p. 216).

Like father like son: rejuvenation after Kim Jong Il The salience of this 1950s’ Soviet experience to North Korean culture today is obvious. While North Korean official thought has always treated the Thaw as a dangerous embodiment of revi­ sionism, practically all the above-mentioned Thaw features are now visible in official North Korean mass culture, albeit containing their own specifics and implications which are not fully congruent with the post-Stalinist culture of the Soviet Union. In its essence, Mallima culture has largely followed the changes which emerged in the last decade of Kim Jong Il’s leadership, during which North Korea experienced a period of slow economic recovery from the Arduous March famine of the 1990s, largely due to the successes of grass-root capitalism. Credit for improvements in the economy, however, has been given to Kim Jong Il and the alleged effi­ ciency of the socialist system, and the nationwide campaign to create “a strong and prosperous country” (kangsŏng taeguk), which first emerged in 1998, has always been explained as being fully congruent with the teachings of Kim Il Sung, and directed not at changing the system but, on the contrary, consolidating it and making it more efficient. Specifically, in the cultural sphere, 285

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kangsŏng taeguk has imbued North Korean official culture with the ideas of technological, rather than political modernization, messages of egalitarian and collectivist consumerism, and overall glorification of “intellectuals”’ as the driving force behind technical progress. These messages coexisted with the perpetual messages of social duty and Communist enthusiasm and were pro­ moted not only through traditional films and creative writings but also via the new dynamic genres of mass culture, such as karaoke video and TV serials. Kim Jong Un’s regime has not only reinforced these features of Kim Jong Il’s cultural policy, but has augmented them with the new Thaw-style meanings of spring and youth as the basis for the country’s development. Of course, utilization of youth in cultural propaganda existed in Kim Jong Il’s time as well, and was present in such TV dramas as Taehongdang’s Party Secretary (Taehongdang ch’aegim pisŏ) or Let Us Be Proud of Our Youth (Ch’ŏngnyŏnd ŭl ŭl charanghara), which recounted the activity of youth storm brigades during the Arduous March. However, in most of these works, young people emerged as dutiful performers of adult-initiated projects and not as an independent and self-important force. By contrast, Mallima culture has changed the gen­ erational perspective into a more youth-centered one, with young people portrayed as decisionmakers and the focus of narratives, and with kangsŏng taekuk giving rise to the slogan “strong young country” (ch’ŏngnyŏn kangguk). Examples of the use of this slogan can be seen in the films Masters of the Strong Country of Youth and The Brilliant History of the Strong Country of Youth (2019). North Korean writers have also produced a number of works with a special focus on young, socially important characters. Typical examples are full-length novels by Song Hye­ kyŏng, Young pPeople of ŭnha-ri (2016), Paek hyŏn-u, Be Proud of Youth (2017), Yi Chu-chŏn, Youth Years (2017), and Pyŏn Wŏl-lyŏ, Mirubŏl (2017), among many others. So far, then, the mass culture of the Mallima era has demonstrated the following novel features: • •

• •

• • •

a tendency to deliver politically important messages through entertaining genres such as TV serials on spy themes, romantic and family sagas and child- centered works; the emergence of new types of protagonist: ambitious intellectuals, fashion- loving hand­ some youth, “economic workers,” in contrast to the favorite characters of the past: modest “hidden heroes,” workers, unpretentious soldiers and housewives; more positive images of the city and city- dwellers, extolling city- driven progress in contrast to the previous cult of countryside settings and remote military posts and garrisons; determined, well- educated positive female characters with strong personal professional ambitions in contrast to the previous discourse, which presupposed a contrast between plain but politically devoted heroines and sophisticated, ambitious but immoral anti­ heroines; more positive images of leisure, consumption, entertainment, in contrast to the ever- working characters of the past; more non- political/non- ideological sub- plots and episodes, more emphasis on the personal relations between the characters; more nuanced, subtle and informed anti- South Korean propaganda, for example, by exploiting the theme of the 2014 Sewol ferry disaster in fiction, and the emergence of the image of “repenting sinners” – returnee defectors from South Korea as people who have experienced both sides and have chosen the North.

