Highlights from Full Report of 2013 North Korea Visit
(Sophomore, Princeton University)
Once we were about 30 minutes away from the border, I, along with everyone else in the car, grew quiet. It was raining softly outside so the sky was heavily overcast and the entire atmosphere altogether gray. As we made our way through the early morning fog, I couldn't stop imagining what North Korea would be like. I had read hundreds of articles and reports, searched every possible picture that has ever been published to the outside world, screened documentaries, interviewed defectors... And yet there was a gaping hole in my mind. At that point, two and a half years' worth of research was absolutely useless to me. I felt completely in the dark without realizing I would have that feeling the entire trip.
I must pause my narrative for a moment to tell you about the significance of this river that serves as a border between China and North Korea. The Tumen is not just any body of water; it is the one obstacle that stands between North Koreans who are defecting and their first step in their long journey to freedom. Geographically, it separates two unimaginably different worlds. During my time in South Korea two years ago, when I spent time at a refugee resettlement organization, every single story of defection that I heard from my North Korean friends involved this particular river. It is impossible to talk about human rights without mentioning the Tumen, and here's why: North Korean guards are posted every few miles along the banks of this river on the North Korean side, while China has its own secret police posted along the Chinese bank. Both countries have this measure of security in place for the sole purpose of preventing defections. While North Koreans were much more successful in escaping across this river in the late 1990"s and early 2000's, the regime has since clamped down on escape attempts by heightening border security, increasing the number of guard assignments and implementing more frequent rotations in order to prevent bribery (which, to the government, was a risky byproduct of citizens' familiarity with particular guards). According to Dr. Kim, a pharmacologist who works with an NGO overseeing a pharmaceutical project in the North and who was also one of our team guides, the number and rate of defections have decreased significantly since that time. However, with the knowledge that North Koreans guards have shoot-to-kill orders for anyone who tries to escape and that defectors have drowned while trying, I was not excited to see the river. I stared out the window as we began spanning that several hundred meter bridge. I looked across the railing to the expanse of water that, as one delegate from a previous year had recounted so perfectly, "flowed past silently, carrying so many secrets." Tears stung my eyes as I recalled testimonies of defectors witnessing dead bodies floating down the river or coming close to being caught by guards armed with AK-47s. The harrowing details haunted me as we drove by.
Soon our passports and slips were stamped by a North Korean official behind a desk, and we proceeded to move through security. The official took one look at my slip and asked roughly, "Where is your Bible? And your camera? Take them both out for us to see." I was moved to another table and removed from my bag the items they requested. The second official, a woman, flipped through my Bible to make sure there were no tracts or distributable materials, and then looked through my camera. She rummaged through my backpack and found a few pieces of bread from that morning's breakfast, when we had stopped by a Chinese café before entering the North. "These are for eating?" she asked me. I nodded. Her last question to me was, "Do you have a USB?" I was initially confused by the strangeness of her inquiry but was suddenly reminded of Tony's informing our team that Kenneth Bae (a naturalized Korean American citizen) was currently being held captive in North Korea because of a USB. I quickly shook my head to the negative. The guard looked at me for a moment and then waved me on. I breathed a sigh of relief inside and moved towards the back exit. We were inside.
What did North Korea look like, you must wonder. As soon as we left the North Korean customs building and began our drive to Rajin, I was overtaken with awe over the incredible beauty of the country. It was actually breathtaking. Lush, unadulterated mountains gave a looming yet cautious welcome as far as the eye could see and the sky was perfectly cerulean with no hint of man-made pollution or smog; in fact, there was very little evidence that human beings even inhabited the region. I could hardly believe my eyes, but with such limited development, such picturesque surroundings only made sense.
