North Korean Economy Watch

Daily NK
Shin Ju Hyun
1/10/2006

Korea Exchange Bank double Assurance

For the verification of the North Korean-made counterfeit dollars, the so-called “Super Note,” The DailyNK bought these counterfeit dollars and requested examination of them at the Korea Exchange Bank (KEB).

The above photos are of the “Super Note,” which the The DailyNK bought in Dandong, China. They were taken to the KEB on January 5th at 3 pm for examination and identified it as a “Super Note made in 2003.”

The following is the process of how The DailyNK obtained the counterfeit bills made in North Korea and requested examination of it at the KEB.

The DailyNK correspondent in Dandong, China, on January 2nd, was introduced to a businessman who does trade business between North Korea and China through an acquaintance. The DailyNK asked the businessman, Mr. Lee, working for K Trade Company to buy him some counterfeit dollar bills recently made in North Korea.

Mr. Lee smiled and said, “That is not a problem.” He said half a day would be enough for him to buy some counterfeit bills. The correspondent set an appointment with Mr. Lee for the next day.

The next day, the DailyNk was able to obtain the “goods.” From a wad of bills, he pulled out a $100 bill. It cost him $80. He said, “If you buy directly from a North Korean tradesman, it first costs $80 then drops down to $70 on the second call.”

“This is a dollar bill I got directly from a North Korean tradesman, and it is in good condition,” said Mr. Lee. “I was asked to do a favor to sell the dollar bills at $70 each.” According to Mr. Lee, if you meet the same North Korean tradesmen more than twice, they all ask you to do them the favor of selling counterfeit dollars.

Mr. Lee said in the areas where North Korean trade companies are located, such as Dandong, Changbai, and Tumen, daily counterfeit dollar exchanges are made. In Dandong, there is the Sinheung Trade Company run by North Korea’s National Security Agency and the ‘** base of 3000 Bureau (General Federation of Rear Services) run by the Ministry of the People’s Armed Forces.

Mr. Shim, who accompanied the meeting added, “Besides counterfeit dollar exchanges, it is a well known fact that fake (Chinese) Yuan bills are circulated as well.”

North Korean Tradesmen, First Deals for Counterfeit Dollars, Second for Drugs

“The Chinese government seems to know about this. If the counterfeit money becomes a problem between North Korea and the US, then China will also decide to take a hard-line policy against the North Korean counterfeit Yuan,” said Shim. “After deals for the counterfeit money are made, then comes deals for drugs. Drug deals are made much more carefully.”

The correspondent mailed the “Super Note” to The DailyNK headquarters in Seoul on January 4th. The DailyNK reporters in Seoul visited Korea Exchange Bank on January 5th for examination.

On the afternoon of January 5th, Suh Taek Seok at the financial office sales department at the KEB headquarters said, “It is certain that the bill is a sophisticated Super Note.”

“Some Super Notes made in 2001 are often circulated, but 2003 bills are very rarely found in South Korea,” he added.

After the close examination, “Although at the basic level, the quality of paper and print technique is very complicated, this Super Note bill could be considered one of the most sophisticated ones to be found,” explained Suh.

“The Super Note made in 2003 were circulated only from October 2005, thus some of the banks out there with detection machines still could fail to verify them.”

“Counterfeit Money from the Early 80s”

Suh said, “Without knowing where the Super Note bills came from, it is difficult to predict in which country the bills were produced. However, if it is true that if the bills were produced in North Korea, the problem could become quite a sensitive matter.”

“Apart from the quality of the paper, for the $100 bill, where it says ‘UNITED STATES’ on the left side of the Franklin portrait, there are white lines on the letter “N” and the picture of the grapes under the eagles is not so clearly printed. There are many more differences between real and fake bills.”

It seems the way the counterfeit bills are circulated also varies. Kim Chan Goo, researcher at the Institute for Far Eastern Studies of Kyungnam University who was devoted to relations with North Korea for a decade since 1989 testified, “Eleven years ago when I visited Pyongyang, the guide asked me if I would like to $100 bill for 30 dollars. I bought it as a souvenir, and asked for examination at the KEB when I came back to South Korea. It was verified that it was a counterfeit.”

Kim still kept the bill as a souvenir. “There were many cases of South Korean trade/businessmen who were asked to buy and sell as a broker between the consumers and the North Korean tradesmen in Dandung. Looking back, it can be deduced that North Korea started counterfeiting dollars in the early 80s.”

Asia Times
Ruediger Frank
12/9/2005

The focus of international efforts in North Korea used to be on food aid until a government policy change this fall. Now that the North Korean regime has sent home humanitarian non-governmental organizations and reinforced the public food distribution system, outside attention has shifted to developmental assistance.

However, the basic question remains the same: will international support improve the situation in North Korea or just prop up the regime? It will probably do both, partly because North Korea and the regime are are not easily separable. But are there any visible developments that would justify taking the pain of further outside engagement?

Thinking that the past years went by without any significant economic change in North Korea would mean ignoring reality.

Walking through an extraordinary, festive Pyongyang in October – freely, without any guide – I found a handwritten poster (in Korean) at a watch store reading, “To celebrate the important holiday [60th anniversary of the foundation of the Korean Workers’ Party], we are selling many goods at a 10% discount from October 10 until October 31.”

In other words, there was a sale – in North Korea. Better than any official announcements, this tells a whole story. In an ordinary socialist shop, from the perspective of the employees, selling means the investment of time without any revenue. Neither their income nor job security are usually connected to sales figures. Those familiar with other socialist countries will recall the lack of staff enthusiasm and customer orientation in shops and restaurants. Selling more than the plan dictates could even invite trouble because of empty inventory.

Prices are usually fixed by the state and not negotiable; a socialist store in fact does not sell, it distributes. In such an environment, attracting buyers by giving a discount makes no sense at all. Having a sale implies an interest in selling, as well as price flexibility. It implies an interest in the customers, and hence the readiness to respond to their needs. The motivation surely is money; at least the manager of the store has a vested interest in raising the sales figures. A sale in North Korea? Can this be a harbinger of the start of a paradigm shift? Despite all skepticism vis-a-vis the reforms, monetization and marketization seem to be no empty words.

A few steps later, I saw an advertisement offering coffee, tea, “fresh beer” and a cozy place to play Korean chess (again, in Korean – ie, targeting domestic customers). So far, so good, but this was a clothing store. Obviously not allowed to turn into a restaurant, its staff were at least trying to extend its reach. Near my hotel I found an advertisement for “the first debit card in our country”, issued by the North East Asia Bank.

Currently, it can only be used in roughly a dozen shops and restaurants. Still, this is a beginning. Some traders were ready to bargain, which implies private economic activity or at least growing flexibility. In one small but nicely arranged shop, not in the vicinity of a hotel, I found Chanel handbags at a very reasonable price, tags written in Korean but with prices also in US dollars. The same currency, not the euro, is required to purchase a ticket at the Air Koryo (the North’s state airline) office in Beijing. A North Korean official asked me to send him English-language economics textbooks for his daughter who studies at Kim Il-sung University, and would not mind if I sent him the books via ordinary mail. This list of examples can be continued.

