Author: davidkila

In North Korea, the citizens have become desensitized ever since they were born. Songs of praise and depictions of “We are Happy” make them believe it to be true. The North Koreans are so devout that it’s said that they have a higher pain tolerance than South Koreans. It is difficult for Americans to comprehend, as we have so much freedom. They believe whatever they are instructed, that is, until (and if) something says otherwise. One does not change overnight.It is a four-step process based on experiences that makes someone like everybody else become on the verge of escape.

When Mrs. Song’s mother-in-law eventually bit the bullet, many dismissed her passing as simply her “time to go,” though she would’ve aged much longer, had she the proper nutrition. Nonetheless, Mrs. Song internalized herself as a disappointment, bankrupting her self-worth. Mrs. Song no longer valued her hygiene or appearance; those concerns were miniscule in comparison to the overhanging panic of losing her loved ones. She never took the opportunity to grieve the loss of Chang-bo’s mom for fear that another family member might join alongside her. Despite her doctor’s warning to remain in bed for the three months following her train crash injuries, Mrs. Song persisted to ferret for food. Someone had to do it. Her husband, once able-bodied and chunky, corroded into a skeleton and wore scales like eczema. Consequently, Mrs. Song pleaded her sister for some noodles but to no avail. His demise came and went. In due time, Nam-oak, too, moved back in, but his urgency for penicillin, more or less, sealed his fate. He passed away soon after. Only after 1998 did the famine get allay, only because of fewer mouths to feed. As Mrs. Song said so herself, “Everybody who was going to die was already dead.” In my assessment, she functioned like a juggler, who never got a sturdy grip on the the balls. When one person died so did the next. I find her endurance remarkable, as Mrs. Song grappled to keep her family alive, let alone herself. I, for one, would need no less a year or two to process my emotions fully. Mrs. Song’s fighting spirit speaks to that of all other North Koreans to keep on keeping on each and every day.

As the Arduous March slumped to an all-time low, North Koreans had to come to grips with their adversity and begin fending for themselves. Many utilized traps and nets to ensnare small animals, while others foraged for seafood scattered upon beaches and/or unguarded cliffs. Those most desperate even resorted to picking out kernels of corn from animal excrement in order to eat. Every second, minute, and hour, the North Koreans scoured for their next bite, and lunch had now become a luxury. Neighbors often exchanged recipes and familial survival tips passed down from generation to generation. In order for Dr. Kim to keep her and her family afloat, she peddled tofu and raised pigs, nourishing them with the leftover tofu water. When the wages still didn’t raken in enough for basic provisions, Dr. Kim went on to sell almost all other possessions, including the TV, bike, sewing machine, and even apartment (though government-owned). Here in Hawai‘i, we often take the multitude and convenience of supermarkets and fast food restaurants for granted. The moment the continual shipment of overseas goods and foodstuffs comes to an end, we, too, would have to adapt like the North Koreans, doing everything in our power to survive.

I can almost picture the expression on Mi-ran’s face as the wheels within her head finally began turning. Even when Mi-ran was still a young girl, fantasies of life beyond destitute Chongjin animated her thoughts. Pyongyang epitomized prosperity and a safe haven from the constraints synonymous with inferior songbun. It is this illusion that endures to drive Mi-ran and North Koreans like her to struggle on, keep quiet, and mindlessly play by the rules. However, her former, rigid mindset started to crumble upon witnessing an adolescent who appeared to have been starved to death. In grade school, she was made to believe that starvation existed only in China and Africa, never in North Korea. Moreover, Mi-ran’s disbelief magnified, when she spotted children begging for food in the wee hours at the train station. “We’re so lucky to have Kim Il-sung” and similar assertions have distorted the North Korean’s concept of reality to the point that they don’t realize the truth of not only the outside world but their own nation. Her shocking realization proved that all her time and efforts were squandered on reaching for an imperceptible target.

      As the oldest of three boys, I carry the unspoken responsibility of encouraging my younger brothers and teaching them the ropes. Whether I’m praying for them or assisting with homework, I care for them out of love. Though leading my brothers can be challenging to say the least, I press on, knowing that my efforts will benefit them further down the road. I don’t think Mi-ran could’ve said the same about her kindergarteners back in 1994, despite her contentment in being seen as more than just the daughter of a construction worker. Every day, she gave her best, teaching kids anthems about not longing the world and how many Americans each soldier killed if three shot an equal amount. However, not much time passed until Mi-ran realized that not a single lesson mattered; the children had other things to think about: food. As the sons and daughters of mostly miners, village kids lacked proper stability and nutrition. Many came only for the free, salty soup, which still failed to satisfy their starving stomachs. Eventually, students had no choice but to drop out, as they simply didn’t have the energy to perform to their best (let alone fulfill the firewood quota). By the same time the following year, the enrollment rate plunged from 50 to 15. How were students supposed to expand their minds without first feeding their tummies?

