Pyongyang summit: Reflections of the South Korean reporter
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.