Dear Leader (26 page)

Following Jang Song-thaek’s lead of reprisal, the Scrutiny’s political director Choe Mun-deok prosecuted Seo Yoon-seok, the Party Secretary for Pyongyang, on suspicion of espionage. Choe Mun-deok was exacting revenge for Seo’s having previously dismissed him from his post. The poisoned water seeped downwards as others, in turn, inspired by the example set by their superiors, sought to resolve their personal grudges in a similar way. Through widespread abuse of the surveillance powers offered by the Scrutiny, which relied on gaps in the entries of records from the Korean War, a bloodbath washed over the nation. Nearly 20,000 cadres, military figures and security agents, as well as retired scholars, artists and athletes, were executed or sent to prison camps – and that was only according to the number released through official Workers’ Party lectures. The actual impact was far greater because of the principle of guilt-by-association, whereby relatives and close associates were all purged alongside the ‘criminal’.

As both cadres and ordinary North Koreans alike reacted with increasing unrest and discontent, Kim Jong-il decided to turn down the heat by redirecting blame towards the campaign of Scrutiny itself. According to him, the early prosecutor Choe Mun-deok’s abuse of his office had sown the treacherous seeds of ‘greed for power’ in the Scrutiny. Choe Mun-deok alone bore the brunt of Kim Jong-il and Jang Song-thaek’s responsibilities and was publicly executed in February 2000. The six thousand officials who had worked directly under him were summarily stripped of rank.

At this time, Young-min’s father was reinstated and his reputation restored as far as the Party was concerned, but he died in hospital two weeks after his release from prison. Young-min said that when
he looked into his father’s open but lifeless eyes, he cried not in mourning, but because of the injustice of it all. His father had shown only loyalty to the Party; yet in his final moments, he had to fix his eyes on a blank ceiling, unable to gaze at his loved ones. As Young-min closed his father’s eyes, the trembling of his hand was the only visible trace of emotion that he could allow to escape from his heart.

As Young-min finished telling his story, the North Korean women, who knew the Scrutiny well, were silent for a moment. Only Mr Shin, who had always lived in China, was incredulous: ‘So you’re telling me that these violent mass purges went on in 2000? In today’s world, and not in some history book? I really can’t believe it.’

The women from Hamheung and Chongjin both described how the Scrutiny had devastated their own hometowns like a tsunami. Fear and suspicion became so pervasive across the whole of North Korea that even the sight of a truck routinely delivering goods would be mistaken for a vehicle transporting another relative of a Scrutiny victim to a prison camp. Mrs Shin described the violence and social anarchy that followed in her town in the wake of the Scrutiny’s bloodbath. After Kim Jong-il publicly denounced the campaign, the officer responsible for her town was beaten to death in the dark of night.

When incidents such as this began to occur all over the country, and not only beatings but also the murder of Social Security agents, Kim Jong-il ordered the Workers’ Party to prepare a series of compulsory lectures to be delivered nationwide. According to the reading materials for these lectures, the Ministry of Social Security would change its name to the Ministry of People’s Security because it ought to ‘maintain security for the people, rather than oppress society’. It was claimed that Kim Jong-il pencilled in the new name for the ministry with his own hand out of love for his people. In this way, he thought, the negative connotations of a ministry associated with the Scrutiny’s brutal violence might be erased.

Kim Jong-il’s use of political theatre in dealing with the issue did not end there. Through the authority of the Supreme Commander, he ordered the release of victims of the Scrutiny held in prison camps, in order to ‘bring justice’ to the many who had been convicted on false charges. In order to maximise the effect of their joy when they found they had regained their lives, he ordered that prisoners should not be informed of their release until they were in a Party lecture hall where an audience could witness their genuine joy. But this tactic backfired appallingly, and the Party halls became instead public courts testifying against despotism. Wretched prisoners were brought by truck from the camps and pushed into the hall; and even when Supreme Commander Kim Jong-il’s release order was read out, they thought it might be a cruel prelude to execution. One person pleaded for his life; another coughed blood and passed out, thinking that he was going to be killed. Several were actually executed because they cursed Kim Jong-il before the audience in the Party hall.

