Under The Loving Care Of The Fatherly Leader Part 4

North Koreans were jubilant when, on October 26, 1979, South Korea's intelligence chief a.s.sa.s.sinated President Park. In an atmosphere of wild excitement, the Northerners even closed their schools.20 Months of political confusion followed in the South, as the forces for democracy clashed with a new group of would-be military rulers led by Maj. Gen. Chun Doo-hwan. Making some efforts to exploit the situation politically, the North sent Seoul a rephrased proposal for North-South talks in January 1980. Months of political confusion followed in the South, as the forces for democracy clashed with a new group of would-be military rulers led by Maj. Gen. Chun Doo-hwan. Making some efforts to exploit the situation politically, the North sent Seoul a rephrased proposal for North-South talks in January 1980.

But the North did not yield to the temptation to move militarily, and some reports from Seoul to the contrary were outright lies concocted by the Chun Doo-hwan forces. The Baltimore Sun The Baltimore Sun caught South Korean government officials red-handed in the fabrication of a report-intended to defuse student demonstrations-that Northern moves to invade the South appeared to be under way Briefing South Korean newsmen in Seoul on May 10, 1980, Prime Minister Shin Hyon-hwack said a "close ally" had informed the government that North Korea's infiltration-trained Eighth Army Corps had been out of sight of intelligence surveillance for some time. The unit might surface in South Korea, perhaps between May 15 and May 20. South Korea had only two close allies at the time, the United States and j.a.pan. Thus, it was a simple matter to check, and to report in the paper the next morning, caught South Korean government officials red-handed in the fabrication of a report-intended to defuse student demonstrations-that Northern moves to invade the South appeared to be under way Briefing South Korean newsmen in Seoul on May 10, 1980, Prime Minister Shin Hyon-hwack said a "close ally" had informed the government that North Korea's infiltration-trained Eighth Army Corps had been out of sight of intelligence surveillance for some time. The unit might surface in South Korea, perhaps between May 15 and May 20. South Korea had only two close allies at the time, the United States and j.a.pan. Thus, it was a simple matter to check, and to report in the paper the next morning,16 that neither ally had provided this information. Instead, the j.a.panese said the South Koreans had been trying to peddle the "intelligence" to that neither ally had provided this information. Instead, the j.a.panese said the South Koreans had been trying to peddle the "intelligence" to them, them, claiming it came from China-a country that certainly was not a close ally. "The South Korean inquiry appeared to be something of an advertising balloon," a j.a.panese source said dryly claiming it came from China-a country that certainly was not a close ally. "The South Korean inquiry appeared to be something of an advertising balloon," a j.a.panese source said dryly21 North Korean restraint was sorely tested in May 1980 when South Korean special forces, enforcing martial law in the city of Kw.a.n.gju, ma.s.sacred more than two hundred citizens. North Korean security and intelligence officials watched the news coverage on j.a.panese television. "At the time, we thought that everyone there was being killed," a high-ranking Public Security Ministry official recalled after his defection later to South Korea. "There were some who, watching television, felt that we could not simply sit back and watch this and instead must charge on down. If the Kw.a.n.gju incident had dragged out just a little bit more, then it was possible that the problem could have become a bit more complicated.22 During the Kw.a.n.gju incident a North Korean spokesman in Tokyo complained to me that the United States was "agitating us to do something." The spokesman, a foreign affairs official of Chongryon (General a.s.sociation of Korean Residents in j.a.pan), seemed to think Seoul and Washington wanted to lure Pyongyang into a military intervention that would unite the fractured South Korean society behind its defending army.

The South Korean government at the time was accusing North Korea of controlling from behind the scenes the student rebels who fought the military in Kw.a.n.gju. Later, when I had a chance to interview people in Kw.a.n.gju who had been involved at the core of the uprising, I found no evidence that this charge was any more than another fabrication by the Chun regime, as in the case of the supposedly missing North Korean army corps.23 For whatever purpose, though, the North Korean People's Army was on full alert during and after each major crisis. Kim Kw.a.n.g-il, who rose to the rank of sergeant first cla.s.s, was stationed right on the border in Cholwon, Kangwon Province, manning 105-millimeter artillery that was kept in a mountain tunnel ready to be rolled out for firing on Yeoncheon in South Korea. "When Park Chung-hee was a.s.sa.s.sinated, we all waited for war, remaining on alert in the tunnel for sixty days wearing our helmets, gas masks and boots," Kim Kw.a.n.g-il told me following his 1995 defection to the South. "The high-ranking officers told us South Korea would invade, but the soldiers figured the Northern leadership would order an attack. There were six of these alerts while I was serving, following the same routine. They were prompted by the 1976 axe killings, a 1977 training exercise, the 1979 Park a.s.sa.s.sination, the Kw.a.n.gju uprising in 1980, a major defection in 1981 and Kim Il-sung's seventieth birthday in 1982. At the time of Kw.a.n.gju we understood there was great instability in the South, but Chun Doo-hwan emerged and stabilized the situation. In the case of Kim Il-sung's seventieth birthday, the authorities had hoped to be able to reunify the peninsula as a present to him. There were so many cases when alerts expired after nothing had happened that we grew accustomed to them, and indifferent: 'Oh, it's just another training exercise.'"

The year 1981 came and Jimmy Carter was no longer in office to consider thawing out his "frozen" troop-withdrawal plan. Worse, from Pyongyang's perspective, Ronald Reagan had replaced Carter-and Reagan quickly put on a showy display of support for Chun Doo-hwan, South Korea's new dictator. Pyongyang-was not delicate about expressing its feelings. The Voice of the Revolutionary Party for Reunification, a North Korean radio station that masqueraded as an underground South Korean outlet, reported a 1982 a.s.sa.s.sination attempt against Reagan as a punishment "deserved by a warmonger and a strangler of human rights."24 That ill.u.s.trates one of the problems a democracy such as the United States encounters in dealing with a country ruled by a single-minded, all-powerful individual. Although Carter and his foreign-policy team were gone from 1980, turned out of office by the American voters, Kim Il-sung, his son Kim Jong-il and Kim Yong-nam were still in office. More than two decades later Kim Il-sung, although dead, remained officially the president of North Korea. Kim Jong-il, alive, maintained the uninterrupted family rule. And Kim Yong-nam? For all the intervening years he had continued in key foreign relations posts, eventually becoming the t.i.tular head of state.

Every four or eight years, as a new American administration started more or less from scratch to figure out who the North Koreans were and begin to deal with them, the ever-more experienced America-watchers in Pyongyang waited for them to fumble.25

NINE.

