 North Korean workers make their way home after finishing work in Gaeseong. / Korea Times File |
By Park Kyoung
Global Student Reporter
Gaeseong, North Korea ―``Is this a DiCa?'' The soldier held my digital camera (DiCa) up high as I crossed the security checkpoint and I thought to myself, these are the first words I've heard from a North Korean. I nodded and said: "Ne."(Yes) He looked at the camera one more time and then handed it to me.
The immigration officer then looked at my Chilean passport and scrutinized my face. ``You're not Korean?" he asked, and I replied: ``I was born abroad.'' He looked for my name on his list and then said to me: ``Remember, you're number 29.'' Once I took my passport and took a few steps forward, I had officially entered North Korea.
On our way to Gaeseong, the North and South Korean industrial complex north of the DMZ, I thought many times about this border seemingly being impenetrable. When I was a child, my uncle took me to see the tunnels and caves dug by North Koreans who desperately sought to escape the North Korean regime. As a Korean language student at Seoul National University, I was taken to Panmunjeom, the Joint Security Area in the DMZ, to see North Korea from the southern side of the 38th parallel.
Since then, I've been to the area several times to visit the Haeri Arts Village, a surprisingly modern, cutting-edge arts community located in Paju, only a few kilometers south of North Korea. Every time I'm there, I wonder how long this division can be held.
The bus was full of silent excitement. The Han River glistened with the early sunlight and around 40 of us traveled deep in thought. A video from the South Korean Ministry of Unification was played for us, providing us with basic information about what to do, and not do, in North Korea. Do not take photographs of North Korean soldiers, we were told. Politely address North Korean men as ``seonsaengnim,'' literally meaning teacher. The South Korean won will not be accepted in North Korea, make purchases only in American dollars. By no means discuss Kim Il Sung, communism, or ideologies. And what struck me as quite odd: ``Do not drink too much in North Korea.''
Driving into North Korea was a moment of contradiction. I saw a flagpole with the North Korean flag waving 165 meters up in the air, standing in what seemed to be a desert. Then the Panmun train station boasted a billboard of a young Kim Il Sung but no trains seemed to be running. Much of the undeveloped, and deforested, areas were closed off with a bright-green fence saying ``no pictures allowed.''
However, as we approached Kaesong, things differed on the horizon ― there were buildings, factories, and abundant construction sites in view. The first buildings we saw were a ``Family Mart'' the equivalent of a South Korean ``7-11,'' and a Woori bank, where we were allowed to exchange our South Korean currency into dollars. We were taken to a meeting hall, where two North Korean women wearing hanbok (Korean traditional clothes) offered us coffee and tea; they wore small pins of Kim Il Sung's face on their chests. On display, there were models of what Gaeseong will look like in the future, in addition to sneakers, underwear, cosmetics, and other products currently produced in Gaeseong factories. Hyundai, the prominent investor in North Korean development, describes this new direction as ``Opening the Way.''
North Koreans speak differently than South Koreans; certain words differ in spelling, though not in meaning; their consonants are softer; vowels are inflected differently; their speech rhythms are similar to Japanese. A North Korean, female presenter informed us that over 23,000 North Koreans work in Kaesong, earning approximately $50-$70 dollars a month producing manufactured goods. Average real estate costs $45 dollars/m2 and any investment in Gaeseong is tax-free for five years. After our brief, we took a tour to a nearby bank, hospital, fire station and electric company servicing the local area. The businessmen swamped the buildings and took out their ``DiCa's'' to take pictures of the people, buildings and the odd little details that reminded them that they were no longer home.
On our way to lunch, we saw a small fenced community of North Koreans and I saw a little boy, maybe six or seven years old, playing near a bright-green fence. Other North Koreans stood nearby, looking at our buses, probably chatting about ``the South Koreans.''
Some in our group were hoping to speak to a North Koreans, but we were hastily led into a restaurant where we were provided a feast. The food was typically northern, simpler in flavor than South Korean cuisine. As I thought of all the reports of North Koreans starving due to the regime, I looked at our waitresses and entertainers wondering: ``What do they think of us eating all this food?'' The plates of duck, chicken, kimchi, and salads kept on coming, as well as the North Korean plum wine and beer.
The waitresses doubled-up as entertainers, singing to us welcome songs, songs about Seoul, and songs about the beauty of North Korea. The mood suddenly changed in the room and people started to drink faster. Additional women came on stage to dance wearing odd costumes with bright colors, in a choreography that made them look more like puppets than dancers.
One dancer put her index fingers next to her mouth and wiggled her head in front of the businessmen, smiling and signaling to them to smile as well. By then, the atmosphere in the room had completely changed. Some people around me began to drink and eat as if they had to, out of guilt, and the awkwardness of the feast built up as the songs and dances showed everyone how much we'd fallen apart.
After lunch, the waitresses/singers became sales persons, and greeted us in a small shop set-up at the entrance of the restaurant. People began buying things in bulk, everything from North Korean alcohol to ginseng roots and other souvenirs. Businessmen threw down hundred dollar bills on the counter, wanting to buy something ― anything ― displayed on the shelves.
The North Korean women were so overwhelmed they couldn't keep up with all of us. For a moment, I felt distraught by the entire situation; people becoming passive consumers and inherently, financial supporters of the regime. In fact, while the Korean language and culture bridges North and South Korea, history and ideology was stripped away from us, and the only true language we shared in that moment was expressed in dollars.
I felt guilty for not being able to do more in this situation and I caved in and did what everyone else was doing: I shopped. I looked around the shelves and decided to buy an ink painting by Kim Hyon, dated February 2006. ``Summer Scent'' is the painting of a small bird, sitting on a tree branch, next to a colossal bunch of purple Muscat grapes. ``Summer Scent'' is the painting of the saddest, littlest, free bird I have ever seen.
kyounghpark@gmail.com
Park Kyoung has been a Korea Times global reporter since August 2007. This spring, he will be a Visiting Professor at Kyung Hee University, Global Campus' Department of Foreign Languages.
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