North Korean Economy Watch

Daily NK
Kim Young Jin
7/20/2005

Demand for Wire Telephones after the Government Confiscation of Cellular Phones

Recently in North Korea, demand for house phone skyrocketed and as the government confiscated personal cellular phones, people have also be increasingly using public phones.

It is known that setting a wire telephone for a household costs more than 450,000 Won and it is difficult to get one even after 4-5 months longs reservations.

Even Cellular Phones of Government Officials Confiscated

Park Young Chul (pseudo name, age 45) whom The DailyNK met in Tumen of China testified, “As the government completely banned the use of cellular phones after the Ryonchon Incident, demand for wire phones has been skyrocketing.”

Is the use of cellular phones still banned?

“It is hard to see cellular phones in North Korea. Not in local places, even in cities, people holding cellular phones cannot be seen.”

How about the Party cadres and managers of the state enterprises?

“The government confiscated all the cellular phones after the Ryongchon accident. They are still strictly banned. Even the provincial party cadres, National Security Agency, People’s Safety Agency officials are not allowed to use cellular phones.”

There are two kinds of cellular phones used in North Korea.

One kind is the official one acknowledged by the government, the GSM method of European style, which was used since 2002. Although it costs more than $1300 only to register and it is only usable in the city, it is known that more than 20,000 people are using this kind. Most of the users are foreigners and among the North Korean people, Party cadres and special government officials possessed it as the symbol of their special right.

The other kind is the Chinese wave, which the people use in secret along the Sino-Korean border areas. Although the number of users is unverifiable, it is known that the main purpose of their cellular phone use is to communicate with their family members in China and South Korea or with the dealers for their businesses. Due to the limitation in reach of the wave, these phones cannot be used extensively in inland. They are especially targeted by the government for control.

Then after the Ryongchon accident was known to the outside world by the cellular phones, the government of North Korea confiscated all the cellular phones last May. Although the foreigners are free from prohibition, there is no way for North Korean people to legally possess cellular phones.

Wire Phone Lines Still Hard to Get Even with Money

Then how do the people in North Korea communicate with each other?

“Usually by the wire phones (house phones). People who run business with other sellers and buyers in other verify their deals through phone. Those who have enough money seek to obtain their own phone line.”

Due to the limited means of transportation and communication, price differences between the regions varied much. For example, in Huiryeong of North Hamkyung province, the price of rice was low and the price of pollak pretty high while in Chungjin the opposite. People could take advantage of such price difference and earn money in between, for instance, by buying pollak in Chungjin and selling them in Huiryeong and buying rice from Huiryeong and selling it in Chungjin.

In the past such business were done only with guesses on price, but now phones are used to check the price differences. Recently dollar dealers are known for checking exchange rates through phone calls to China and even across the nation everyday.

How much does it cost to obtain a phone line?

“In the past it was not so difficult if you had money. Now, it is pretty difficult even if you had money. It cost about 450,000 to 500,000 North Korean won. That is a lot of money in North Korea. However, it is not a matter of how much it costs. The problem is that the government does not have enough of IC block necessary for switchboard of the Ministry of Communication to set up the phone line, so even if you had requested for a phone line, you are not guaranteed to get one.

Does that mean that someone has to withdraw a line for another person to get?

“Precisely. In the end, the cost of setting a phone line is actually the cost of selling and buying the IC block. The cost also includes the expense of laying phone line from the place where switchboard is located to the designated house. That is why it is so expensive.”

After the 7.1 Economic Management Improvement Measure in 2002, the average monthly wage of a North Korean worker ranges between 1500∼2500 won, thus 450,000won is the amount which an average worker has to save for 20 years without spending a penny, but the fact that “many people are willing to obtain” shows that there is a significant number of rich people present in North Korea.

Personal Identification and Deposit Money Required for the use of ‘Public Phones’

How is the situation of the public phones?

“They are called “common phones,” and two or three of them are located in each communications office or branch office in each area (district). There is a communications office in every 8km~12km and in the city about 4km.”

How much does it cost?

“It costs 10won for one local call. Before it was 50 jun (half of 1won) but recently the price increased. Of course the price varies for long distance called, they are more expensive. You have to leave your personal identification and 40-50won of deposit at the office prior to your make the call and when you are done you get them back after you pay.”

Why do you need personal identification and deposit money?

“They made this procedure because of some people who ran away without paying”

Are there many people using the public phones?

“There was a communications office about 4km away from my house, usually if I go, I had to wait about 30 minutes to make a call. Sometimes you have to waste as long as half of the day for your turn. Still, there are many people in line waiting.”

Park sighed and said, “Only if the transportation system were a little bit better, the living of the people would be much better. When one thing gets better, the government soon turns it down.” What we see is a scene of discord between the people who are already living in capitalistic style and the government that tries to deject it.

Korea times
Andrei Lankov
7/19/2005

Those who joined the Communist movement in its early, heroic stage might have had a lot of shortcomings. They could be (and often indeed were) brutal, manipulative, and over-ambitious. But one cannot deny that they believed in a lofty ideal. They hated the world because of the gross material inequalities they saw first-hand.

They believed that under a capitalist system underdogs were treated unfairly, and they wanted to bring about a great change _ one that would put an end to the sufferings of the poor, and finally establish a society of equality and prosperity.

Contrary to what the early Communists wanted to think of themselves, few of them came from the ranks of the underdogs _ the vast majority of the first generation of Communists were born in comfortable middle class or landowning families. But perhaps this makes them even more worth of respect: after all, these people risked their lives and sacrificed their privileges to bestow a happier life on fellow human beings.

However, history is rich with ironies. Once these youthful idealists took power, they began to change, and the system they created began to re-produce the inequality it was supposed to destroy.

In the early stages of the Communist revolutions in countries like Russia and China, the party cadres indeed led a life not so different from that of the common people. But soon they discovered that maintaining their daily life was time-consuming, especially in a shortage-ridden socialist society. Thus, as a matter of course, the emerging bureaucracy began to distribute more and more perks between its members.

Once a truly manipulative leader (Stalin, a great Machiavellian, is probably the best example) reached power, he began to use these perks to ensure the support of the bureaucracy, corrupting them even further. Very soon, a socialist country developed an extensive network of shops, hotels, service centers, and hospitals for the exclusive use of the elite.

In the Soviet Union, by the early 1930s, cadres came to live a life that distinguished them from commoners. In the days of the widespread famine they enjoyed a good supply of food. They were attended to by the best doctors, without the need of spending long hours in queues. They were allocated best drugs, unavailable to the lesser folk, and could take holidays in special resorts.

When the Soviet armies took over a large part of the globe in the late 1940s, they exported the then Soviet system wholesale, so in the newly established Communist countries cadres enjoyed considerable privileges right from the beginning.

North Korea was no exception. By the late 1940s, the top officials were receiving special rations that allowed them to eat meat daily, they lived in huge houses, usually appropriated from the former Japanese officials, had servants, and sent their children to special schools that were off-limits for the average Kim family.

I always wonder how the former enemies of all privileges did not notice their own transformation. Perhaps, some of them actually did, but the majority took the new privileges as if they were their due. After all, did not they suffer for the new system? So, it was only just that this system rewarded them for their sacrifice _ or so they believed.

How bad was the inequality? I am afraid this is one of many questions that cannot be answered with any great precision. No Gini coefficient can be calculated, because in a state socialist economy access to goods matters more than money.

On paper, a bureaucrat could easily have the same income as a skilled worker. However, in real life, their living standards would be vastly different since the bureaucrat had access to many goods that a humble worker could not buy (or had to buy at a high black market price).

In the late 1980s, before the collapse of the North Korean state economy, a Party secretary (that is, a CEO) of a large plant received some 250 won a month, while a skilled worker at the same plant had a salary of 100 won. However, the CEO was given rationing coupons for meat, fish, and eggs _ products that were available to a humble worker only a few times a year.

The CEO received rations of beer and filtered cigarettes. He lived in a large comfortable apartment provided free of charge. He could be certain that his children would go to a good college in Pyongyang _ perhaps, even to the Kim Il-sung University. All these were beyond the reach of a worker.

Thus, the difference was far greater than the formal wage differential (100:250) would suggest, but it could not be measured with any precision. One can speculate that this difference was still smaller than it was in most capitalist countries.

This indeed seems to be the case, but even a statement such as this is difficult to prove, since no economic and social indicators can take into account the non-market distribution of goods, so overwhelmingly important in a state socialist economy.

Thus, socialism, built according to Marxist-Leninist blueprints, produced a society where inequality was re-born, albeit in a somewhat diminished form. The system had another bad feature: the ruling elite tended to develop into a hereditary caste, with children of officials becoming officials.

The chances for social promotion in the socialist system diminished as the time went by, and eventually those chances became smaller than would be the case under capitalism. But that is another story…

Korea times
Andrei Lankov
7/12/2005

In 1997, when the North Korean economy began to crumble and the public distribution system ceased to function, the inhabitants of Yognchon County received a special gift from the Dear Leader: everyone was given a pair of nylon socks. Not luxurious goods, of course, but getting something in such a hard time was unusual. Few people knew that those socks were not actually provided by the government. The socks were donated by a Chinese Korean businesswoman, known to us as Mrs. Hwang.

But why did she do it? Why was it necessary for her to provide more or less the entire population of the county with socks?

It is increasingly difficult to see North Korea as a socialist state. The traditional Stalinist economy of the mammoth steel mills, railroads and coal mines, died a painful death in the mid-1990s. Nowadays, the North Korean economy depends on foreign aid, but most actual economic activity is made possible through the efforts of small-scale businessmen and businesswomen.

In order to be successful one has to have access to money. In other ex-Communist countries it is the former bureaucrats and party cadres who were best positioned to start a business simply by stealing the property they once managed as government-appointed officials. The property might be as large as an oilfield or as small as a corner shop, but an ex-bureaucrat always has many more chances to take over than an outsider.

But in North Korea the government is undecided on these issues. It has not (yet?) given the green light to large-scale privatization schemes along the Soviet or Chinese lines. Thus, it is other groups of people who are in position to make money. Paradoxically enough, they often come from groups once were seen as suspicious: repatriates from Japan or China, or local ethnic Chinese and Koreans who have close relatives overseas, preferably in China or Japan.

In this regard, Mrs. Hwang is a very typical case. Recently, Kwon Chong-hyon, an energetic Chinese-based correspondent of the Daily NK paper, interviewed her and got her to relate her life story and exploits. I believe that this is a story worth re-telling, since people like Mrs. Hwang are increasingly common these days.

Mrs. Hwang was born in China, in a mixed marriage, her father being Han Chinese, her mother an ethnic Korean. Like many other China-based families of Korean origin they fled from Mao’s “Cultural Revolution” in the 1960s and moved to North Korea. These days, when people are escaping from the North in their thousands, it is a little difficult to imagine that but a few decades back North Korea was often seen by the Chinese as a land of stability and affluence!

In recent years, Mrs. Hwang has lived in Yongchon County, not far from the border. Like many other Koreans with “Chinese connections” Mrs.Hwang began a cross-border trade business in the 1990s, when government control began to wane. Unlike many others, she had no need to resort to smuggling: having immediate relatives in China she can travel there legally, and in recent years this has become a lot easier. Of course, getting a travel permit might be troublesome, but her money allows her to smooth over the procedure with few kickbacks.

And, of course, her publicity stunt with “Kim Jong-il’s socks” did help a lot. She bought 100,000 pairs of socks wholesale and presented them to the local government for distribution. In doing so the local authorities could win some praise from above and improve their political standing, and in return Mrs. Hwang received powerful political support. And the common people got their socks!

Mrs. Hwang explained her survival strategy to Kwon Chong-hyon: “I know a lot of people in the foreign affairs department of the state security police in North Pyongan Province. Since I have a travel permit [to China], I can go there without trouble as long as I get it stamped by state security. If you have good relations with state security, it’s easy to get travel permits; if you have good relations with police, it’s easy to fight off the criminals; if you have good relations with the Party, it’s easy to do trade”.

The reference to criminals is not incidental. There is a growing lawlessness in the borderland areas, and businesspeople have to pay for their security. Mrs. Hwang said: “The criminal police and state security love tobacco, liquor and good dress very much. Now there are so many thieves and mobsters in North Korea, but once I give a phone call to the police officials whom I know, they always come [to protect me and my merchandise]. ”

Currently, Mrs. Hwang has two houses: one in North Korea and another in China. She prefers to deal with used and second-hand goods, items people in China do not buy any more. Such goods are cheap to buy in China, but when sold in North Korea they bring hefty profits measured in the hundreds of percent!

