RECORD OF MY KOREAN ESCAPE TRAVEL by LEE JHOUNG-MEE(North Korean Refugee)
Part Two
Originally published in RENK (Rescue the North Korean People! Urgent Action Network) newsletter No. 22 (12/20/2001). The following are excerpted from the Japanese text:
Editor’s note: The original 30 page article is the testimony of a North Korean woman, a former member of Pyongyang’s elite. With RENK’s assistance, she is in exile in China. She was asked by RENK to cover five themes:
- Rather than personal circumstances, describe general conditions in North Korean since 6/15/01;
- The situation in Pyongyang;
- Attitudes of ordinary citizens;
- Public security organs and public order;
- Recent events and accidents.
Mysterious Rubber Balloons
I’ve always had stomach troubles and ended up hospitalized for a month to accept treatment for my spleen. Fortunately, the problem was treatable and when I was up and about, I put together some gifts and went to pay my respects on the hospital director. The director controlled the dispensation of virtually every medicine that came through the hospital. Because of this, he sent the treatmentI needed my way for which I was deeply grateful and determined to repay my debt.
Several years ago, a North Korea in crisis had accepted medical aid from the United Nations and aid organizations. Because regional and city hospitals were the recipients of this aid, hospital directors sold off the supplies in the black market and pocketed the cash.
That day, I visited the director’s home for several hours and unwittingly saw the truth. Around noon time, a middle-aged woman with children in tow came to the door. “Five rubber balloons, please.” The director’s wife took the money and from a box, counted out the balloons one by one. I think one balloon was between three and five won.
I was a little puzzled by the trade in balloons, but this being my first visit to the director’s home, kept my thoughts to myself. The next visit,k the director’s children said, “Mommy, one balloon please.” Their mother put them off, saying, “ What if it breaks?”, but the cajoling escalated into crying. I thought I would buy one for the kids myself and spoke up, “I’ll pay.” I took one of the balloons. Its shape seemed odd.
“It’s an unusual shape, isn’t it? I’ve seen balloons many times, but never one like this,” I remarked. The truth was embarrassing; in my private life, I had never seen a condom.
The director’s wife laughed and explained. The “balloons” were part of a UN medical shipment and were devices for preventing pregnancy… Incidentally, a few days later, I realized I wasn't really so different from others in not knowing. From top executive levels, an order was distributed to all organizations that all effort should be made to celebrate "4/15" or Kim Il Sung's birthday under the direct observation of Kim Jong Il. That morning, I dressed in traditional wear and visited Kim Il Sung's bronze statue to place a bouquet. I couldn't help staring in surprise at some of the bouquets people were carrying. Occasionally, among the flowers, I spotted a condom worked in. Maybe placing all these collective bouquets in front of the statue was spreading the idea around?
Since then, I have participated in events where I saw "balloons" waved around. I was filled with disgust at how North Koreans have fallen, knowing that the mis-used "balloons" are international charity. Later, however, I realized that ridiculing ordinary citizens is mistaken. After all, the people are only in this place because the two Kims led us there. It is not just balloons. The world's humanitarian organizations, UN bodies, Korean fraternal groups have given us medical supplies, food stuffs, clothing, for starters and nearly everything is diverted in "top secret" furtive means to directly enriching the leadership rather than divided among the citizenry. The upper class becomes fatter.
"Selling Flowers"
From 1998 to 2000, I occasionally had to make business trips to MMM and Wonsan. In these cities, I discovered aspects of the life of women in North Korea that I hadn't previously been aware of.
On a trip to MMM, I decided to see what the city was like at night and left my room for a stroll. I headed toward the train station and black market. At the market, I looked at prices, looked at people, and after a bit, a man came up to me. "Do you have flowers for sale?," he asked.
I thought this was a bit odd and politely responded. "Sorry, I don't have any." However he muttered things like, "Actually, someone not selling?" and "Just how much would it cost?" Felling peremptorily dismissed, I looked him up and down. From his clothes, he appeared to have money.
"I don't have flowers and I'm not standing here selling them. Why don't you try a flower stand?"
He looked surprised and when I proved to be above commerce, give a wry smile and walked away. I grew angry at his rude manner.