Old topics, new ways At the same time, similar to both the Soviet Thaw and the cultural tendencies during the Kim Jong Il era, creative writings and films under Kim Jong Un have continued to rework older, 286

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more traditional, regime themes and messages. Among them are the cult of the Leader, includ­ ing all three Kims, the theme of honorable veterans, the closeness of the army and the people, recollections of the Arduous March years, the lives of Korean compatriots in Japan, and so forth. However, these somewhat stale topics, especially the Arduous March, are often delivered from an uncharacteristically sentimental, personal perspective, with an abundance of realistic details. For instance, full-length novels by Kim Ha-nŭl, People Living Together (2013) and Chŏng Hyŏng-chŏl’s The Chinese Matrimonial Lily (2014) realistically narrate the lives of regular Korean people during the Arduous March years. A full-length novel by Kim Yong-yŏn, The Spring of That Year (2015), recounts the brotherly help provided to a cooperative farm during the Arduous March by the soldiers of the Korean People’s Army, following the call of the Party. A full-length novel by Yi Jun-ho, The Right to Be Happy (2014), deals with the lives of heroic miners and their wives, focusing not only on the theme of their diligent work in fulfilling the country’s produc­ tion plans, but also describing in detail their everyday lives. Further staple themes of North Korean creative writing that continue to be emphasized include Korean War experiences, the division of Korea and the pitiful life led by South Korean compatriots who are devoid of the care of the Great Leader. These themes too are delivered through innovative narrative approaches and techniques. For instance, a full-length novel by Yu Wŏn-gyu, Battalion, Forward! (2015), portrays the Korean War through the eyes of a South Korean battalion commander, P’yo Mu-gang. The author has chosen an unusual style, with short and terse sentences and dynamic developments; the relations of characters are filled with conflicts, which are eventually solved via the defection of the battalion to the North. Another work of fiction is devoted to a favorite theme of anti-South propaganda, the 2014 Sewol ferry disaster in South Korea, which took the lives of some 250 school children. This short story by O Song-sim, “The voice which calls the spring” (2015), presents the accident as the outcome of the inhumane policies of South Korean president Park Geun-hye. The tragedy is portrayed through the eyes of a bereaved mother, who had previously voted for Park and later came to regret it. The literature and the arts also continue the Kim Jong Il’s era trend of intensive militarism, anti-Americanism, and glorification of rocket technology. For instance, a full-length novel by Kim Yong-yŏn, Precious Sword (2014), depicts the challenges which the DPRK experienced in 1994 after the death of Kim Il Sung. The novel glorifies the “military-first” (sŏn’gun) policy of Kim Jong Il which, according to the author, allowed the Dear Leader to withstand international pressure from the US and the ROK. However, military-themed works no longer always adopt an aggressive, resistance-oriented tone. For example, the 2013 TV drama, Our Neighbors used the motif of the then-recent launch of Unha-3 in 2012, the country’s first successful satellite test, in a rather unusual way, depicting it as playing the role of a family peacemaker, bringing together a fractured family when the estranged husband and wife share a moment of spontaneous joy while watching the rocket launch. This reunion is not preceded by any discussion or conscien­ tious analysis of past mistakes, incompatibilities, personal differences, or communication prob­ lems: a common love for Unha-3 serves as an adequate litmus test for their true mutual feelings.

The Leader at the center North Korean creative writings have remained leader-centered, and so mass culture under Kim Jong Un is devoid of the basic feature of the Soviet Thaw – the struggle against Stalin’s cult of personality. In North Korea, where top power is hereditary and the legitimacy of the current leader is justified by his blood connections with his predecessors, it would of course be out of 287