One of her most successful recent deals took place in late 2004. Mrs. Hwang bought 5,000 pairs of cheap working shoes in China, at 4 yuan a pair. She then re-sold the shoes to North Korean retailers for the equivalent of 13 yuan.

Mrs. Hwang is married, but it seems that her husband is less prominent in business than she. Indeed, the social changes of the last decade have greatly changed the balance of gender roles in the Korean families. But that is another story…

Los Angeles Times
Barbara Demick
7/4/2005

For most of her life, Kim Hui Suk had spouted the sayings of North Korea’s founder Kim Il Sung and never for a moment harbored a doubt: Capitalists were the enemy. Individualism was evil.

But then disaster rained down on her hometown, Chongjin, on North Korea’s remote east coast. Factories ran out of fuel. Food rations stopped. Watching her family slowly succumb to the famine — her mother-in-law, husband and son eventually would die of starvation — Kim realized she had to change.

Once a stickler for following the rules, she bribed a bureaucrat so she could sell her apartment. Then, with no business skills other than the ability to calculate on an abacus, she used the proceeds of the sale to set herself up in a black market business, hawking biscuits and moonshine she brewed from corn.

Kim could have been sent away for life for such crimes. But obeying the rules would have meant a death sentence.

“The simple and kind-hearted people who did what they were told — they were the first to die of starvation,” said Kim, a soft-spoken grandmother who now lives in South Korea and has adopted a new name to protect family members still in the North.

The famine that killed 2 million North Koreans in the mid-1990s and the death of the nation’s founder, Kim Il Sung, in 1994 sparked vast changes across the secretive communist country.

Markets are springing up in the shadows of abandoned factories, foreign influences are breaching the borders, inflation is soaring and corruption is rampant. A small nouveau riche class has emerged, even as a far larger group has been forced to trade away everything for food.

This is the picture of life in North Korea as painted by more than 30 people from Chongjin, the nation’s thirdlargest city. Some are defectors living in South Korea. Others were interviewed in China, which they had entered illegally to work or beg. Accounts of aid workers and videos taken illegally in Chongjin by disgruntled residents were also used to prepare this report.

Although the North Korean regime has a reputation as the ultimate Big Brother, people from Chongjin say the public pays less and less heed to what the government says. There is little that might be called political dissent, but residents describe a pervasive sense of disillusionment that remains largely unspoken.

“People are not stupid. Everybody thinks our own government is to blame for our terrible situation,” said a 39-year-old coal miner from Chongjin who was interviewed late last year during a visit to China. “We all know we think that, and we all know everybody else thinks that. We don’t need to talk about it.”

Kim Sun Bok, a 32-year-old former factory worker who came to South Korea last summer, said the country was “changing incredibly.”

“It is not the same old North Korea anymore except in name.”

Just a decade ago, when people in Chongjin needed new trousers, they had to go to government-owned stores that sold items mostly in drab browns or a dull shade of indigo. Food and other necessities were rationed. Sometimes the government permitted the sale of home-grown vegetables, but even a hairbrush was supposed to be purchased from a state-run shop.

Today, people can shop at markets all over Chongjin, the result of a burst of entrepreneurship grudgingly allowed by the authorities. Almost anything can be purchased — ice cream bars from China, pirated DVDs, cars, Bibles, computers, real estate and sex — for those who can afford the high prices.

The retail mecca is Sunam market, a wood-frame structure with a corrugated tin roof that is squeezed between two derelict factories.

The aisles brim with fresh cucumbers, tomatoes, peaches, scallions, watermelons and cabbage, as shown by rare video footage taken last year by the Osaka, Japan-based human rights group Rescue the North Korean People. Everything else comes from China: belts, shoes, umbrellas, notebooks, plates, aluminum pots, knives, shovels, toy cars, detergents, shampoos, lotions, hand creams and makeup.

Each of Chongjin’s seven administrative districts has a state-sanctioned market. Sunam, the city’s largest, is expanding, and some say it has a wider variety of goods than the main market in Pyongyang. Many vendors wear their licenses pinned to their right breasts while the obligatory Kim Il Sung buttons remain over the heart.

Although markets have been expanding for more than a decade, it was only in 2002 and ’03 that the government enacted economic reforms that lifted some of the prohibitions against them. Most of the vendors are older women such as Kim Hui Suk, a tiny 60-year-old with short, permed hair and immaculate clothing.

She was working in the day-care center of a textile factory in the early 1990s when production ground to a halt. Men were ordered to stay in their jobs, but Workers’ Party cadres at the factory started whispering that the married women, or ajumas, ought to moonlight to provide for their families.

“It was clear that the ajumas had to go out and earn money or the family would starve,” Kim said.

She first tried to raise pigs, locking them in a shed outside her downtown apartment building and feeding them slop left over from making tofu. But the electricity and water were too unreliable to keep the business going.

In 1995, Kim sold her apartment in the choice Shinam district and bought a cheaper one, hoping to use the proceeds to import rice from the countryside. But that too failed when she injured her back and couldn’t work.

The family’s situation became dire. Her husband’s employer, a provincial radio station, stopped paying salaries, and food distribution ended. In 1996, her mother-in-law died of starvation, and her husband the following year.

“First he got really, really thin and then bloated. His last words to me were, ‘Let’s get a bottle of wine, go to a restaurant and enjoy ourselves,’ ” Kim recalled. “I felt bad that I couldn’t fulfill his last wish.”

In 1998, Kim’s 26-year-old son, who had been a wrestler and gymnast, grew weak from hunger and contracted pneumonia. A shot of penicillin from the market would have cost 40 won, the same price as enough corn powder to feed herself and her three daughters for a week. She opted for the corn and watched her son succumb to the infection.

But Kim did not give up. She swapped apartments again and used the money to start another business, this time baking biscuits and neungju, a potent corn moonshine. If buyers didn’t have cash, she would accept chile powder or anything else she could use.

“We made just enough to put food on the table,” said Kim.

Much of Chongjin’s commerce is still not officially sanctioned, so it has an impromptu quality. Money changes hands over wooden carts that can be rolled away in a hurry. Those who can’t afford carts sell on tarpaulins laid out in the dirt.

Fashion boutiques are slapped together with poles and clotheslines, enlivening the monochromatic landscape with garish pinks and paisleys. Some clothes have the labels ripped out and vendors whisper that these items came from araet dongne or the “village below,” a euphemism for South Korea, whose products are illegal in the North.

Shoppers can buy 88-pound sacks of rice emblazoned with U.S. flags, and biscuits and corn noodles produced by three factories in Chongjin run by the U.N. World Food Program — all intended to be humanitarian handouts.

Some people cut hair or repair bicycles, though furtively because these jobs are supposed to be controlled by the government’s Convenience Bureau.

“They will bring a chair and mirror to the market to cut hair,” Kim said. “The police can come at any moment, arrest them and confiscate their scissors.”

Another new business is a computer salon. It looks like an Internet cafe, but because there’s no access to the Web in North Korea, it is used mostly by teenagers to play video games.

More products are available, but inflation puts them out of reach for most people. The price of rice has increased nearly eightfold since the economic reforms of 2002 to 525 won per pound; an average worker earns 2,500 won a month — about $1 at the unofficial exchange rate.

World Food Program officials in North Korea say the vast majority of the population is less well off since the economic changes, especially factory workers, civil servants, retirees and anybody else on a fixed income. But there are those who have gotten rich. Poor Chongjin residents disparage them as donbulrae, or money insects.

“There are people who started trading early and figured out the ropes,” said a 64-year-old retired math teacher who sells rabbits at the market. “But those of us who were loyal and believed in the state, we are the ones who are suffering.”

If Chongjin’s economic center is Sunam market, its political heart is Pohang Square, a vast plaza dominated by a 25-foot bronze statue of Kim Il Sung.

The grass here is neatly mowed, the shrubbery pruned and the pavement in good repair. Even when the rest of the city is without electricity, the statue is bathed in light. Across the street, a tidy pink building houses a permanent exhibit of the national flower, a hybrid begonia called Kimjongilia, named for current leader Kim Jong Il.

Since the practice of religion is barred, Pohang Square stands in as a spiritual center. Newlyweds in their best clothes pose for pictures, bowing to the statue so that their union is symbolically blessed.

When Kim Il Sung died on July 8, 1994, half a million people came to Pohang Square to pay their respects in the pouring rain and stifling heat. But among the adoring multitudes, there were malcontents.

One was Ok Hui, the eldest daughter of entrepreneur Kim Hui Suk. Though she dutifully took her place in the throng, any sadness she felt came from a foreboding that Kim Jong Il would be worse than his father.

“I went day and night along with everybody else. You had to…. But there were no tears coming from my eyes,” recalled Ok Hui, now 39, who did not want her family name published.

Ok Hui worked for a construction company’s propaganda unit, a job that entailed riding around in a truck with a megaphone, exhorting workers to do their best for the fatherland. But she didn’t believe what she preached.

Her father had taught her to doubt the regime. As a reporter and member of the Workers’ Party, he knew more about the outside world than many people and realized how far North Korea lagged behind South Korea and China.

“He and his friends would stay up at night when my mother was out, talking about what a thief Kim Jong Il was,” Ok Hui said.

Her mother, though, remained a firm believer. “I lived only for the marshal. I never had a thought otherwise,” said Kim Hui Suk. “Even when my husband and son died, I thought it was my fault.”

Ok Hui and her mother frequently clashed. “Why did you give birth to me in this horrible country?” Ok Hui remembers taunting her mother.

“Shut up! You’re a traitor to your country!” Kim retorted.

“Whom do you love more? Kim Jong Il or me?” her daughter shot back.

The regime was probably less beloved in Chongjin than elsewhere in North Korea. Food had run out in its province, North Hamgyong, earlier than in other areas, and starvation rates were among the highest in the nation.

Chongjin’s people are reputed to be the most independent-minded in North Korea. One famous report of unrest centers on the city. In 1995, senior officers from the 6th army corps in Chongjin were executed for disloyalty and the entire unit, estimated at 40,000 men, was disbanded. It is still unclear whether the incident was an attempted uprising or a corruption case.

Chongjin is known for its vicious gang wars, and it was sometimes difficult to distinguish political unrest from ordinary crime. There were increasing incidents of theft and insubordination. At factories, desperate workers dismantled machinery or stripped away copper wiring to sell for food.

Public executions by firing squad were held outside Sunam market and on the lawn of the youth park, once a popular lover’s lane.

In a village called Ihyon-ri on the outskirts of Chongjin, a gang suspected of anti-government activities killed a national security agent who had tried to infiltrate the group, former kindergarten teacher Seo Kyong Hui said.

“This guy was from my village. He had been sent to inform on a group that was engaged in suspicious activities,” she said. “They caught him and stoned him to death.”

Work crews went out early in the morning to wash away any anti-regime graffiti painted overnight, according to human rights groups, but most people were too scared to express their discontent. Badmouthing the leadership is still considered blasphemy.

To discourage anti-regime activity, North Korea punishes “political crimes” by banishing entire families to remote areas or labor camps.

“If you have one life to live, you would gladly give it to overthrow this government,” said Seo, the teacher. “But you are not the only one getting punished. Your family will go through hell.”

Even as Kim Jong Il’s regime weakens, many of its stalwarts are growing richer. Many of Chongjin’s well-to-do are members of the Workers’ Party or are connected to the military or security services. In the new economy, they use their ties to power to trade with China, obtain market licenses, extract bribes and sell bureaucratic favors.

“Those who have power in North Korea always figure out ways to make money,” said Joo Sung Ha, 31, who grew up in Chongjin and now works as a journalist in Seoul.

Joo was the pampered only son of a prominent official, and his family lived in Shinam, in the city’s northern hills overlooking the ocean. By the standards of South Korea or China, the single-family homes with lines of fish and squid drying from the roofs are nothing special. But for North Koreans, these are mansions.

The Joo family had a 2,000-square-foot cement-block house and a walled garden about twice that large. The garden proved crucial in protecting the family against the famine, though they had to contend with hungry soldiers who would scale the walls and steal potatoes and cabbages.