He Gave Us Water and Sent Us Machines When Pak Song-chol returned to Pyongyang from his secret visit to Seoul before the July 4, 1972, 1972, issuance of the North-South joint communique, Kim Il-sung asked him how things were in the South. One story goes that Pak gave Kim an accurate report of what he had seen, one that did not conform to North Korea's propaganda picture of a back-ward, poverty-ridden country. Thereupon Kim snapped: "You look at things that way because your ideology is wrong." After that, Pak dropped out of sight for three or four months, having been sent off to a camp for "reeducation." issuance of the North-South joint communique, Kim Il-sung asked him how things were in the South. One story goes that Pak gave Kim an accurate report of what he had seen, one that did not conform to North Korea's propaganda picture of a back-ward, poverty-ridden country. Thereupon Kim snapped: "You look at things that way because your ideology is wrong." After that, Pak dropped out of sight for three or four months, having been sent off to a camp for "reeducation."1 Needless to say other delegates made sure they were properly armed with skepticism when they went south. There is the famous story of their charge that the automobiles filling Seoul's streets were mere props. But in fact they saw what Pak had seen in Seoul, and some of them--while no doubt softening the story to avoid informing the emperor directly that he had no clothes-dared to be bearers of bad tidings. Needless to say other delegates made sure they were properly armed with skepticism when they went south. There is the famous story of their charge that the automobiles filling Seoul's streets were mere props. But in fact they saw what Pak had seen in Seoul, and some of them--while no doubt softening the story to avoid informing the emperor directly that he had no clothes-dared to be bearers of bad tidings.

Once he finally got a glimmering that the South had positioned itself to overtake the North economically, a shocked Kim Il-sung intensified his emphasis on ma.s.s mobilization. In 1973 he appointed son and heir Kim Jong-il to head Three Revolutions teams of young agitators, who would go into the factories and fields and whip up workers' zeal to fever pitch. Even though its effectiveness was dwindling, it was understandable that the elder Kim would fall back on his favorite motivational technique. It had worked reasonably well-for a limited time. Even South Korea in the 1970s experimented with ma.s.s mobilization in its successful, government-sponsored "New Village" movement for rural self-help and development.2 In a more substantial policy shift, the Pyongyang regime tried to change its luck by importing technology from the West. In part that was to make up for shortfalls in aid from the Soviet Union, related to troubles in the Moscow-Pyongyang political relationship. The new policy required some modification in the juche juche policy as the North went on a spending spree. In the early 1970s, Pyongyang borrowed hundreds of millions of dollars to buy new factories from Western European countries and j.a.pan. The plan was to repay the debts with the increased export income that the new technology would provide. policy as the North went on a spending spree. In the early 1970s, Pyongyang borrowed hundreds of millions of dollars to buy new factories from Western European countries and j.a.pan. The plan was to repay the debts with the increased export income that the new technology would provide.3 In the process, North Korea itself was moving to an even more authoritarian system than before. The regime stepped up surveillance to make sure Western ideas would not contaminate the citizenry as the country brought in foreign capital and technology. In the process, North Korea itself was moving to an even more authoritarian system than before. The regime stepped up surveillance to make sure Western ideas would not contaminate the citizenry as the country brought in foreign capital and technology.4 However, the technology-import strategy backfired, partly because of a downturn in the world economy but also because of lack of ability and experience in the most advantageous use of the new technology. Failing to repay its debts, the regime became known in international financial circles as a deadbeat. The country's reputation suffered further injury when some of its diplomats in Scandinavian countries were accused of smuggling drugs, in what seems to have been a systematic attempt to raise hard currency. Pyongyang had botched the first of many attempts to take money and technology-but not ideas and values-from the West.

In 1972 North Korea adopted a new const.i.tution, which mandated a switch to a presidential system. Kim Il-sung gave up the premiership to take the presidency. Thenceforth, the premiership would be a useful lightning rod for the regime. The inc.u.mbent premier could be dismissed to take responsibility for any recognized policy failure-even though President Kim continued to dictate the policies. At the end of 1977 Kim reorganized the government, implicitly acknowledging the North's failure to regain the economic lead over the South. While men of military background previously had served as premier, this time he put an economist, Li Jong-ok, into the job. The question was how much lee-way Li and his technocrat cohorts would have. After all, real power continued to be held by President Kim, who had established a politics-first ideology and who kept around him men who had served with him as anti-j.a.panese guerillas.5 Despite the problems, Kim stuck stubbornly to-and even intensified- his policy of Stalinist centralism.6 Micromanagement from the top had become less and less effective with the economy's expansion, but still it seemed that no detail was too small to concern Kim Il-sung. At a meeting of financial and banking workers in December 1978, he gave an hour-long address that delved deeply into the minutiae of the country's economic administration. He complained, among other things, about the way people were misusing a synthetic textile, vinalon. "During my survey on waste of cloth, I found that vinalon strings in Yanggang Province were used for hop-vine supports, which could easily be replaced with something made from hemp or barks of lime trees," Kim said, advising that "vinalon strings should be used for webs only" Micromanagement from the top had become less and less effective with the economy's expansion, but still it seemed that no detail was too small to concern Kim Il-sung. At a meeting of financial and banking workers in December 1978, he gave an hour-long address that delved deeply into the minutiae of the country's economic administration. He complained, among other things, about the way people were misusing a synthetic textile, vinalon. "During my survey on waste of cloth, I found that vinalon strings in Yanggang Province were used for hop-vine supports, which could easily be replaced with something made from hemp or barks of lime trees," Kim said, advising that "vinalon strings should be used for webs only"7 Why didn't Kim do more to change his system and ideology in response to the Southern challenge, once it became apparent in the 1970s? My 1979 visit to the country gave me considerable food for subsequent thought about this question.

When I met Kim Yong-nam near the end of that visit, the party foreign affairs secretary noted that I had been touring his country. "As you have seen," he said, "we have built and constructed a lot in a peaceful atmosphere. Why should we destroy all these successes and fight with our own people?" I thought he had a point. It was not that my visit had turned me into a true believer. Indeed, I was deeply troubled to learn in my stops at North Korean schools, cultural agencies and even health-care facilities of the extent to which Kim Il-sung's attempts to remake the minds of his subjects were still going strong-and apparently succeeding. Overall, however, it would have been difficult for me, or any other newcomer, to avoid being favorably impressed by the achievements that North Koreans showed off to visitors. Even though South Korea probably had pulled ahead of the North in per capita GNP by 1979,8 the overriding impression was of Northern success up to a point-not failure. the overriding impression was of Northern success up to a point-not failure.

