August 3, 2008
It is nearly impossible to describe Pyongyang to an American without talking about what isn't here. This is not, necessarily, a negative statement. Nor is it a romantic one. It's simply something that becomes apparent gradually as we criss-cross the city in a tour bus: There's no litter. No homeless people camped in doorways or pushing shopping carts down the street. No druggies panhandling in the subway. No honking taxis, no prostitutes sauntering in the dusk, no aggressive souvenir hawkers insisting, "Hey mister, just take a look! One dollar!" No traffic jams, no parking meters, no malls, no neon billboards, nobody walking around with a bluetooth headset, jabbering to people who aren't there. No morbidly obese people. No wannabe gangstas with oversize pants drooping off their rears, no women wearing excessively revealing tank tops. No Starbucks, no 7-Elevens, no Internet cafes, no sign-spinners on the corners, no newspaper boxes on the sidewalks. Instead of the mini satellite dishes that sprout on the balconies of so many American residential high-rises, flowerpots dot the verandas of the apartment blocs here. Instead of the pounding of jackhammers or the roar of bulldozers, the quiet labors of men with simple shovels and pick-axes go plink-plink, tink-tink at construction sites. This is the best of the best. Who knows what life is like in the vast swaths of the city that are off-limits to our foreign eyes?
As if seeing Kim Il Sung dead in a glass box were not enough for one morning, the next major attraction on our (government-set, of course) itinerary is the Mansudae Grand Monument. And grand it undeniably is: a 20-meter-tall bronze statue of the Great Leader, flanked by two massive, three-dimensional sculptures. On the giant Kim's right are larger-than-life figures fighting Japanese colonialism; at the front of the artwork is a triumphant everyman holding aloft the works of Karl Marx. On the giant Kim's left is a similar tableau commemorating the Korean War, but the figure at the head of this piece carries the works of Kim Il Sung. For some time in the 1970s, the Kim statue was covered in gold. But it was stripped off, the story goes, after China's Deng Xiaoping came for a state visit and was so aghast at the ostentatious display that he balked at giving North Korea more aid. For video, click here.
It is customary, our guides insist, to present flowers at the foot of the massive Kim, so en route to the colossus we stop off to buy a bouquet in a nearby square bordered by the Grand People's Study House (aka the national library); Department Store No. 1; the Mansudae Art Theater; and the Mansudae Assembly Hall (or national assembly). As we disembark from the coach, we hear what sounds like the strains of a live brass band coming from the direction of the department store. Making a beeline for the source of the music, we find a dozen or so performers -- trombonists, accordion players, trumpeters -- set up on the sidewalk across from the shop, which is undergoing renovations. Workers on flimsy scaffolding are resurfacing the exterior with mortar hauled up by basic rope-and-pulley systems. Mr. Kim said the musicians were there to encourage the construction crew, who apparently had "volunteered" to toil on Sunday, normally a worker's only day off. Nothing like some revolutionary hymns to take the sting out of working on the weekend!
Back on the bus, we drive by the national assembly building, and Mr. Ri makes a point of noting that the legislature has 687 members who are, of course, elected by the people. He adds that North Korea has not one political party, but three. And while the Korean Worker's Party has been in power since, well, since forever, the other two parties are not opposition parties but "friendly" parties. Just one big happy family! Later, I ask Mr. Kim where and how balloting is held. He says polling places are announced months in advance, and "the person who will be elected" is introduced to the public via biographies in newspapers and on TV and at party meetings. When I ask if there is any competition, he says, "you can write the name, or you can erase it and write something else. But it has to be unanimous." So, I say, if even one person votes "no," or writes a different name, then that person is rejected? Mr. Kim looks at me as if I am utterly daft and says, with the slightest clip to his voice, "This never happens."
In that instant, I believe, a glint of understanding flashes between us. Yes, this is absurd, he seems to be saying. I know it is absurd. But I am not about to come out and say that. Anything approaching truth must be communicated in a rarefied English, in an exchange dusted with the finest subtlety so as to be unimpeachable should another English-speaking North Korean happen to hear. This, it seems, is a land where a wink or a nod would be so flagrant as to be dangerous.
While discussing North Korean politics is touchy, American politics are apparently free game, and I'm intrigued that our guides know so much about the upcoming presidential election, considering the information vacuum that they live in. They are curious to know which candidates we are supporting, and intrigued to hear that my mom and dad will probably be voting for different parties. Later, as we are being hustled along to yet another monument, I half-jokingly complain to Mr. Kim that North Korea should let us stay longer than five days so we could see the sights at a more leisurely pace. His reply? "Well, if Obama becomes president, then I think this will change."
Notes on photos: May Day stadium and Juche Tower; Mansudae Grand Monument; sidewalk band outside Department Store No. 1
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