Stepping inside North Korea

No one stands out
All Koreans (referring hereafter to North Koreans) were dressed in plain dark clothing — suits for both men and women. Sensible pumps or low-heeled shoes on the women. No short skirts or short sleeves. All adults wear a little red pin over their heart, bearing a picture of the late President Kim Il Sung, father to the present-day Leader. In three days we did not see a civilian adult anywhere without the pin.

Thinking the pin was like the souvenir Che Guevera pin I purchased in Cuba, I asked our minder where I could get one. She paused for a moment, looked down while she contemplated the extent of my ignorance, and then explained that the pins are not purchased, they are presented to those who show loyalty to Korea, an achievement apparently earned by all sentient Korean grownups. She furrowed her brow and said she did not think I could make the requisite showing in three days.

We never saw a Korean pedestrian wearing jeans and T-shirts, and saw almost no color. Schoolchildren all wear uniforms as do traffic control cops (a curious job given there's basically no traffic), and people working at the souvenir shops, restaurants, and monuments we visited. It was Orwellian. The only color we noticed was on toddlers, uniformed waitresses and local guides wearing traditional, long Korean silk gowns in pink, red, or lime green. The women wore no make-up, and the hairdos are straight and simple. (The exception is Dear Leader Kim Jong Il, whose pictures suggest he teases and sprays his bouffant 'do).

© Nancy Jean Monument to Three Principles of National Reunification. Two traditionally-dressed Korean women, one from the North and one from the South, symbolically join hands in this monumental stone sculpture spanning the road that leads south to the Demilitarized Zone.

Koreans do not have many cars and by the looks of things not many bicycles, either. The wide boulevards and the roads out of Pyongyang are empty. Koreans get around the city on foot, a few on bicycles, and crowd onto old electric street cars. We saw orderly lines of Koreans three blocks long (really) patiently and quietly waiting to board. Despite the absence of cars, many intersections have a smartly dressed traffic cop who stands ramrod straight, looks left and right, then makes a quarter turn and repeats the move over and over as she rotates in the intersection. She’ll be ready if a car ever comes.

The two subway stops we saw were clean, cavernous, and elegantly illuminated from above by massive chandeliers. The walls were covered with huge propaganda posters of fertile farms (Western reports say that “fertile” is a grievous overstatement) and both the Dear Leader and his father in heroic poses surrounded by happy civilians and/or the brave army. The subway doubles as a bomb shelter. The 200-meter (!) escalator ride from the street to the subway cars is so long and steep that many sit down. No graffiti down here.

At night a dark hush falls over Pyongyang. To conserve energy, the street lights are not lit and, to conserve fuel, the few cars are forbidden to drive at night and all day Sunday. Our car was stopped more than once at night by a uniformed guard who needed to see our permit. So: utter darkness and total silence. Spooky.

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Our minders made sure we had minimal interaction with Koreans. What little we had (e.g. at the subway stop), was less than warm. Some eye contact but no smiles were returned. I continued to flash my warmest all-Americans-are-not-evil-imperialists smile but to no avail. Unlike our experience in China or South Korea, not one North Korea ever approached us to say hello or to practice their English. No one was playful, animated, or even smiling.

We were not allowed to photograph people in the streets or on farm communes, even from the car. The only explanation? "They don't like it." If we wanted to take any pictures at all, we had to ask the minder. We could snap the monuments, propaganda billboards (no commercial advertising anywhere), and the Mass Games. But not people going about their daily life. Later on, when we visited the Demilitarized Zone, and I inquired about taking shots of border guards, the policy was put in simple terms: “The border guards have guns."

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