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the question for Kim Jong Un to launch a struggle against his own father and grandfather. The official culture therefore constantly reinforces the authority of the previous North Korean leaders through the publication of novels and short stories emphasizing their greatness and wisdom. One example is the full-length novel, Morning Glow by Yi Tong-gu (2017), which is devoted to the young years of Kim Jong Il and his study at Kim Il Sung University. Republish­ ing of the classic works of North Korean socialist realism and filming TV dramas based on classic novels of the Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il eras, a process which has been steadily increasing in recent years, also aim to sanctify the leadership of Kim Jong Un’s predecessors. The works of official culture devoted to Kim Jong Un demonstrate continuity with this political line. The leader-glorifying poems published in Rodong sinmun, Chosŏn munhak and other official media delivered at first quite traditional political messages and concepts. For example, the first poem about Kim Jong Un, published on December 24, 2011, in Rodong sinmun by an anonymous collective of authors under the title ‘People, we have General Kim Jong Un’: Raise your heads, people! We have a sun in the sky This sun is comrade Kim Jong Un He rises above the revolutionary path which our Marshal used to walk The red flag is waving Our flagman is great comrade Kim Jong Un. Similarly, a short story in the publication, Kkot pongori, in 2012, excitedly narrated one of the first political decisions of the new leader of the DPRK: to fulfill the last order of his deceased father and deliver fish to the citizens of Pyongyang, while official songs in particular demonstrate this continuous propaganda line. The songs, “Footsteps” (2010) and “We know nobody but you” of 2016 show practically no differences in content and form. Both songs are performed by similar military choruses and are filled with the same oblique expressions of loyalty. These songs, which appear to perform the role of hymns in official North Korean culture, intentionally side­ step the issue of why the leader should be cherished since this is held to be self-evident. Creative writings under Kim Jong Un directly reject the Soviet condemnation of personality cult leadership initiated at the 1956 20th Communist Party of the Soviet Union Congress, which in North Korean political parlance is now defined differently as ‘a superstitious belief in personality’ (kaein misin). A full-length novel, Morning Glow, by Yi Tong-gu (2017) includes a detailed discussion of this issue between professors at Kim Il Sung University and the then 17-year-old Kim Jong Il, in which the precocious Kim clarifies for them all the wrongs of the Soviet revisionists, including this condemnation. While the anti-revisionist logic of this conver­ sation is rather traditional, the form in which the argument is delivered, is rather novel. The participants resort to the complex historical parallels and the authorities of the world Commu­ nist movement, such as Engels, Marx and Lenin. Particularly unexpected is a strong pro-Stalin stance in the conversation and recognition of Stalin’s great achievements in the Soviet victory over Germany in the Great Patriotic War. And although the citation of approving international personages is no novelty in North Korean culture, whose media used to publish extravagant paeans of praise for the North Korean system written by foreign admirers, the drawing of direct parallels between Kim Il Sung and Stalin as fighters for the same cause had been absent from North Korean mass culture since the mid-1950s.

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Fatherly Leader to the nation’s children Legitimization of the new leader as the heir to the Kim dynasty is achieved through the inclu­ sion of Kim Jong Un in projects which had been started by his father. For instance, in the short story, “Red persimmon” by Kim Yŏng-hŭi, Kim Jong Un inspires inexperienced female sol­ diers at a military post, thus following patterns established by his father and grandfather (Kim, Yŏng-hŭi 2015). New stories about Kim Jong Un also portray the new leader in the traditional role of care-giver to honorable veterans and orphans, such as in works by Yim Bok-sil “Father’s face” (2015), Ri Hyŏk-min “A house where the sun shines brightly” (2015), and T’ak Suk-pon, “A sea of feelings” (2015), while deep concern for the welfare of children is one of the core themes of Kim Jong Un’s image-making. If 33-year-old Kim Il Sung once ascended to the top leadership surrounded by young political companions in 1945, in 2011, the octogenarians at the highest positions of North Korean military and the Party made up an unflattering backdrop for his 27-year-old grandson. Kim Jong Un’s public image therefore required a make-over to emphasize his maturity and sagacity. Not surprisingly, then, the first writings of propaganda fiction devoted to the young Marshal described him in detail as a fatherly figure, and children’s literature applied terms like ‘father’ or ‘uncle’ to the 27-year-old Kim Jong Un. North Korean movies devoted to the theme of Kim Jong Un and children have by now adopted a stereotypical form. In montage terms, Kim Jong Un remains out of view, meeting the children as they run toward the camera cheering ‘Fatherly Leader!’ With Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il, such scenes are complemented with the visions of rising sun and blooming Kimilsungia/ Kimjongilia – flowers devoted to the relevant leaders, but Kim Jong Un does not yet have such a floral symbol. The narrative invariably starts with the depiction of an unhappy child with a problem, such as lack of play space near his childcare center, separation from an elder brother who has been moved to another building in an orphanage, or learning difficulties due to badly struc­ tured study materials. Due to these stresses, the child misbehaves – he runs into the busy street to play or runs away from the orphanage to search for his elder brother or gets bad marks at school. The next scene shows us the Dear Leader, who happens to be thinking about exactly the problem which torments the child, and after much deliberation gives wise orders to his subordinates. In the finale, the reader is relieved to see a happily obedient child playing at the wider and betterequipped schoolyard, who, together with his brother, has moved to one joint orphanage where children of all age groups live nearby, and who enjoys learning with better materials. Among the numerous examples of such narratives are Yi Hyŏk-min’s “A house where the sun shines brightly” (2015) and a short story, “Teacher” by Kim Sam-pok (2015). A further example of literature pre­ senting a mature image of Kim Jong Un is the medium-length documentary novel for children, Children of the Military-First Epoch by Kim Yu-jin (2014), where he is depicted as a caring father involved in the distribution of sugar to children, who gives them advice to drink hot water with dissolved sugar and recommends that they write good novels. A protagonist in the novel, a boy poet, writes a verse about his only wish: to let “father Kim Jong Un” live a long and healthy life. A synopsis of the 2015 TV drama entitled Long-Awaited Father (Kidarinŭn Abŏji) enables us to appreciate this emergent theme in greater detail. The drama depicts the life of Chang Hyŏk, a promising pianist who attends Kyŏngsŏng kindergarten in Pyongyang and is preparing for an international children’s piano competition. The boy badly misses his father, who is working at a distant construction site, and the stress caused by this separation negatively influences his perform­ ance. The teacher allows the boy to interrupt his practice for a while in order to visit his father. At the moment when Chang Hyŏk and his mother are about to take the plane going to see the father, Chang Hyŏk overhears a TV report about Kim Jong Un now visiting his kindergarten. Without warning, the boy rushes back to the city in the hope of catching the Leader. A police car intercepts 289

