Pyongyang summit: Reflections of the South Korean reporter

By Chon Shi-yong

PYONGYANG: Except for the hoopla surrounding the inter-Korean summit, Pyongyang appeared to be little different from what I had seen on television and learned from the accounts of those who visited the North Korean capital previously.

There were not many people in the streets, which were lined by unadorned concrete buildings and huge monuments and structures dedicated to North Korea's founder, Kim Il-sung.

The wide avenues were dim at night, except for the huge, glaring, neon-lit slogans that paid tribute to Kim Il-sung, his son and heir, Kim Jong-il, socialism and the Workers' Party.

In view of the North's economic difficulties and international isolation, it will take some time for the cradle of one of the world's last-remaining communist societies to become a beautiful place and join the ranks of the world's dynamic and lively capitals around the world.

During my three-day stay there, I nevertheless noticed signs that showed the estimated 2.7 million people inhabiting this city were changing.

Pyongyang's No. 1 resident is Kim Jong-il, who rules a nation of 22 million people with unquestioned authority. He stands at the forefront of this change.

Many on the southern half of the peninsula and other parts of the world have already read, seen and heard many things about Kim's freewheeling talks with visiting South Korean President Kim Dae-jung.

Some say they were surprised by the scenes of a relaxed, confident Kim Jong-il making quick-witted comments, exchanging seemingly endless toasts with President Kim and senior Seoul officials and singing songs at dinners.

Of course, abandoning protocol and engaging in a drinking spree is a rare scene at state banquets, but this does not mean that the Kim Jong-il appearing in meetings with President Kim was any different from the Kim Jong-il of old.

The outside world, including South Korea, had a very biased view of the North Korean leader and scanty knowledge of him at best.

One sign of change in the North Korean leader was not his amicable demeanor, but the fact that he decided to allow the media unprecedented access to his engagements with President Kim.

He did not seem bothered by the glaring television camera lighting or frequent photographs. He was not irked by the presence of the South Korean journalists, who continuously took notes for stories that would be relayed to media outlets around the world. Kim even shook hands with reporters.

This was a different Kim Jong-il from the man who, as recently as late last month, made a secret visit to China, his first trip to Beijing in 17 years.

This was a different Kim Jong-il from the man so media-shy that even the North Korean television broadcast his voice only once, in 1991: "May glory be with our revolutionary armed forces," he said, accepting the military commander at a rally.

Kim would not have made an impromptu change in his attitude toward the media. Kim and his aides may have carefully choreographed what the South Korean and international media called "Kim's coming-out party," in order to send out the message that he was ready to engage the outside world.

Although the media exposure came all but unexpectedly, it provided enough evidence that Kim Jong-il would no longer remain in recluse.

North Korean officials, reporters and citizens I met in Pyongyang knew what their "great leader" was trying to do.

My colleagues who had visited Pyongyang for the prime ministers' talks in the early 1990s said that North Koreans we met last week were less hostile, less aggressive and less outspoken.

The North Koreans did stick to their ideological lines on such issues as the American forces stationed in South Korea, but they took care not to make one-sided propaganda statements in agitated tones and refrained from turning any arguments into heated confrontations.

Like other journalists and delegates, had a "guide," who was ordered to stay with me whenever I was out of the hotel.

Shim Byong-hwan, 40, asked me a lot of questions.

Knowing that I was the sole English-language newspaper reporter in the media delegation, he asked my view of the Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA). He advised me and my colleagues at The Korea Herald to do a "good job" in reporting on Korean- American relations.

But Shim and his colleagues were not propagating ideological sermons. Shim tried to be friendly, even smiling broadly when I said he looked like an intelligence officer.

Fellow members of the South Korean media delegation said their guides came from various walks of life. The North Koreans introduced themselves as professors, journalists and members of social and government organizations.

Shim did not say where he works, but he seemed to have deep knowledge about the economy. He freely discussed economic theories such as neo-liberalism and order-liberalism, and asked many questions about the South Korean economy.

Shim kept me from contacting citizens in the streets, but allowed me to freely talk with North Koreans at banquet halls, restaurants and cultural places.

They were not nervous, knew well why I was there and what their great leader and President Kim were discussing.

Kim Jong-il and the North's ruling elite appeared to be sincere in steering their country out of its decades-long seclusion and seeking better ties with the South, and more importantly, they were letting their people know where they were going.

The North Korean newspapers and television devoted a considerable amount of space and airtime to the summit.

The Rodong Shinmun, the organ of the Workers' Party, splashed huge photographs of the two leaders holding their two hands together, and the scene of them signing a joint declaration on their front pages. Thursday's Rodong Shinmun devoted two-thirds of its front page to the full text of the declaration.

The Rodong Shinmun even separately reported the activities of First Lady Lee Hee-ho, including her reunion with her former high school teacher, and other members of the South Korean delegation.

Television footage kept broadcasting the car ride President Kim and Chairman Kim shared from the airport to the state guesthouse, and other formal activities of the two leaders.

The North Korean reports, of course, did not carry the details of the summit discussions, and pictures were carefully cut to show Kim Jong-il engaged in free discussions with President Kim and South Korean officials, not the other way around.

This was probably not aimed to keep the summit from the North Korean public, but was in line with the North's policy not to air Kim Jong-il's voice and report other "informal" activities of the greater leader.

Kim Jong-il, who is revered in North Korea as a near god, may still need to stand aloof from the public to maintain his dignity and authority as the greater leader.

After returning to Seoul, many phone calls came from foreign journalists, who questioned the lack of detailed reports by the North's media on the summit.

I told them this: "It is true that North Koreans did not know about the summit as well as South Koreans, but I believe they knew much more about it than any other events that went on in Pyongyang."

This was apparently possible because Kim Jong-il wanted to do it this way.

Kim Jong-il had 600,000 Pyongyang citizens line the major streets from the airport to the state guesthouse, along which he shared a ride with President Kim.

A smaller number of citizens turned out for their ride back to the airport, but this time I noticed a symbolic change. The Pyongyang citizens were chanting only "manse (hurrah)."

On the day of President Kim's arrival, the crowd frantically shouted "Protect Kim Jong-il to the death," and manse, the former being the dominant one.

It was difficult to determine at the time whether they were welcoming President Kim or they were there just to take a glimpse of their greater leader.

When I saw some women weep, I first thought that they might have divided families in the South, but the repeated chanting of "Protect Kim Jong-il to the death" led me to suspect that they were shedding tears of joy on seeing their leader.

The North Koreans who showed up on President Kim's way to the airport dropped "Protect Kim Jong-il to the death" and shouted only "manse".

This change, I suspected, was also made under Kim Jong-il's instructions.

At the airport on the day of President Kim's departure, I also took notice of a symbolic change in the two leaders' attitude toward each other.

The two leaders, who only shook both hands when they met two days ago, exchanged cheek kisses.

This change in the two leaders' personal relationship alone, I thought, could further the fear of war on the Korean Peninsula.

The writer is a staff reporter of The Korea Herald, from which the story was taken from through the Asia News Network.