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| North Korea first-hand: what it's like to visit the world's most secretive nation | North Korea first-hand: what it's like to visit the world's most secretive nation |
| (21 days later) | |
| Adam Johnson: When I arrived at Pyongyang's Sunan airport a few years ago, my head was still spinning from a landing on a runway lined with cattle, electric fences and the fuselages of other jets whose landings hadn't gone so well. On the plane, a Soviet Ilyushin Il-62 from the 1960s, I'd been handed a copy of the Rodong Sinmun, North Korea's daily newspaper. The front page informed me that hunger and flooding were widespread in South Korea. Help was on its way, however, as Kim Jong-il was reportedly sending sandbags and food supplies to poverty-stricken Seoul. The poles of reality, I understood from that article, had now been reversed, and even though I'd spent three years writing and researching a novel set in North Korea, I realised I was unprepared for what I was about to encounter in "the most glorious nation in the world". | Adam Johnson: When I arrived at Pyongyang's Sunan airport a few years ago, my head was still spinning from a landing on a runway lined with cattle, electric fences and the fuselages of other jets whose landings hadn't gone so well. On the plane, a Soviet Ilyushin Il-62 from the 1960s, I'd been handed a copy of the Rodong Sinmun, North Korea's daily newspaper. The front page informed me that hunger and flooding were widespread in South Korea. Help was on its way, however, as Kim Jong-il was reportedly sending sandbags and food supplies to poverty-stricken Seoul. The poles of reality, I understood from that article, had now been reversed, and even though I'd spent three years writing and researching a novel set in North Korea, I realised I was unprepared for what I was about to encounter in "the most glorious nation in the world". |
| As we drove south toward the capital, the roads were largely abandoned. I had yet to learn to recognise the sight of a tank trap or the guard towers placed at the corners of cornfields. I was unaware of North Korea's "Let's turn grass into meat" campaign, so I assumed the roadside portraits of dancing rabbits and goats were intended to delight local children. As we drove, one of our guides, a clean-cut young man, informed me that I was now in the most democratic nation in the world, where crime was unheard of and healthcare was universal. He stared earnestly into my eyes as he explained that no one in his country wanted for anything. | As we drove south toward the capital, the roads were largely abandoned. I had yet to learn to recognise the sight of a tank trap or the guard towers placed at the corners of cornfields. I was unaware of North Korea's "Let's turn grass into meat" campaign, so I assumed the roadside portraits of dancing rabbits and goats were intended to delight local children. As we drove, one of our guides, a clean-cut young man, informed me that I was now in the most democratic nation in the world, where crime was unheard of and healthcare was universal. He stared earnestly into my eyes as he explained that no one in his country wanted for anything. |
| Suddenly, a vehicle on the road caught my eye. It was a dump truck headed north toward the countryside, and its bed was filled with residents of Pyongyang. The truck was decades old, and lacked a tailgate, so the people in the back were crammed together to avoid falling out. One bump would send half of them tumbling on to the road. As the truck flashed past, I saw clearly a man in a suit holding a briefcase. Beside him was a woman in a white labcoat. Despite the wind, her eyes were open as she stared without expression at the horizon. | Suddenly, a vehicle on the road caught my eye. It was a dump truck headed north toward the countryside, and its bed was filled with residents of Pyongyang. The truck was decades old, and lacked a tailgate, so the people in the back were crammed together to avoid falling out. One bump would send half of them tumbling on to the road. As the truck flashed past, I saw clearly a man in a suit holding a briefcase. Beside him was a woman in a white labcoat. Despite the wind, her eyes were open as she stared without expression at the horizon. |
| "Where are those people going?" I asked our other guide. | "Where are those people going?" I asked our other guide. |
| "They're volunteers," she answered. "They're going to help with the harvest." | "They're volunteers," she answered. "They're going to help with the harvest." |
| "They volunteered?" I asked. | "They volunteered?" I asked. |
| She seemed not to understand the question. "Everyone must volunteer," she told me. | She seemed not to understand the question. "Everyone must volunteer," she told me. |