Both building anew and restoring the mighty infrastructure that the j.a.panese had bequeathed to them, the North Koreans had achieved considerable industrialization. At the same time they had irrigated, fertilized and mechanized in their struggle to squeeze from a largely mountainous land enough food to sustain them. The parts of the country that I was permitted to see did not appear to bear out the totally negative appraisals-"economic basket case," for example-that had started to appear in Western studies and press reports. People appeared adequately housed and clothed. Although few besides the president and his son were fat, I did not notice any obvious signs of malnutrition. There was austerity, apparently rather evenly shared, but I saw no signs of dest.i.tution. All this seemed to set North Korea apart from other developing nations.

The movements of foreign visitors were minutely controlled-probably because of fear that we would learn something the authorities did not want us to know, plus fear that we would spread alien knowledge and opinions that might call into question Kim Il-sung's leadership. I was a.s.signed to stay in the Potonggang Hotel. Disappointingly, a large surrounding park planted with willow trees isolated the hotel from the daily life of Pyongyang. I kept asking if I could not just wander around by myself, but my handlers politely forbade it.

If I wanted to go anywhere, to see anything, my guide and interpreter said, they would happily "help" by going with me. One or the other or both of them waited near the hotel's single exit. If I tried to venture out, they would join me, escort me to a waiting Volvo and tell the driver where to take us. Generally this was explained in terms of hospitality-I was a guest, new to the country, and needed guidance-but occasionally someone would allude more or less gently to the fact I came from a country that was officially an enemy of theirs. I waited for an opportunity to escape from my handlers for some unguided sightseeing. In the meantime, I preferred taking the guided tours to spending more time watching the table tennis matches.

My guide took me to sites on the approved itinerary, such as the k.u.m-song tractor plant near Nampo. En route, a sign at a farm village proclaimed: "All for conquering the 8.8-million-ton grain goal this year!" Mechanization was an important element in the effort to meet that goal. Another sign, closer to the tractor factory, exhorted the people to achieve the Three Revolutions- ideological, technical and cultural. But the tractor plant was a success story that predated the current Three Revolutions campaign.

Kim Il-sung's self-reliant juche juche policy on more than one occasion had meant borrowing-or, as Western patent lawyers would say, pirating-foreign designs. North Koreans were far from apologetic about this. My guide, Kim Yon-shik, told me that the country had imported tractors up until 1958. The need, however, overwhelmed North Korea's ability to pay Fellow socialist countries were in no position to make up the difference because "they also had planned economies." The solution was to produce tractors at home, but North Korean engineers predicted problems of high cost and poor quality. policy on more than one occasion had meant borrowing-or, as Western patent lawyers would say, pirating-foreign designs. North Koreans were far from apologetic about this. My guide, Kim Yon-shik, told me that the country had imported tractors up until 1958. The need, however, overwhelmed North Korea's ability to pay Fellow socialist countries were in no position to make up the difference because "they also had planned economies." The solution was to produce tractors at home, but North Korean engineers predicted problems of high cost and poor quality.

Kim Il-sung told the engineers that the problems would diminish with experience. He asked them to take a crack at it. Their first challenge was to come up with a design. Foreign suppliers, not interested in abetting an import-replacement scheme, refused to lend blueprints. "You can buy the tractors from us," they told the North Koreans. "There's no need to make them by yourself." And so, my guide related, "our workers used an old, worn-out tractor to draw up blueprints. ... They used the rasp and the hammer to make the first tractor, and in forty days they made one."

There was just one big problem with that first North Korean tractor prototype based on a pirated Soviet design: The tractor ran fine in reverse gear but would not move forward. Nevertheless, said Kim Il-sung, "the important thing is that the tractor is moving." Indeed, the indigenous tractor industry expanded rapidly from that point. between 1970 and 1976, 1976, output increased 8.7 times. The government claimed to have enlarged the fleet sufficiently to average seven or eight tractors for each 100 hectares of farmland. The k.u.m-song tractor plant had been rebuilt from the ruins of a small chemical fertilizer workshop in output increased 8.7 times. The government claimed to have enlarged the fleet sufficiently to average seven or eight tractors for each 100 hectares of farmland. The k.u.m-song tractor plant had been rebuilt from the ruins of a small chemical fertilizer workshop in 1954, 1954, and had produced agricultural implements until the first Chollima ("Flying Horse") tractor rolled out in 1958. By the time I visited there, the 28-horsepower Chollima represented only 30 percent of production. A newer model, the 75-horsepower Poonnyun ("b.u.mper Year"), accounted for the remaining 70 percent. and had produced agricultural implements until the first Chollima ("Flying Horse") tractor rolled out in 1958. By the time I visited there, the 28-horsepower Chollima represented only 30 percent of production. A newer model, the 75-horsepower Poonnyun ("b.u.mper Year"), accounted for the remaining 70 percent.

Among younger workers at k.u.msong I saw far more women than men, although I was told that women made up only about 30 percent of the approximately eight thousand workers of all ages.9 When I asked my guide where all the young men were, he replied that they were "still growing up," studying in colleges and universities. I knew that the real answer was that they were in the army. The military's drain on the young male work force was helping perpetuate a countrywide labor shortage that had begun with the casualties and migrations of the Korean War era. South Korean figures said women made up nearly half the labor force. When I asked my guide where all the young men were, he replied that they were "still growing up," studying in colleges and universities. I knew that the real answer was that they were in the army. The military's drain on the young male work force was helping perpetuate a countrywide labor shortage that had begun with the casualties and migrations of the Korean War era. South Korean figures said women made up nearly half the labor force.10 Foreign intelligence agencies estimated that about seven hundred thousand men, or one in every twenty-four North Koreans, were in the various military services. Officials in Pyongyang denied that there were that many, but indirectly acknowledged that maintaining a huge and costly military force put a crimp in economic development efforts. "It's difficult to do something with one hand tied behind our backs," one told me. Foreign intelligence agencies estimated that about seven hundred thousand men, or one in every twenty-four North Koreans, were in the various military services. Officials in Pyongyang denied that there were that many, but indirectly acknowledged that maintaining a huge and costly military force put a crimp in economic development efforts. "It's difficult to do something with one hand tied behind our backs," one told me.