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him but, instead of scolding him, the kind policeman gives the boy a lift to his kindergarten, while calling his mother by mobile and informing her that Chang Hyŏk is with them. The mother boards the plane and leaves Chang Hyŏk in the care of his grandfather. When Chang Hyŏk reaches the kindergarten, the Fatherly Leader has already gone and he bitterly cries with disappointment on the shoulder of the director of his kindergarten. The woman explains to the boy that the Fatherly Leader will inevitably come to their kindergarten once again. Meanwhile, Chang Hyŏk can make him happy by practicing the piano well and winning the competition. The boy starts intensive practice, gaining inspiration from the portraits of Kim Jong Un and from visions of the chair on which the Fatherly Leader sat while at the kindergarten. Chang Hyŏk promptly wins the competition and is granted a meeting with the beloved Leader. As a footnote, Chang Hyŏk’s role is played by a plump child actor called Choe Tae Yong who even physically resembles Kim Jong Un. Another common theme is the substitution of the real father by the Fatherly Leader. Such a motif was particularly popular in the works of North Korean cinematography set in the Arduous March when many children lost their parents. It is enough to mention films like My Father (Naŭi Abŏji, 1994) or Run to the Sky (Dallyŏsŏ Hanŭl kkaji, 2000) where the photograph of the Father Leader Kim Jong Il on the wall was supposed to substitute for the recently deceased fathers of the children. In Long-Awaited Father, Kim Jong Un is substituting for the protagonist’s living and much-loved real father. From the moment of his return to the kindergarten, the boy never mentions his father again, extolling the praises only of Kim Jong Un.

The Leader as a driving force for spring Political legitimization of the young Kim is based on the idea of him as a driving force and coordinator of all positive changes in the country. In contrast to the post-Stalin Thaw in the creative writings of the USSR and the other socialist literatures, the central postulate of which was a rejection of personality cultism and its substitution with the collective authority of the Party, all advances claimed for the ‘new’ North Korean society are closely connected to the name of Kim Jong Un. For example, a 2014 short story by Kim Ha-nŭl, “Lyricism of the wild flowers,” portrays Kim Jong Un as being much wiser than the aging party cadre Yi Mu-sŏng. Unlike Yi, Kim demonstrates much more sensitive and tactful behavior towards a returned defector who had been rejected even by her own family. This humane attitude of the Leader makes the older cadre feel ashamed about his own inadequacy and narrow-mindedness. In the words of one character in the story, “Kim Jong Un is our father who warmly welcomes back his strayed sons and daughters to the bosom of the Party.” Similarly, a 2015 short story, “Teacher,” by Kim Sam-pok, is devoted to the theme of reform of middle schools in the DPRK, with the aim of making the North Korean educational system equal to world-best practice. The story paradoxically combines proclamations of respect for the veteran with harsh criticism of the formalism and dogmatism which are often associated with the mature cadres. On the one hand, the Leader is portrayed as being on friendly terms with an elderly educational cadre Yi Hŏn-sun, who once gave Kim Jong Un lectures on philo­ sophy. The author particularly emphasizes that while the septuagenarian Yi is deeply invigor­ ated by Kim Jong Un’s genius, he feels comfortable and free around the young leader to the extent that he even makes jokes during their conversation. On the other hand, the story attacks some unnamed reactionaries in the field of education who have become “stuck within the frames of old ideas and dogmatism.” As an example of the praiseworthy modern spirit, which mature North Korean education managers are expected to follow, the story presents a somewhat outlandish description of the significance of performances by the Moranbong Band: 290

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The Moranbong Band has started ripples. Its innovativeness was a bell which called people to reject their customary and petrified ways. The specifics of this band are pro­ gressiveness, energy and lively motion. The songs of these female singers, clear and cheerful motifs, rhythms which touch people’s hearts – all these things raised people’s spirit, woke them up from worn-out ways and allowed them to look around the world. Young people were excited by this band which was close to their youthful physical and spiritual feelings, which allowed them to feel stronger the breeze of a changing era. Aging people said that this music seemed to restore their youth; it made their eyes shine brighter and their legs move faster. This music has raised without limits people’s demands for the new things which surge through the era and develop society. As an example, through the concert of the Moranbong Band which acutely reflected the spirit of the era and tendencies of social development, people had received a signal to awaken their creativity and modern mentality.