Beyond this anecdotal but significant evidence, there are other developments. For the second year in a row, North Korean agriculture was able to increase its output significantly (Yonhap News, “USDA Estimates North Korea’s Grain Output as Largest in 10 Years”, November 28). Analysts were quick to discard the idea that the famine of 1995-1997 was mainly caused by natural disasters; so it would be unfair to associate the positive development this time only to good weather. The attempts to utilize market incentives to increase production have been effective, although not without unexpected side effects.

In China and Vietnam, too, initially nobody wanted to change the whole economic system. Even in the 1990s, Chinese economists were talking about a secondary and supplementary role of the non-state sector. But successful experiments prompted new ones, leading to the stop-and-go piecemeal approach that we now, in hindsight, recognize to have been the beginnings of gradual transformation. The external situation was more favorable there also. So there is room for optimism concerning North Korea.

A huge and important difference between the North Korean case and that of China and Vietnam is the weight of agriculture in the national economy and in society. About 80% of the population in Vietnam and 70% of the population in China worked in agriculture at the start of the reform process, as opposed to only about 30% in North Korea. Liberalizing food trade in a non-saturated and isolated market implies rising food prices. This is good for food producers, but may signal rising prices for consumers. In China and Vietnam in 1979, a majority benefited, while only a minority was forced to bear heavier costs in exchange for diversified supplies, and hence could be supported by state subsidies.

Because of its different socio-economic structure, in North Korea it has been the other way round. The majority of the population had to use their few and mostly static resources to struggle for food in the market and this drove up prices as well as industrial wages. Accordingly, inflation in North Korea skyrocketed, while it was much more moderate in the early reform phase in the other two countries.

“Skyrocketing inflation” is not just an empty phrase. Due to the lack of data, there is so far no reliable way to calculate a North Korean inflation rate based on the standard method of creating a basket of basic goods and services. But the development of wages should provide us with important clues, assuming that wages must at least cover subsistence. Otherwise, nobody would go to work. I asked a worker at a cable factory in Pyongyang in October about his monthly wage, and he answered it was 30,000 won (US$29). Would he tell a foreigner the truth?

The number he provided appears to be very high, if compared to the official wages that have been raised from about 100 won to roughly 3,000 won in 2002, and allegedly have only reluctantly been paid. However, in addition to a few private shops, I also entered several state-run department stores in Pyongyang, in which goods are displayed at official state prices. Some examples: a pair of very basic sports shoes cost 10,000 won, a bar of soap was 600 won, a wall clock cost 8,500 won. This suggests the possibility that the worker was telling the truth. Based on this evidence, if the wages increased tenfold in three years, we can estimate the annual rate of inflation in North Korea to have been roughly about 215% since 2002.

If this is roughly accurate, the situation is politically not sustainable. So in October, the government put on the brakes, hoping to curb inflation by taking its major source – food – out of the market cycle. Will it work? That remains to be seen. Are the reforms over? Is avoiding reform the surest survival strategy for the elite in Pyongyang? I would disagree with such a view. If the whole world around North Korea moves – and it certainly does – the riskiest course may be to remain static. So, even if the preservation of the status quo is the objective of the elite, in the long run it must work actively to achieve that goal. Strange as it may sound, reform is the only way to avoid regime change. Kim Jong-il calls that “adjusting to the new environment”.

This brings us back to the international community. Assuming that domestic agricultural production is still, despite the increases in the last years, insufficient – does North Korea now “rely” on food deliveries from China and South Korea? That would be something revolutionary in its own right. If true, it must mean that the North Koreans see no alternative to reliance on Chinese and South Korean food aid in the short run. But if history is a guide, they will hardly bet their future on it.

Rather, the intention seems to be to repeat what in principle has already been done after another major crisis. During the Korean War until about 1953-54, Kim Il-sung asked his “socialist brothers” mainly for conventional aid, such as food, clothing, etc. Then, the items on his wish list changed to support for reconstruction and the delivery of machinery, technology and even turnkey factories. Today, we would call that developmental assistance. Of course, the current situation is in many ways different from the 1950s. Yet a similar pattern may be unfolding.

So, what is the plan? In perfect congruence with the spirit of juche, (self-reliance) the North Koreans now do what economist David Ricardo would and what European experts including myself at economic seminars in Pyongyang have told them for years: ensure self-sustainability in food by increasing industrial output, exporting it and using the revenues to import food to supplement domestic production.

Before 1990, the North Koreans had the opportunity to engage in “politically correct” trade with socialist partners, who, for strategic reasons, often could not avoid buying low-quality goods. Now, if they want to export, the North Koreans have few alternatives to dealing with capitalists. Even the highly cooperative partners in South Korea are private companies that will go bankrupt if they purchase worthless or over-priced goods. North Korea’s industry has no choice but to become competitive.

The logical consequence is the urgent need for modernization, the introduction of advanced technology, securing a stable energy supply, the import of capital and the development of an institutional and human resource capability to interact on the international scene. This is behind Pyongyang’s focus on intensified economic training measures for its officials, and the background of the recent news about eased regulations for direct investment in North Korea (Hankook Ilbo newspaper, November 30). This is even more so since normalization with Japan and the expected financial support related to that deal are not out of reach, though still too far away.

The reforms are not necessarily over; the leaders in Pyongyang might just have adjusted their strategy. Rome was not built in a day, and the risks are high from the perspective of the North Korean leadership. International support will continue to be an important and effective policy, as it obviously was in the past, although its nature might change and the impact will not always be directly measurable. However, it works. The few millions spent on projects in North Korea are a low price for regional security and improved living conditions.

Ruediger Frank is a Korea specialist at the University of Vienna and Distinguished Visiting Professor at Korea University.

FDI Magazine
Stephen Timewell
12/12/2005

On my journey to Pyongyang a Beijing receptionist remarked that the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK) is very much like China was 25 years ago. And as the motorcade of China’s president Hu Jintao passed thousands of flower-waving North Koreans on his visit to the world’s most secretive and politically isolated country at the end of October, he may well have agreed.

Visiting Pyongyang is like going back decades in a time machine, to a land with no advertising, no Nokia, Microsoft or McDonald’s billboards and almost no cars. Impressive grand avenues and massive public monuments dominate the landscape but there is no new construction or shops.

The streets are scrubbed clean by hand and are full of hundreds of orderly people wearing their ‘Great Leader’ badges and walking everywhere. Curiously, bicycles are discouraged because of bad accidents and the government encourages power walking for good health, or so I am told. In a country said to spend 30% of its GDP on defence, there is no visual military presence (or overt police presence) in the capital at all.