In this tractor plant, as elsewhere, the authorities had compensated by introducing a remarkable amount of automation. Hong Ju-son, head of the administrative department, proudly showed off a large stone monument to "on-the-spot guidance" that Kim Il-sung had given to the factory. Thirty-one times Kim had visited to offer such advice, and 570 other times he had sent "teaching."11 The basic thrust of Kim's messages, Hong said, had been "to free the workers from their burdens of great work." During the new seven-year plan (19781984), said Hong, "our main task is The basic thrust of Kim's messages, Hong said, had been "to free the workers from their burdens of great work." During the new seven-year plan (19781984), said Hong, "our main task is juche juche orientation and scientification and modernization. The main content of orientation and scientification and modernization. The main content of juche juche is thinking about man. Automating the plant means freeing the people from heavy labor, and also producing more products." is thinking about man. Automating the plant means freeing the people from heavy labor, and also producing more products."

Evidently the regime found it politic to justify automation as a productivity measure and, especially, as a humanitarian gesture to improve working conditions, rather than mentioning the military-related-and therefore taboo-labor shortage that had made it so necessary. In the tractor factory, Hong said, a-whole department of experts looked out for safety and "we never spare anything to provide protection of our workers." Yet, throughout the 55,000-square-meter processing and a.s.sembly building the lighting was dim, workers wore no helmets or goggles and many cutting machines had no safety shields. Nonetheless, as Hong told it, the workers had been so deeply moved by "the solicitude and warm care of our Great Leader" that they had erected the monument to his visits.

Whatever the motive for installing it, I was impressed by some of the machinery. A lone woman operated a 100-meter-long system for making the tractor's gearbox, peering down from a car riding on rails above. Another lone woman operated the console that controlled the engine block machining. "Every machine and piece of equipment in the factory was produced in our own country," Hong said proudly. With a million "intellectuals," including engineers, North Koreans "can solve our problems." Hong noted Kim Il-sung's personal approval of the gearbox-making system: "Our Great Leader said this is one of the great creations."

Despite the considerable automation already accomplished in the factory, I thought the tractor a.s.sembly line still moved slowly, compared with automotive plants I had visited in other countries. The workers had a lot of waiting-around time on their hands. Officials said the factory produced one hundred tractors a day, which seemed a low figure considering that this was ma.s.s production of just two basic models. Officials obviously agreed: They wanted greater productivity. A colorful sign exhorted workers: "All should come out to fulfill the resolutions of the Seventeenth Session of the Fifth Central Committee of the Workers' Party." One of the resolutions was predictable: "Produce more!" The sign praised model workers, showing their pictures and describing their feats. One woman "did her job 200 percent."

The factory operated six days a week, on two shifts. It wasn't clear how many hours an actual shift might be. Hong, when I asked him about it, replied: "In principle, according to the labor law, we do not allow them to work more than eight hours." The general rule of thumb, he said, is "eight hours' work, eight hours' study and eight hours' rest." Overtime work requires "approval from higher administrative organs." Considering the many reports of all-out work campaigns pushed by higher-ups in the party and government, it was easy to speculate that an eight-hour workday "in principle" could often stretch out longer in reality.

Retirement ages, Hong said, were sixty for men and fifty-five for women-typical figures for East Asian countries, including j.a.pan, at that time. I asked if many people of retirement age stayed on in the workplace for whatever reason.12 I hoped the answer would hint at whether there might be pressure to postpone retirement to counter the shortage of younger workers. Hong said an occasional person of retirement age would stay on as a part-time "advisor," drawing both pension and salary. In fact I had not seen many obviously elderly people working in his tractor factory or elsewhere. If such a practice was actually rare, that might have been one measure of the extent to which Confucianism, with its deference to age, remained a cultural force in the North-or it might simply have meant the people were wearing out early by contemporary Western and j.a.panese standards. I hoped the answer would hint at whether there might be pressure to postpone retirement to counter the shortage of younger workers. Hong said an occasional person of retirement age would stay on as a part-time "advisor," drawing both pension and salary. In fact I had not seen many obviously elderly people working in his tractor factory or elsewhere. If such a practice was actually rare, that might have been one measure of the extent to which Confucianism, with its deference to age, remained a cultural force in the North-or it might simply have meant the people were wearing out early by contemporary Western and j.a.panese standards.

Workers made an average of 90 won, won, or about $53 at the official exchange rate, per month, Hong said. But he quickly added that the wage was just frosting on the cake, since "the material and cultural life of our people is provided by the state." Thus, "if we calculate the solicitude and benevolence they are receiving from the state-such as vacation facilities, free medical treatment, free education-the workers' actual income is much more than their cash income." or about $53 at the official exchange rate, per month, Hong said. But he quickly added that the wage was just frosting on the cake, since "the material and cultural life of our people is provided by the state." Thus, "if we calculate the solicitude and benevolence they are receiving from the state-such as vacation facilities, free medical treatment, free education-the workers' actual income is much more than their cash income."

Wage differentials were based on position and degree of skill. While college graduates made up the management corps, workers with ability could be promoted to team leader and workshop leader. "But the difference is not so much," Hong said. The entire range ran from about 80 won won for beginners up to about 150 for beginners up to about 150 won won for the factory manager and highly skilled technicians. I heard of similar pay ranges at other enterprises, including a hothouse. for the factory manager and highly skilled technicians. I heard of similar pay ranges at other enterprises, including a hothouse.

Amazingly, Hong could not say how much the k.u.msong plant's tractors cost to produce. "We don't calculate the cost of the tractors," he said. "The Agricultural Committee takes care of that." The factory supplied the tractors directly to the counties' agricultural managements. Asked about the plant's annual operating budget, Hong replied, "As I am not in charge of the plant's budget, I don't have a figure." I hoped someone had some idea about the costs-if only in order to figure a rational selling price for the portion of output that was being sent abroad, mostly to Third World countries, particularly in the Middle East.

Journeys outside Pyongyang-chaperoned journeys, always-revealed towns and small cities, each a miniature Pyongyang, the men neatly dressed in Western-style suits or in Mao suits with Lenin caps, the women often garbed in the colorful Korean traditional dresses, the children marching to or from school in the uniforms of the children's corps. In the countryside I pa.s.sed neat rice paddies, vegetable fields and orchards lined with irrigation ca.n.a.ls, the trucks and tractors greatly outnumbering the bullock-pulled carts and plows, the farmers housed in substantial-looking apartment complexes or cl.u.s.ters of tile-roofed, masonry-walled houses. I was told that 560,000 dwelling units had been built at state expense for farmers.