I realize that my trip may elicit questions about how practical it is to hope in the potential for nation-wide reform in North Korea, whether at the state level or grassroots level. The international community, especially those groups with a particular interest in the North, has been keeping eager watch for any hint of reform ever since Kim Jong-Un's command of the regime. I was very curious to look into this possibility myself when I found out I would have an opportunity to get an inside glimpse. The only reliable resource, however, is the people themselves, and unfortunately, our entire delegation was forbidden to engage in any kind of interaction with "ordinary civilians" unless they were serving us directly (waitresses, hotel receptionists, etc). Even at that level, however, it was impossible to have any meaningful conversation besides "thank you" and "please give me more water" under the constant watch of our minders. Because the jangmadang, the outdoor marketplace in which North Korean citizens are granted government permits to set up a booth and sell goods, was a loud, bustling, open area where closely monitored control is more difficult, our minders were exponentially more paranoid about our wandering out of sight in case we engaged in unallowable dialogue with the vendors. I cannot say if such conversation would have been informative even if it had been allowed"”the booth keepers were so busy soliciting passersby's attentions it was almost comical.
I was silent for most the meal, having no appetite for food or even conversation"”the presence of our minder truly unnerved me. Minder Lee, however, didn't seem to notice my hesitance, and he continued to look over at the table at me to ask me questions over and over again. He was practically bursting with curiosity. Are you in college? What's your major? How many siblings do you have? Do you like living in the United States? Do you like our food? So are you really 19 years old? It was an endless interrogation. Why the other delegates were of no interest to him was beyond me, but to my utter relief, the stream of questions eventually abated and I was left to push my food around my plate contemplatively. At one point in our meal, I looked down at my mat. Cute, white cartoon cats were printed on a light blue background with clouds dancing around and hearts stitched in here and there. The cartoons were remarkably similar to the official Hello Kitty character, but then I read the words "Angel Cat." I frowned at the strange sight. Angel Cat? What happened to Hello Kitty? I thought, until I realized that Hello Kitty was a Japanese creation and had a ubiquitous presence throughout Asia, even seeping into every Asian goods store in the West. It was distinctly Japanese and, well, boasted of materialism"”two things the regime's political ideology denounced eternally. I blinked a few times and then looked back up to my food, pretending not to notice.
It was an eerie feeling, being the only guests in a monstrous hotel. That feeling only became worse when I remembered Tony had advised us to be careful about what we said in our rooms because they were bugged for monitoring purposes. Our minders were also stationed in the rooms right next to ours, so the only time we were truly "alone" was in our sleep. Our hotel room had a breathtaking view of the ocean that stretched out across the bay and beyond. It was the late afternoon, and small fishing boats, known specifically in North Korea as ttong ttong bae (ttong ttong being an onomatopoeia for the loud sputtering noises they are known to make), lined the harbor like small lego pieces"”some were still out on the water and bobbing with the movement of the currents. After resting for, perhaps, five minutes and reveling in the freedom of relative privacy in our room, we returned to the hotel lobby for our first official visit to one of Rajin's food factories, next to which our organization's bread factory was currently being built. It would also be my first meeting with Shim ji bae in, the manager of the entire food factory. I had heard that she was quite open-minded and kind from my fellow delegates who had worked with her earlier in the year, so I was filled with nervous but anticipatory excitement for our visit.
I looked up to see two picture frames containing an image of Kim Il-Sung and one of Kim Jong-Il resting adjacent to his father. They were perfectly squared at the very top of the back wall, without blemish or stain. I tried not to shudder visibly in front of Minder Lee and Manager Shim, but their omnipresence was very strange to me, even throughout our meeting with Manager Shim. The meeting began, and details of the contractual agreement between our nonprofit (CEM) and the food factory were discussed at great length. Mrs. Yi outlined expectations, funding, deadlines, and procedures. Manager Shim simply nodded after each of the points and followed along with an encouraging smile. Then came the topic of the bread factory's construction, and Manager Shim gave an overview of the construction progress -- as it was taking place right below our window -- and some problems they had encountered. Then came the very issue of how to transport the automated bread machinery from Shanghai into the Rajin area, as well as some of the delegates' concerns over the North Korean employees' training, computer skills, and general safety guidelines for the operation of the bread factory equipment. About one-and-a-half hours later, when the meeting came to a close, we took a group picture with Manager Shim, making sure that it was taken in such a way that the esteemed photographs of Kim Il-Sung and his son were not cut off (our photographs would be reexamined, one by one, in security when we would leave North Korea).