North Korean families like to measure their status by the number of wardrobes they own, and Joo’s family had five — plus a television, a refrigerator, a tape recorder, a sewing machine, an electric fan and a camera. They didn’t have a phone or a car — at that time those were unthinkable even for a well-off family — but they did have a bicycle.

“The appliances were of no use after the electricity ran out,” Joo said. “The bicycle was the most important thing, because the buses and trams stopped running.”

Joo attended the best elementary school in Chongjin, the city’s foreign language institute, and eventually the country’s top school, Kim Il Sung University in Pyongyang. He never met a native English speaker in the North, or any foreigner for that matter, but he trained his ear with videotapes of the BBC and banned Hollywood films.

“I sometimes watched ‘Gone With the Wind’ twice a day. Anybody else would have been arrested for watching Hollywood movies,” he recalled.

Joo’s glimpses of Western culture eroded his loyalty to the system. “I saw myself 20 years down the road in the prime of my career and North Korea would be collapsing,” he said.

While many of his classmates went to work for the regime’s propaganda news service after graduating, Joo arranged to return to Chongjin, where he taught high school until he escaped in 2001.

“The people from our neighborhood couldn’t understand,” said Joo, who stays in contact with his family. “They thought I had everything.”

Kim Hye Young, an actress, was also a child of privilege. Her father, Kim Du Seon, was an official of a trading company that sold mushrooms and fish in China. He learned how to navigate the bureaucracy, using his connections with the army and security services.

“If one of [the officials] had a wedding in the family, they would come to me for a couple of cases of wine,” the older Kim said.

As trade with China became more important, the family prospered. They took drives in a company car and ate at Chongjin’s nicest restaurant.

Growing up, Kim showed a flair for theater, and through her acting became a member of the elite in her own right. Her best-known role was in a play called “The Strong and the Righteous,” in which she portrayed a spy who sacrifices her life for North Korea.

When the production won first place in a Pyongyang drama festival in 1996, she got to meet Kim Jong Il. Still breathless with the memory, she said the leader shook her hand and gave her a fountain pen.

“I knew that I, as an actress, had an important role to promote the ideology of my country,” Kim said.

Kim and her sisters were largely oblivious to the famine, and their mother said she took pains to shelter them.

“My daughters don’t know to this day how many children in our neighborhood starved to death,” said her mother, Choe Geum Lan. She also didn’t tell them that their father, as a result of his business trips to China, had become increasingly pessimistic about North Korea’s future.

In 1998, when Kim was home from Pyongyang on vacation, her parents told her the family was going to visit an aunt in Musan, a city near the Chinese border. It was not until they had crossed to the other side that Kim and her teenage sisters, were told they had defected.

Kim, now 29 and advertising toothpaste on South Korean television, is one of the few defectors who says she didn’t want to leave.

“I was content with my life,” she said.

Today, North Korea’s elites are even better off, buying telephones for their homes and even cars.

“For $4,000 or $5,000, anybody can buy a car now. It used to be that you weren’t allowed to register your own car. We couldn’t dream of it,” said Kim Yong Il, a defector from Chongjin who lives in Seoul.

Recently, he arranged to have a computer smuggled from China to his relatives in Chongjin. North Korea’s state-run companies don’t have computers, so they’re eager to hire people who do. “If you have a computer, you can get a job,” he said.

Visitors have been shocked to glimpse the new conspicuous consumption in Chongjin.

Jeung Young Tai, a South Korean academic who was in Chongjin delivering South Korean government aid, noticed a paunchy man standing in front of the Chonmasan Hotel next to a new Lexus.

And at a hot spring in Kyongsong, on the city’s outskirts, he saw a woman carrying a lap dog — a striking sight in a country where there is so little food that the only pets usually are goldfish.

“You get the sense that there is a tremendous gap between rich and poor and that the gap is growing,” Jeung said.

The flip side, of course, is that the poor are getting poorer.

In Chongjin, those at the very bottom of the heap can be found at the train station.

The cavernous building boasts a large portrait of Kim Il Sung above the entrance and a granite-faced clock that rarely tells the right time. In front is a vast plaza crammed with people waiting for trains — sometimes for days, because the trains have no fixed schedules — and people waiting for nothing at all.

These are the homeless, many of them children. They’re called kotchebi, or swallows, because they wander the streets and sometimes between towns in search of food. Many gravitate to Chongjin station, because it is a major hub and the travelers have more to give.

A video shot last year by a military official and sold to Japan’s NTV television captured barefoot children near the station in torn, filthy clothing fighting over a nearly empty jar of kimchi. One boy scooted along the pavement on his buttocks; the narrator said his toes had been eaten away by frostbite.

Kim Hyok knows how easy it is for a child to end up at the station; he spent the better part of two years living there.

“If you can’t find somebody or they left their home, chances are you can find them at the station,” said Kim, now 23 and resettled in South Korea.

Kim’s mother died when he was a toddler, and he was raised by his father, a party member and an employee of a military unit that sold fish in China. During his early childhood, Kim, his father and elder brother lived in relative comfort in a high-rise apartment in the Sunam district.

When the government stopped handing out rations in 1993, Kim’s father used his connections to place his sons in an orphanage 60 miles away.

Kim, who was about 12 at the time, wasn’t sorry to be sent away. It was considered a privilege because the orphanages had food.

In 1997, just before his 16th birthday, Kim “graduated” from the orphanage. He caught a train back to Chongjin, but when he got to his neighborhood, things looked unfamiliar. The electricity was off. Many apartment buildings had no glass in the windows and appeared vacant.

Climbing the eight flights in pitch dark to his family’s unit, he heard a baby crying and wondered whose it might be. Confused and scared, he knocked on the door.

A young couple opened the door and told him his father had moved long ago but left a message: Look for him at the train station.

The phenomenon of vagrancy is testament to how much North Korea has changed. Before the famine, the government controlled people’s movements so strictly that they could not dream of visiting a relative in a nearby town without a travel permit, let alone selling their homes. Not showing up for work could bring a visit from police.

But as people embarked on increasingly desperate hunts for food, families broke apart. With few telephones and a barely functional postal service, parents and children became separated.

“People just started wandering around because they were hungry,” Kim said. “They would sell their apartments for a few bags of rice.”

Kim never found his father. He also never found his brother, who had left the orphanage a year earlier.

With no place to go, Kim ended up at the train station. By night, he slept squeezed into a narrow space designed for a sliding iron gate. By day, he loitered near the food vendors on the plaza. He often worked with a gang of other kids — a few would topple a vendor’s cart and the others would scoop up whatever spilled.

“If you’re not fast, you can’t eat,” said Kim, who even today in South Korea bears the signs of chronic malnutrition, with a head that looks oversized on a shockingly short frame.

Kim began hopping the slow-moving trains that pass through Chongjin on their way to the Chinese border. Once on board, Kim would scramble up to the top of a car, flatten himself to avoid the electric lines above and, using his pack as a pillow, ride for hours.

At the border, he would wade across the river to hawk the items in his pack: household goods on consignment from Chongjin residents, who were selling off their possessions.

In 1998, Kim was arrested by Chinese authorities, who do not recognize North Koreans as refugees. He was sent back to North Korea and spent two years in a prison camp before escaping again in 2000 to China, where he was eventually taken in by missionaries and brought to South Korea.

For every homeless person who survived, many more likely died. Kim Hui Suk recalled a particularly ghoulish scene at the train station.

“Once I saw them loading three bodies into a cart,” Kim said. “One guy, a man in his 40s, was still conscious. His eyes were sort of blinking, but they still were taking him away.”

Although the ranks of the homeless have thinned since the height of the famine, North Korean residents say their numbers are still considerable.

“If somebody disappears, you don’t know whether he dropped dead on the road or went to China,” the coal miner said.

About 100,000 North Koreans have escaped to China in the last 10 years. Many have ended up returning to North Korea, either because they were deported or because they missed their families. They often bring back money, goods to trade and strange new ideas.

Smugglers carry chests that can hold up to 1,000 pirated DVDs. South Korean soap operas, movies about the Korean War and Hollywood action films are among the most popular. Even pornography is making its way in.

This is a radical change for a country so prudish that until recently women were not permitted to ride bicycles because it was thought too provocative. Seo Kyong Hui, the kindergarten teacher, said that when she left North Korea in 1998, “I was 26 years old, and I still didn’t know how a baby was conceived.”

Even today, women are prohibited from wearing short skirts or sleeveless shirts, and both sexes are forbidden to wear blue jeans. Infractions bring rebukes from the public standards police.

But it is a losing battle to maintain what used to be a hermetic seal around the country. Just a few years ago, ordinary North Koreans could make telephone calls only from post offices. Dialing abroad was virtually impossible. Now some people carry Chinese cellphones and pay for rides to the border to pick up a signal and call overseas.

Smugglers also bring in cheap Chinese radios. Unlike North Korean radios, which are preset to government channels, the Chinese models can be tuned to anything, even South Korean programs or the Korean-language broadcasts of Radio Free Asia.

In the past, being caught with such contraband would land a person in political prison. Nowadays, security personnel will more likely confiscate the illicit item for personal use.

When a policeman caught Ok Hui, the entrepreneur’s daughter, with a Chinese radio in 2001, the first question he asked was, “So how do you work this thing?”

She wrote down the frequencies for South Korean radio stations.

“Don’t you have earphones so you can listen without anybody hearing you?” the officer then demanded.

North Korea instructs its citizens that the country is a socialist paradise, but the government knows outside influences can puncture its carefully crafted illusions.

“Bourgeois anti-communist ideology is paralyzing the people’s sound mind-set,” warns a Workers’ Party document dated April 2005. “If we allow ourselves to be affected by these novel ideas, our absolute idolization for the marshal [Kim Il Sung] will disappear.”

Among those who make it to China, many describe a moment of epiphany when they find out just how bad off North Koreans are.

Kim Ji Eun, a doctor from Chongjin, remembers wading across the partially frozen Tumen River in March 1999, staggering to a Chinese farmhouse and seeing a dish of white rice and meat set out in a courtyard.

“I couldn’t figure it out at first. I thought maybe it was for refrigeration,” recalled Kim, who now lives in South Korea. “Then I realized that dogs in China live better than even party members in North Korea.”

Many Chongjin residents who are caught trying to flee the country end up back in the city, behind the barbed wire of Nongpo Detention Center.

It sits near the railroad tracks in a swampy waterfront area. Prisoners are assigned back-breaking jobs in the nearby rice paddies or brick factory, where the workday begins at 5 a.m.

Ok Hui was one of those who served time in Nongpo. A rebel by nature, she had become fed up with North Korea and a difficult marriage.

In September 2001, during one of several failed attempts to escape, she was arrested in Musan and brought back to Chongjin by train. Guards tied the female prisoners to one another by tightly winding shoelaces around their thumbs.

In Nongpo, the inmates bunked in rows of 10, squeezed so tightly together that they had to sleep on their sides. Newcomers sometimes had to bed down in the corridor near overflowing toilets. Meals consisted of a thin, salty soup, sometimes supplemented by a few kernels of raw corn or a chunk of uncooked potato.

“The walls were very high and surrounded by wire,” Ok Hui said. “One woman tried to climb the wall. They beat her almost to death. You can’t imagine. They made us stand and watch.”

One day, when she was assigned to work in the fields, she spotted an old woman. She took off her underwear and offered it to the woman in exchange for sending a message to her mother. Underwear is scarce in North Korea, so the woman accepted and agreed to send a telegram to Ok Hui’s mother.

With her market earnings, Kim Hui Suk bought 10 packs of cigarettes for a security official to arrange her daughter’s release.

Some days later, the prison administrator came to talk to Ok Hui and other female prisoners who were picking corn. They were all due to be freed shortly, and the administrator urged them to resist the temptations of capitalism and imperialism, and to devote themselves to North Korea.

Then, he asked for a show of hands: Who would promise not to run away again to China?

Not a single woman raised her arm.

“We were all just thinking that our whole lives we had been told lies,” Ok Hui recalled. “Our whole lives, in fact, were lies. We just felt this immense rage toward the system.”

The prison administrator looked at the women squatting sullenly in silence in the cornfield.

“Well,” he said, “if you go again to China, next time don’t get caught.”