One day early in the rice-planting season my handlers took me to Chonsam-ri, a cooperative farm near the east coast port of Wonsan. At dusk I came upon scenes that might have made a nice poster to promote socialist agricultural policies. The glistening water atop the knee-deep mud of the farm's paddies showed reflections of the conical, orchard-topped hills punctuating the plain. A man wearing a Lenin cap piloted a chugging rice-planting machine across one of the paddies. Two kerchiefed women, perched on the back, fed seedlings into the device, which plopped them, upright and evenly s.p.a.ced, into the fertilized and smoothed ooze. Two helpers slogged along.

Beyond a stone-banked irrigation ca.n.a.l and a narrow road bordering it, kindergarten children sang and danced to the accompaniment of a pump organ played by a woman teacher. In the nursery next door, toddlers chanted in unison the name of the place where Kim Il-sung was born, Mangyongdae. Otherwise, there was little activity and there were few sounds. Most of the five hundred or so adults who did the farming work were nowhere to be seen. The children, it was said, had stayed late so that they could perform for me.

Perhaps the farmers had retreated into their tile-roofed houses to leave the sensitive contact with the foreigner to ideologically sound and reliable colleagues. Could it have been that enthusiasm for the collectivization of farming was not yet universal among its pract.i.tioners? But there was a more mundane, less conspiratorial possibility that could explain the adults' absence. Only a few days remained before the height of the transplanting season-the time when, as an old Korean saying goes, "even a stick of stovewood moves." Perhaps the unseen farmers were resting in preparation for those hectic days when army units, students and office workers from the cities would be mobilized to help out on farms like this one.

Recall that, before the postWorld War II part.i.tion of Korea, the northern part had specialized in mining and industry while depending on the granary of the mineral-poor southern part for food. Now there was no exchange between the communist North and the capitalist South. The North must attempt to feed itself, despite its mountainous topography. The goal of self-reliance in agriculture had led to extremely labor-intensive additions to acreage through land reclamation. Irrigation channels, the result of Kim Il-sung's "grand plan to remake nature,"13 totaled some forty thousand kilometers- long enough to girdle the world, as I was told. And Kim had taught that "fertilizer means rice; rice means socialism." Fertilizer output was reported to have increased two and half times between 1970 and 1978. Farmers were applying more than 120 kilograms of chemical fertilizer per person per year-equivalent to twice the weight of every man, woman and child in the country. totaled some forty thousand kilometers- long enough to girdle the world, as I was told. And Kim had taught that "fertilizer means rice; rice means socialism." Fertilizer output was reported to have increased two and half times between 1970 and 1978. Farmers were applying more than 120 kilograms of chemical fertilizer per person per year-equivalent to twice the weight of every man, woman and child in the country.

With the right timing, hard work and the water from rain-swollen reservoirs, North Koreans hoped to approach the goal of harvesting 8.8 million tons of grain for the year-although previous harvests had made clear it was difficult for the three-quarters mountainous country to produce enough food to sustain 17 million people.14 ***

In 1954, after the Korean War, the three hundred or so peasant families who were farming in Chonsam-ri owned two cows among them, my hosts told me. The fields were hilly and unevenly laid out. There were only a few farm implements. The peasants had suffered greatly from the fierce war sweeping back and forth across their country. In accordance with the party line dictating collectivization of all agriculture, the lands owned by the peasants of Chonsam-ri were pooled that year to make a cooperative farm. All members would own the cooperative in common. Youngsters who grew up and decided to stay on, or outsiders who might come from the cities and ask to join, would be given equal shares of the ownership automatically.

The crops would be shared among the members, not equally but according to work performed. The party leaders in Pyongyang did not think the country was yet ready to live by what communist ideology considers a loftier principle: "From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs." Along with the transition from cooperative to state-owned farms, that was to come later. (A quarter century later, those changes still had not come.) If the farmers had yet to achieve ideal communism, nevertheless there had been plenty of other advances, as Chun To-kun was happy to point out. Chun, who looked a little like a skinny young Paul Newman, was introduced as deputy chairman of Chonsam Cooperative Farm. One of his duties was showing the occasional foreign visitor around. The government's reservoir-building program and irrigation work had allowed farming "without any worry about water supply and without receiving any influence from drought," Chun said. Farmers had smoothed out the 1,360 acres of paddy field and divided them into neat rectangles. They had terraced the hills, evenly planting 370 acres in vegetables and an equal area in persimmon orchards. The farm had the use of twenty-six tractors. "Our Great Leader provided them," Chun said.

Kim Il-sung had promised that his regime would enable everyone to live in tile-roofed houses. Indeed, the Chonsam farmers' neat white masonry houses were all roofed-with ceramic tiles-the traditional Korean status symbol that only well-to-do farmers had been able to afford in the old days. The state had built the houses and turned them over to the farmers. Schools, a small hospital, a barbershop and a laundry served the 1,500 people living on the farm. About a quarter of the 270 households had television sets, Chun said, and the cooperative paid from its culture fund to bring in films to show on its three projectors.

The changes had been slow in coming at first, leaving Chonsam-ri one of the more back-ward of North Korea's cooperative farms. The big breakthrough, Chun said, came with 1959 and 1961 visits by Kim Il-sung. At that time there was no road into the farm and the hills were covered with pine trees. The state had begun to promote the planting of orchards only in 1958. "Our Great Leader pushed through the trees and gra.s.ses and taught us how to develop our farm," Chun said. Monuments commemorated those first visits by President Kim to give "on-the-spot guidance." Another monument recalled his only other visit since then, in 1976. In the fall of 1978, just a few months before my visit, Kim had held forth on farming questions at a party committee meeting in Wonsan, the nearby capital of the province. There he had instructed everyone to plant persimmon trees.15 "Whenever our Great Leader visited and saw our farmers working in the paddy fields with crooked backs, weeding with hands and hoes, he told us that he couldn't eat rice with an easy mind when he saw such hard work," Chun said. "So he sent to our farm various kinds of insecticides, weed killers, weeding equipment, agricultural equipment. He sent these things to all cooperative farms, but he paid special attention to this farm because of its backwardness." Still, Chonsam-ri was only an ordinary North Korean cooperative farm, Chun insisted-not a model farm such as the famous (and, to the Western ear, confusingly similar-sounding) Chongsan-ri, where the country's agricultural policies had been incubated.16 Indeed, three visits by the peripatetic leader were not, relatively speaking, very many. Indeed, three visits by the peripatetic leader were not, relatively speaking, very many.