| One of the limitations of being human is that we're each stuck in our own experience, forever forbidden from knowing the true thoughts of another. It's for this reason that the power of storytelling holds such sway over us, especially in the form of the novel, which, of all art forms, is perhaps most capable of communicating the private lives of others. On that North Korean highway, I wondered who the woman in the labcoat was, what she had been thinking as the wind whipped her hair, where she'd been headed that morning when Pyongyang's Minister of Mass Mobilisation conscripted her to work in the rice fields. And I understood the only way I'd ever find out is if I made her a character in my novel. | One of the limitations of being human is that we're each stuck in our own experience, forever forbidden from knowing the true thoughts of another. It's for this reason that the power of storytelling holds such sway over us, especially in the form of the novel, which, of all art forms, is perhaps most capable of communicating the private lives of others. On that North Korean highway, I wondered who the woman in the labcoat was, what she had been thinking as the wind whipped her hair, where she'd been headed that morning when Pyongyang's Minister of Mass Mobilisation conscripted her to work in the rice fields. And I understood the only way I'd ever find out is if I made her a character in my novel. |
| I'd started writing about North Korea because of a fascination with propaganda and the way it prescribes an official narrative to an entire people. In Pyongyang, that narrative begins with the founding of a glorious nation under the fatherly guidance of Kim Il-sung, and is followed by years of industry and sacrifice among its citizenry, so that when Kim Jong-il comes to power, all is strength, happiness and prosperity. It didn't matter that the story was a complete fiction – every citizen was forced to become a character whose motivations, desires and fears were dictated by this script. The labour camps were filled with those who hadn't played their parts, who'd spoken of deprivation instead of plenitude, or who'd acted as if they lived in despotism rather than the purest democracy. | I'd started writing about North Korea because of a fascination with propaganda and the way it prescribes an official narrative to an entire people. In Pyongyang, that narrative begins with the founding of a glorious nation under the fatherly guidance of Kim Il-sung, and is followed by years of industry and sacrifice among its citizenry, so that when Kim Jong-il comes to power, all is strength, happiness and prosperity. It didn't matter that the story was a complete fiction – every citizen was forced to become a character whose motivations, desires and fears were dictated by this script. The labour camps were filled with those who hadn't played their parts, who'd spoken of deprivation instead of plenitude, or who'd acted as if they lived in despotism rather than the purest democracy. |
| When I visited places such as Pyongyang, Kaesong, Panmunjom and Myohyangsan, I understood that a genuine interaction with a North Korean citizen was unlikely, since contact with foreigners was illegal. But I hadn't imagined the pain and sadness I would feel on being surrounded by thousands of people for whom a spontaneous moment was too dangerous to contemplate. As I walked the streets, not one person would risk a glance, a smile, even a pause in their daily routine. They all wore the distant, expressionless gaze of the woman in the dump truck. | When I visited places such as Pyongyang, Kaesong, Panmunjom and Myohyangsan, I understood that a genuine interaction with a North Korean citizen was unlikely, since contact with foreigners was illegal. But I hadn't imagined the pain and sadness I would feel on being surrounded by thousands of people for whom a spontaneous moment was too dangerous to contemplate. As I walked the streets, not one person would risk a glance, a smile, even a pause in their daily routine. They all wore the distant, expressionless gaze of the woman in the dump truck. |
| In the Puhung Metro station, I wondered what happened to personal desires when they came into conflict with a national story? Was it possible to retain a personal identity in such conditions, and under what circumstances would a person reveal his or her true nature and to whom? These mysteries – of subsumed selves, of hidden lives, of rewritten longings – are the fuel of novels, and I felt a powerful desire to help reveal what a dynastic dictatorship had forced these people to conceal. | In the Puhung Metro station, I wondered what happened to personal desires when they came into conflict with a national story? Was it possible to retain a personal identity in such conditions, and under what circumstances would a person reveal his or her true nature and to whom? These mysteries – of subsumed selves, of hidden lives, of rewritten longings – are the fuel of novels, and I felt a powerful desire to help reveal what a dynastic dictatorship had forced these people to conceal. |