There were other respects in which the tragedy experienced by the victims of the Scrutiny could not be reversed by mere words. Some spouses, who had escaped condemnation when their husband or wife was sentenced but were forcibly divorced, had already re-married; others had committed suicide. Some victims returned to find their homes and possessions re-assigned to others and ended up on the streets. Kim Jong-il then issued an order for regional Party Committees to provide temporary housing for them, and also to offer rice and cooking oil. The Party’s Propaganda and Agitation Department used this as evidence to instigate mass propaganda campaigns describing Kim Jong-il’s leadership as ‘all-embracing of the people, like the heavens’, moving on from the previous slogan of ‘strong leadership’.

WE SPENT ONLY
one afternoon with the North Korean women, but even though it was only a short time together, it was also a most crucial time. We compressed into those hours each of our individual experiences of life in North Korea, shared among us and no longer kept to ourselves. Above all, our time with the women confirmed for Young-min and me that the falsehoods on which Kim Jong-il’s tyranny depended could not remain immune from scrutiny forever. While we were inside the system, his command of absolute authority seemed to be the sole and most powerful manifestation of truth in the world. But how vicious and perverse that power was, which pursued us even after we had left its borders.

It was only then, looking back from the outside, that I realised this power could not belong to a strong man. It was the tantrum of a defeated man, a man who had been abandoned not only by Young-min and me, but by the very people he would have perceived as worthless and weak, such as these women who had endured the worst of humiliations.

Another important lesson I learned from the women was one of courage. The escape that Young-min and I had planned was born out of desperation, and we had only gone so far as to promise to commit suicide if we failed. But these women were driven by a powerful resolve and would keep on trying to escape, even after being captured and returned to North Korea. For them, this resolve had led to their decision to take action and cross China to Tianjin. We were not alone in our fate.

The problem was that, although Mr Shin had taught us to cry
Pa-ee-ting!
at uncertain times such as this, there were not yet signs that the miracle we hoped for would become a reality. Even after the women had gone on their way and the house had been empty of their voices for a week, we had still received no response from South Korea. Mr Shin, too, sighed as the days went by. I kept my doubts to myself for as long as I could, but in the end I had to ask him what was going on. How much longer would we have to continue to wait in hiding?

He asked his wife to go out and get some wine. Then he sat down with a serious expression on his face and said, ‘There’s this South Korean I know quite well. He’s very interested in North Korean refugees, and I think he works for South Korea’s spy agency.’

‘What – you
think
he works for the agency? So you’re not certain?’ I asked.

‘What spy would admit to being a spy? I’ve met him several times and he knows a lot about North Korea. He always speaks carefully, that’s for sure. He’s given me a retainer several times and asked me to contact him if I happened to come across a defector from Pyongyang. Just a few days ago, he was checking up on how you guys were doing. The clothes I bought you, food, all my expenses so far – it’s all his money. That’s why I took pictures after we went shopping and sent them to him along with copies of your papers. But it’s odd that I can’t get through to him any more. When I dial his mobile, it says the number doesn’t exist.’

All my hopes faded in an instant. The man we’d put our trust in, Mr Shin’s contact and our saviour, might be nothing more than a mirage. Mr Shin wasn’t even sure about the man’s identity, and there was no guarantee that he worked for South Korea at all. We had been waiting for a miracle from some unknown person. I regretted even asking – not knowing would have been better than this new uncertainty. Not
only the future, but even the miracles that had blessed us until now, all this seemed meaningless.

Was there no other way forward? Why was it so difficult to get to the country where our fellow Koreans lived? Mr Shin explained that there were other ways of getting to South Korea through Vietnam, Mongolia or Thailand, but this only made us feel worse. We had already had several near misses just coming from the border to Yanji – how could we possibly go so far and cross so many more borders? In the end, the problem was money. Mr Shin reminded us that staying here any longer required money, and setting off anywhere required more money.

