THE TRAFFIC LADIES OF NORTH KOREA
They’re photogenic, single and devoted to their president. The 300 ‘traffic ladies’ are the public face of the North Korean capital … until they retire at the age of 26
They’re the public face of Pyongyang. The 300 traffic directors are smart, single … and retired at 26,
PYONGYANG // Marching on to roads in close- fitting blue uniforms and black heels, the “traffic ladies” who direct cars at Pyongyang junctions are a symbol of the North Korean capital.
Officially known as traffic security officers, they are chosen for their looks in a society that remains largely traditional.
They must leave the role if they marry and have a short shelf-life, with compulsory retirement at just 26.
There are about 300 traffic ladies and they are unique to Pyongyang.
Young and photogenic, they are the favourite subject of visiting tourists, belying the widespread severe poverty that plagues the country, and the North Korean authorities ensure there is a steady supply.
“They are representing the capital city,” says a senior officer of the ministry of public security, which supervises traffic regulation. “That’s why they are selected based on their appearance and physique.”
No age limit applies to their 400 or so male colleagues, who tend to be stationed at roundabouts.
The rules about age applied to women because “normally, the women in our country marry at the age of 26 or 27”, says the officer, who declines to be identified.
“Because the role is tough and difficult, they can only do the job when they are single.”
The traffic ladies were introduced in the 1980s, when vehi- cles were a rarity on the streets of Pyongyang and remained so for yearss, leading to the surreal sight of them directing, with precision and energy, non-existent cars on wide but deserted boulevards.
As part of North Korea’s security forces, the women hold officers’ ranks.
“I have to carry out each and every action with discipline and spirit,” says Senior Capt Ri Myong-sim, 24.
A seven- year veteran, Capt Ri cuts an imposing presence in her high- peaked cap and white gloves as she stands ramrod- straight at the Changjon crossroads in central Pyongyang.
Her “tough training” had involved “exhausting repetition” of the moves, she says.
“But every time I felt that, the thing that kept me going and drove me was the thought that our leader, who cares for only the happiness of our people all year long, was watching us work,” Capt Ri says.
“So I could practise throughout the night and keep going on the next day without feeling tired at all.”
The number of cars in the capital has grown in recent years as authorities quietly liberalise the economy, leading to growth despite United Nations sanctions imposed over Pyongyang’s nuclear and missile programmes.
Traffic lights have been introduced at most junctions but the ladies – who say they work an hour on, an hour off – have no fear of their blue uniforms be- ing replaced by red, amber and green. The lights “help the humans do their jobs more easily”, Capt Ri says.
Their kit includes thick cotton coats for the bitterly cold Korean winter, flashing orange halters for night work, and sunscreen.
“The great leader shows them endless care and love,” the ministry officer says.
“That’s why they do their best in their efforts, to repay the love of the great presidents and dear re- spected marshal Kim Jong-Un.”
The traffic ladies are “second to none” as a photo subject for tourists, says Simon Cockerell, general manager of travel agency Koryo Tours, who has been leading trips to North Korea for more than 15 years.
“They appear to have the dual function of directing traffic and brightening up the streets of the capital,” Mr Cockerell says.
“I don’t believe there has been a tourist who has visited Pyong- yang and not taken a photo of a traffic lady. I think it would be no exaggeration to call them iconic, even if they are somewhat objectified by visitors.”
With retirement ahead, Capt Ri is training to be a teacher. Asked if she found the attention annoying, she giggled. “We are so concentrated on doing our jobs we rarely notice the attention.”