The ‘traffic ladies’ standing at major intersections are a welcome replacement for traffic lights but there are precious few cars to direct.

Questions greatly outnumber answers in this capital where visitors are duly dazzled by the spectacular grand mass gymnastics and artistic performance (called Arirang) by almost 70,000 children in the massive 150,000-seat May Day Stadium. But visitors are also aware of serious food shortages and cannot ignore the capital’s tallest building, a magnificent 105-floor pyramid tower with a crane on top, left unfinished many years ago, I was informed, due to financial problems.

Winds of change

Whether the DPRK is seen as the last Stalinist communist state or as a Confucian nationalist monarchy or even, as it describes itself, as a “powerful socialist nation”, visitors can feel the winds of change, particularly on the economic front. For more than 50 years the iconic stature of the late ‘Great Leader’ Kim Il Sung and that of his successor son Kim Jong Il have dominated the political landscape; the question going forward is how the country’s dire economic circumstances can be improved and whether the regime has the capability to create the new structures needed.

Pyongyang was playing host not only to Mr Hu but also to an increasing number of foreign delegations and journalists, all keen to understand the trends taking place in probably the last country to have massive pictures of Marx and Lenin hanging outside its Ministry of Trade. For many, however, the current focus is progress in the Six-Party Talks on the nuclear weapons programmes of the DPRK.

In the fourth round of talks in September between the two Koreas, China, Japan, Russia and the US a landmark agreement appeared to have been reached. “All six parties emphasised that to realise the inspectable non-nuclearisation of the Korean Peninsula is the target of the Six-Party Talks,” a joint statement said. “The DPRK promised to drop all nuclear weapons and current nuclear programmes and to get back to the non-proliferation treaty as soon as possible and to accept inspections from the International Atomic Energy Agency.”

At the time of going to press in November a fifth round of talks was expected to move a final agreement closer but detailed negotiations over implementation of the above agreement were not expected to be easy or to be concluded quickly. The DPRK, unsurprisingly, wants some payback, be it light-water reactors from the US or other economic incentives.

The core issue is that the DPRK’s publicly acknowledged plutonium programme, believed to provide enough radioactive material for about six bombs, is probably also the country’s key card in trying to rebuild the economy. Kim Jong Il needs to gain maximum advantage from giving up his nuclear threat, but even then, what does his economy have to offer?

Information hollow

For a financial journalist the DPRK represents a serious challenge. Understanding the economy and the banking sector of a country is never easy, but when no data is published by the government or the central bank it becomes significantly more difficult. I knew information was scarce but believed that the two very agreeable government minders, assigned to monitor my every move in my four-day visit, would be able to help me extract a simple list of banks operating in the country. No such luck. Although my visit was welcomed, the central bank (which acts as both the issuing bank and as a fully operational commercial bank in the traditional socialist model) failed to provide the list (or anything else), despite numerous requests.

Although the consensus after several interviews was that around 20 banks of various types exist, I can only vouch for the handful listed here. Clearly the Foreign Trade Bank (FTB) represents a pivotal bank in the financial system and Ko Chol Man, director of the FTB, was keen to explain the peculiarities of the DPRK banking system. “The domestic and foreign exchange settlement systems are completely separate. The central bank deals with the domestic market and money issuance and it also has a commercial banking role; the FTB has complete control over foreign exchange matters and trade and also holds the country’s foreign exchange reserves.”

Unlike other banking systems, the FTB in the DPRK acts as a clearing house for the foreign exchange activities of the banks in the country. It does not report to the central bank but, like all banks, reports to the State Fiscal and Financial Committee (SFFC), the overall banking regulator.

Mr Ko was pleased to note that the FTB had around 500 correspondent banks worldwide and, along with its 600 staff (including 11 branches) in North Korea, had six representative offices outside the country (including offices in Austria, Russia and China) and planned to establish a UK representative office in London. However, when asked for details of FTB’s banking activities he replied bluntly that no banking institution had published its figures in terms of activities or balance sheet. “We cannot give figures about the size of our assets because it is a regulation of the state. If the situation becomes better we can make them public but up to now it is impossible.”

Economic estimates

Despite the absence of official economic and banking data, various estimates help make the picture a little less murky. A recent Standard Chartered Bank report places North Korea’s nominal GDP at the end of 2004 at $22bn or $957 in GDP per capita terms for the country’s 23 million population; by comparison, South Korea’s nominal GDP is put at $680bn or $14,167 per capita for its 48 million population. While the unification of the two Koreas is seen as an important political objective, especially in Pyongyang, the startling economic gap between the two states could mean that the North becomes a huge burden on the South, and Seoul well recognises the economic problems that emerged from the reunification of Germany in the 1990s.

Meanwhile, Jong Msong Pil, of the Institute of Economy at the Academy of Social Science, explained how the economy had declined dramatically from a GDP per capita of $2500 in the mid-1980s to $480 per capita in 2000.

“The big drop was caused by the disappearance of the socialist market worldwide in the early 1990s; the collapse of our socialist barter trade system led to the failure of many enterprises and a decline in living standards,” he said.

Dr Jong noted that, following the hard times of the mid-1990s, the first target of the national economy has been self-reliance. He added that no economic data had been published since 2000. He believed, however, that 10% economic growth occurred in 2004 and, responding to reports from the World Food Programme (WFP) that a third of the population were malnourished, he said the food situation was improving. “In our country, all people have a job so for this reason no one has died of starvation or hunger. Our country is a socialist planned economy so the government takes care of people’s living.”

Acknowledging shortages in the past, Dr Jong said that in October the government had normalised the public food distribution system, which indicated the government was now supplying sufficient food.

Is the DPRK’s food crisis over? Driving around Pyongyang’s spacious avenues (with two minders) there was no visual evidence of malnutrition – but the capital is likely to be much better served than elsewhere. A supermarket was shown but the goods were only available for foreign currency, hardly food for the masses. Cha Yong Sik, deputy director general at the Ministry of Foreign Trade, said the government had not imported food on a commercial basis in 2005, unlike previous years, but neighbouring countries are still providing significant food aid. Richard Ragan, country director of the WFP, said food production in 2005 was up 10%, with cereals up 6.6%. But while the food situation may have improved, the DPRK is said to be still dependent on food aid.

Trade predictions

So what are the DPRK’s prospects? Much depends on the outcome of the nuclear negotiations but estimates from the Seoul-based Korea Trade-Investment Promotion Agency (KOTRA) say the DPRK’s trade volume in 2005 is expected to pass $3bn for the first time since the fall of the Soviet Union with the figure likely to reach $4bn if inter-Korean trade is included. Trade with China, the DPRK’s largest trading partner, grew by more than 40% in the first half of 2005, indicating Pyongyang’s growing dependency on Beijing.