Forty days after her release, Ok Hui escaped again to China and made her way to South Korea. She used $8,000 in resettlement money from South Korea’s government to pay a broker to smuggle her mother out of North Korea. Today Ok Hui works in a funeral home and her mother as a housekeeper.

NK Zone
Scott Bruce
4/6/005

Tony Banbury, WFP Regional Director for Asia, said: “There were three main themes that emerged in my mind from this trip. The first is that the people in the DPRK are still in great need of food aid … The second main theme I’d like to share with you is that the situation, in terms of the amount of WFP food aid going into the country these past several months, has been very good…. The last issue that is very important to touch upon is the issue of monitoring, and WFP’s operating conditions…. they [the DPRK government] started putting more limits, as of September of last year, on our operating conditions, on our monitoring.”

Tony Banbury: I’m very happy to have a chance to meet you again, and pass on some reflections on the World Food Programme’s operation in the DPRK, and some of the observations from this visit that I’ve just completed. It was the third visit I’ve made to the country. The purpose this time was, as always, to observe the WFP operation, see for myself first-hand what the situation is like, not just in Pyongyang but also on the ground among the 6.5 million WFP beneficiaries. And also to have discussions with the government on the WFP operation and how we might be able to improve it.

We met of course with government officials – senior government officials – donors, NGOs, UN agencies; then in the field with local officials, beneficiary institution leaders, beneficiaries themselves in their homes, etc. So in a relatively brief period we were able to meet with a wide cross-section of people, international and Korean, and see a lot. So I think we were able to get a pretty good impression about what the situation is like now.

We spent a couple of days in Pyongyang, but then also did a field trip to Chagang province – primarily Huichon city. This is a province that WFP had been working in for quite some time, but then access to the province was cut off by DPRK officials at the end of last year, and its just been re-established. Its again open, we’re again able to monitor our food aid there. When access was cut off we of course stopped delivering food aid – we have a consistent “no access, no food aid” policy. Now that access has been restored our food aid is again going back in. We ourselves brought a small amount of assistance with us, to a “baby home”. We brought some Rice Milk Blend, which is a highly fortified blended food that, mixed into porridge, is primarily for young children. Much more assistance will be again flowing in the coming days.

While there, we were also able to visit a Public Distribution Centre, which is not something we’re often able to do, and that was a positive thing. In fact, more and more frequently, we are able to visit PDCs now. And we visited a co-operative farm, and met with the vice-chairman of the farm. That also is a rather unusual event for WFP. Normally we are not able to visit co-operative farms. We had a very good visit there on this trip.

There were three main themes that emerged in my mind from this trip. The first is that the people in the DPRK are still in great need of food aid – particularly the most vulnerable people whom we’re trying to help. We have a lot of statistical data to back that up, as a result of the hundreds and hundreds of monitoring visits we do, as well as a nutrition survey that was carried out by UNICEF and WFP in the DPRK last October. Perhaps you’re familiar with those statistics – we can provide them for you if you want.

But my observation that people are still in need was based on much more sort of individualistic circumstances, on people that I saw. We met one woman who had a newborn baby and a four-year old daughter. We went to her home. And she had stopped sending her four-year to the nursery school because WFP assistance had been stopped. And now that WFP assistance was starting again, she said she would start sending her daughter back to school. In the meantime, though, the family was existing essentially on maize porridge and acorn meal. They find acorns in the forest and dry them and boil them into meal. It’s a very sour, bitter taste that they don’t particularly like. But its one of the few options they have at this time of year. This family had no access to meats of any kind, except on major holidays or special occasions. They had run out of vegetable oil, which is an important source of fat – nutritious fat – especially for young children and nursing women. Occasionally they were able to get some beans from their in-laws. The husband’s parents live in a rural area and occasionally send beans, but at the time we visited there was none in the household. So this one family was clearly in a very difficult circumstance.

We met with another family, another woman, and her food situation was more or less the same: no chicken, no meat, no eggs etc. And we asked: “do you raise any livestock – pigs, chickens, etc?” She replied that they could not afford to raise a pig, they were so poor. They had no left-over food to give a pig. This is an indication of the condition of your average family in an average North Korean city now.

On the drive up to Huichon city, the river was still frozen over at a certain part, hard-frozen. People were walking across it, riding bicycles across it. Then, a few kilometres further on, the river was running freely, but obviously still very cold. And there were people in the river with their pant-legs rolled up, trying to catch fish. I promise you that water was very, very cold, and it would have been hard simply to walk in. And these people were working, barefoot, with their pant-legs rolled up, trying to catch fish. That’s one small indication – nonetheless a very telling indication – of the lengths to which people in North Korea are going to try to get some food.

On top of this, the Public Distribution System has just recently cut its ration size for the average North Korean from 300 grams a day to 250 grams a day. This glass here [holds up small glass containing rice] has 250 grams of rice. That is what people are living on in North Korea, day after day. Without any meat, proteins, vegetables – except perhaps what they’re able to hunt in the forests or get from relatives in the countryside.

They are obviously suffering from, in many cases, severe malnutrition. The statistics from the nutrition survey are quite clear in that respect. More than a third of the population is chronically malnourished. About a third of the mothers in North Korea are malnourished and anaemic. So there is a continuing, very serious food crisis in the country. That’s clear from the statistics, and its very clear based on observations. And it’s hard to imagine anyone visiting the country would conclude differently.

One last comment on the food situation: the economic reforms, which I imagine you’re all familiar with, are having an impact – in fact a big impact. As a result, some people are doing very, very well. In Pyongyang you can see more and more cars – imported cars. And restaurants, and people eating in restaurants, where a meal may cost the equivalent of five to seven times an average monthly wage. Some Koreans are doing very well, and are able to afford that. But that is a very thin stratum of society, at the very top. The large numbers, the masses of the people in the country, are living on an average wage of 2,000-3,000 won per month, more or less one euro. So the people who have that wage, and are obliged to go into the markets to buy – or try to buy – commodities to supplement what they get from the PDCs [Public Distribution Centres], to supplement this bit of rice [holds up glass containing rice], are ill-able to afford, for instance, vegetable oil, which as I mentioned a moment ago is such an important part of a diet. A litre of oil is a month’s wage, or two months wages – I’m sorry, but I forget the exact statistic now, but it’s far beyond the affordability of the average working family. So they’re highly dependent on either humanitarian assistance, or, if they have close relatives living in the countryside who are producing excess food in their kitchen gardens and are able to transfer it.

It was very clear talking to the local officials and the people in Chagang province that they were extremely pleased that WFP food was returning. They had obviously suffered. A local official spoke in very clear and direct terms about the difficulties experienced after the WFP assistance was cut off. And he was literally ecstatic that the assistance was being resumed. The families that we spoke to were likewise very pleased. I mentioned the food aid is influencing the decisions of households, such as the woman’s decision to take her daughter out of school and to send her back. So the food aid is highly appreciated by local officials and the population.

The second main theme I’d like to share with you is that the situation, in terms of the amount of WFP food aid going into the country these past several months, has been very good. We’ve been fortunate. We’ve been in a position to feed all 6.5 million intended beneficiaries – that’s about a third of the population – as a result of generous donations from Japan, ROK [Republic of Korea], others; we have had a very good what we call “pipeline” – stocks of food. That’s the good news.

The bad news is those stocks are close to running out. In fact, we have already had to make some cutbacks. We’ve stopped giving vegetable oil to 900,000 elderly people. As of next week we’ll have to stop providing vegetable oil rations to kindergarten children, nurseries and pregnant and nursing women. This vegetable oil is enriched with vitamins; it’s an extremely important part of the diet for people in the situation that they are in in North Korea. Withdrawing it doesn’t just make cooking more difficult; it actually has a very significant nutritional impact on the recipients. And that’s happening now.

In May, WFP will stop providing pulses to 1.2 million women and children; and in June, we’ll stop providing cereals – our main commodity – to about one million primary school children, pregnant and nursing women, elderly people and particularly vulnerable urban households. This is assuming we don’t get additional contributions very soon.

So, as good as things have been these past few months, they’re about to get much, much worse. The supplies from the crops that come in at the end of the year last a bit, but the lean season – the hardest season for people in North Korea in terms of food supply, when they have very little left over from the previous year’s crops – is just about to start. So it’s a very bad confluence of events where we’re about to run out of food, and they’re about to run out of their own food. Unless we get on a very urgent basis new contributions in the coming weeks, we’re going to face these very serious cuts that I was just mentioning. And in my view the impact of those cuts could be extremely tragic, truly tragic, for the families, the children, the elderly, the very vulnerable people who WFP is trying to reach.

The last issue that is very important to touch upon is the issue of monitoring, and WFP’s operating conditions. WFP has struggled with this issue from the first day we started working in the country in the mid-90s. It is a perpetual quest of ours to improve the monitoring conditions. In the course of 2003 and 2004 we had, in fact, made some great progress. We steadily increased the number of monitoring visits we were able to conduct. On average, over the years, it went from the low 200s to more than 500 visits per month. We were able to access much different kinds of information, a much wider variety of information. Not just how much food you need, but what your sources of income are, your sources of food – where else do you get food – what you are consuming, what you go forage for in the forest.

This gave us a much better understanding of household-level food security. WFP used to look at the food security issue from a national perspective: what’s the total national requirement, what’s the total national production, and then we’d look at helping to fill the gap. Now we are much more focused on household-level food security. What are individual households’ experiences, who are the most vulnerable – is it the elderly, is it the urban poor, is it the children, is it the pregnant women? And as a result of the improvements in our monitoring in 2003-2004, we have developed a much better understanding of that. So we are better able to target our assistance to the people who need it the most.

It seems, though, that as a result of the improvements in our monitoring, there were certain segments of the North Korean authorities that were uncomfortable with WFP activities: the very large number of visits we were making, the intrusiveness of those visits – our visits into households, the very detailed questions we were asking. We were told by the North Korean authorities that this was making the people uncomfortable, and some parts of the government itself uncomfortable. So they decided to change our operating conditions. And they started putting more limits, as of September of last year, on our operating conditions, on our monitoring. And, for instance, reduced the number of visits we’re able to make from more than 500 a month to down to around 300 a month. They also closed off some counties, although as I said our access to most has been re-established. They also told us we should not ask certain types of questions which were not directly related to food aid.

We understand their concerns. I understand if I was living in my country and some foreigner decided to come up unannounced to my front door and say “let me into your kitchen, I want to ask you a half-an-hour’s worth of detailed questions about you and your family and your family’s practices”, I’d have some doubts. So I understand that.

But we have also worked very hard to try to explain to the North Korean authorities the importance of having confidence that our food is reaching the people who need it. There are different ways to have that confidence. One way is to follow the type of practices we had in 2003-2004. But there are other ways. And in the past few months we have been having very intensive discussions with the North Korean authorities about different ways to develop the same or even greater confidence about how food aid is being used, where its going, instead of the past practice of these rather intrusive visits.

So, for instance, we are looking at having much more frequent visits to Public Distribution Centres. I indicated a few moments ago that those have been very limited. Now if we can go and observe people receiving assistance directly, and talk to them at the PDCs about their situation – similar types of questions but in a more public setting – that’s one way we can get information.

Another way we can get the required information is to have focus group discussions, where, instead of one person in her living room with three government officials and three WFP people there – a rather intimidating setting – we can gather a larger number of beneficiaries and talk to them in a group setting and allow them to talk among themselves, where they might be more confident in sharing common experiences.

Another important way that we expect to have this greater confidence in where food aid is going is through baseline surveys. Where, instead of doing household visits on a regular basis across the entire year, we would do three surveys a year. We would have household visits, but a rather intensive number over a short period.

The fourth and perhaps most important element of this new system that we are discussing with the government is a commodity tracking system, where we would use an internal technical logistics commodity tracking system that includes software – in WFP we call it COMPAS and use it around the world – that helps us track a bag of food aid from the point it enters the country to the point its distributed to the beneficiary. Technical logisticians can explain how this system works using computer tracking methods, where we know where the food is the whole way through the system.

We have discussed all of this with the North Korean authorities. They agree in principle on the need for us to have the confidence we demand on how the food aid is being used. They agree in principle to develop this new system, where we would have improved quality of monitoring, even if the quantity of visits is reduced. And they agree in principle with the elements that I have just mentioned. We are now in the process – our country team there, the country director Richard Ragan who I think some of you have met – are in the process now of trying to roll this out at the provincial level. Starting in April, officials from all the 158 counties where we deliver our assistance, where we have access, will be getting training from WFP on this new approach.