We were then given an inside tour of the existing food factory and met several very sweet North Korean women who were given the task of the bread baking as a part of another outside NGO's operation. Each of them smiled at us bashfully but their eyes glimmered with curiosity when they saw me. They did not say a word, but politely handed us a sample of the bread they had just made. It was extremely good, with a hint of sweetness. Minder Lee seemed pleased that we were impressed with the bread, and we made our back to the van after a few more minutes.
The next morning, on the second day, Mrs. Yi and I were getting ready around 7 am when an urgent knock arrived at our door. It was Mr. Song, our CEM delegate from Boise, Idaho. "They want us to leave the country by 5 pm today," he said abruptly. I was shocked. We were not scheduled to depart until the following day, in the early afternoon. This change was nearly 24 hours earlier than was originally planned. We hurriedly went down to the lobby in relative confusion, and I soon discovered why the minders were pushing for our early departure. According to Minder Moon, we had finished all the business we came to do. He informed us that the Donation Bureau, of which he was a representative, was "very busy" because there were four different foreign delegations besides ours. There were only three Donation Bureau officials in the Rajin area, he said, and because other delegations needed to be tended to, he believed that our work was finished here. We had had our meeting with Manager Shim and it was now time for us to leave. Mrs. Yi spoke with him for fifteen minutes, acknowledging our mistake in trying to squeeze visits in at the last minute without having notified the Bureau prior to our arrival (for instance, our spontaneous request to see the orphanage run by our friends). But she graciously reminded Minder Moon that we had a follow-up appointment with Manager Shim that day, and a few other things needed to be taken care of before we were to leave. She delivered her argument with incredible tact. Minder Moon mulled over her reasoning for a moment and abruptly excused himself to make a call. Tony and his wife and Dr. Kim had arrived at our hotel by that time and when we related to him our predicament, Tony grew visibly irritated. With his back turned to our North Korean minders and the hotel staff, he ran his hand through his hair several times in exasperation, "Well, that's just what they do. All the time. This is what happens in North Korea." After Mrs. Yi explained to him the situation in greater detail, in addition to Minder Moon's reasoning, Tony turned to me and said, "Take note of this. This is important for you to know for the future. The government, honestly, does not want us here. We are a delegation representing humanitarian interests, and to them, securing foreign investment -- businesses and major corporations -- is their top priority. Whoever is involved with boosting their economy is much more welcome than those who want to deliver basic human necessities to the people. Their policy towards humanitarian aid is, "Give it to us and get out.' You can tell this is what's going on here. They are extremely hard to work with at times." Within a few minutes, Minder Lee appeared in the middle of our conversation unceremoniously. He seemed strangely happy and we all looked at him curiously. "What is the problem?" he asked, after noticing our worried faces. We told him we were trying to rearrange our plans so that we could leave this afternoon, as we had been instructed to do. Minder Lee blinked. "Why do you say today? You are leaving tomorrow, at noon," he stated matter-of-factly. We were confused. "But Minder Moon..." "Oh, I talked to him. We're sticking to the original plan and you will be departing tomorrow, as scheduled. Let's get ready to head out for the day." It was our turn to stand there and blink. Mrs. Yi suddenly gathered her wits about her and bowed in gratitude, "Minder Lee, thank you so much. What could we do without you? I was worried, but I am so glad it worked out and that we are able to continue as planned. Again, I sincerely apologize for pushing your Bureau with our spontaneous agenda and I hope no harm has been done"”I realize you are all very busy right now." Minder Lee seemed pleased and our party left for the immigration office. It was never brought up again.