Upbeat on trade prospects, Mr Cha explained that the recently opened Tae-an Friendship Glass Factory, built with a $32m donation from the Chinese government, would export 40% of its 300-ton capacity, mainly to Siberia. Also Pyongyang’s first autumn international trade exhibition in October included companies from six European countries, the focus being on the country’s mineral potential rather than its manufacturing abilities, which are a long way off.

As for banks, the group of up to 15 joint venture banks are helping to finance the country’s 150 or so international companies. But do not expect miracles. The latest, Koryo Global Credit Bank, set up in June, is a joint venture between the UK-based Global Group, headed by Hong Kong businessman Johnny Hon, with 70%, and the state-owned Koryo Bank with 30%. Established with a paid-up capital of e10m, KGC Bank is ambitious in its plans to engage the DPRK in trade and commercial relations with the rest of the world, especially Asia, the Middle East and Europe.

KGCB’s first correspondent banking relationship in Europe is with Germany’s Helababank. The bank, the first product of cooperation in the finance field between the DPRK and the UK, has a staff of five and is also interested in investing in property. It was also able to produce, at the instigation of US authorities, a comprehensive anti-money laundering file.

Another local venture is North East Asia Bank (NEAB), which was set up by ING Group in 1995 but is now wholly owned by the Korean BOHOM Group. Amazingly, Kim Hyon Il, NEAB’s president, produced a balance sheet showing total assets of e79m at the end of 2004 and a paid-up capital of e25m. He also showed me the bank’s newest product, a chip-based cash/debit card, the first in the DPRK. The card demonstrates perhaps that the country is slowly joining the real world – but with only 100 issued and only 13 outlets available, the service has a long way to go.

Political effects
 
At Daedong Credit Bank, chief executive Nigel Cowie explained how international politics can have a dramatic impact on banking even in the isolated DPRK. In September, just before the conclusion of the fourth round of the Six-Party Talks, the US Treasury accused Banco Delta Asia (BDA), a Macao-based bank, of aiding the DPRK in a series of ‘money laundering’ cases. The Wall Street Journal had said the Macao crackdown was Washington’s method of cutting off Pyongyang’s financial sources for its nuclear weapons programme.

Mr Cowie, a former HSBC banker, explained that all DPRK banks had accounts with BDA for the purposes of remitting funds and, as a result, the accounts were suspended pending an inquiry in mid-November. While Stanley Au, chairman of BDA’s parent, denied the US allegations and BDA’s involvement in any illegal business relations with DPRK banks, the damage is done. “It affects our customers because it affects people’s ability to remit money to and from the country. I imagine that this will cause people doing legitimate business to give up,” says Mr Cowie.

The nuclear negotiations remain critical to the country’s future and the Chinese, in particular, want them to succeed. But that is just a start. There is evidence that the DPRK is opening up and changing with reports that there are 300 open markets operating across the country, 30 in Pyongyang. But whether the DPRK follows the China model of 25 years ago and can restructure its ‘powerful socialist nation’ doctrine remains doubtful under the current leadership.

Nautilus Institute
David L. Asher
11/15/2005

I am very pleased to be invited back to the Wilson Center to speak today. I enjoyed my time here this summer and want to thank my colleagues for the chance to be affiliated with the Center, which I consider the finest organization of its kind in Washington. I also wish to thank my former boss, Assistant Secretary Jim Kelly and the many members of our inter-agency team for kindly attending today. In particular, I want you to know of the extraordinary work that our friends and colleagues here from the United States Secret Service have done recently to safeguard our nation and our currency from a determined adversary.

I left the State Department in July and I want to be very clear that my remarks today are personal in nature. They in no way should be interpreted as representing the view of the US government, the Department of State or the Department of Defense. They also are drawn strictly from unclassified sources (the vast amount of information now in the public domain is indicative of the scale of the problem of DPRK criminality).

Let me make clear, I am a believer in the Six Party Talks. I applaud the efforts of my former colleagues, Chris Hill, Joe Detrani, and Jim Foster to effect positive diplomatic movement via direct dialog and clearly demonstrate to all the parties seated at the big table within the Diaoyutai State Guesthouse that the US is sincerely willing to join the international community in engaging North Korea to facilitate its denuclearization, its economic development, and its opening to the outside world. At the same time, given this objective, there should be no further room for tolerating the unacceptable and in many ways outrageous criminal and proliferation activities that the North Koreans continue to engage in.

Allow me to begin my remarks by laying out the major aspects of North Korean trans-national criminal activity. I will then look at the specific question of how the DPRK’s growing ties to Organized Crime groups and illicit shipping networks could be used to facilitate WMD shipments. I’ll propose a possible way to reduce this risk. I will conclude by frankly commenting on the nature of state directed criminality in the DPRK and its implications for international law and the DPRK’s status in the international community and the United Nations.

My research topic this summer at the Wilson Center was on the rise and fall of “criminal states” – government’s whose leaders had become intimately involved with trans-national criminal activity. I compared North Korea under Kim Jong Il with Serbia under Milosevic, Romania under Ceausescu, and Panama under Noriega. I won’t get into the details of this comparative research now but, suffice to say, the scale and scope of the other cases pale in comparison with present-day North Korea.

The rise of the criminal state in North Korea is no secret. It has occurred in full view of foreign governments and with increasing visibility to the world media. Over the last three decades agents, officers, and business affiliates of the DPRK have been implicated in hundreds of public incidents of crime around the globe. Incidences of illicit activity have occurred in every continent and almost every DPRK Embassy in the world has been involved at one time or another. This should be no surprise. North Korea is perhaps the only country in the world whose embassies and overseas personnel are expected to contribute income to the “Party Center,” not rely on central government funds for their operations. Such repeated illicit actions from diplomatic premises amount to a serial violation of both articles 31 and 41 of the Vienna conventions on Diplomatic Relations, which respectively convey that A. commercial, and most certainly, criminal activities for profit shall not be conducted by accredited diplomats or via accredited facilities and B. mandate that officials posted abroad must obey the laws of the nation to which they are posted. The DPRK routinely pays no attention to either critical provision of the Vienna conventions.

I am frequently asked “how much is this stuff going on?” Although it is hard to pin down the exact scale of the illicit activity we can make a rough guess. In 2003 the DPRK ran a trade deficit of at least $835 million and that if more broadly measured to exclude concessionary trade with the ROK was more like $1.2 billion. Even making a very bold estimate for informal remittances and under the table payments for that year, the DPRK probably ran a current account deficit of at least $500 million. Moreover, North Korea’s accumulated trade deficit with the ROK and China alone since 1990 is over $10 billion. North Korea has not been able to borrow on international markets since the late 1970s and has at least $12 billion in unrepaid debt principal outstanding. Yet, until recently – at least – it has managed to avoid self-induced hyper-inflation (which should have occurred given the need to reconcile internal and external monetary accounts, even in a communist country). Instead, the street stalls in Pyongyang and other North Korean cities seem to be awash in foreign made cloths, food, and TVs and the quality of life of the elite seems to have improved. What’s apparently filling the gap and accounting for the apparent improvements to the standard of living for the elite? The short answer as I see it: Crime. And if I am right, then the criminal sector may account for as much as 35-40% of DPRK exports and a much larger percentage of its total cash earnings (conventional trade profit margins are low but the margin on illegal businesses is extremely high, frequently over 500%).