| Of course, I could only speculate on those lives, filling the voids with research and imagination. Back home, I continued to read books, articles and histories. I sought out interviews and personal accounts. Testimonies of gulag survivors such as Kang Chol Hwan and Shin Dong-hyuk proved invaluable. But I found that most scholarship on the DPRK was dedicated to military, political, nuclear and economic theory. Fewer were the books that focused directly on the people who daily endured such circumstances. Rarer were the narratives that tallied the personal cost of hidden emotions, abandoned relationships or forgotten identities. These stories I felt a personal duty to tell. Travelling to North Korea filled me with a sense that every person there, from the lowliest labourer to military leaders, had to surrender a rich private life in order to enact one prewritten by the party. To capture this on the page, I created characters across all levels of society, from the orphan, the soldier, the sailor, the bureaucrat, the general and the actor, to the woman in the labcoat. What should have been obvious at the outset (but didn't become apparent until I was deep into the book) was this: all narrative paths led back to Kim Jong-il. In the end, the narrative of North Korea didn't make sense without its author, and I realised that to achieve my goals I would have to bring to life the great scriptwriter himself. | Of course, I could only speculate on those lives, filling the voids with research and imagination. Back home, I continued to read books, articles and histories. I sought out interviews and personal accounts. Testimonies of gulag survivors such as Kang Chol Hwan and Shin Dong-hyuk proved invaluable. But I found that most scholarship on the DPRK was dedicated to military, political, nuclear and economic theory. Fewer were the books that focused directly on the people who daily endured such circumstances. Rarer were the narratives that tallied the personal cost of hidden emotions, abandoned relationships or forgotten identities. These stories I felt a personal duty to tell. Travelling to North Korea filled me with a sense that every person there, from the lowliest labourer to military leaders, had to surrender a rich private life in order to enact one prewritten by the party. To capture this on the page, I created characters across all levels of society, from the orphan, the soldier, the sailor, the bureaucrat, the general and the actor, to the woman in the labcoat. What should have been obvious at the outset (but didn't become apparent until I was deep into the book) was this: all narrative paths led back to Kim Jong-il. In the end, the narrative of North Korea didn't make sense without its author, and I realised that to achieve my goals I would have to bring to life the great scriptwriter himself. |
| Most of what we know of North Korea comes from the stories of defectors, whose accounts are nearly impossible to verify. For journalists, this inability to confirm even simple facts makes writing accounts of daily life in the DPRK a daunting task. I believe this is where the imaginative reach of literary fiction can help: to the novelist, oral history, myth, legend and rumour are all useful in creating a human portrait, however elusive. The nation is a mystery-generating engine, and the more I study the place, the more questions I have. How can we truly know anything about North Korea? Who am I to speak for a people whose experiences are so different than my own? Is the portrait I've created accurate? I don't think we can know until North Koreans are free to tell their own stories. And until that day comes, I believe the more voices that attempt to articulate such a difficult reality the better. | Most of what we know of North Korea comes from the stories of defectors, whose accounts are nearly impossible to verify. For journalists, this inability to confirm even simple facts makes writing accounts of daily life in the DPRK a daunting task. I believe this is where the imaginative reach of literary fiction can help: to the novelist, oral history, myth, legend and rumour are all useful in creating a human portrait, however elusive. The nation is a mystery-generating engine, and the more I study the place, the more questions I have. How can we truly know anything about North Korea? Who am I to speak for a people whose experiences are so different than my own? Is the portrait I've created accurate? I don't think we can know until North Koreans are free to tell their own stories. And until that day comes, I believe the more voices that attempt to articulate such a difficult reality the better. |