Rationalization of Kim Jong Un’s unusual leadership style While the new creative writings never fail to glorify Kim Jong Un’s genius in general, they also tend to present him as capable of intervening and offering definitive guidance in many specific fields. A stereotypical plot here focuses on a close interaction between the Leader and a distin­ guished, hard-working and impeccably loyal specialist. The latter is involved in an important project, he works diligently and enthusiastically, but his results meet with unexplained rejection by his superiors. The specialist is about to be dismissed when he learns that the Leader has demanded a personal meeting with him. During this meeting Kim Jong Un explains the sup­ posed mistake in highly generalized, subjective terms (“There are no deep feelings in this project,” or “The project has no individuality,” or “There are no feelings of love to children in these reports, only numbers”), but this is enough to cause him to feel a surge of relief, and he proceeds to save the project and his career. Examples of this narrative trope are in T’ak Suk-pon’s Desire (2015) and Sea of Feelings (2015), and in Yi Tong-gu’s Trumpets of the Holy War (2015). In Trumpets of the Holy War, a distinguished military theoretician Ŭm Nam-yong receives a commission from Kim Jong Un to write an article which would summarize the essence of the DPRK’s concept of “revolu­ tionary war.” Ŭm writes this article from the heart, beginning it with the paragraph: “If the American imperialists and the South Korean puppets were to start a new war, they would be inevitably defeated. The blow of Paektusan arms would be merciless.” But despite Ŭm’s best efforts, the Leader rejects the article, and it is suggested to Ŭm that he resign. His distress is further exacerbated by a falling out with his father, an octogenarian veteran who prohibits his son from even crossing the threshold of his front door because of his failure to accomplish his duty before the Leader. At this point, however, suddenly the distressed Ŭm receives an invitation to visit Kim Jong Un. The Leader welcomes the scholar and apologizes for not being able to properly explain to him the points of the doctrine. He gives an expensive present to Ŭm: a portable computer with a full collection of the theoretical works of Kim Il Sung, which are intended to clarify all aspects of North Korean military philosophy. Then, in order to reconcile father and son, Kim accompanies Ŭm to his father’s house, where his adopted mother relates the story of the family to the Leader. It turns out that during the anti-Japanese struggle, the father, then a 14-year-old orphan, was saved by Kim Il Sung himself. Then, during the Fatherland Liberation War, the father himself saved a 2-year-old orphan near the destroyed South Korean village of Kŏch’ang and decided to raise the boy as his own. His adopted mother, at the time a military nurse, had 291