Her entire life, Dr. Kim modeled her every move around adhering to the rules, doing what she was told. She enrolled into the Young Pioneers program at age 7, joined the Socialist Youth League at 13, and studied at the Chongjin University Medical School at only 16 years of age, two years her peers’ junior. In everything Dr. Kim did or said, she hammered away to validate not only herself but her loyalty as well. However, when she came into a confrontation with her hospital on whether or not to prescribe a “convict” antibiotics, all she grew up believing began to shake at its core. It was a clash between politics and ethics. Despite the medical board’s disapproval, Dr. Kim spoke up and persisted on tending to her patient, visiting him two times a day. News of his suicide crushed her, as attribute his death as her fault. There was nothing she could do. As Americans, a world where people are chastised for speaking their minds is difficult to conceive. All along, Dr. Kim held this fire inside of her; realizing that concealing it only harmed herself and others is what caused her to reignite.

Living in Kāne‘ohe, I can be in an emergency to in a doctor’s office within a matter of minutes. Help’s no more than a quick drive or phone call away, and I can always expect expert care. I never fully appreciated how much of a blessing the hospitals in Hawai‘i are, until I read about the ghastly climate of those in North Korea. Their medical buildings are crammed full with patients, and their ambulances lack sufficient gasoline. The electricity that powers the hospitals flashes sporadically with priority given to the illumination of the leader’s statues. Over time, North Koreans have grown accustomed to these shoddy conditions and even increased levels of pain, as promises of universal healthcare fell flat. With the infrastructure and patients falling apart, the doctors soon do the same. Take, for example, Dr. Kim. On the surface, she presents herself as a highly successful woman, who prides herself in her work. Although she labors for 12 hours each day, aiding a minimum of 32 patients, Dr. Kim takes great honor in being doctor, despite her down-and-out beginnings. However, her personal life tells a more complete story. Her love life took a beating as her success intimidated most men. She eventually settled to marry a man she hardly knew, who later deserted her and took their child with him. Additionally, national ruin led to her paychecks (and food rations) vanishing, forcing Dr. Kim to move back in with her parents. Work simply became more and more of a distraction from her crumbling home life. Elite like Dr. Kim seem to work hard as if to make up for the government’s neglect, but in the end, their inability to get to the root of their and other’s problems only further cripples them.

Believe it or not, Kim Il-sung appeared to be more celebrated in death than in life. His demise proved nothing less than an opportunity to catapult his followers into propaganda overdrive. Rumors that the Supreme Leader wasn’t actually dead spread, and one film even claimed that if North Koreans cried enough, Kim Il-sung might come back to life. Moreover, the confusion was exacerbated by the grandiosity of his funeral and the absurd social notions expected of the people. The government dedicated a 10-day mourning period in honor of the leader, topped with a temperature-controlled mausoleum and mandated gifts of chrysanthemums or wildflowers. Citizens were required to pay homage to one Kim Il-sung’s 34,000 statues twice a day at any cost, even if they had to visit during their lunch breaks. Even still, the people took their duties as a honor to the point where admiring him became like a contest to see who could be the most devastated. Guards needed rope to hold back devouts, and spontaneous outbursts of grief became synonymous to patriotic obligation. A few extremists even went as far as to starve themselves or jumped off buildings. It’s hard for me to believe how Kim Il-sung could create a cult of personality so effective that people were willing to end it all for him. His death confirmed the terrifying extent of his power and crushed the hopes of those who still had some.

To the people of the lower classes, Jun-sang had it all. As a person of Japanese origin, he had privilege like outside connection, a full wardrobe and TV. Moreover, Jun-sang’s intelligence made him the top of his class and later a student in the capital of Pyongyang. He was the living embodiment of what every parent desired for their children. Despite the oppression that engulfed him, he defeated the odds and created a better life for him and his family. Despite his privileges, Jun-sang and those like him are the most threatened because of their foreign ancestry, isolation, and status.

Beyond the walls of North Korea, most people would perceive the death of North Korea’s dictator and oppressor Kim Il Sung as a joyous moment full with freedom. Out with the bad, this would be a clean slate and a glimpse of hope, right? However, it was just the opposite. People were devastated, ripping their shirts, starving themselves, even jumping off buildings. In their view, they had not lost their ruler but their god. His death revealed how effectively he brainwashed his people into fall in love with him. For those who didn’t cry, they were forced to make themselves tear up or else they could be singled out. As one girl said, “Mom said if I don’t cry I’m a bad person.” The people wept at the loss of their supreme leader, but Oak-hee cried for her loss of hope. Upon discovering that their leader was to be superceded by his son (who was said to be even worse than his father), Oak-hee saw her second chance of new life crash before her eyes. She understood. The demise of a life worth living weighted far greater than that of any one person, a pure reason to cry.