Whatever the precise size of the criminal surplus, all analysts and law enforcement authorities agree that overseas illicit and weapons trading activities have become increasingly important sources of foreign exchange for the DPRK. These earnings have provided support to North Korea’s “military-first” economy and contributed to Pyongyang’s ability to resist demands from the international community for an end to its nuclear weapons program. They also apparently have persuaded the Kim Jong II regime it can affordably maintain its political isolation and resist the imperative for sweeping economic and social reforms that all other communist states have had to engage in. Given that periodic exposure of illegal dealings by North Korean officials overseas in the past has not resulted in serious or lasting consequences, Pyongyang may believe that an open door for global criminality exists.

Let’s review the scale and scope of the North Korean “soprano state.” As is well known the North Korean government is involved in a wide range of illicit businesses in partnership with organized crime groups or unilaterally. These include:

1. Production and overseas distribution of narcotics, in particular heroin and methamphetamines:

DPRK Narco trafficking continues as a major income generator, although less prominently perhaps than before. China continues to be the major market for North Korean drugs and the situation became so bad that in March of last year the Vice Minister of the MPS called a highly unusual “press conference” to announce his determination to cut into DPRK drug rings in Jilin province, on the border with North Korea (which some Chinese law enforcement officials have stated is “out of control”). Japan probably still comes in second. From 1998-2002 Japanese police interdicted nearly 1500 kg of meth that in six separate prosecuted cases was shown to have originated in the DPRK. This amounts to thirty-five percent of all methamphetamine seizures in Japan in that period and had a wholesale value of over $75 million and a street value of as much as $300 million. Given the chemical profile for DPRK produced meth (essentially of extremely high purity) several Japanese authorities I spoke with the week before last believe that a fairly large percentage of the meth coming in from Northern China today is consistent with DPRK origin. As elsewhere, in Japan to mask their fingerprints the North Koreans are going through triads, snakeheads, and other indirect channels. This has been less true with Heroin where North Koreans continue to be observed selling the drugs. The Australian seizure of 125 kg of Heroin worth $150 million off the Pong Su – a Worker’s Party linked vessel and with a KWP secretary on board – in my mind was hardly a random or isolated incident (it is not surprising given that the North Koreans had established an Embassy in Canberra the year before that one would assume needed to produce income for the center – it was Pyongyang’s way of saying “thanks very much”).

2. Production and international distribution of counterfeit currency, in particular the US dollar, as well as counterfeiting or illegally reproducing and selling numerous other items, in particular counterfeit cigarettes and pharmaceuticals.

Under International Law, counterfeiting another nation’s currency is an act of causus belli, an act of economic war. No other government has engaged in this act against another government since the Nazis under Hitler. North Korea has been counterfeiting the dollar and other currencies of importance the entire time it has been on the international engagement bandwagon. What does this say about the regime’s intentions?

As the recent DOJ indictment of Sean Garland and other members of the Official IRA for their partnership in the criminal distribution of counterfeit US currency reads: “Beginning in or about 1989, and continuing throughout the period of this Indictment, a type of high-quality counterfeit $100 FRNs began to be detected in circulation around the world. Their high quality made it particularly difficult for them to be detected as counterfeit by untrained persons. The United States Secret Service initially designated these counterfeit notes as “C-14342” and they came to be known as “Supernote” or “Superdollar.” Quantities of the Supernote were manufactured in, and under auspices of the government of, the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (“North Korea”). Individuals, including North Korean nationals acting as ostensible government officials, engaged in the worldwide transportation, delivery, and sale of quantities of Supernotes.”

The Royal Charm and Smoking Dragon investigations that were concluded this summer revealed a willingness to sell millions of dollars in DPRK supernotes into the US by Asian OCs linked to the North Korea government. Whether this was a deliberate act of policy decided in Pyongyang or just business among crooks is hard to tell but it seems unusual that according to the public indictment the cost of the notes was less than 40 cents per dollar, far below the market value associated previously with the counterfeit supernotes, given their ability to be circulated without ready detection by the naked eye. One wonders how such a price could be obtained unless the notes were coming from a very high source inside the country in question.

The relatively sophisticated shipping methods for transporting supernotes uncovered in the FBI-USSS Royal Charm/Smoking Dragon investigations also needs to be given scrutiny, especially given our topic today. The following slides, reproduced from a Taiwanese newspaper article gives you a sense of how they move the notes around, falsely manifesting the cargo as a non-dutiable item (in this case as “toys”), falsifying port of origin information (to indicate a port in Northern China instead of in the DPRK), and cleverly concealing the contraband.

The production of counterfeit cigarettes also appears to be a very large and profitable business for North Korea and one with global reach. Indeed, Counterfeit cigarettes may well be North Korea’s largest containerized export sector with cargoes frequently coming from the ports of Najin and Nampo for shipment via major ports in China and the ROK throughout the world. Phillip Morris International, Lorillard, Japan Tobacco and others have identified numerous factories producing counterfeit cigarettes in North Korea. Affected industry participants have worked assiduously with relevant government authorities around the world to stop this trade. The numbers explain why. A forty foot container of counterfeit cigarettes might cost as little as $70,000 to produce and have a street value of 3-4 million dollars, so it’s not surprising that the North has focused on this business line-with its profits increased if tax stamps are forged (something that has been observed repeatedly of late, costing affected states such as California tens of millions in stamp revenue per year). A 1995 Associated Press article reported the seizure by Taiwan authorities of 20 shipping containers of counterfeit cigarette wrappers destined for North Korea. According to officials of the cigarette company whose label and trademark were being violated, the seized materials may have been used to package cigarettes with a retail value of $1 billion. Increasingly DPRK counterfeit cigarettes, counterfeit pharmaceuticals (especially counterfeit Viagra), and counterfeit currency are being moved in parallel. Royal Charm revealed that weapons, too, potentially even manpads might be run through the same channels. What could be next?

3. Smuggling sanctioned items, including conflict diamonds, rhino horn and ivory, and endangered species, utilizing official diplomatic means

I find this to be one of the most outrageous and unacceptable of the DPRK’s criminal acts, absolutely contravening international law, including the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora. There are numerous notorious examples to cite. In the early 1980’s, five North Korean diplomats were forced to leave Africa for their attempts to smuggle rhino horns. The horns were transported from Luzaka to Addis Ababa to South Yemen. From there, they traveled to the consulate in Guangzhou, which ran operations in Macau, Zhuhai, and Hong Kong. This kind of activity has apparently not changed. As Stanford researcher, Sheena Chestnut, noted in a recent thesis, in the years since 1996, “at least six North Korean diplomats have been forced to leave Africa after attempts to smuggle elephant tusks and rhinoceros horns.” Ivory seizures directly linked to North Korean officials amounted to 689 kg in Kenya in 1999; 537 kg in Moscow in 1999; and 576 kg in France in 1998. I don’t have more recent data I can share publicly but I don’t think they have given up on the illicit ivory trade.