Model farm or not, Chonsam-ri had a prosperous look to it. The previous year, Chun said, the farm had produced 4,200 tons of crops including 3,600 tons of rice. The average share of each family was six tons of grain, which could be sold to the state, and cash in the amount of 3,000 won won ($1,754 at the official exchange rate). That would have made the Chonsam-ri farmers slightly better off than average wage earners in the cities and towns. "During the past, the young people preferred to go to the city to work," the farm official said, "but now young people from the city are coming to the countryside because the living standards of cooperative farmers have improved." ($1,754 at the official exchange rate). That would have made the Chonsam-ri farmers slightly better off than average wage earners in the cities and towns. "During the past, the young people preferred to go to the city to work," the farm official said, "but now young people from the city are coming to the countryside because the living standards of cooperative farmers have improved."

Farmers shared in the cooperative's income according to a formula setting norms for what would be considered a day's work in a particular task. Hand transplanting of rice seedlings is backbreaking work, and there were not enough rice-planting machines in operation in North Korea yet to make the old way obsolete. Bending to plant one hundred seedlings was considered a day's work. A farmer got due credit, in the form of added fractional "days worked," for overfulfilling the quota. On the other hand, plowing was mechanized and a day's work was considered planting one hectare (two and a half acres). Farmers shared the grain crop, and cash earned by the cooperative from sales of vegetables and fruit, according to each family's total days worked, officials said. But first, the cooperative took a portion out for the common fund to finance the next year's farming and development projects. The farm had to buy fertilizer and tractor fuel from the state and pay the state for water supply and tractor rental.

The work on the farm remained hard and long. The farmers followed the old East Asian custom of taking a day of rest only every ten days. In the winter, though, there was a day off once a week, and each family could take fifteen days' leave each year for a vacation at a state-provided beach or mountain resort. "Our farmers," Chun said, "are receiving great benevolence from the state."

Children inherited household effects from their deceased parents, Chun told me, and could stay on in the family homes if they wished. The typical family kept savings of about 10,000 won won ($5,850 at the official exchange rate) in a state bank in the name of the head of the household. By custom another family member could use the money. Money in a savings account drew interest of about 4 percent a year. In the cooperative's early days, Chun said, farmers had borrowed money from the bank, but later they had found it unnecessary to do so. The farmers did not have much need for their savings, aside from financing weddings and the like, Chun said, because "thanks to the solicitude of our Great Leader, the state provides the goods needed for our farmers' life. Even raincoats are supplied for work at very cheap prices." ($5,850 at the official exchange rate) in a state bank in the name of the head of the household. By custom another family member could use the money. Money in a savings account drew interest of about 4 percent a year. In the cooperative's early days, Chun said, farmers had borrowed money from the bank, but later they had found it unnecessary to do so. The farmers did not have much need for their savings, aside from financing weddings and the like, Chun said, because "thanks to the solicitude of our Great Leader, the state provides the goods needed for our farmers' life. Even raincoats are supplied for work at very cheap prices."

I knew that outsiders' reports of North Korea's economic shambles, even if exaggerated compared with the real situation in 1979, had their basis in genuine difficulties. Drought had affected harvests for several years. And, of course, the country had failed to repay its foreign trade debts. But officials' talk during my visit was upbeat. Rains in that spring of 1979 had filled the reservoirs, they said. They predicted a bountiful harvest. And they claimed the country would be able to pay off its foreign debts by 1984, the end of the current seven-year economic plan.

Obviously there had been a great deal of construction already-I took a trip by car on a recently completed and nearly empty multi-lane high-way across a hundred miles of mountainous terrain between Pyongyang and the east coast port of Wonsan. Generally, what I saw of North Korea had a built-up and well-tended look. The seven-year plan for 19781984 called for nearly doubled electrical power output and steel production.

But many outsiders were skeptical about the chances of meeting the new plan's goals-especially since the capital-short regime counted on increased labor efficiency to power three-quarters of the increase.17 Certainly there was no sign of a real boom such as capitalist South Korea had been experiencing for several years. Missing were the signs of rising affluence that could be seen in the South: streets and high-ways clogged with private cars and taxis, new hotels opulent enough for Dallas or Palm Springs going up in the heart of the capital, a vibrant stock market fueled with cash from a new middle cla.s.s. But neither did one see in North Korea slums, prost.i.tution, street waifs hawking chewing gum-signs easily found in the South of 1979 that some segments of society had been left behind. Certainly there was no sign of a real boom such as capitalist South Korea had been experiencing for several years. Missing were the signs of rising affluence that could be seen in the South: streets and high-ways clogged with private cars and taxis, new hotels opulent enough for Dallas or Palm Springs going up in the heart of the capital, a vibrant stock market fueled with cash from a new middle cla.s.s. But neither did one see in North Korea slums, prost.i.tution, street waifs hawking chewing gum-signs easily found in the South of 1979 that some segments of society had been left behind.

North and South Korea each claimed per capita gross national product of more than $1,200. Western and South Korean estimates at the time placed the Northern figure at only about half that amount, giving the twice-as-populous South an enormous advantage in the overall weight of its economy. While it was possible that estimates from sources unfriendly to the North had overstated the difference-and while it was hard to compare the two quite different economic systems-it did seem that there was a gap in the South's favor, one that might well continue to widen.

But then again, the vagaries of the international economy and then-rampant inflation might conceivably take a heavy toll in the South.18 North Korean officials claimed their economy was immune from such forces, and on that basis they seemed to hope that time was really on their side. A planned economy, with virtually no private sector beyond the farmers' small, household vegetable plots, meant that the state set prices. Necessities were cheap. Rice, the basic dietary staple, went for the equivalent of two cents a pound at the official exchange rate. Anything deemed a luxury, on the other hand, was very expensive. A black-and-white television cost the equivalent of $175- more than three months' wages for the average worker. The state provided housing, health care and education without levying taxes. North Korean officials claimed their economy was immune from such forces, and on that basis they seemed to hope that time was really on their side. A planned economy, with virtually no private sector beyond the farmers' small, household vegetable plots, meant that the state set prices. Necessities were cheap. Rice, the basic dietary staple, went for the equivalent of two cents a pound at the official exchange rate. Anything deemed a luxury, on the other hand, was very expensive. A black-and-white television cost the equivalent of $175- more than three months' wages for the average worker. The state provided housing, health care and education without levying taxes.

In Pyongyang, at the Children's Palace, a soldier packing a pistol guarded the lobby as visitors from abroad arrived for an evening performance by school-aged youngsters enrolled in afternoon performing-arts cla.s.ses. One of the lavishly staged skits dramatized the youthful exploits of Kim Il-sung in guerrilla warfare against the j.a.panese. As children on the stage chased others who were done up as caricatures of grinning, bo-wing j.a.panese, with enormous papier-mache heads, an English translation of the pursuers' call was projected on a screen: "Let's march forward, following our commander, to annihilate the j.a.ps to the last man."