Young-min excused himself and went to our room. He returned carrying the envelope that held the note with the address of his relative. As Mr Shin read the note’s contents, his eyes lit up. With a wide-eyed expression that reminded me of his uncle Chang-yong, he exclaimed that the relative must be very rich. Immediately, he got out his phone and dialled a number. He spoke in Chinese, which I couldn’t understand, but it was clear from his face that the call went well. As he hung up, he turned to us and could hardly contain his excitement as he began to explain.

‘I have a friend who is a reporter at Yanbian Broadcasting, and he says that if these people really are your relatives, there should be no problem getting you to South Korea. In fact, I think I’ve heard of this name too. This lady, she comes up in textbooks in the Chinese schools here as an anti-Japanese heroine. And her children have land in Shenyang too. Is she really family?’

Kim Il-sung’s anti-Japanese experience is hugely exaggerated and religiously indoctrinated into every North Korean mind. Moreover, all famous ethnic Korean anti-Japanese fighters are alleged to have been loyal to Kim Il-sung. In Chinese textbooks, where Koreans are recognised as an ethnic minority, they are praised as ethnic Korean-Chinese ‘anti-Japanese heroes’, whereas in North Korean textbooks,
they are acclaimed as ‘Kim Il-sung’s loyal comrades’ who followed in Kim Il-sung’s anti-Japanese footsteps.

I replied that even in North Korean textbooks, Young-min’s grandmother was known as a key historical figure. That being so, Mr Shin said we could definitely make it to South Korea from here. He was more excited by our connections than even his humble uncle Chang-yong had been, and went so far as to ask us to take him and his wife with us to South Korea. That’s when I learned that after being recognised as the legal spouse of a North Korean refugee, an ethnic Korean from China could qualify for South Korean citizenship. Mr Shin, far more optimistic about the possibilities than we were, said that we should visit Young-min’s family that very night.

Young-min eagerly put his coat on, but I couldn’t feel quite as positive. It was certain that by now there would be police watching the relative’s house every minute of the day. Young-min argued that there had been no response from the South Korean contact for ten days, and the number was now out of order – we had no other choice. At least we had Mr Shin to look out for us, and so we decided to give it a go.

Mr Shin insisted we get an expensive cab, so that any police watching the house would be less suspicious. After a half-hour journey we arrived at a private residence that was more palatial and impressive than anything I could have imagined. The problem was that the surrounding area was very brightly lit. There was also a suspicious-looking private car with its sidelights on and engine running opposite the front gate. I said we should drive round the block. But however carefully we checked out the area, it appeared impossible to get close to the building safely on foot.

We decided in the end to wait in the taxi in a nearby alley while Mr Shin went to the house. He was to arrange a place and time to meet, and if the family didn’t believe that he had come on behalf of Young-min, he would bring one of them to the alley where we would be
waiting. As he walked off, Young-min and I waited anxiously. In spite of the cold, my palms were sweating. It was sheer torment once Mr Shin was out of sight. Young-min wanted us to go round the block once more, but neither of us could speak to the driver in Chinese.

Perhaps fifteen minutes later, Mr Shin came running in an obvious panic, his arms and legs flailing. As soon as he got in the cab, he waved at the driver, urging him to set off. With fear in his eyes, he turned to see if anyone was following us. Young-min and I asked several times what had happened, but each time he replied curtly that he would tell us once we were out of the cab. Instead of stopping the cab near his house, we got out several few blocks further on.

As soon as the cab left, he turned to us angrily. ‘A lot of people here in Yanji speak Korean! Even some of the Chinese cab drivers understand Korean, so what am I supposed to say if you keep asking what happened?’

He was trembling, and lit himself a cigarette with shaking hands. After inhaling deeply, he calmed a little and offered one to each of us. I didn’t want to accept. He obviously had some bad news to tell us.

‘Now listen,’ he said, and his tone was ominous. ‘Even after we separate, don’t even think about going to that house. It’s not just surrounded by police. There are even some North Korean agents on standby, a Prosecution Squad from the Ministry of State Security.’