In a few minutes, it grew darker and women began to appear, each clutching a fresh or artificial bouquet. The scene touched my heart and I asked a woman with particularly beautiful flowers, the price of a blossom. The woman, somewhere around 30, gave me a sharp glance and said, "Who are you kidding? These aren't for sale," and walked off.
Whatever was going on, I completely did not understand. I went off to the side, spread a handkerchief on the ground and watched. The women stood by themselves with small bunches of flowers and occasionally a man would come up to one, "Sister, I'm buying!", pass over the price of the bouquet and off the two of them went.
In watching all of this, I vaguely realized these were "women of the night" and was seized with the notion of observing them more with an eye as to how women could solve this social problem. Of course, it wasn't as if I could interrogate the customers or experience this work for myself. When my business trip was done, I called on a friend in the courts. He laid out some actual examples, but there were still things I couldn't understand from the testimony of a third person. I finally asked a college classmate who arranged a night meeting.
The location was the same city I had earlier visited. In alleys and streets, clutching a bouquet of flowers or holding a handkerchief with clenched teeth, women, young and old, loitered by lights and trees planted along the streets, inviting the men who passed by.
By arrangement, my classmate approached a younger woman, asking to buy flowers. The woman were startled by a man already escorted by another woman, but my classmate introduced me as his sister. I said as if it were natural, "If you are nice to my brother, I'll pay." The woman told me to come and we set off.
We had gone three blocks and entered an apartment building when she turned to us and said, "Even supposing you're his sister, it's not like you'd be out here buying flowers for him. Who are you?"
I was startled, but felt there was nothing to do but tough it out.
"Truth is there's no blood relationship between us. We came on a business trip and this person said he would escort me. Don't worry- I'll pay and we just want to spend the night, nothing more."
I don't know whether she was convinced, but at any rate, she led us to a third floor apartment. The apartment had two rooms and a floor covered by oiled paper (trans. note: tar paper?) applied some distant past. To say the room was obviously old – certainly so, but it was looked after and didn't feel dismal. A man was already there and the two of them conferred by the door. They were probably discussing me and after a few minutes he came to us. "Welcome strangers, relax and enjoy yourselves," he said and adding he had an errand to run, he disappeared.
After he left, I went to the foyer door and turned the key. I bought out some liquor and snacks. We sat there drinking, just lightly talking to make her feel more at ease. I can't say whether it was the talk or the liquor, but after a while, the atmosphere softened and I ventured some questions about her man and family.
Her "man" was actually her brother, age 25, she was 23. Once upon a time, they had lived as a normal family with their parents, but as the country's economic situation worsened, even as their father continued to go work, there were no rations and no money, and first her mother and then her father died from hunger. The two of them couldn't marry, they stayed together, attempting to maintain a household, but with no way of earning a living, life was a struggle just to maintain two meals a day.
She spoke directly and I felt ashamed and quilty about concealing my own thoughts and motivation. I answered in kind, stirred up by the collision of our worlds. I wanted to know what she was thinking – of course, I still meant to pass over the agreed sum, but I also wanted to take care of her, keep her out of prostitution. She seemed to follow me and bit by bit her speech flowed more freely.
"I get up at noon, clean house, prepare drinks and snacks, prepare my own body. When it's dark, I apply thick makeup, go out with a bouquet to the train station, drinking places, wherever people gather. In choosing a customer, I pay attention to their dress, whether their face is scarred. When I decide on someone, I approach them, saying "Please buy my flowers." They know the meaning.
By her account, most customers are high ranking officers or bureaucrats. However, taking customers on sight has its own risks. The higher their position, if you end up in their apartment, you're likely to be debased, treated lower than a animal. Step inside and they will rip your clothes off, display you, you will crawl while they watch… For a few pennies, they force you to perform. The worst is after abusing you to their heart's content, when they are finally satisfied, you get half the agreed upon price. Using their position as a shield, they threaten you…"
I hurt to hear her speech. As a woman, I felt revolted toward North Korean society in general, North Korean men in particular. As someone who had gone about her life without a clue as to what was happening around me, I had to overcome any sense of futility or resignation.
Prostitution is normal, everyday commerce in the northern half of our country. Not just high ranking officials, but ordinary citizens, while shouting out devotional slogans to our leaders, engage in this disgusting life in the shadows. They live off the party to which they loyally adhere, flattering all and sundry. But it is women who are crushed under their heel. After this, I realized I could no longer bear to live in this country.