The day I visited the Chonsam-ri cooperative farm, a nursery school teacher was leading her four-year-old charges in one of their favorite exercises. Holding aloft a toy rifle, she called out, "How do we shoot the rifle?"

"Pull the trigger! Pull the trigger!" the little ones responded in unison, shouting at the tops of their lungs.

I quickly learned that North Korean officials took immense pride in the country's elaborate, state-financed system of nurseries, schools, "children's palaces," colleges, universities, courses for workers at their job sites and correspondence courses. Of the population of 17 million, some 8 million were enrolled, paying no fees. The society, officials said, was being "intellectualized."19 The basis of the system was composed of nurseries followed by compulsory education from kindergarten through tenth grade. Matriculation came when a baby, only a few weeks old, was sent to a nursery at the mother's workplace. The children would stay there from early morning until late evening. The mothers were permitted breaks from their work to feed them. After regular cla.s.ses, the state kept school-aged youngsters busy with supervised activities. Youngsters might end up spending only an hour or two a day with their parents, if that much. North Korea had been one of the first Asian countries to extend free public education as far as grade ten, and that in itself was an undeniably impressive accomplishment. As a Westerner, though, I could not help finding a sinister aspect to the system's near monopoly on children's upbringing and the direction in which it guided them.

Official propaganda claimed on one level that the children themselves were the beneficiaries of the approach. "In this country," President Kim had said, "children are the kings." His disciples rhapsodically reported that the Great Leader would do anything for the children, and that the educational system was a manifestation of his boundless love for them.

I visited a Pyongyang weekly boarding nursery, whose tiny charges spent only Sat.u.r.day nights and Sundays with their families. The director said enthusiastically that they "grow faster and learn more than if they were at home." Mean-while, tots in her nursery competed in a relay race to see which of two teams could be first to complete sentences such as "We are happy" and "We have nothing to envy in the world." Two-year-olds in the showplace nursery were counting apples displayed on a visual aid: "These are four and one more makes five." In a room decorated with models of President Kim's birthplace, little ones showed the proper att.i.tude to the Great Leader by reciting stories of his childhood and bo-wing before his boyhood portrait. By the time children reached kindergarten age, they would have learned to say, when they received their snacks, "Thank you, Great Fatherly Leader."

Sometimes it was the parents who were said to benefit from the country's educational system. Mothers were "liberated" for "political, economic and cultural life," the nursery director said. At the mammoth Pyongyang Children's Palace, an official explained that having the state in charge of children not only in school but after school meant that "parents do not have to worry about the children's education." The "palace" kept ten thousand middle school and high school students busy from 4 P.M. to 7 P.M. daily-with cla.s.ses-some rather advanced-in music, arts, crafts, vocational subjects, sports, gymnastics and communist ideology. Provincial capitals offered similar if somewhat smaller facilities.

On another level, Kim Il-sung himself had indicated that benefits flowing from the educational system to parents and children as individuals were not really what he had in mind. Rather, the education system was intended to benefit the collective ma.s.s of the people. After all, as Kim told a national meeting of teachers in a key speech in 1971, "in any society the primary aim of education lies in training people to faithfully serve the existing social system." Echoing Friedrich Engels, Kim argued that the socialist state must "prevent the old ideas of their parents from exerting influence on children's minds." Children would be taught to be militant revolutionaries. "We must educate the students to hate the landlord and capitalist cla.s.ses and the exploiting system," Kim said. "If we neglect the education of the rising generation on such lines, they-will lose sight of the cla.s.s enemies and, lapsing into a pacifistic mood, hate to make revolution and, in the end, may degenerate and become depraved."

Any stray impulses to go in a different direction would be rooted out. Children in a socialist society, Kim said, should be guided "to reject individualism and selfishness, love the organization and the collective, and struggle devotedly for the sake of society and the people and the party and the revolution."

I saw just how seriously North Koreans took that struggle for uniformity and against individualism when I went to the Taedongmun Primary School in Pyongyang. Teachers in cla.s.srooms I visited were posing questions to cla.s.ses studying, variously, birds, evaporation and the revolutionary deeds of President Kim. Upon hearing each question, the pupils, sitting perfectly erect and still at their desks, all raised their hands, barked in unison, "Me!" and then instantly fell quiet again. Whenever any pupil was called upon, he or she marched to the front of the room, stood at attention and shouted out the memorized answer in a high-pitched monotone like the one used by West Point plebes to address uppercla.s.s cadets. Among the pupils who were not called upon, no one stirred; no one whispered.

Chung Kw.a.n.g-chun, the princ.i.p.al, bragged in an interview that this was an "all-As school." A single teacher had charge of the same group of pupils as they pa.s.sed through all four grades, she said. That teacher was responsible for making sure-through extra work, if necessary-that all members of the cla.s.s progressed well. "In the final a.n.a.lysis, we don't believe there are people who can't learn and can't study," Mrs. Chung said. She enumerated the most important subjects taught at the school, in this order: (1) "the revolutionary activities of the Great Leader," (2) communist morality, (3) reading, (4) math. Actually, in the forty-three pages of the Great Leader's important 1971 speech, "On the Thorough Implementation of the Principles of Socialist Pedagogy in Education," he had not mentioned either reading or math.

At the time of the Korean War, Confucian filial piety had remained enough of a force that parents still had taken first place, even in Kim Il-sung's rhetoric. Speaking with the army corps commander leading the battle of Heartbreak Ridge, Kim supposedly told him he wanted the soldiers to "realize that it is the wish of their parents and the Party's line that not even an inch of the sacred soil of the fatherland be yielded to the enemy. ..." When his words were duly conveyed to the men, "moved by their Leader's love, all rubbed their eyes with their fists" and pledged to do as parents and party asked.20 More recently however, Kim had been talking about "revolutionizing the homes,21 and I began to get some concrete idea of-what that meant. When I asked Princ.i.p.al Chung about parents' role in their children's education, she said they were allowed to visit the school, and ought to help the pupils with their studies. She added, however, that parents were not called in for disciplinary problems, which were handled with teacher persuasion (no corporal punishment) and-through the school's Young Pioneersstyle children's corps-peer criticism. and I began to get some concrete idea of-what that meant. When I asked Princ.i.p.al Chung about parents' role in their children's education, she said they were allowed to visit the school, and ought to help the pupils with their studies. She added, however, that parents were not called in for disciplinary problems, which were handled with teacher persuasion (no corporal punishment) and-through the school's Young Pioneersstyle children's corps-peer criticism.