Another very strange fact that I discovered while staring out the window for three days was that although people were walking with antiquated backpacks or 80's-style briefcases, I could not understand where they were going. The buildings were in much better condition in the "downtown" area of Rajin as opposed to the outskirts, with signs for "bookstore," "restaurant," "repair store," "pharmacy," but I never saw anyone entering or exiting any of the buildings. Save for one instance, I never saw one person go into or come out of a building over the course of three days. To capture the very surreal, bizarre quality of the picture I am trying to convey, imagine the incredible bustle of New Yorkers in the heart of Times Square, say, around lunch time on a weekday. It's especially chaotic and overwhelming for someone who is visiting for the first time. People are talking, laughing, looking down at their phones, walking at a fast pace, pointing, eating food bought from street vendors, going into stores, walking down to the subway -- essentially, there is movement that is traceable to the kind of activity in which they are participating. Emotions are expressed freely, conversation flows freely. The scene I witnessed in downtown Rajin, by contrast, was beyond eerie. You could hear the sound of the occasional car or motorbike, maybe small clusters of people in soft-spoken conversation, a schoolboy who yelps as he chases his friend down the sidewalk, but the entire area was subdued, both in noise and movement. I passed blank face after blank face -- North Koreans with a hard set, vacant and far-away expression, a hint of fatigue in the creases in their face's landscape. No emotion. Literally, none. They stared straight ahead and continued walking along as if they were zombies. But no one seemed to have a destination, as no one entered a building or exited it. That's when I remembered reading about Kim Jong-Il's fascination with Western films. He was a dictator who was obsessed with cinema and, at one point, even kidnapped an extremely famous South Korean director and actress to make a movie for him in North Korea. Perhaps it is my over-speculating mind that leads me to conspire about the reality of Rajin. Perhaps I would like to believe that my research was, in fact, not utterly irrelevant or useless. In any case, downtown Rajin simply felt like the largest movie set imaginable. We then spent a few hours of our afternoon in Tony and Susan's house, a small residence attached to the pharmaceutical factory they ran in partnership with the North Korean government. It was a very plain building from the outside, but upon entering our friends' house, the inside smelled of a Western kitchen and was furnished with products from IKEA and JCPenny. It was like a home away from home, and I sank into a love seat with an exhausted sigh. I could not have known how emotionally and psychologically draining this trip would be. Susan and Dr. Kim invited me over to the living room table to play a game of Yahtzee with them. Before we started, Susan recounted a story of the last time they played Yahtzee with a North Korean minder for a different delegation, who, once he learned the rules of Yahtzee, exclaimed five minutes into the game, "This is capitalism! The rich get richer and the poor get poorer!"
On our last night, our minders suggested we make a classic Korean dish called mae oon tang, a spicy soup that contained all kinds of exotic sea food - caught right in the Rajin harbor. We delivered our ingredients to the hotel kitchen staff, who prepared it for us and brought out other side dishes as well. There was small conversation here and there but mostly silence that night. At one point, the power in the entire building went out and we sat in the dark for several seconds, wondering when the lights would return. The minders looked slightly embarrassed but were very clearly doing their best to act indifferent to what had just happened. Unfortunately, the electricity went out once more before the night was finished. Tony and his wife and Dr. Kim were used to such occurrences and continued eating even in the dark. As it was the last night, I finally mustered up enough courage to engage in some level of conversation with Minder Moon and Minder Lee. I asked them about their families and what part of North Korea they were from. Soon I began asking about the healthcare system, the most common diseases in the Rajin area, if Rajin had a medical school. As I kept asking about the number of medical centers, types of medical schools and questions all related to health care, Minder Moon had taken notice of my sudden passion and excitement. I had not spoken this much since arriving in North Korea. Naturally, he was curious and asked me with slight hesitation, "Why do you ask about these things?"
