Anarchy in North Korea? Hardly
By Peter Tasker
Published: October 27 2007 03:00 | Last updated: October 27 2007 03:00
The white guy in the Pyongyang karaoke bar clutched the microphone in his meaty paw. "I am an Antichrist," he roared, shaking his shoulder-length locks. "I am an anarchist."
Our North Korean minders' bemusement turned to consternation as the Sex Pistols' lyrics scrolled across the TV screen.
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"I wanna be an anarchist. Get pissed. Destroy".
Anarchy in North Korea? Hardly. The restaurant we had been taken to on our bizarre tour of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea was a restricted "foreigners only" establishment on the outskirts of the North Korean capital. The vast selection of songs on the karaoke system was as far from the lives of ordinary citizens as the plates of meat and vegetables on our table.
Not to be outdone, one of the minders countered with a stirring rendition of "The Song of Kim Il-sung", backed by a video montage of missiles and tanks, marching soldiers - and, of course, images of the "Great Leader" himself. Judging by the wild applause of the waitresses, he nailed it.
We were a seven-person group of hacks, sensation-seekers and Asia hands on a five-day visit to North Korea organised by L&J Development. Getting in was no easy matter. Our Russian travel agent kept changing the schedule. Mysterious "political factors" caused the whole thing to be cancelled twice, then just as suddenly uncancelled. All the time we were under the watchful gaze of two "guides", highly-trained minders whom we nicknamed Good Cop and Bad Cop to mark their contrasting personal styles.
The pretext for the trip earlier this year was the Arirang "mass games," an event to mark the 95th birthday of Kim Il-sung CKFTstyle, the "Great Leader" and founder of the nation. Despite being dead since 1994, Kim Il-sung continues to occupy the post of president, thus taking his country one step beyond gerontocracy to necrocracy. His son, Kim Jong-il, has to content himself with being general secretary of the Korean Worker's Party and "Leader."
The games were an ideological son et lumière performance, featuring mass gymnastics, dancing and tae kwon do workouts held in a stadium. The backdrop was created by a bank of 20,000 children holding up coloured boards. The images on this giant video screen changed every few seconds. Kim Il-sung routing the evil Japanese colonialists. Kim Il-sung routing the evil American imperialists. Kim Il-sung leading battalions of happy workers to a shining new dawn.
The clockwork precision of the ever-smiling performers was even more impressive since they were stuck out in the pouring rain for the entire two-hour show. Leni Riefenstahl would have loved it, as would fans of Busby Berkeley musicals.
The minders kept us on a tight leash. Our hotel was on an island in the River Taedong, so unsupervised evening strolls were out of the question. Not that there was much likelihood of interacting with ordinary citizens. On a visit to the subway - decorated, naturally, with giant friezes of the "Great Leader" - silent, shadowy passengers shied away from us like frightened deer. Generally people looked terrible - listless, hollow-cheeked, significantly shorter than their cousins to the south. Wizened women sat down on the escalators apparently glad of a few minutes' rest.
What we didn't see was often more striking than what we did. The bustling street life that marks any Asian city worth its salt was nowhere in evidence. No food-stands, no carts selling T-shirts, no throngs of chattering girls - no bright lights anywhere except for the eerie glow that illuminates the ubiquitous statues and portraits of the "Eternal Leader."
One evening our coach rumbled past a hundred-strong crowd milling around in the darkness. Was this, perhaps, a private market and thus evidence of the fabled liberalisation that travellers to North Korea have been reporting for at least 20 years now?
We demanded an explanation from Good Cop. He continued his soliloquy on Korean reunification and the American plot to obstruct it. We repeated the question, louder. He increased his own volume to match. Soon we had left the crowd far behind. As to what they were doing - we remained as much in the dark as the streets of Pyongyang.
Later on, Bad Cop reminded us that private markets did not exist in North Korea. Nor for that matter did crime, homosexuality, or any desire to wear brightly coloured clothes.
The "Eternal Leader" was everywhere: urging his people onwards from enormous stone plinths, smiling encouragement from the lapel badges worn by every North Korean citizen. Our opportunity to meet him face-to-face came on a visit to the International Friendship Exhibition, two hours north of Pyongyang.
The exhibition hall is a vast concrete edifice holding all the gifts the "Great Leader" has received over the years. These ranged from the potentially useful, such as a bullet-proof limo from Stalin, to the unconsciously ironic, such as the snarling head of a black bear shot by Nicolae Ceausescu.
We had been asked to wear ties as a mark of respect and photos were strictly forbidden. The minders' voices trembled with reverence as they ushered us into the presence of the "Great Leader" himself - or rather, a creepily realistic waxwork, greeting us with outstretched arm and the smarmy grin of a door-to-door salesman. Classical music plinked away in the background. A group of women in traditional costume followed us in. At the sight of the waxwork they dissolved into sobs.
We stifled our laughter like naughty children in Sunday school. Which is in a sense where we were; North Korea has left Marxism far behind and moved into the territory of religion. The symbolic borrowings are clear. A new star is said to have emerged in the sky when Kim Jong-il was born. Anecdotes that sound bizarre to outsiders - such as the Kim Jong-il's hole-in-one on his first ever round of golf - are reminiscent of miracles in the lives of the saints.
Abraham Lincoln reckoned you can't fool all the people all the time. L Ron Hubbard and the Reverend Moon might disagree. Religious cults gather millions of believers, not because their doctrines make sense, but because they feed off deep-seated human weaknesses.
"We like you so much we want to keep you," said Good Cop on the way to the airport. Recalling the missing Japanese citizens snatched by North Korean agents, I found it hard to return his smile.
Instead another Sex Pistols line came to mind. "No future" - that is, for the 23m inhabitants of this benighted country.
Peter Tasker is a Tokyo-based investor
Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2007
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