4. Money laundering for its own account and in partnership with recognized organized crime groups abroad:

The extent to which the DPRK uses banking partners around the world to launder funds has recently gotten a lot of attention in the wake of the Macau based Banco Delta Asia designation under Section 311 of the USA Patriot Act. The Treasury Department’s website paints a pretty clear picture: “One well-known North Korean front company that has been a client of BDA for over a decade has conducted numerous illegal activities, including distributing counterfeit currency and smuggling counterfeit tobacco products. In addition, the front company has also long been suspected of being involved in international drug trafficking. Moreover, Banco Delta Asia facilitated several multi-million dollar wire transfers connected with alleged criminal activity on behalf of another North Korean front company.”

5. Weapons smuggling and trading in WMD

Even while its customer base diminishes, North Korea defiantly remains in the business of selling MTCR class missiles and base technologies. It also continues to field more advanced systems domestically that could be exported. Logically speaking, as its stockpile of WMD grows so could its willingness to export technologies, systems, and even materials. Business and ideology conveniently mix in the minds of North Koreans, it seems, as they calculate where, when, and how to sell weapons and weapons systems.

Moreover, in the face of increased surveillance of DPRK flagged vessels, the threat of using conventional shipping means to move cargoes increases as does the incentive to use organized crime channels.

There are several thousand containers each year coming out of North Korea from its two main container cargo ports: Najin on the east coast and Nampo on the west coast. To get into the international maritime transport system, they have to go through friendly ports, typically in China, the ROK, and Japan. Virtually none of these containers in China is subject to inspection and few in the ROK. Japanese customs has made a bigger effort but it remains insufficient in regard to cargoes destined for non Japanese ports.

As we learned from the investigations concluded this summer, containers of counterfeit cigarettes, counterfeit currency, weapons, and other illicit items apparently produced in the DPRK or linked to a distribution chain it has ready access to have managed to make their way into the US. So could North Korean WMD if we don’t create a system to better scrutinize cargoes and enhance Maritime Domain Awareness to protect our SLOCs.

Unfortunately, neither the PSI no the CSI are attuned to addressing these threats. The Container Security Initiative is a worthy effort to move US customs outward, inspecting select cargoes destined for US waters overseas before they embark in our direction. I am impressed by the work being done by US Customs and ICE officers overseas to look into suspect cargoes and the dedication of personnel at the National Tracking center to identify ships and cargoes that may have not been covered by the CSI or fallen through the loop. Nonetheless, the CSI has no application to containers destined for non-US ports and, moreover, it is only operating in a small number of foreign venues. What happens to the majority of containers coming here or going elsewhere? Nothing.

Moreover, the hallowed Proliferation Security Initiative unfortunately remains much more talk that action. I support the initiative but it is not sufficient and does not substitute for a dedicated DPRK counter-proliferation policy. It is nice to see countries getting together to agree to intercept shipments but it is another to engage in such interdictions. There has not been one single PSI interdiction of a DPRK flagged vessel that I am aware of. Does this mean they have stopped sailing? A quick look at the “Lloyd’s List” database reveals this to not be true with many notorious North Korean vessels like the Sosang, which was interdicted shipping missiles to Yemen in December 2002 (before the PSI existed), still plying the high seas. What are these ships carrying? Moreover, I find the implicit premise that interdiction alone is adequate for stopping proliferation unsettling. Stopping a weapons shipment on the high seas is like stopping a drug shipment under dark of night-easier said than done. The odds are not good, especially when you face an adversary with access to near state of the art communications, excellent denial and deception, diplomatic immunities, and friendly criminal partners to facilitate its activities.

More decisive action is required, well beyond the PSI’s current scope. The AQ Khan network was brought down by a network disruption strategy that utilized all aspects of national power. Such a strategy may need to be mounted soon to stop a determined North Korea engaged in the weapons trading business.

Fortunately, there are some things in the area of peaceful international cooperation we can do to minimize the chance North Korean contraband, missiles, or WMD will get into the international distribution system. I propose that a special Container Security Initiative be created and applied to the DPRK, beginning in China and the ROK. Specifically, all containerized cargo out of North Korea should be mandated for inspection at the first international port of conveyance. Legitimate trade would be allowed to pass but illicit cargoes would be stopped. The US could not accept containers from ports that do not wish to join this special inspection regime. Such a regime would dramatically reduce the risk of weapons proliferation and cut into crime. Were all ships coming from the DPRK, whether bearing containers or not, subject to first order inspection the system would be even more effective. Given that DPRK trade represents a drop in the bucket for even major Chinese and Koreans ports, instituting such a regime should not be particularly onerous.

Down the road a more elegant solution is possible, whereby only smart containers can gain access to the international shipping system. The President recently announced a new policy on Maritime Domain Awareness (MDA). As Vice Admiral John Morgan has recently written, “MDA is the collection, fusion and dissemination of enormous quantities of data – intelligence and information to form a common operating picture (COP) – a web of integrated information which will be fully distributed among users with access to data that is appropriately classified.” Through the COP, specialists should eventually be able to monitor vessels, people, cargo and designated missions, areas of interest within the global maritime environment, access all relevant databases, and collect, analyze and disseminate relevant information.

This goal of Maritime Domain Awareness may sound overambitious, if not down right impossible. However, within the next five years, we likely will see the global deployment of such “smart-containers.” These sophisticated containers will be equipped with RFID tags that can not only broadcast the precise geo-location of the container but also be linked to relational databases that reveal detailed information on the container’s cargo: where it was loaded and by whom, when and where it was produced, and a host of other important information. IBM and Maersk have in fact just announced a pilot project to validate this smart container concept and allow the data to be trackable via an open information architecture.

In effect, driven by industry requirements even more than government regulations, by the end of the decade we can look forward to the development of a “world wide web of things” – the physical data tracking equivalent of the internet. Such a web promises to dramatically enhance supply chain management for multinationals, expedite and safeguard trade, and reduce counterfeiting. This is not science fiction: companies like Walmart have already demanded that their suppliers insert RFID tags into products with the goal of eventually being able to track in near real-time the status of virtually every asset in the company’s supply chain domestically and – relatively soon – globally.

Countries, ports, or companies not subscribing to smart container standards would be subject to automatic inspection or simply not be allowed to engage in international trade with countries participating in the initiative.