I paused before answering his question. I decided to speak freely. After all, when would I have another chance? "Minder Moon, do you know what my dream is? I want to become a doctor so I can return to North Korea to establish clinics and teaching hospitals in areas they are most needed. I want to work with the locals, talk to them, hear their stories, train them and treat them. That's my dream." Minder Moon blinked for a moment, and then gave me the biggest smile I had ever seen for someone who did not smile often. He laughed for a minute and then asked me earnestly, "Will you treat me when you become a doctor?" The entire table burst into laughter. I heard Minder Lee comment from across the table, "Nahrie is a 19-year-old who wants to change this place! I've never seen anyone with more hope and determination."
Humanitarian aid in North Korea is an impossibly difficult situation. The only way to describe the manner in which outside aid is handled is by relating the process to a black hole, as most aid simply disappears without a trace. There is virtually no accessibility once everything has been transferred, and outside representatives of donor organizations are rarely allowed inside to monitor progress or distribution. This is where relationship building takes on incredible importance, more so than in other nations. Tony and his wife, along with their Korean pharmacologist Dr. Kim, worked tirelessly with the proper North Korean channels for three years in order to receive their resident green cards. (Tony himself had done volunteer work as a member of the Eugene Bell Foundation for eight years prior to their decision to start a pharmaceutical factory.) They are allowed to enter and exit the country as they wish and without the constant presence of minders, as long as all itineraries and behavior are handled properly. When they are inside the North, they are not allowed to speak with ordinary North Korean citizens"”only business-related talk with their factory managers and workers is permitted. But interestingly, the government does allow them to visit the homes of other Americans living in the North, freely. One major revelation: the traditional non-governmental organization model is completely unsustainable in North Korea. Given my virtually nonexistent background in NGO work, aside from my own research, I do not believe this revelation is a novel concept to the international NGO community. It seems that there has been an increasing push in the past few years away from the "100% donation" model and towards a trial-and-error-tested approach that ensures that the donor will be a true stakeholder from beginning to end. I came to understand that it is crucial to build an active, sustainable presence in the target community, especially when transparency is an issue and where typical mechanisms for accountability are not in place. For example, Tony informed me that there is a 85% project failure rate for most NGO operations in the North. Approximately 1,500 projects are currently being carried out in various locations, but less than about 600 of these have what he refers to as "active, sustainable presence." According to him, "the average time frame for a project's failure is six months""”within six months, there are already massive funding and logistical challenges for the outside organization, and perhaps because of the issue of accountability, between the government and the organization (resulting in a lack of information for the organization's benefactors), funding sources would simply dry up.
In response to these near-impossible circumstances, there has been a shift away from that traditional model of 100% donation. Many NGOs are beginning to implement a model that supports a 50%-profit, 50%-donation agreement with the North Korean government, allowing for what could be seen as an investment in human capital, as well as the national economy. Half of, say, bread, that is produced by a food factory (with equipment and training provided by the NGO) would be sold to nearby state-run stores, while the other half would be delivered to local elementary schools for free. When I heard about this model, my idealist self balked at the idea of partnering with the North Korean government to form a "hybrid" policy of profit and non-profit production. It seemed all too risky, and I imagined that North Korea's business interests would eventually trump the social goal, which might be providing school children with high-nutrition meals. I only saw the beginning of this type of operation, but according to my good friends Tony and Susan, the very close-knit NGO community in North Korea was, in fact, making some promising headway using this model. Another approach that NGOs took was to come into North Korea with the idea of partnering with an outside business that had established itself in the North's "economy," so to speak. For example, an American social entrepreneur made a contract with one Rajin-based food factory facility to use a portion of the building to manufacture Western-style yogurt products, which apparently was gaining much momentum in North Korea. The North readily agreed, and there are currently outside NGOs that have plans to establish themselves in the community as potential buyers"”at the outset, these NGOs would purchase yogurt in bulk and then distribute them around the region. Secondly, I was aware of but did not realize the intensity of government regulatory hurdles that stood between a "good idea with good intentions" and the lasting, tangible, on-the-ground impact of aid. I know this problem to be true in many places around the world, but in a country like North Korea, where a most bizarre and cultish fundamental"”If not severely outdated -- political ideology is what drives the regime's policies toward humanitarian efforts in their land, the most important assets one can have are: diplomatic tact with a particular understanding and respect for North Korean culture, values, and customs; an extremely creative business-minded approach to anything from problem-solving to organizational structuring; and a spirit of unparalleled resilience. Third, I was made privy to a disheartening reality to which I was just becoming aware as I prepared to leave the country. Being a human rights activist to decry the North's grave violations does not help one enter the country to accomplish goals for humanitarian aid. Although being granted access into the country and working with the government to produce tangible outcomes gives one the ability to share key information to the outside world, it is a line so thin it almost does not exist. The government must trust you deeply to allow more accessibility to the more dire areas of the country, and it will not expose you to these parts unless it has absolute confidence that you have no subversive motives. Even the desire to help the North Korean people by exposing human rights atrocities of the government can be considered a subversive act. In realizing this inherent problem, I have taken on a more cautious attitude in my activities even here in the States.