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saved this child previously during one of the battles by shielding him with her body. Injured and disabled, she was discharged and returned to her hometown, where she decided to devote the rest of her life to raising the orphaned boy. After the end of the war, the father marries her and they lived happily ever after with their adopted son. Kim Jong Un asks Ŭm’s mother why she risked her life and sacrificed her health for an unknown child. Sok answers, “It is the way we, the soldiers of the People’s Army, were edu­ cated,” whereupon Kim Jong Un remarks that this response encompasses the essence of the People’s Liberation War, and explains that in emphasizing the “merciless punishment” of the enemy, Ŭm has defined the North Korean doctrine one-sidedly. In Kim’s words, “Our revolu­ tionary war is the war of love and belief in the motherland and the nation. The essence of our war should be understood through the philosophy of love and belief.” That is, without love of the motherland and the nation, hatred cannot be felt toward the enemy. The greater love is, the more merciless is the hatred. “More than anybody else in the world,” Kim continues, we love peace, and the Party’s standing on this issue is not to be changed. However, if the enemy insists on war, we will have to participate in it. Our war is the holy war which is an embodiment of hot love towards the motherland and the nation! Listening to the Leader’s words, Ŭm finally understands his mistake. He admiringly looks at the Dear Leader thinking, “only a genius in military theory, a person with a high sense of duty towards the nation and the motherland, could formulate the essence of military doctrine so precisely.” After Kim leaves, the family reflects on his words, and Ŭm concludes that the enemies of Korea consider killing and destruction to be the essence of war. If war occurs, it would be a clash of two philosophies: a philosophy of love and belief and the philosophy of destruction and killing. The world would see how our philosophy would win. Our people and the army are led by a great person! T’ak Suk-pon’s Desire is a story of a young talented artist who paints a picture of Ku˘mgangsan, the Diamond Mountains. Despite the good quality of the painting, the Leader rejects the work because it “does not properly show the spirit of the mountain: Ku˘mgangsan is the people’s mountain range, but the mountains in this painting are not the Ku˘mgangsan of the era of the Workers’ Party.” After much deliberation, the artist adds a tourist road to his painting, and the Leader is satisfied. The artist receives a promotion: he is bestowed with an honor to draw portraits of the Great and Dear Leaders. Similarly, in another short story by T’ak, “A sea of feelings,” an experienced education cadre finds himself under fire from the Leader because his reports contain precise numbers but lack “feelings of love toward children.” The official comes to realize that “We became masters of the people when we became their parents and elder brothers.” Although Western readers would hardly perceive these stories as highly moralistic (the behavior of the Leader in them is often not unlike that of a cat playing with a trapped mouse), most probably these writings were intended to stress Kim Jong Un’s omniscience. The stories aim to present the young Leader as an all-wise parent capable of intervening and setting his “children” on the right path through his deep insight into the nature of North Korean state doctrine. In the manner of an ancient sage, Kim Jong Un does not always bother to explain to his disciples their wrongdoings, but instead lets them guess and thus “grow spiritually.” Nor is the very idea that Kim Jong Un is by definition more of an expert in war theory, education and fine arts than professionally trained people questioned. Instead, the manifest spiritual and moral perfection of the Leader allows him to judge everything with ease. This 292

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transforms the transgressor from someone who is facing defeat, despair and rejection into someone who is brought to see the error of his ways, not by those around him but by the inter­ vention of the Supreme Leader. All these parables have a happy ending since the “father” is strict but good-natured, and so the wrongdoer is pardoned. Unfortunately, as the case of Jang Song Thaek testifies, this does not always reflect real life.

Conclusion Contrary to initial expectations, Kim Jong Un has not initiated liberalization of mass culture along the lines of perestroika. Yet under Kim Jong Un’s leadership, North Korean culture has been undergoing important changes that should not be underestimated. Among the novel tend­ encies are the cult of youth, the extolling of city-driven technical progress, and a new approach to North Korean childhood. The new tendencies are closely connected to the name of Kim Jong Un, who is portrayed as a driving force and coordinator of the changes, and official fiction elaborates and rationalizes the style of his leadership. One major feature worth drawing attention to is that while many aspects of North Korean mass culture under Kim Jong Un have their roots in the Kim Jong Il era, Mallima culture appears to be distinct from its predecessor in that the revolutionary rhetoric of the Kim Jong Il era did not presuppose the existence of any counter-revolutionary forces, only less than perfect charac­ ters who needed to be educated and inspired by exemplary characters. The culture of the Mallima era does not seem to be so compliant, and while the official culture has designated no specific enemies inside the country, it has featured sharper references to “petrified, isolated ways of working” which need to be reformed. For example, in an analysis of the novel by Kim Ha-nu˘l, People Living Together (2013), Yim Sun-nam proclaims that ‘Today when we are moving towards our future, towards becoming a progressive socialist state of the new age, we require new literary images, new characters which are different – we need handsome men, fashion-loving characters!’ (Yim 2015, p. 62). The issue here appears to be that the decades-long practice of placing exemplary characters at the center of official fiction has fostered a stiff, lifeless and dogmatic style. And while there is as yet no direct nomination of any social layer or specific people as “enemies” or “retrogrades,” the refer­ ences to “necessity to change” and “keeping up with the time,” and to a past-oriented “ossified, immovable system” that needs to be changed are noteworthy. This rhetoric of contradictions between the old and the new is rather revolutionary in a North Korean cultural context and potentially subversive. Overall, these generalized social accusations, with no offenders named, alongside ecstatic hymns to spring and renewal, are reminiscent of the central motifs of Ehrenburg’s novel The Thaw of 1954. At the same time, the history of North Korean culture shows that discovery by the leadership of “dogmatic elements” at work does not necessarily point the way toward a broader process of change and renewal. As happened in the 1960s, such discoveries can at any moment evolve into searching for and punishing specific dogmatists who are held to blame for unfavorable outcomes from leadership policies.

References Cathcart, A. and Denney, S. 2013. “North Korea’s Cultural Diplomacy in the Early Kim Jong-un Era,” North Korean Review, vol. 9, no. 2, pp. 29–42. Chŏng Hyŏng-chŏl. 2014. Kugijakkot [The Chinese Matrimonial Lily], Pyongyang: Munhak yesul ch’ulp’ansa.