So it’s not a done deal yet. We have still to implement the agreement in principle. But I’m very pleased that the government has extended its agreement in principle, has shown its understanding of our need to have confidence in the use of the food aid. It’s a point that we have stressed in very explicit terms. And we have likewise stressed that if we do not have that confidence, WFP and our donors will perhaps not be in a position to provide the type of assistance we have been providing. But there is a high level of understanding, I would say, in the government on WFP’s position, and I’m cautiously confident, cautiously optimistic, that in the coming weeks and months we will have successful implementation of this new monitoring system.

I am also equally sure that there will be some adjustments and changes to it on the ground as we go into implementation. That’s to be expected, even desirable, if we can make some improvements on the ground. The key point, though, is whether WFP will in the end be able to say with confidence “we know how the food aid is being used”. If we are successful in implementing the agreement in principle, we will have a better understanding of the use of this food aid than before, as a result primarily of this commodity tracking system. We’ll have a better picture of the food aid from its entry into the country to its final consumption. What appeared to us to be a big problem in the latter part of last year has in fact turned into a very good opportunity for WFP. And I think we’ll emerge in a stronger position as a result of the changes.

I’d like to make two final comments and then open it up to you all for questions. In my conversations with the government we discussed the issue of OCHA, the [UN] Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs. It was reported in the press a few weeks back that the government had decided to close the OCHA office in Pyongyang. I was assured categorically and repeatedly by authoritative officials from the foreign ministry that there has been no decision to close the OCHA office in the DPRK. They made that very clear to me and asked me to pass that on to our colleagues at the UN in New York, Geneva and Rome, and also to all of you. The OCHA office in the DPRK is not being closed.

The DPRK government had said that they didn’t see a need for the OCHA official in Pyongyang, whose contract ends in August, to continue, because they thought that his role was just tied to the CAP [Consolidated Appeals Process], which the DPRK government has said they no longer want. When the acting Humanitarian Coordinator, Mr. Ragan, explained in greater detail to the government that the role of OCHA went beyond the CAP, they expressed understanding, and an openness and a willingness to allow an OCHA presence to continue in the country. This is an issue that will be discussed when a new UN Resident Coordinator/Humanitarian Coordinator arrives in the country in April. But as of now there is an OCHA official and there is no decision to close the OCHA office.

The last point I’d like to make is on issue which I’m frankly surprised continues to appear again and again in the press: reports of WFP food aid in the markets, and pictures of WFP food aid bags in the markets. This is nonsense. The economy in North Korea is so bad that they re-use everything. And the bags that WFP uses for food aid are very sturdy, heavy-duty bags that are designed to last a long time so they won’t burst open and have the food aid spill out and get wasted. These bags can last years and years. They are being used for all kinds of things in the DPRK. They are being used for tablecloths. Does this mean that WFP is providing tablecloths to the people of North Korea? No.

We saw in a warehouse a WFP bag that said “Wheat – Gift of Russia to the people of North Korea”, and it was filled with locally produced beans. They re-use these bags, and the fact that a WFP bag shows up in a market in North Korea or any other country does not in any way suggest WFP food aid is being diverted to the markets. And it is frankly irresponsible for people to suggest it does. Because it is ignoring completely the reality and the facts of how the economy works and the habits of people – which are to use every last item of value in the country they can. And these bags are, frankly, valuable items and do get re-used. I’m pleased they get re-used. It would be nonsensical to think that as soon as the food is consumed they’re somehow throwing these bags out. It’s simply not the case. So, for NGOs who constantly repeat this, I encourage you to ask any of them to go to North Korea and see for themselves – or you to see for yourselves – that this is just utter nonsense. And if any of you have a report and think this is happening, or are tempted to report it, please contact Mr [Gerald] Bourke [WFP Public Information Officer in Beijing] or myself and we’ll be happy to repeat that this is just not happening.

I’d be happy to answer any questions anyone might have. Thanks.

Morgenavisen Jyllands-Posten (Denmark): I noted you said that people in the cities have to rely either on food aid or relatives in the countryside. Does this mean that people in the countryside are better off than those in the cities?

Banbury: It’s a multi-tiered economy in North Korea. There is this thin stratum of elite that I referred to who are doing quite well. There then are the workers, basically, who were employed in factories and live in urban environments. Many of these factories are no longer producing anything. And these workers used to be able to rely upon a guaranteed state salary. That state salary is often no longer coming – they have to rely on the production of the factory to pay their salaries. If the factory is not producing, the salary’s not there. Many of these factories are sitting idle and the workers are in fact no longer even employed. These people are indeed very vulnerable. They’re a new category of vulnerable people that WFP started paying close attention to about a year ago, or 18 months ago, after these economic reforms.

In the countryside, it’s a real mixed story. The farmers tend to be better off, at least in terms of their food situation. We do not generally provide food assistance to farmers. Their daily ration from the government is 600 grams, compared to the 250 grams, or in some cases 200 grams, that other people get. 600 grams a day is probably still much less than any of us in this room consume, particularly if you consider all the commodities we consume – not just grain. But relative to other people in North Korea, the farmers tend to be better off. However, there’s an interesting dynamic occurring now, and this became apparent to us during our visit to the co-operative farm and talking to others: there is such a thing as a cash crop in North Korea now. That never existed in the past. Farmers can get more money producing vegetables, fruits, and selling those in the market, than in producing the staple grains such as maize or rice or potatoes.

There are people who are not in a good situation. This is particularly true of children, or elderly people. When we visit hospitals or “baby homes” [orphanages] and identify the particularly malnourished and ask where they’re from, it surprises us to find that sometimes they come from co-operative farms, farming families. And it’s a little unclear to me what is the explanation for that. Oftentimes malnutrition is as much a result of care practices as food availability. Its hygiene, its the diet itself – what is fed, not just the total quantity – but also are you trying to ensure that the children get some protein, some animal fat. So, as a general matter, farmers are the best off in terms of food. But it’s a mixed picture.

Public Radio International: The areas where WFP was cut off from monitoring: any idea why those particular areas were chosen? Do you think it was arbitrary, that the government was trying to make a point that it didn’t want you doing as much visiting as you had done? Or was there some reason why those particular areas were chosen?

Banbury: The short answer is we don’t know. We heard all kinds of speculation. None of it was based on reality as far as I could tell. It was a brief period of cut-off, and one of the interesting points that I should have mentioned earlier is that when WFP assistance was no longer being provided to those counties, the assistance was not made up by state authorities. We asked about that: How did you get by? Did you reduce the ration? Did you get more food? And, in fact, they just had to do with less. Which also tells you something. This area where we were is known for its production of tools. They don’t produce much food. It’s a very hilly, mountainous area, it’s a very food insecure area, and they trade tools with other provinces in exchange for grains. But they were not able to make up the difference at all, and they really suffered as a result. Which raises real concerns for us – they’re longstanding concerns – about the food security situation in the counties to which we don’t have access.

Public Radio International: Are you at all concerned that food aid is going to become a political tool as the United States and other countries start putting more pressure on North Korea to come back to negotiating table? You’re running out of stocks at the moment. How confident are you that the US and other major donors are going to continue to give the way they have been?

Banbury: WFP is of course always concerned if food aid is used in any way in a political manner. We believe strongly that decisions on food aid should be made on purely humanitarian grounds. The US has consistently said – the President of the United States has said, the Secretary of State has consistently said – they will not use food aid as a weapon. And I believe that is the United States policy. In our discussions with the US, they have repeatedly, repeatedly stressed the monitoring issue. As there have been problems, the US contributions have reflected those problems. I’m quite hopeful that, as we’re able to implement this new monitoring system I was talking about, the US will have the confidence that we have that its improved and they’ll give more than they have been giving. That’s certainly our hope and expectation.

Asahi Shimbun: North Korea cut the PDS ration from 300 to 250 grams. Why? Did North Korean officials give you an explanation?

Banbury: Its simply because they do not have enough food. Its lack of availability of food – food supply.

Asahi Shimbun: But according to WFP reports, harvests are better, no?

Banbury: There were also cuts last year. There are cuts basically every year, depending on the time of the year. It’s no surprise that they’ve cut it to 250. I think that’s something we more or less expected. It was just a question of when. And as I mentioned, in some cases the ration has been cut to 200 grams a day. That’s a very clear indication of the continued food shortages in the country. If they had the food – particularly now during the winter months, and its very cold there – they would be giving the food, I believe.

Asahi Shimbun: We can see this ration cut transferred to the army?

Banbury: WFP did not see that. I believe that the army is being well fed. It’s only natural to assume that the North Korean authorities are providing adequate food to their army. There’s a standing policy to put the needs of the army first. That’s the North Korean policy. So it only makes sense to assume that the army is being well fed.

One thing that’s very important for all of us to keep in mind is that food is needed in the country right now very badly. But it’s the people who need the food, not the government, and not the army. The government’s going to be okay; the army is going to be okay. I’m not worried about them. I am very worried about the people in North Korea, these very poor people in rural areas, in urban areas. Imagine eating maize porridge and dried acorn meal every day, day after day, and not having anything else to feed your child. Imagine not having fat or protein to feed your child. They’re in a very difficult situation.

EFE (Spanish news agency): You mention that North Korea is running out of food. Is WFP preparing any campaign to get more food from private donors? Are you going to call for more donations from the West – Europe, America – or other main donors like China, Japan, South Korea. My second question is: do you think the nuclear crisis is directly affecting the lives of the North Koreans?

Banbury: WFP will be appealing to a very wide cross-section of donors and potential donors to urgently provide new donations to our operation in North Korea. We particularly need cash donations, because we need cash to buy food in the region in order to get it into the country in time to avoid the looming cuts that I was talking about. We will be appealing to traditional donors. Though you mentioned China as a traditional donor, China has never provided any assistance through WFP to North Korea. But we will be talking to the main donors that we have traditionally relied upon. That’s the United States, South Korea and Japan. We have also received important donations in the past from the European Union, from Australia, from Italy and a number of others. So we will be appealing to the big donors, the medium donors, the little donors, and those who have not donated in the past.

And we will be appealing to the private sector in South Korea. We have started a campaign in South Korea to raise resources for the programme in North Korea. We believe that there is a strong sense of solidarity between the people in South Korea and the people in North Korea, and a concern among the people in South Korea for the situation of the average person in North Korea. His Excellency President Kim Dae Jung, former president of South Korea, has agreed to serve as the honorary chairman of the World Food Programme’s Senior Advisory Council in South Korea. This is a private sector grouping that will be working to raise funds from the private sector, and President Kim Dae Jung’s role in that is obviously a very important one.

With respect to your second question, it would really be political speculation for me, and I prefer to avoid the realm of politics as well as speculation, so I don’t feel comfortable answering your question. Just perhaps to make an appeal that, in making decisions on providing assistance to North Korea, humanitarian concerns take precedence, because as I said a moment ago, its not the government that needs the food, it’s the people of North Korea who need the food.

Associated Press: Two questions. The first is: we’ve heard about these economic reforms, and you mentioned them again today. Can you tell us whether you see that they are having an effect on the average North Korean, say, in food terms, the bottom 90 per cent? Do they appear to be having an influence on food production, food availability to the general public? Second, on the new monitoring system: it sounds as if you’re settling in for the very long term. Do you see this situation in North Korea just becoming a decades-long situation where the outside world is going to have to continue to feed ordinary North Koreans? Or do you see a time when North Korea can produce enough or buy enough from abroad to feed its people?

Banbury: With respect to your first question, there clearly is a very significant impact. In fact, there are many different kinds of impacts. The main one, though, is that salaries of workers, government officials etc. have risen, giving them more income. But prices of basic commodities – foodstuffs – have risen much more dramatically. So their purchasing power has decreased. They’re less able to buy things. That’s very clear. The prices of foodstuffs have doubled, tripled, quadrupled. The prices of staples, vegetable oil, meat, the high-value items. For people who are able to benefit from the economy somehow – the winners – they’re able to make money, whether its from working in a restaurant, or through trading, then they’re doing okay. But for people who are relying upon traditional income sources, they’re clearly in a worse position. And that’s making us think that – and in fact this relates to your second question – maybe instead of 6.5 million people, WFP should be feeding 7.5 or 8.5 million people in North Korea. Because the number 6.5 million more or less is the same as we were providing assistance to when the reforms were implemented. And the number of winners compared to the number of losers in the economy as a result of these reforms is much smaller.