Conclusions:

North Korea is the only government in the world today that can be identified as being actively involved in directing crime as a central part of its national economic strategy and foreign policy. As a result, Pyongyang is radically – and perhaps even hopelessly – out of synch with international law and international norms. In essence, North Korea has become a “soprano state” – a government guided by a Worker’s Party leadership whose actions, attitudes, and affiliations increasingly resemble those of an organized crime family more than a normal nation.

North Korea’s serial violation of international laws and agreements begs the question whether it should be allowed normal protections granted to states under the United Nations treaties.

Its reliance on illicit activity for maintaining what my former colleague Bill Newcomb has termed the “palace economy of Kim Jong Il” perhaps makes it very hard for North Korea to abandon such activities and also provides Pyongyang a means to avoid serious engagement with the outside world. Thus, unless and until the North finds itself censured for its involvement in such activities and its illicit finances come under great pressure it may have few incentives to be cooperative and come clean and act normal.

The North must cease its dealings with trans-national organized criminals, its illicit export of weapons, its nuclear reprocessing, its threats to engage in nuclear proliferation, etc. Instead it should accept the extremely reasonable terms the US, with the others parties in the talks, have offered for promoting a positive and peaceful transformation of relations in the context of full denuclearization. If it does then next month’s talks should represent a turning point in the history of our relations with the DPRK. If it does not, as I have shown the evidentiary ground exists for the DPRK’s comprehensive diplomatic isolation and a systematic denial in diplomatic privilege, if not as a pariah state with nuclear weapons but as a criminal state engaged in causus belli acts against the United Nations, its laws, and its principles. I hope Mr. Kim Jong Il makes the right decision.

From the Friederick Naumann Foundation:

During their 12-day visit to Germany, the DPRK delegation consolidated their technical knowledge on market economy which they gained while participating at the seminars organized by FNF in North Korea, so far. Apart from theoretical knowledge on budgeting, expenditure, monetary and fiscal policy, the North Korean economic and financial experts gained also practical insights into the organization of the German financial institutions as well as into methods of tax collection.

The North Korean delegation visited the Bundestag (German Lower House), the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Federal Ministry of Economics and Labour, the Federal Ministry of Finance as well as the German Institute for Economic Research (DIW), the German Federal Central Bank and the European Central Bank. The programme included also meetings in the Federal Statistical Office, the State Ministry of Rhineland-Palatinate, the tax office of Mainz as well as the Institute of Finance at the University of Mainz. In many of these institutions the North Korean delegation was the first visiting group from DPRK ever.

Choson Iblo
9/6/2005

North Korea’s gap between rich and poor has been growing since the Stalinist country started economic reforms in 2002. While some have managed to better themselves to form something of a nouveau riche class, more than 70 percent are now getting only about half the needed calorie intake from state-run food distribution centers, the Financial Times reported Friday.

The World Food Program’s North Korea director Richard Ragan told the paper the wealthy are concentrated in five cities, including Pyongyang. They are the group that can be seen going to work on their bicycles, which cost triple the average monthly salary in North Korea. The newly affluent work mostly in retail and service industries and include tailors, ice cream sellers and bike repairmen who make money in general markets, which have multiplied to some 300 since 2002. Some farmers selling surplus produce are also part of what passes for a wealthy class in North Korea.

Most of those working in industrial production subsist below the minimum level, and tens of thousands of industrial workers in towns like Hamhung or Kimchaek are losing their jobs. Among those able to work, 30 percent are unemployed, and 70 percent of the population receives 250-380 grams of food a day from state-run food distribution centers — no more than half the necessary daily intake of nutrients.

The FT said the country as a whole is experiencing 130 percent inflation but poverty is no longer shared equally.

Korea Times
Andrei Lankov
9/6/2005

For decades, money did not really matter in the North Korean economy and society. Levels of consumption were not determined by money expended, but rather by access to goods. Everything was distributed, and almost nothing was actually sold, at least from the 1970s when the Public Distribution system reached the height of its power.

Indeed, the history of the North Korean retail industries between 1948 and 1975 was one of a gradual demise of trade as it is generally known elsewhere. By the late 1940s most employees of state enterprises were being issued ration coupons. These coupons allowed them to buy goods at heavily subsidized prices. If they were not happy with them, they could go to the market.

In 1958 private trade in grain and cereals became illegal. For a while vegetables and meat were not rationed, but the number of items subject to distribution kept increasing, and by around 1975 the state shops had actually become nothing but outlets of the PDS. It was legal to buy and sell most goods on the market (grain and liquor remained an exception), however the North Korean economy was so structured that few goods could be produced outside the official economy. For this reason few goods could be channeled to the private markets. Thus, market prices were exorbitant, and people had to survive on what was supplied through the PDS.

However, the economic disaster and famine of 1996-2000 changed this situation. Markets began to spread across the country with amazing speed. In the years 1995-1997 nearly all plants and factories ceased to operate. In the worst period, in early 1997, the average utilization of major plants was reportedly a mere 46 percent of their capacity.

In most areas people still received ration coupons, but these coupons often could not be exchanged for food. Only in Pyongyang and some other politically important areas did food continue to be distributed through the late 1990s, but even here the norms were dramatically reduced: from the pre-crisis level of 500-700 grams a day (depending on one’s perceived value to the state) to merely 150-250 grams daily in the worst days of the famine. Even such small rations were not available to everybody. According to research by Meredith Woo-Cumings, as few as 6 percent of the entire population relied on the PDS in 1997.

Thus, many people, including myself, came to the conclusion that the PDS had died. This impression was reinforced in 2002 when the `economy improvement measures’ (never officially called `reforms’) were introduced. Then it was normally supposed by outside observers that consumption needs would be satisfied through markets.

But in 2004 and early 2005 new data emerged from the ever secretive North. It became clear that the Public Distribution System had not been dismantled. Indeed, it made a moderate comeback, largely due to foreign food aid which was largely channeled through the PDS.

Of course, the PDS does not even remotely reach its earlier ubiquitous levels. According to the FAO, the U.N. food and agriculture agency, in early 2005 the Public Distribution System was “the main source of cereals for the 70 percent of the population living in urban areas.’’ Farmers do not get food from the PDS. During the period November 2003 through October 2004, the average actual allocation through the PDS was about 305 grams, representing about half of a person’s daily needs. According to the World Food Program, in early 2005 rations were cut down to 250 grams per person per day — 40 percent of the internationally recommended minimum.

In October 2005 the North Korean government told its populace that the PDS would be re-started soon. So far, it seems that in Pyongyang the PDS indeed works at the 1990 level, but outside the capital the market remains the only place to find food.

In such a situation, the ability and willingness to engage in private business became a major guarantor of physical survival. A witty local observer described the situation in post-famine North Korea: “Those who could not trade are long dead, and we are only left with survivors hanging around now.’’