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Tatiana Gabroussenko Ch’ŏngnyŏn kangguku˘i juindu˘l. 2019. [Masters of the Strong Country of Youth], available at: www. youtube.com/watch?v=r5ctIJFqtFI (accessed September 28, 2019). Ch’ŏngnyŏn kanggugu˘i p’innanu˘n yŏksa. [The Brilliant History of the Strong Country of Youth], available at: www.youtube.com/watch?v=OrN4kefu818 (accessed September 28, 2019). Groys, B. 1992. The Total Art of Stalinism: Avant-Garde, Aesthetic Dictatorship, and Beyond, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Gu, E. X. 1999. “Cultural Intellectuals and the Politics of the Cultural Public Space in Communist China (1979–1989): A Case Study of Three Intellectual Groups,” The Journal of Asian Studies, vol. 58, no. 2 pp. 389–431. Hingley, R. 1962. “Soviet Literary Attitudes,” Survey, vol. 40, pp. 42–48. Jones, P. (Ed.) 2006. The Dilemmas of De-Stalinisation: Negotiating Cultural and Social Change in the Khrush­ chev Era, London: Routledge. Kim, Ha-nu˘l. 2013. Hamkke sanu˘n saramdu˘l [People living together], Pyongyang: Munhak yesul ch’ulp’ansa. Kim, Ha-nu˘l. 2014. “Tu˘lkkoch’u˘i sŏjŏng” [Lyricism of the Wildflowers], Chosŏn munhak, vol. 1, pp. 13–21. Kim, Sam-pok. 2015. “Sŏsu˘ng” [Teacher]. Ch’ŏngnyŏn munhak, vol. 5, pp. 3–16. Kim, Yŏng-hu˘i. 2015. “Pulgu˘n kam” [Red Persimmon], Ch’ongnyŏn munhak, vol. 2, pp. 4–16. Kim, Yŏng-yŏn. 2014. Pogŏm [Precious Sword], Pyongyang: Munhak yesul ch’ulp’ansa. Kim, Yŏng-yŏn. 2015. Ku˘ hae pom [The Spring of That Year], Pyongyang: Munhak yesul ch’ulp’ansa. Kim, Yu-jin. 2014. Sŏn’gun dongidu˘l [Children of the Military-First Epoch], Pyongyang: Ku˘msŏng ch’ŏngnyon ch’ulp’ansa. O, Song-sim. 2015. “Pomu˘l puru˘nu˘n sori” [The Voice Which Is Calling Spring], in Pomu˘l puru˘nu˘n sori [The Voice Which Is Calling Spring], Pyongyang ch’ulp’ansa, pp. 19–115. Paek, Hyŏn-u. 2017. Chŏlmu˘nu˘l charanghara [Be Proud of Our Youth], Pyongyang: Munhakyesul ch’ulp’ansa. Pyŏn, Wŏl-lyŏ. 2017. Mirubol, Pyongyang: Munhak yesul ch’ulp’ansa. Reid, S. E. 2006. “Modernizing Socialist Realism in the Khrushchev Thaw: The Struggle for a ‘Con­ temporary Style’ in Soviet Art,” in P. Jones (Ed.), The Dilemmas of De-Stalinization: Negotiation Cultural and Social Change in the Khrushchev Era, London: Routledge. Schattenberg, S. 2006. “ ‘Democracy’ or ‘Despotism’? How the Secret Speech Was Translated Into Everyday Life,” in P. Jones (Ed.), The Dilemmas of De-Stalinization: Negotiation Cultural And Social Change in the Khrushchev Era, London: Routledge, pp. 64–79. Song, Hye-kyŏng. 2016. u˘nhari ch’ŏngnyŏntu˘l [Young People of Eunhari], Ku˘msŏng ch’ŏngnyŏn ch’ulp’ansa. T’ak, Suk-pon. 2015. “Chŏngu˘i pada” [A Sea of Feelings], Chosŏn munhak, vol. 6, pp. 9–19. T’ak, Suk-pon. 2015. “Sowŏn” [Desire], Chosŏn munhak, vol. 1, pp. 26–36. Yi, Chu-chŏn. 2017. Ch’ŏngnyŏn sijŏl [Youth Years], Pyongyang: Munhak yesul ch’ulp’ansa. Yi, Jun-ho. 2014. Haengboge kwŏlli [The Right to Be Happy], Munhak yesul ch’ulp’ansa. Yi, Tong-gu. 2015. “Sŏngjŏn nap’alsori” [Trumpets of the Holy War], Ch’ŏngnyŏn munhak, vol. 1, pp. 4–13. Yi, Tong-gu. 2017. Ach’im nol [Morning Glow], Pyongyang: Munhak yesul ch’ulp’ansa. Yim, Bok-sil. 2015. “Abŏjiu˘i ŏlgul” [Father’s Face], Adong munhak, vol. 5, pp. 18–25. Yim, Sun-nam. 2015. “Mŏtchaengi chisikin ch’ŏngnyŏnu˘i hyŏngsangu˘l!” [More Images of the FashionLovers, Handsome Intellectual Youth!], Chosŏn munhak, vol. 6, pp. 62–65. Yu, Wŏn-gyu, 2015. Taetae ap’u˘ro! [Battalion, Forward!], Pyongyang, P’yŏngyang ch’ulp’ansa.