| Adam Johnson's novel The Orphan Master's Son is published by Black Swan, priced £8.99. Buy it for £7.19 at guardianbookshop.co.uk | Adam Johnson's novel The Orphan Master's Son is published by Black Swan, priced £8.99. Buy it for £7.19 at guardianbookshop.co.uk |
| John Sweeney, writing in the Daily Mail after his controversial undercover visit to North Korea with LSE students | John Sweeney, writing in the Daily Mail after his controversial undercover visit to North Korea with LSE students |
| Down, down inside the Pyongyang Metro stands a statue of the Eternal Ruler of North Korea, Generalissimo Kim Il-sung – dead these past 19 years but still calling the shots. Brainwashing cast in bronze. | Down, down inside the Pyongyang Metro stands a statue of the Eternal Ruler of North Korea, Generalissimo Kim Il-sung – dead these past 19 years but still calling the shots. Brainwashing cast in bronze. |
| The regime's florid propaganda blares from loudspeakers: "The pure white snows of our sacred mountains' artillery will wipe the filthy enemy from existence." Or something like that. | The regime's florid propaganda blares from loudspeakers: "The pure white snows of our sacred mountains' artillery will wipe the filthy enemy from existence." Or something like that. |
| No ordinary North Koreans talk to us. Almost 400ft below the surface, it's hard not to feel that we're trapped inside a doomsday cult like the Branch Davidians in Waco, Texas, or Jim Jones's Peoples Temple in Guyana. Only this one is a cult nation, armed with nukes, and the clock is counting down to Armageddon. | No ordinary North Koreans talk to us. Almost 400ft below the surface, it's hard not to feel that we're trapped inside a doomsday cult like the Branch Davidians in Waco, Texas, or Jim Jones's Peoples Temple in Guyana. Only this one is a cult nation, armed with nukes, and the clock is counting down to Armageddon. |
| Basketball star Dennis Rodman, who became "friends for life" with the North Korean leader during a visit earlier this year | Basketball star Dennis Rodman, who became "friends for life" with the North Korean leader during a visit earlier this year |
| "He [Kim Jong-un] just wants to be loved. He just wants to sit down and talk. That's all." | "He [Kim Jong-un] just wants to be loved. He just wants to sit down and talk. That's all." |
| Sophie Schmidt, teenage daughter of Google chairman Eric Schmidt, who travelled to North Korea with her father in January, and wrote a blog post titled "It might not get weirder than this" | Sophie Schmidt, teenage daughter of Google chairman Eric Schmidt, who travelled to North Korea with her father in January, and wrote a blog post titled "It might not get weirder than this" |
| "It's impossible to know how much we can extrapolate from what we saw in Pyongyang to what the DPRK is really like. Our trip was a mixture of highly staged encounters, tightly orchestrated viewings and what seemed like genuine human moments. We had zero interactions with non-state-approved North Koreans and were never far from our two minders (two, so one can mind the other). The longer I think about what we saw and heard, the less sure I am about what any of it actually meant. | "It's impossible to know how much we can extrapolate from what we saw in Pyongyang to what the DPRK is really like. Our trip was a mixture of highly staged encounters, tightly orchestrated viewings and what seemed like genuine human moments. We had zero interactions with non-state-approved North Koreans and were never far from our two minders (two, so one can mind the other). The longer I think about what we saw and heard, the less sure I am about what any of it actually meant. |
| Journalist Barbara Demick, on a North Korean love story | Journalist Barbara Demick, on a North Korean love story |
| If you look at satellite photographs of the far east by night, you'll see a large splotch curiously lacking in light. This area of darkness is the Democratic People's Republic of Korea. | If you look at satellite photographs of the far east by night, you'll see a large splotch curiously lacking in light. This area of darkness is the Democratic People's Republic of Korea. |