With respect to your second question, it’s always the happiest day of WFP’s involvement in a country when it’s no longer needed there. In the case of China – we have been providing assistance in China for 25 years – assistance will end this year. WFP will no longer provide humanitarian assistance in China after 2005. And that’s a great thing. In the case of DPRK, one day we will stop providing assistance there. In some countries – Ethiopia, for example – it’s gone on for decades and decades. I hope that won’t be the case in the DPRK. But until there are significant changes in the economy that allow people to earn a living wage and provide for their families, I think our assistance will be required. And its absence would be a very serious hardship on literally millions and millions of people. I hope its not long, I hope its next year that we can leave. My guess is it’ll be a little more than that.

Danish Radio: You said maybe you should be feeding 7.5 million, or 8.5 million. Why is the number still 6.5 million?

Banbury: The number this year is in fact larger than last year. The number is based on our best assessment of the economic conditions in the country and the most vulnerable people. We are providing assistance now to especially vulnerable urban households, which is a new category of beneficiaries for WFP. Two years ago we were not providing assistance to them because they had this guaranteed state salary, and prices were flat. So our numbers do change according to circumstances. Each year we come up with a new programme for the next year on how many people we think need our assistance. Depending on developments this year, and on our assessment that will be done in September-October, we may well change that.

But it will also depend to a very large degree on the government. And as I repeatedly stressed to the officials there, they need to help us help them – help their people. They have to create the necessary conditions to allow us to operate with confidence. And if they do not do so, then it would be harder to justify continued increases in the numbers of people. It would be easy to justify in terms of their need. It would be harder to justify to our donors why we would want to continue to expand if the North Korean authorities are trying to constrict our operating conditions. But, based on my cautious optimism that we will have a better monitoring system in place in the coming weeks and months, and the changing economic conditions, next year we may well try to provide assistance to more.

Danish Radio: How many more?

Banbury: It’s too early to tell. It’s a very technical assessment. It’s based on visits to all the provinces, it’s based on a crop assessment, its based on analysis of all the household visits we do. We don’t just whistle it up – it’s a scientific assessment.

Deutsche Presse-Agentur (German news agency): Two questions: Do you have any numbers now for the inflation rate? And what about the exchange rate – black market and official rate, the difference? And the second question: last year Japan gave a very generous donation to the WFP programme, I think because of the Koizumi visit at that time. So at that time I think somehow political considerations influenced WFP in a very positive way. But that also means that maybe political considerations can influence WFP’s programme this year in a negative way.

Banbury: We have some pretty good statistics on inflation that we can share with you after the meeting. I don’t have them in front of me. And it varies very much according to the commodity. Some commodities have seen very steep rises; some have seen more moderate rises. But we can give you the specifics.

In terms of the [market] exchange rate, I think it’s about 3,000 won per euro, and the official rate is 180 won to the euro.

The average salary for a worker or mid-level government official is about 2,000 won per month – less than a euro at the market rate. Think about getting by on a euro a month. Okay, prices are lower there, but they’re not that much lower. A euro a month, and that rice a day [points to glass of rice] – these people are suffering. People have talked about how the situation is improving, they’re producing more food – but the people we saw, their situation is not improving.

With respect to your second question: the government of Japan announced a very generous donation last year – 250,000 tonnes, which is equal to basically half our annual requirement. They have so far provided 125,000 tonnes, half of what they promised. We hope very much that they will soon be in a position to provide the other half. Obviously we’re having discussions with them about that, the second half of the contribution.

Different governments decide to provide assistance for different reasons. For WFP – a humanitarian organisation, with only humanitarian considerations – we are very grateful for Japan’s contribution. We understand that the Japanese government and the Japanese people have certain concerns and sensitivities with respect to their bilateral relations and the issue of Japanese people who are missing, who have been abducted. Those are very understandable, legitimate concerns, and it’s not for WFP to question them. We respect whatever decision the government will take. But we hope they will provide the second half of the contribution.

Agence France Presse: I’m wondering why the market-driven reforms for the agricultural sector don’t lead to an increase in production, since now they’re also allowed to raise cash crops and sell in the markets. It’s a little bit the same thing that happened in China 20 years ago. But then, at the same time, why is production of food in general not increasing?

Banbury: I can guess, and give you my best sense. I may be wrong, though. It’s my impression that there’s not necessarily increased production, but a diversified production. The grain supply may be more or less stable, but where there is an ability to produce more, farmers are increasingly interested in producing cash crops – something they can go sell in the market and don’t need to turn over to the state at a lower price. I think farmers are also, if they’re able to meet their quota – this is just sort of common sense, based on human nature – rather than put in more effort to produce additional stocks for the government that they’ll get little benefit from, they’ll diversify and produce cash crops either on the co-operative farm, that keeps some of it, or on their own family plots. There are a lot more family gardens now than there used to be, where families, anyone who has a little land, are growing something. For their own consumption, or to sell in the market if they have enough. The production is being diversified and channeled into the private markets. As I said earlier, the total grain supply, I don’t think, is growing. I don’t know if it’ll shrink, but there’s more attention into these other areas.

In addition, there are still very severe shortages of inputs into the farming sector. Fertiliser is a big problem this year. Fuel for tractors: big, big problem. Tractors themselves certainly a big problem, for lack of spare parts. And even when they produce, their post-harvest losses tend to be very high because of lack of equipment to move the crops from the field into the storage facilities, and lack of adequate storage facilities. So, to produce more and more grain, they might have a point of diminishing returns because they’re frankly not able to get it into storage facilities, and store it. That’s my impression. I’m not an expert. I may be wrong, as I said. But I think that’s what’s happening.

Kyodo News: My question is regarding North Korea’s attitude towards international aid. I’ve heard that from September they began calling for longer- term development aid, and that may be why you have problems with monitoring. Did you notice any changes in their attitude, or is that still what they’re saying?

Banbury: The North Korean authorities still say that they would like to transition to more long-term development assistance. However, at the same time, they reaffirm their commitment to humanitarian assistance – certainly WFP humanitarian assistance. They want us to meet the entire target that we have for the year; they want us to bring in all the food that we’ve said we will try to bring in. They are trying to improve our operating conditions. So they remain quite committed to the WFP programme, even though I think it would be their preference to transition to more development assistance. But to achieve that, they’re going to have to convince some donors that that’s the way to go. I think they’re going to continue receiving humanitarian assistance – and wanting to receive it – until they successfully make that transition. And so far, the development assistance isn’t there.

Deutsche Presse-Agentur: Do you think that in the next couple of months the Public Distribution System will maybe run out of stocks?

Banbury: I don’t think the Public Distribution System will entirely run out. I think it’s entirely possible that the ration will be reduced further: 250 grams down to 200, or whatever; fewer commodities. But I think its unlikely, in my experience, to my knowledge of the past, they’ve never totally stopped. So that’s probably unlikely. But WFP assistance, that could completely run out. So much of that assistance is going to really vulnerable populations. Kids who should not be eating only maize; kids who really need protein. You go to these “baby homes”, these orphanages and schools, and you know…Someone once said “a hungry child knows no politics”, and its clear that those kids need assistance. And the elderly too. I mean, my goodness, these elderly people…it breaks your heart to see them…eating maize and acorn meal.

Deutsche Presse-Agentur: One more question, on the nuclear issue. There’s been a kind of hardening of the political attitude of the North Korean government. In your talks with the North Korean side, did you discover a similar hardening? Is the political climate different now than before?

Banbury: The climate for WFP, I think, is better now than it was eight months ago, or seven months ago. There was a period in the latter third of last year, where, as a result I think of several factors, the overall climate became more difficult. And WFP was impacted by that. But as a result of very determined efforts on the part of WFP and our team in Pyongyang, the government understands that we are not a political actor; we are a humanitarian actor with a humanitarian agenda, who is really trying to help needy North Korean people. And they appreciate that, I believe. As a result, we enjoy quite good support from our interlocutors in the government. Of course, we do not meet with all segments of the government. There are different parts of the government with different responsibilities. But with the part that we’re working with, I think, the relationship is better. They were a bit caught, perhaps, in the past. The fact that they’re now able to work in a more constructive manner with us on technical matters suggests that perhaps there’s a generally improved climate.

Thank you very much.

Asia Times
Aidan Foster-Carter
March 15, 2005

It’s a cliche to complain how little we really know about North Korea. Hard facts, and especially figures, are indeed hard – as in hard to come by.

In some fields this is perfectly true. The military, obviously. Does North Korean leader Kim Jong-il have the bomb or bombs? How many? Where is he hiding them? All countries keep that kind of information secret.

But no other nation in the world fails to publish any regular statistics about its economy. This 40-year silence should temper hype about market reforms. Without numbers, neither local enterprises nor external donors or (they wish) investors can do more than gamble in the dark. They really do need to know. Providing accurate numbers is a basic prerequisite of being a modern state.

Yet North Korea possesses a Central Bureau of Statistics (CBS), and it is not idle. No doubt the Dear Leader demands economic data – for his eyes only. But in some fields, the CBS does publish its work. One example was North Korea’s 1993 census, its first ever.

More recently the CBS has worked with international aid agencies to collect information that the latter need in a key area: hunger and its human consequences. The latest fruits of such cooperation have just been published in the “DPRK 2004 Nutrition Assessment Survey”, a joint product of the Central Bureau of Statistics and North Korea’s Institute of Child Nutrition (ICN), with financial and technical help from United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF) and the United Nations World Food Program (WFP). The two chief consultants were from Australia and Vietnam, so this was a regional Asian effort. It follows earlier surveys carried out at two-year intervals, in 1998, 2000 and 2002.

It was the WFP that released this report, at a press conference in Beijing on March 7. It is in fact dated November 2004; the survey itself was carried out in October. The delay wasn’t explained. Perhaps the lag was attributable to translation time and to make sure it was fit for publication generally.

I’m often critical of North Korea, so all the more reason to give credit when it’s due. This is an impressive, highly professional report comprising 104 pages, five chapters, 46 tables, 24 figures. The sample was 4,800 children, ages up to six, and 2,109 mothers of children under two, drawn evenly from seven of North Korea’s nine provinces plus the capital, Pyongyang.

Having taught social science research methods in a former life, I get a kick out of reading about random and cluster sampling (sad, I know). Then I pinch myself. This is North Korea. An official document! All these numbers! And on a potentially very sensitive subject, too.

For what this survey measures, with grim precision, is what years of hunger have done to the bodies of small children – and I do mean small – and their mothers in North Korea.

To be technical, there are three main criteria:

*Underweight (for age) is self-explanatory;
*Stunting, low height for age, signals chronic malnutrition;
*Wasting, worst of all, is low weight relative to height, indicating acute malnutrition. Each of these categories is sub-divided into mild and severe cases. For the mothers, a fourth measure was used: MUAC (mid-upper arm circumference). Less than 22.5 centimeters means they aren’t eating enough.

So how are Juche’s (juche is the policy of self-reliance) children faring? The WFP’s press release tried to look on the bright side. Since the last survey in 2002, the proportion of young children chronically malnourished (stunted) is down from 42% to 37%. Acute malnutrition (wasting) eased from 9% to 7%. But those underweight rose from 21% to 23% – though for children under the age of two, those most at risk, this fell from 25% to 21%. One in five children had diarrhea, and one in eight showed symptoms of acute respiratory infection. But mothers have made no progress: a third were anemic and malnourished, the same figure as two years ago. Vitamin A deficiency is common.

Much depends on where people are living. Things are less bad in Pyongyang and in the southwestern Hwanghae farming region than in bleak northeasterly Hamgyong and Ryanggang provinces. Ryanggangites get to eat meat, fish or eggs just once every three weeks on average. Chagang in the far mid-north is bleaker still, but North Korea doesn’t allow access to this area – probably because of military bases located there. Thus, no survey was conducted in Chagang, which means no food aid either; the WFP is strict about that – surveys first.

Even at the national level, the few slight improvements offer scant comfort. The more than one-third (37%) of North Korean’s under six who are stunted – and especially the one in eight (12%) who are severely stunted – will grow up stunted and stay that way. Even once Korea is reunified politically, they will stand out physically: dwarfed by their Southern peers.