Actually, Mrs. Chung said, there were few behavior problems. The pupils hardly ever fought among themselves, even outside cla.s.s, because "we are educating them in communist morality." She was proud of the discipline of her students. Sitting up straight in cla.s.s was required for health reasons, she said. Outside cla.s.s the pupils were free to slouch if they liked-"but as we teach them the healthful way they always follow that way" Even as she spoke, I heard from the playground the unmistakable sound of schoolchildren at recess, whooping and running around. Relieved by this return to recognizable reality, I stepped to the window to photograph the scene. Mrs. Chung, however, quickly spoke to my interpreter--who strode over and grasped my arm before I could click the shutter. Those two explained, patiently and in excruciatingly friendly fashion, that such a photograph of unorganized activity might make a bad impression abroad.

Quite the contrary, I replied. Americans and many other Westerners would be favorably impressed by such evidence that at least a little freedom survived in such a rigidly controlled society.

My interpreter, though, would not buy the argument. North Koreans valued unity, he explained earnestly. As for the schoolchildren, "we are educating them in a unitary idea-thinking in the same way and acting in the same way" The playground picture, unfortunately, would not ill.u.s.trate that.22 Even at the time of my first visit, such thinking-no matter how pa.s.sionately taught by earnest ideologues--was in decline in many other communist countries. Kim Il-sung himself had warned North Korean teachers to guard against the trend in some socialist countries for the young to seek "a fast and indolent life." Such a development in North Korea could result in slowed economic growth, he had warned. The children must be educated to "love labor." They must be "working-cla.s.sized," and taught to "have faith in communism before anything else." Later, in his memoirs, he blamed the Khrushchev brand of communists for problems with the younger generation: Such people, "who are addicted to extreme egoism and hedonism, are not taking care of the younger generation; they are disarming them spiritually and exposing them to all sorts of social evils."23 In North Korea's case, it was very difficult for a foreigner to judge how well the regime had succeeded in achieving its goal of casting all the young in the same mold. My interpreter, Han Yong, seemed, a fairly typical representative of the earnest and zealous Kimilsungists of his generation, a star product of the educational system that he was showing me. He was a twenty-nine-year-old senior at the Foreign Languages University, majoring in English. He and his entire cla.s.s had been mobilized to interpret for tournament visitors. Han hoped to become an engineer, he said, and studied English because it would help him "look at what others have done and apply the best to Korea." For his engineering training, he planned to take a correspondence course. Han said he wanted to marry, and had a bride picked out, but thought it "better to wait, since I returned to school at an old age." (He didn't say so, but presumably he had served in the military before college, as was typical.) Han said his proudest moment had been joining the Korean Workers' Party in 1973.

Otherwise, I could see three- and four-year-olds in the accordion band24 at the September Fifteenth Nursery in Pyongyang who had obeyed the Great Leader's dictum that every child should learn to play a musical instrument. The youngsters employed precisely the same technique as all of the uncounted other youthful accordionists in the country-smiling, c.o.c.king their heads, keeping eye contact with the audience-as they pumped out a pa.s.sable melody. Then there were the groups of red-kerchiefed children's corps members marching to and from school in formation, saluting pa.s.sengers in pa.s.sing cars, halting to perform community cleanup projects. at the September Fifteenth Nursery in Pyongyang who had obeyed the Great Leader's dictum that every child should learn to play a musical instrument. The youngsters employed precisely the same technique as all of the uncounted other youthful accordionists in the country-smiling, c.o.c.king their heads, keeping eye contact with the audience-as they pumped out a pa.s.sable melody. Then there were the groups of red-kerchiefed children's corps members marching to and from school in formation, saluting pa.s.sengers in pa.s.sing cars, halting to perform community cleanup projects.

A boy a.s.sembling a miniature electric motor in a cla.s.s at the Pyongyang Children's Palace might say during an interview, as twelve-year-old Jong-hyun did, "When I grow up I want to become an electrician because electricity is very important in building our country into an independent and powerful country, according to the teachings of the Great Leader." Still, I could not go out freely and talk at random with young adults who had spent most of their lives being indoctrinated, to see how much of it had taken.

Instead, I had to settle for contacts with the North Koreans whom the authorities had placed in my path-Lee Yong-ho, for example, who identified himself as a twenty-six-year-old doctoral candidate in molecular biology at Kim Il-sung University, one of the one million intellectuals the regime claimed to have produced in its push to develop the country.

Finding Lee on a weekday afternoon was unavoidable. For days I had been asking my handlers to let me meet some university students, and on this afternoon they finally told me it was time to visit the university. When we arrived, however, the campus was deserted. I asked them where all the students had gone. In a seminar, was the reply. "Twelve thousand students in a seminar," I marveled. "Amazing!" I contemplated the possibility that the authorities had gone to the trouble of emptying out a campus just to make sure I would not have any unscheduled conversations with the wrong people. Anyhow, when my handlers ushered me across campus and up several flights of stairs to a particular laboratory, Lee just happened to be sitting there-in a business suit, with a miniature, gold-framed, enameled portrait of President Kim pinned to his left lapel-peering intently at a textbook.

A bull-necked boxer, soccer player and veteran of army service, Lee in response to my questions professed a complete lack of interest in the two prime interests of 1970s students in the West: protest and s.e.x. As for s.e.x, he said that he had neither girlfriend nor wife, and never thought of such things even though the university was coeducational. "I am a student, so I am studying now, concentrating all my efforts on my subject," he said. Student dissent, Mr. Lee said, would be unthinkable at Kim Il-sung University. There were not even any campus issues, much less national issues, to arouse rebellious feelings. "Among our students you can't find a single one who believes there is some element to be criticized," he said.

(Hw.a.n.g Jang-yop, a former president of the university, confirmed following his 1997 defection to the South that "student demonstrations calling for freedom on campus are unthinkable." But he contradicted student Lee on another point. "In Kim Il-sung University, the students start harboring suspicions about the Great Leader's personality cult by the time they are in their second year, but none of them dare to voice their suspicions out loud.")25 It dawned on me during that 1979 visit that, in its zeal to create a new man, the regime had swept away most traces of the cultural achievements of Korea's past. I was astonished to learn that even the Korean cla.s.sics were taught only at universities-not at either primary or secondary level in schools. Instead, an official explained, students studied the moder