| North Korea faded to black in the early 1990s. With the collapse of the Soviet Union, which had propped up its old communist ally with cheap fuel oil, North Korea's creakily inefficient economy collapsed. Power stations rusted into ruin. The lights went out. When the sun drops low in the sky, the landscape fades to grey and the squat little houses are swallowed by the night. Entire villages vanish in the dusk. | North Korea faded to black in the early 1990s. With the collapse of the Soviet Union, which had propped up its old communist ally with cheap fuel oil, North Korea's creakily inefficient economy collapsed. Power stations rusted into ruin. The lights went out. When the sun drops low in the sky, the landscape fades to grey and the squat little houses are swallowed by the night. Entire villages vanish in the dusk. |
| North Koreans complain bitterly about the darkness. They can't read at night. They can't watch television. But the dark has advantages of its own. Especially if you are a teenager dating somebody you can't be seen with. | North Koreans complain bitterly about the darkness. They can't read at night. They can't watch television. But the dark has advantages of its own. Especially if you are a teenager dating somebody you can't be seen with. |
| When adults go to bed, sometimes as early as 7pm in winter, it is easy enough to slip out of the house. The darkness confers measures of privacy and freedom as hard to come by in North Korea as electricity. | When adults go to bed, sometimes as early as 7pm in winter, it is easy enough to slip out of the house. The darkness confers measures of privacy and freedom as hard to come by in North Korea as electricity. |
| I met many North Koreans who told me how much they learned to love the darkness, but it was the story of one girl and her boyfriend that impressed me most. She was 12 years old when she met a guy three years older from a neighbouring town. Her family was low-ranking in the country's Byzantine system of social controls. To be seen in public together would damage the boy's career prospects as well as her reputation as a virtuous young woman. So their dates consisted entirely of long walks in the dark. | I met many North Koreans who told me how much they learned to love the darkness, but it was the story of one girl and her boyfriend that impressed me most. She was 12 years old when she met a guy three years older from a neighbouring town. Her family was low-ranking in the country's Byzantine system of social controls. To be seen in public together would damage the boy's career prospects as well as her reputation as a virtuous young woman. So their dates consisted entirely of long walks in the dark. |
| The girl would emerge just as soon as she could extricate herself from the family. Stepping outside, she would peer into the darkness, unable to see him at first, but sensing with certainty his presence. She wouldn't bother with makeup – no one needs it in the dark. | The girl would emerge just as soon as she could extricate herself from the family. Stepping outside, she would peer into the darkness, unable to see him at first, but sensing with certainty his presence. She wouldn't bother with makeup – no one needs it in the dark. |
| The young couple would walk through the night, scattering ginkgo leaves in their wake. What did they talk about? Their families, classmates, books – whatever the topic, it was endlessly fascinating. Years later, when I asked the girl about the happiest memories of her life, she told me of those nights. | The young couple would walk through the night, scattering ginkgo leaves in their wake. What did they talk about? Their families, classmates, books – whatever the topic, it was endlessly fascinating. Years later, when I asked the girl about the happiest memories of her life, she told me of those nights. |
| This is not the sort of thing that shows up in satellite photographs. Whether in CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia, or in the East Asian Studies department of a university, people usually analyse North Korea from afar. They don't stop to think that in the middle of this black hole, in this bleak, dark country where millions have died of starvation, there is also love. | This is not the sort of thing that shows up in satellite photographs. Whether in CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia, or in the East Asian Studies department of a university, people usually analyse North Korea from afar. They don't stop to think that in the middle of this black hole, in this bleak, dark country where millions have died of starvation, there is also love. |
| This is an edited extract from Barbara Demick's book Nothing to Envy: Real Lives in North Korea, published by Granta at £14.99. Buy it for £9.99 at guardianbookshop.co.uk | This is an edited extract from Barbara Demick's book Nothing to Envy: Real Lives in North Korea, published by Granta at £14.99. Buy it for £9.99 at guardianbookshop.co.uk |
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