Seoul, meanwhile, has different – nay, opposite – child health issues. With uncanny timing, the very same day as the WFP released its survey on the North, education officials in the Southern capital reported that one in 10 schoolchildren in Seoul is overweight. Obesity rates are growing fast, too. As the old adage has it, the rich slim while the poor starve.

Back in the North, the WFP doesn’t appear to be leaving any time soon. Richard Ragan, head of the program’s Pyongyang office – and an American, to boot – said he hopes the agency will shut up shop one day, once the government and the private sector can stand on their own feet.

But for now, one anniversary a proud North Korea won’t be celebrating, is that this year marks a whole decade since it first, reluctantly, asked the WFP and other agencies for help coping with flood and famine. While the worst of the famine has eased, food self-sufficiency – in a country so mountainous that this is a ludicrous goal anyway – looks as remote as ever.

So still, in 2005, the WFP has extended the begging bowl for Kim Jong-il – whose own priorities evidently lie elsewhere. Ever prickly Pyongyang has bitten the kind hand trying to feed it, forbidding UN agencies to launch their usual formal consolidated aid appeal this year. Nonetheless the WFP is seeking $202 million with which to buy 504,000 tonnes of food, mainly grains.

And no wonder. In January North Korea cut its Public Distribution System (PDS) rations to starvation level: 250 grams of cereal per person per day, the lowest in five years. Such cutbacks don’t usually happen until March, when last year’s crop typically runs out. This is all the more odd, since 2004’s autumn harvest is thought to have been the best in years.

Luckily, the WFP currently has enough stocks – as it did not, in the recent past – to feed all of its target group: a staggering 6.5 million North Koreans, or nearly one-third of the entire population. The main categories within this group are 2.7 million children from birth to the age of 10 and 2.15 million people in food or work programs. Other beneficiaries include 900,000 elderly, 300,000 pregnant women and nursing mothers, and 350,000 in low-income households. The latter are a new category: victims of the post-2002 reforms that have seen inequalities widen, even as the state retreats ever further from providing any help to the millions of citizens whom its disastrous past and half-baked present policies have starved and stunted.

That’s my take, not the WFP’s. Diplomacy precludes any such critique from a UN body. Yet the raw data, the results – written indelibly on the bodies of innocent children, marked for life – are there for all to see. It’s ironic, but the same regime that branded this suffering on its people is at least now registering and owning up to the outcome: collating and publishing these damning data, putting its name to the survey, and signing off on it. That’s a start.

Where his statisticians boldly go, will the Dear Leader follow? It’s so simple. Ditch nukes; watch aid explode instead. Let the children eat, and grow. If not, what future is there?

Asia Times
Andrei Lankov
1/15/2005

Travelers’ tales told by those who escape to South Korea are among the only sources of information about North Korea. And now, those who make their way to the South are talking about the end of the Public Distribution System (PDS), the rationing system that was supposed to ensure food security. No more.

When in 2002 the North Korean government introduced what the foreign media chose to describe as “reform measures”, one of the components of new policy was a dramatic reduction of the PDS. However, from reports about the so-called “1st of July measures”, many foreign readers and and observers got an impression that the PDS was introduced by Pyongyang during escalating food shortages some time in the early 1990s. This was not the case. As a matter of fact, the PDS has been a quintessential feature of North Korean life for many decades.

To some extent, this reflected a peculiarity of the centrally planned economy. In such an economy, prices are fixed, so demands and supply cannot be balanced by price fluctuation in a “natural” way as in a market economy. Therefore, governments that adopted central planning nearly always had to step in and start deciding how to distribute scarce goods. But in most communist countries, only the more prestigious and valuable goods were subject to rationing and distribution. In the former Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, the comprehensive rationing system ceased to operate in the late 1940s, although from the 1970s it was partially reborn under the pressure of mounting economic problems. In most communist countries of Eastern Europe, food was no longer rationed from around 1950.

In North Korea, rationing was first introduced in 1946, initially only for the employees of state companies. By the mid-1950s, this group of beneficiaries included 3 million to 3.4 million people, a majority of the entire population at the time, according to a Soviet intelligence report. In those days, the daily rations included 600-900 grams of grain per working adult, depending on the type of job and its exertion and calorie demands. These norms were to remain essentially unchanged for the next four decades.

The Public Distribution System was augmented by free trade, conducted both at the markets and in private shops. However, in December 1957 free trade in grain was outlawed: all cereals were to be distributed through the PDS only. It seems that this ban was enforced quite efficiently, so until the late 1980s, few if any North Koreans would dare sell or buy grain on the market. In 1957-58 the authorities closed down all private shops and undertook an unsuccessful attempt to get rid of private markets as well.

Throughout the 1960s, less and less could be bought and sold freely in the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK). Soy sauce, cabbage, radishes and other basic ingredients of Koreans’ staple food could not be bought without rationing coupons in the state shops, which eventually became distribution points rather than centers of retail. From around 1970, almost nothing except stationery and books could be purchased without producing a ration coupon. Of course, there were markets, even if in the late 1960s they were almost exterminated as well. However, markets were not flourishing, and prices there were exorbitant. Back in 1985, a chicken would cost some 40 won (at today’s exchange rate about US$18), more than half of the average monthly salary.

Meanwhile, official prices of cereals and other daily necessities were kept at a very low level, providing North Korean propaganda with good material for boasting. For decades, one kilogram of rice cost 0.08 won (over this time, the average monthly salary increased from about 50 to about 100 won). But the prices did not matter much: even if a person had money, he or she could not buy more than was allowed by the state.

Actually, trade in a normal sense of the word nearly ceased to exist in North Korea in the 1960s. As Nickolas Eberstadt, the world’s leading expert on the North Korean economy, put it: “Clearly, the medium of domestic currency was almost marginal to the operation of the DPRK economy … In this respect, the DPRK is an extreme outlier from the modern economic experience. The only other economy to come close would be Cambodia in the late 1970s, under the dark days of the Khmer Rouge, when the Pol Pot leadership simply abolished money for a time.”

Basically, every North Korean, including inmates of mushrooming prison camps, was entitled to a certain amount of cereals. The largest amount, 900g daily, was reserved for workers engaged in hard manual labor: steelworkers, miners, loggers and others. A majority of the population was entitled to a daily ration of 700g. College and high-school students were given 600g and younger students received 300-400g, depending on their age. Retirees were also entitled to 300g of cereals. The North Koreans were given some other foodstuffs – cabbage, soy sauce and other products – but in terms of nutrition almost all calories in their diet came from rice and other cereals.

The rice rations were paid every 15th day. On an established day, a family representative, usually a housewife, since it was daytime, went to the distribution center with her identification and rationing coupons for her entire family. She produced the coupons, paid the token price and then took home the rice for the next two weeks.

Rations consisted of a mix of different grains. In the 1970s, in Pyongyang rice represented as much as 70% of the allowance, but even in those relatively prosperous times, in more remote areas rations consisted entirely of corn and barley, which have fewer calories than rice – but excessive weight has never been a problem in North Korea. The proportions between rice and other less valuable kinds of grains depended largely on one’s place of residence, with Pyongyang and other major cities being most privileged.

But what about meat and fish? Well, there were no regular norms for providing these luxuries. As a rule, a family was issued about a kilogram of meat two or three times a year, normally on the eve of major holidays – especially North Korean founder Kim Il-sung’s birthday. Milk was provided to schoolchildren in Pyongyang in very small quantities. Sugar was dropped from the rations in the early 1970s, and since then could be bought only by lucky owners of foreign currency (for a hyper-Stalinist regime, North Korea always had a remarkably relaxed currency-control system). Admittedly, fish was more available, but still not a part of daily diet.

Liquor and tobacco were rationed as well. A commoner was entitled to have booze a few times a year, before the major official holidays. On the eve of an official holiday, commoners were issued rationing coupons that allowed them to buy one bottle of soju (a traditional Korean liquor) and three bottles of beer. In case of some family event, people had to go to a local office and petition, then they were issued “special liquor coupons”. To prove their eligibility, they had to produce an official certificate confirming that their family was indeed having a wedding or a funeral. The norm was five bottles per family.

The Public Distribution System dealt not only with foodstuffs but also with consumables. Some durables were simply outside the system – for example, refrigerators, which were seen as an ultimate luxury item, a North Korean analogue to a sports car. But some other durables, such as color television sets, were distributed to people via long waiting lists. Normally, distribution of such goods was handled by their work units, with the party secretary being in a position to deny or speed up access.

Of course, the North Korean elite took good care of themselves. The cadres were entitled to special rations that were much more generous than those accorded to the humble folk – and also included goods of higher quality.

In general, the system worked – at least as long as the North Koreans were separated from the outside world and could not compare their lives with the lives of people in more prosperous countries (actually, official propaganda insisted that there was no more prosperous country than North Korea). The private markets, even when they were finally re-legalized around 1969, remained marginal to the economy. Common people went there only on special occasions.

Actually, the ration of 700g a day might appear generous, at least concerning calories. However, even in the late 1970s, malnutrition was not unknown in North Korea. The reason is that the official 700g was increasingly a theoretical norm.

The first downsizing of the rations took place in 1973 when the country’s economic growth began to decelerate. In September 1973 it was declared that “due to the dangerous international situation” the rations would be reduced: every fortnight two daily rations would be sacrificed for the strategic reserves. In 1989 the rations were cut further – by 10%: this was necessary, the authorities explained, to prepare the country for the forthcoming International Youth Festival. In 1992 a new 10% cut was imposed. These cuts meant that on the eve of North Korea’s Great Famine of 1995-99, the average worker received less than 500g of cereals. A retiree had to subsist on 220g – not exactly a generous amount.

From 1992 the North Korean media began to explain that for better health one only had to have two meals a day (the tradition of three meals was described as excessive and unhealthy). In those times people in some remote areas could not get food. They were still issued rationing coupons, but actual delivery of rations was delayed for days, and then for weeks.

And then came the real catastrophe. In July and August 1995, unusually heavy rains led to disastrous floods. The authorities blamed the floods for all subsequent food disasters, though in fact the situation had been deteriorating from the mid-1980s.

In 1996, the country harvested some 3 million tons of grain – just above half of the pre-crisis level. In the new situation no rations could be delivered. By 1996 the distribution of food stopped throughout the countryside, with people Pyongyang and some other major cities getting half of what they used to receive in better times.

The Public Distribution System survived in some areas longer than in others. In 1999-2000 South Korean sociologists conducted a large-scale survey of North Korean defectors in China. One of the questions was “when did the PDS cease to function in your native county?” Some 23.5% said this happened in 1993 or before, 40.9% said 1994 and 31.5% told the pollsters that the rations were no longer delivered in 1995. The survey needs some correction, since most of its participants came from northern provinces that were hit much harder than central or southern parts of the country. In all probability, the nationwide result would be different, with delivery stopped in most areas around 1995 or 1996, rather than 1993 or 1994. But it was stopped in any case, and the population was left to its own devices for survival.

The collapse of the PDS in 1993-95 is remembered by most North Koreans as a turning point in their lives. The events are often described as having taken place “before the distribution ended” or “before the distribution ended”. Indeed, the end of the PDS (which was never formally abolished) heralded the start of a new life. Old certainties were gone, and nobody could take for granted even one’s own physical survival.

Markets spread across entire country, with the population engaged in trade and handicraft. The old government economy collapsed, with the country’s gross national product shrinking some 50% over a decade. And finally, in 2002, the “July reforms” heralded that the North Korean government finally admitted the situation that had existed for a few years. Retail prices of basic goods and services were increased dramatically, obviously in an attempt to approximate the market prices. Thus one kilogram of rice, which used to cost 0.08 won, has since July 2002 cost 44 won, or some 550 times as much. Wages have risen as well. It was estimated that the average increase in wages has been approximately 2,500% (that is, 25 times). At the same time, prices have increased 30-40 times.

These changes were widely interpreted as a sign of reforms. They can be better described as a reluctant admission of the facts that North Korean leader Kim Jong-Il and his government could not possibly change.

Perhaps the fate of the Public Distribution System is yet another confirmation of this collapsing state of affairs. When in the spring of 2004 the South Korean media printed reports about complete abolition of the system, the North Korean officials denied this. However, nowadays the PDS operates only in major urban centers inhabited by more privileged groups – exactly as it did from around 1996. These groups have to be kept content, and they are still enjoying access to some amount of almost free food.

