Kim’s U.S. sanctions highwire act
PARIAH STATE COMES TO GRIPS WITH SMARTPHONES, CELINE DION
On the banks of Pyongyang’s River Taedong, parents snap memories of their children on locally made smartphones and young couples, the women in bright, traditional chima jeogori outfits, are trailed by wedding photographers.
The capital of the world’s most reclusive dictatorship is showing creeping signs of modernization, with an apparent emerging middle class who can purchase flatscreen TVs with online apps and watch the Wimbledon tennis final on Mokran, North Korea’s state-sanctioned answer to Netflix.
Economic development and a push to raise living standards became the new top priority for Kim Jong Un and his state propaganda machine in April, when he announced the state’s quest for nuclear weapons was “complete.”
But his efforts to carefully open up his pariah state to selected trappings of the outside modern world risk being stymied by a stalemate with the U.S. over nuclear disarmament.
Harsh sanctions have slowed down North Korea’s economic progress, Ri Gi Song, one of the country’s leading economists told The Daily Telegraph.
“Frankly, if there were no sanctions, our development pace would be much faster than now,” said Ri, a Pyongyang Institute of Social Sciences professor and government adviser.
He quickly qualified that the economy was still advancing at its “greatest rate” because of “our self-reliant spirit,” but his admission offered some context to Pyongyang’s deep frustration over the U.S. strategy.
North Korea has demanded an easing of sanctions before continuing with disarmament talks. Kim’s “new strategic line” to bring his poverty-ridden country into the 21st century is contingent on Washington doing so.
In Pyongyang, one of the most outward signs of his policy shift is the eye-catching roadside billboards and colourful posters that adorn lampposts and the walls of schools and factories, which have shifted from glorifying the North’s military might to extolling the virtues of building a socialist economy.
Commuters crammed into the city’s rattling red trams no longer pass antiAmerican images depicting missiles bearing down on Capitol Hill, but now are reminded to “bring about decisive development in raising living standards” by a mother and child surveying a table of food, clothes and electrical goods.
Last Friday, Pyongyang’s sudden announcement that it had tested an “ultra-modern tactical weapon” — believed to be a long-range artillery piece — prompted nervous speculation in the foreign media of further complications in talks with the U.S., but the news made little splash at home.
More prominence was given to Kim’s long-term urban development plan in Simuijin, a city on the border with China. Jang Chungyong, a guide at the Juche tower, a 558-foot monument to the national ideology of “self-reliance,” said: “The future development of our country can only be guaranteed by strong arms. It’s quite natural for a country to strengthen its self-defence tools.”
In front of the tower, two dozen giggling pensioners began to spontaneously dance and sing along to folk songs. They were not celebrating the latest weapons test, but Mothers’ Day, which falls on Nov 16.
In the nearby four-storey Gwangbok department store, two military wives shopped for winter shoes as gifts for their mothers. Next to the warm winter boots were railings upon railings of chic and colourful women’s coats and dresses.
“Yes!” they laughed when asked if they thought local men — who rarely deviate from wearing black — dressed too drably. “They need to smarten up!” Within the capital’s boundaries, at least, there are surprising indications that life is becoming more comfortable. On the store’s ground floor, shoppers in crowded aisles can choose from a wide selection of locally produced groceries, while those in a celebratory mood can pick up a bottle of 21-year-old Ballantine’s whisky for about US$120.
Luxuries like Bordeaux wine or imported Heineken beer are popular and readily available, and although private cars are still largely absent, wealthier commuters can save their energy with an electric bike.
Pyongyang residents are not all-consumed by politics.
Modern North Koreans love to sing karaoke, mixing mournful traditional songs that evoke a longing for unification with the South, with their favourite Western classics. Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On is a frequent choice, along with Danny Boy and Edelweiss. They are also sports-mad, dedicating lunch hours to volleyball, handball and Taekwondo.
At home, families can flick through five carefully monitored TV channels for entertainment, choosing between Russian talent shows and popular soap operas like New Spring in Sokkyeul, the didactic tale of a returning Korean war hero who organizes co-operative farming and roots out class enemies.
The increasing prevalence of online games like Candy Crush or purchases through the Mansulmang app are bringing their own challenges. “Myopia is becoming a problem because young people are increasingly looking at mobile phones and laptops,” said Kim Un-ae, an official at the upscale Ryugyong Ophthalmic Hospital, whose shop was stocked with designer frames.
But beyond Pyongyang’s incremental lifestyle improvements, it must be stressed that foreigners, who are mainly confined to the city, see nothing of the grinding poverty, malnutrition or human rights abuses in brutal prison camps that are widely reported by aid agencies and activists.
Entry to the reclusive state is conditional on joining a strictly controlled tour of the best hospitals, schools, museums and factories that North Korea wants to put on display. An unannounced stroll without a minder is forbidden.
Citizens also face multiple curbs to their freedom. Personal liberties are not foremost among newly permitted luxuries for whitecollar workers. The internet may look modern but only state-censored content can be downloaded. Outside online searches are limited and must be logged.
Meanwhile, Kim’s recent economic advances are based on the nuclear progress that may make them unravel.
“He knows that the acquisition of nuclear weapons enabled the focus on economic development and he won’t give them up,” said Vipin Narang, an associate professor of political science at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. As a result, long-term sanctions, which were beefed up last year, are also biting. A few blocks away from the space-age high-rises on central Pyongyang’s Ryomyong Street, roads dissolve into crumbling potholes. At night, the city is plunged into semi-darkness as lights are dimmed and elevators turned off to conserve electricity. Farm and factory workers admit to adapting their work practices to cope with fuel and supply shortfalls caused by sanctions, but shortages are touted as a reason to laud the nation’s resilience and never as a cause for complaint.
At the Jangchon vegetable farm on the city’s outskirts, deputy manager Kim Jongho said limited fuel supplies had prompted a return to horse and carts. “We overcome our difficulties by relying on ourselves,” he said.
At the Ryuwon shoe factory, one manager claimed the plant’s researchers had created an alternative to acetone, which cannot be imported under the sanctions regime.
Even randomly selected commuters on the city’s ‘60s metro system remained on message when asked. “We do not care about U.S.-led sanctions. We are going to build a powerful nation,” said Kang Sunhwok, 43, as he rode up the escalator.
But if the economy continues to falter over sanctions, Kim will wonder how long such undying loyalty will last. “Kim is allowing North Korea to become a black market crony capitalist economy, to generate growth and to prevent a return to the famine. And a famine could lead to civil unrest,” said Robert Kelly, a political science professor at Busan University.
“The North Koreans don’t care if people starve, but they do care if starving people take up arms against the regime.”
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