North Korea is home to 24 million people who may be trapped in a completely different time in history but who are extremely intelligent and, in many places, surprisingly well-trained. Aside from the root issue of the corrupt ideology that belies its political system, the most glaring problem is not citizens who lack skills or basic education (although the latter is a massive problem in very rural parts of the country), it is in fact an issue of funding. At times the government has no money even to support its own Public Distribution System, which leads to widespread hunger and an increase in "black market" activity"”people will resort to the most effective (although technically illicit) means of sustaining themselves when the state can no longer provide their basic needs. In talking to Tony, he acknowledged the same issue. There are clinics around here, he would say to me, but no one goes to them because they never have medication. They are always empty. In response to this desperate need, one aspect of Tony's work in North Korea involves the establishment of an infirmary in each elementary school in the Rajin and neighboring Sonbong area. Once it is built, they are able to stock the infirmary with basic medication and supplies; so far, Tony's team has covered half of the 79 public schools in Rajin. I was told that even during the holidays when there are no classes, the infirmaries are flooded with students bringing their parents or siblings who have fallen ill, to receive treatment from the nursing staff.
Although it has been a full two weeks since I returned to the States, I feel that I have not been able to think through all of the things I witnessed in North Korea. The first two nights after I had returned to campus I spent mostly alone in my dorm room, feeling utterly hopeless and wondering what I was doing at Princeton when the North Korean crisis was taking place in virtual silence"”I had seen glimpses of it with my own eyes. I was not depressed, but I was extremely bothered. The two worlds were irreconcilable. How could those things be happening in the 21st century? How could my people be slaving under such oppressive conditions with no hope of an improved, freer life or knowledge of the outside world? How could someone order fall clothes online and have it delivered to their campus center within two days while families were being torn apart by an unbelievable regime for the "crime" of stealing food to survive, in the same moment in history? It created such a despair and urgency in me. There was much work to be done in the North. I thankfully do not have dreams about the place, but oftentimes as I am sitting in lecture my mind wanders to the thought of what Minder Lee and Minder Moon might be doing at the moment, 7,000 miles away from where I sit. I imagine the faces of kkot jebi children who tapped me on the shoulder, and I wonder if they are able to feed themselves or how well they are sleeping. I sometimes stare through my professor's organic chemistry structures and think about Tony and Susan and Dr. Kim -- are they in a business meeting, playing Yahtzee with Minder Lee, leading another delegation into the North? I admit, I occasionally do wish I could drop everything at Princeton and move to the Chinese-North Korean border to work with refugees or make frequent visits inside to begin building relationships with the North Korean government and citizens. I know it's the unrealistic idealism of a young person, and I know I am supposed to be here at Princeton for the time being. Even practically speaking, I have nothing to offer North Korea at the moment, with no particular skill set or basic degree. But my heart burns for them. And this trip was certainly not to be my last.
(Visit Nahrie's website, Project North Korea, for more details of her North Korea work: www.projectnorthkorea.org)