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Index

agriculture and food production 97–106: Arduous March famine and aftermath 99–102, 113–114, 203–205; food distribution 102–105; policies under Kim Jong Un 105–106; geography and climate 98–99

purge 17–20; 1956 dispute 25–26; 1967–9 purges 28–31; 1990s decline in prestige 222; foundation 16; post-1970s stability 33; wartime membership purge 18 Moon Jae-In 183–184

China: Chinese influence on North Korean ideology and policies 24–25, 28; role in Korean War 22; tensions with North Korea during the Cultural Revolution 134–136; see also North Korean foreign policy Democratic People’s Republic of Korea see North Korea Hanoi Summit 187–188 human rights in North Korea 199–211; 2014 UN Commission of Inquiry 202–203; child labour 225–230; freedom of assembly 208; freedom of information 206–208; freedom of movement 208–209; punishment and incarceration 210–211; religious persecution 205–206; right to food 203–205 Japan: colonial legacy 11–12 Kim Il Sung: cult of personality during 1960s 30; guerilla background 12; post-Korean War consolidation of power 20–23; repels 1956 challenge to authority 24–25 Kim Jong Il: background 42; emergence 32–33; policies and performance 42–48 Kim Jong Un: background 49–50; consolidation of power 50–51; policies 51–53, 56–71 Korean People’s Army (KPA): guerilla heritage 12; early relations with KWP leadership 18 Korean Workers Party (KWP): 1950 leadership

North Korea 1960s confrontationist policies towards South Korea 29; emergence of guerillafamily state 28–30; issue of “factionalism” 12–13; political parties during Soviet occupation 12–15; pre-1950 levels of repression 17; prospects for reform 185, 190; role of People’s Committees in 13–14; state formation in 11–17 North Korean community in the US 237–238 North Korean culture: cultural policy under Kim Il Sung 253–256, 267–271; cultural policy under Kim Jong Il 271–279; cultural policy under Kim Jong Un 283–293; North Korean literature 266–280; traditional and national music 251–262 North Korean economy: economic policies under Kim Il Sung 78–85; economic policies under Kim Jong Un 87–88; marketization under Kim Jong Il 44–47, 84–87 North Korean foreign policy: North Korean diaspora 233–242; relations with China 131–137; relations with the Russian Federation 171–177; relations with South Korea 165–166, 183–184; relations with the United States 166–167, 179–191; see also nuclear weapons program North Korean foreign trade: future prospects 119–124; historical context 112–113; policies and practices under Kim Jong Il 113–114; policies and practices under Kim Jong Un 114–119

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Index North Korean society: disability policies 221; LGBTQ issues 220; international isolation 52; social discrimination 218–220; social effects of the Arduous March famine 46–47, 216–218; sŏngbun system 25–28, 205; status of women 220; see also human rights nuclear weapons program 180–182; 1994 US-NK Agreed Framework 180–182; diplomatic tactics 155–167; negotiations with the Trump administration 182–191; Six Party Talks 159–162; strategic developments under Kim Jong Un 162–167; strategic goals and strategies 48–49, 142–152; United Nations sanctions 182–183 Pak Kŭmch’ŏl 28; purge of 30 Putin, Vladimir 172

Russian Federation 171–177; 1990s rapprochement with North Korea 172; economic relations with North Korea 175–177; strategic objectives in Korea 173–175 Singapore Summit 184–187 Six Party Talks 182 sŏngbun system see North Korean society Soviet Union 1945–8 occupation policy 11–15; 1956 intervention 24–25; fall of 171–172; relations with Korean communist groups 11–13; sponsorship of Kim Il Sung 15–16; trusteeship issue 14–15; see also Russian Federation Trump, Donald 179, 182, 184

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