And what about others, the majority of the population? They have to go to the markets even if a monthly salary of a university professor is not sufficient to buy seven kilograms of rice. But nobody in North Korea lives on official salary these days. Well, almost nobody – apart from the privileged few who receive high salaries, often in hard currency. Paradoxically, they are often the people who still can use the Public Distribution System.

BBC
Alex Kirby
8/27/2004

[NKeconWatch: Here is the report-  DPRK_SOE_Report.pdf]

The UN and officials in Pyongyang have agreed the first-ever assessment of the state of the North Korean environment.

The report was written by North Korea’s national co-ordinating council for the environment, together with the UN’s Development and Environment Programmes.

The head of Unep said Pyongyang had shown its readiness to work with the world community to safeguard nature.

The report lists a catalogue of neglect and over-exploitation of resources, and says time is short to put things right.

The report, DPR Korea: State Of The Environment 2003, was produced by officials from 20 government and academic agencies, with training and guidance from the two UN programmes.

Future collaboration

It was compiled as a result of a visit to Pyongyang in 2000 by Unep’s executive director, Dr Klaus Toepfer.

He and Dr Ri Jung Sik, secretary-general of the national co-ordinating council, have now signed a framework agreement on joint activities to improve environmental protection.

The report covers five areas: forests, water, air, land and biodiversity. It says the most urgent priority is the degradation of forest resources.

Forests cover 74% of North Korea, but almost all are on steep slopes. In the last decade the forests have declined in extent and quality.

The report says this is because of timber production, a doubling of firewood consumption, wild fires, insect attacks associated with drought, and conversion of forest to farmland.

On water it says demand is rising “with economic development and the improvement in standards of living”, and calls for urgent investment in domestic sewage and industrial water treatment.

It notes that large quantities of untreated wastewater and sewage are discharged into rivers, and says some diseases related to water use “are surging”.

Air quality, the report says, “is deteriorating, especially in urban and industrial areas”. Energy consumption is expected to double over 30 years, from almost 48m tonnes of oil equivalent in 1990 to 96 million tonnes in 2020.

North Korea’s use of coal is projected to increase five times from 2005 to 2020, underlining, the report says, “the urgent need for clean coal combustion and exhaust gas purification technologies, energy efficiency, and renewable energy alternatives.”

On land use, the report says self-sufficiency in food production has been a national policy aim in North Korea.

Changed priorities

But it continues: “Major crop yields fell by almost two thirds during the 1990s due to land degradation caused by loss of forest, droughts, floods and tidal waves, acidification due to over-use of chemicals, as well as shortages of fertiliser, farm machinery and oil.

“Vulnerable soils require an expansion of restorative policies and practices such as flood protection works, tree planting, terracing and use of organic fertilisers.
“Recognising such issues, [the country] adjusted its legal and administrative framework, designating environmental protection as a priority over all productive practices and identifying it as a prerequisite for sustainable development.”

North Korea is home to several critically endangered species, among them the Amur leopard, the Asiatic black bear and the Siberian tiger.

Squaring the circle

It has signed up to international environmental agreements such as the Convention on Biological Diversity, though the report notes a continuing “contradiction between protection and development”, which it says is being overcome.

In a wider context, the report says: “The conflict between socio-economic progress and a path of truly sustainable development is likely to be further aggravated unless emerging issues can be settled in time.”

It says environmental laws and regulations need to be formulated or upgraded, management mechanisms improved, financial investment encouraged, and research focused on priorities.

Dr Toepfer said North Korea “has shown its willingness to engage with the global community to safeguard its environmental resources, and we must respond so it can meet development goals in a sustainable manner.”

ROK Ministry of Unification (Via Global Security)
5/27/2004

1. Overview: North Korea is actively pursuing a project to expand and modernize Sungho-ri concrete tie factory in efforts to increase production of concrete railroad ties, the Central Broadcasting Station reported on May 9.

2. Main Points of the Report

 A. Within the very first several months of construction on expanding the Sungho-ri concrete tie factory, there has been great progress in the construction of the production building and various facilities such as a curing chamber, a boiler and a control room.

 B. The Railway Ministry, concerned about the overall progress of the construction work, designated experienced party officials for systematic management of construction operations.

   – The Pyongyang Railway Bureau is responsible for the construction of the control room and the curing chamber for concrete ties.

   – Chongjin/Hamhung/Kaechon Railway Bureaus’ task force teams are responsible for overseeing the construction of the steel reinforcing factory.

   – Various other factories including the Kim Jong Thae Electric Locomotive Factory and the September 18 Factory have made achievements in their technical support for the construction of facilities.

3. Analysis

 A. To supply parts and materials for railway facilities, North Korea has relied on some ten factories that manufacture parts and materials for railway vehicles, including the Kim Jong Thae Electric Locomotive Factory. 

   – However, due to lack of capital and raw materials, the supply chain has become inadequate for improving railway facilities, which are showing signs of aging such as abrasion of rails, corrosion of concrete ties, among others.

   – As a result, the risk for accidents has become high and the function of railways facilities is limited as a means of transportation.

 B. In a bid to overcome such serious problems associated with the transportation system and to pursue a project for connecting TKR/TSR:

   – Chairman Kim Jong Il paid inspection visits to the July 6 Railway Factory and the Rahung Concrete Tie Factory in Sept. 2001, immediately after his visit to Russia (Aug. 2001). Since then, North Korea has been actively engaged in the modernization of the aging railway facilities.

     It is necessary to modernize concrete tie factories to increase the production of quality products to reinforce railways.¡± (01.9.14, during Kim Jong Il’s inspection of the factories)

   – In order to improve the supply of railway materials to the factories, various efforts are underway such as the construction of power plants in order to supply electricity and a cooperative network among related factories and businesses in order to expand the railway materials supply capacity.

     Once the construction of the Sungho Railway Youth Power Plant, which is in the final stage, is completed, it can ensure the supply of electricity needed for concrete tie manufacturing-related factories,¡± reported Rodong Sinmun on Mar. 25.

     “The Sungho-ri Cement Factory is engaged in a massive campaign to increase the supply of cement to major construction sites,¡± reported Pyongyang Broadcasting Service on Mar. 25, 2003.

 C. The construction work on expanding the Sungho-ri Concrete Tie Factory seems to be aimed at the following:

   – To overcome problems in railway transportation by building a smooth operating supply chain for railway facilities

   – To prepare for the future connection of TKR/TSR, and to improve railway facilities.

BBC
Lucy Jones
4/13/2004

“Got any nuclear weapons for sale?” is the response Briton Roger Barrett usually gets when he tells people at Beijing cocktail parties that he invests in North Korea.
The country’s admission to a nuclear weapons programme and its listing on George W Bush’s “axis of evil” means most people are staying well away.

But Mr Barrett, 49, a former troop commander in the British army who has 10 years experience of doing business in North Korea, recently opened a branch of his consultancy firm, Korea Business Consultants, in Pyongyang.

A self-confessed “business adventurer”, he says there is growing interest in the country after Chairman Kim Jong-il introduced economic reforms in 2002.

It’s like China in the eighties… The market reforms are very evident. It’s an exciting time to join the market.

Robert Barrett, Korea Business Consultants 
He is also the enthusiastic publisher of what must be North Korea’s only business publication – the DPRK Business News Bulletin – which features some of the 250 companies he advises.

“It’s like China in the eighties… The market reforms are very evident. It’s an exciting time to join the market,” he says.

Mr Barrett is not alone.

Even in the middle of a nuclear crisis there are foreign investors in the country, and their numbers are increasing.

They say North Korea is a mineral rich country that needs everything and insist they have to get there first.

They also believe the 2002 economic reform is for real and that the country is gradually moving towards becoming a market economy.

Poverty

The little data there is on the country’s economy is hardly encouraging, though.

There has been a devastating famine and the UN says malnutrition is still widespread.

There are chronic heating and water shortages, and most North Koreans are paid less than £5 a month.

The country also has an appalling human rights record.

A BBC documentary on the country’s gulags this year contained allegations that chemical experiments are being carried out on political prisoners.

Meanwhile, the US says it is “highly likely” that North Korea is involved in state-sponsored trafficking of heroin.

In the political arena, the second round of six-nation talks aimed at resolving the nuclear crisis ended in Beijing in February without agreement, which means US and Japanese sanctions will remain in place.
‘Communism’ tourism

But the foreign entrepreneurs in North Korea are not put off.

Some are helped by UN employees who have worked in Pyongyang (among the few people to have had contact with the regime there) and many have a track record in China.

Pack a torch, conduct business meetings on the street to avoid big brother listening in and have plenty of “Asian patience” for the endless red-tape, they advise.

An Austrian company is reportedly buying pianos from the North Koreans, a French television station uses North Korean artists to produce cartoons, while a Singapore-based firm is developing forestry and tourism.

The Singaporeans intend to offer “adventure” stays on their North Korean forestry plantations.

Meanwhile, Western tourist agencies are gearing up to offer the last chance to see communism in action, and Fila and Heineken have reportedly entered into sponsorship deals with the North Korean regime.

North Korean labour

A German, Jan Holtermann owner of the computer firm KCC Europe, is putting North Korea online.

He hopes that by being there first he will be able to eventually tap into North Korean computer talent.

The country’s small number of internet users currently dial-up to Chinese providers, a costly process at about £1 a minute.

Mr Holtermann’s customers, who he hopes will number 2,000 by the end of the year, will have unlimited access for £400 a month.

As only a few North Koreans are permitted to have telephones, and as the internet service is costly, Mr Holtermann expects his customers to be government ministries, news agencies and aid organisations.

He has invested £530,000 in the venture, intending to get first pick when North Korean software programmers come onto the market.

“They are very talented,” he says.

“It’s this capacity we want to sell in Europe.”

The parcel delivery company DHL has operated in Pyongyang since 1997, when it was invited there by the government, and now has North Korean light manufacturing, textile and beverage companies on its books.

It sees itself as contributing to the country’s “slow but increasingly visible” economic reform programme.

British consultants

Former bank employee Mr Barrett is convinced North Korea is opening up much quicker than people think.

There are opportunities in banking, minerals, agriculture and telecommunications, he insists.

“There is the odd story of something going wrong,” he says.

“But when you walk around you notice construction going on.

“The people are feeling a change.”

High level contacts

But how to do business with one of the most isolationist regimes on earth?

Contacts are essential, say businessmen.

Though even knowing a North Korean minister is not enough, says Gerald Khor of Singapore-based forestry company Maxgro Holdings.

“You have to go above the ministers to the cabinet. You don’t have to know a member but you need to know people who can influence them,” he says.

“It is very important to get the favour of the dear leader (Kim Jong-il). Because when he says something, it gets done.”

Through a former UN employee, Maxgro got Kim Jong-il’s attention and has invested $2m in forestry, agreeing the state gets 30% of the profits.

“Kim Jong-il is an environmentalist,” Mr Khor says.

“We are confident we’ll get a return.

“We have dwindling supplies and this is high quality wood.”

To locate the forests elsewhere would cost much more, he adds.

Forced to change

Economic reforms introduced by the government in 2002 are seen as the first move away from central planning since the country adopted communism in 1945.

The government has been forced to change in order to survive, especially now it can no longer barter with Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union, experts say.

“There is no real option not to carry out these reforms,” says UK-based Keith Bennett, who has taken trade missions to Pyongyang.

“But people don’t know where they will lead.

Chinese leaders have impressed on Kim Jong-il that there can be economic reform without fundamental political change.”

Way up on North Korea’s border with Russia and China is the Tumen economic zone, which was established in 1991 with UN help to lure investors.

The project has only had limited success and may indicate the type of problems those investing elsewhere in North Korea may face.

The North Korean section of the zone, Rajin-Songbong, hosts foreign-run hotels, telecommunications and restaurants, but that is about all.

“The North Koreans have sometimes been very co-operative and sometimes not, maybe because of policy change,” says Tsogtsaikhan Gombo, from the UN’s development agency.

“They were also disappointed when they didn’t see the investment.”

Vibrant Chinese economic zones nearby have put up fierce competition.

But even opening the door just slightly to let in capitalism has greatly improved the lives of the 150,000 people living in the zone, says Mr Gombo.

And many foreigners insist that small investments elsewhere in the country may have similar results.