The major coping mechanisms are support from relatives in the countryside, wild food collection, and kitchen garden production. According to an FAO survey undertaken in late 2004, 57 percent of the PDS dependent population and “nearly all’’ farmers have kitchen gardens; about 60 to 80 percent of PDS dependents and 65 percent of coop-farmers gather wild foods; and 40 percent of surveyed households receive some support from relatives in the countryside (either as gifts or as part of barter deals).

It is important that farmers are allocated far larger rations, about 219 kilograms of cereals a year or 600 grams a day. They also have larger kitchen plots and can sometimes hide some additional food from hillside cultivation which is less strictly controlled by the state. According to the FAO estimates, kitchen gardens alone give the average farming household some 10 percent of its income.

As has been the case for decades, only a part of rations come as rice. Barley and maize, far less nutritious, comprise a large proportion of cereal consumption. The North Koreans’ approach to maize is clear from the fact that the rice/maize barter ratio is 1/2: for one kilogram of rice one expects to get two kilos of maize, and vice versa. In the period from September 2003 to September 2004 maize accounted for about half of all cereals distributed through the PDS.

But why is the PDS necessary, or why is it not possible to get rid of it altogether? The answer to this question is largely political and, as our readers guess, this will be 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.

The BBC offers a summary of economic conditions in the DPRK:

The focus of the international community’s alarm over North Korea is the isolated nation’s nuclear arsenal, and its refusal to talk about it.

An aspect that is sometimes overlooked is the dire state of its economy, and yet this could be at the heart of the nuclear crisis.

The regime, with few allies in the world, cannot appeal to the sort of humanitarian emotions that African or South Asian nations have in the past.

To ensure the flow of food and oil, it must have a bargaining chip, and its nuclear arsenal is that chip.

Therefore Pyongyang’s diplomatic bluster is inextricably linked to its need to keep what remains of its economy propped up by donations.

North Korea has recently attempted limited reforms to its economy, but these have not been comprehensive or well-enough planned to work.

Pushed into reform

North Korea became an independent state in 1953, and has operated a rigid centrally planned, or “command” economy based on that developed by Stalin in the USSR.

Industry and agriculture are planned on a five-year basis, all farms are collectivised, volume is praised over value and most foods and goods are rationed.

This model initially allowed for rapid industrialisation and rebuilding, but it failed to deliver sustainable growth or raise living standards.

The economy began to collapse, and by the mid-1990s the country was in a state of famine. The industrial base and the agricultural sector have been in decline ever since. Beijing, North Korea’s only real ally, decided to act in October 2001 with an economics lesson for North Korean leader Kim Jong-il.

He was shown round a GM plant and a hi-tech factory in Shanghai, and received a lecture about the benefits of Chinese-style reform.

The Chinese were effectively telling Mr Kim that it was time for change – and that they were fed up with the growing number of refugees fleeing over the Chinese border, and increasing demands for aid.

Mr Kim realised he needed to keep China close, and in June 2002 announced a series of economic reforms.

Pyongyang partially ended rationing and reformed the wages and pricing system.

Retail prices shot up – rice by 55,000%, corn 5,000%, electricity 143% and public transport fares 2,000% – but average wages increased by just 1,818% – from 110 won to 2,000 won (US$22) per month.

It also allowed private farmers’ markets to expand – to provide more goods for the consumers this monetary liberalisation had created.

Another major plank of the reforms was the new investment zone in Sinuiju – and another one in Kaesong, agreed as part of Kim Dae-jung’s Sunshine Policy.

These investment zones used foreign investment to create new economic ventures.

But neither the wage and pricing reform, nor the investment zones, have worked.

Scarce resources

The government had hoped that inflation created by the reforms, if kept under control, would “kick-start” the economy.

But this theory assumed there was a mass of underutilised resources waiting to be kick-started. Twenty-five years of decline meant that these resources were now scarce.

More food found its way into the farmers’ markets, but at prices ordinary people could not afford.

This effective legitimisation of private farming and smuggling across the border from China only succeeded in increasing the availability of goods to the elite – those whose wages were protected or had access to foreign currency.

As for the economic zones, Sinuiju’s position, opposite China’s flourishing economic zone in Dandong, annoyed Beijing.

It consequently arrested the Chinese businessman hired to run Sinuiju, imprisoning him for 18 years for tax evasion and effectively ending the project.

Kaesong survives but all the ventures are foreign-owned, with little benefit, therefore, for North Korea.

By the end of 2002, economic growth was estimated at just 1.2% at best, with the average citizen’s purchasing power severely eroded.

For most ordinary North Koreans, the end result of the reforms was further impoverishment and the eroding of any savings they may have been able to build up.

So, in light of the reforms’ failure, North Korea’s alleged announcement in October 2002 that its country was pursuing an enriched uranium programme could be interpreted as a return to its old bargaining tactics.

The international community responded to the announcement by setting up six-party talks in August 2003.

But the diplomacy is failing because North Korea, with no allies but the increasingly exasperated Chinese, and little prospect of economic revitalisation, needs to ensure a continued drip feed of aid.

That means a hard bargaining process, and Mr Kim has one bargaining chip – his nuclear bombs.

Already twice, as far as we know, Beijing has managed by persuasion, and perhaps a little economic pressure, to get Pyongyang back to the table after talks have stalled.

Now Beijing is trying again. Perhaps what Pyongyang wants most is a serious package of economic aid from China.

China may provide it to get the talking started again.

But the price Beijing will need to demand is that Pyongyang restarts economic reform in earnest, and moves away from the continual brink of collapse that forces it to make desperate diplomatic gambles such as the current crisis.

As for the economy today, it has to all intents and purposes collapsed.

The reforms were limited, and benefited just the elite of the country rather than ordinary people.

The basic structure remains in place and continues to erode the economy.

However, as long as the regime can keep the country isolated, it can survive on this drip-feed indefinitely.

The endgame is simple – regime survival. It is a long-term strategy using diplomatic belligerence and military threat to secure enough aid to maintain power and isolation.

The regime may survive, and may under pressure begin another round of tentative reform, but it seems unlikely that life will improve for ordinary North Koreans any time soon.

Read the full story here:
Economy root to N Korea crisis
BBC
Paul French
2005-4-12

Atlantic Monthly
B. R. Myers
9/1/2004

You’ve just finished your life’s work, a bold new history of the Watergate burglary in which you manage to prove that the White House was out of the loop, but the ink is hardly dry when an eighteen-minute tape surfaces in a Yorba Linda thrift shop, and soon the whole country is listening to Nixon gangsta-rap about how he personally jimmied the door open. It’s every revisionist’s nightmare, but Bruce Cumings, a history professor at the University of Chicago, has come closest to living it. In a book concluded in 1990 he argued that the Korean War started as “a local affair,” and that the conventional notion of a Soviet-sponsored invasion of the South was just so much Cold War paranoia. In 1991 Russian authorities started declassifying the Soviet archives, which soon revealed that Kim Il Sung had sent dozens of telegrams begging Stalin for a green light to invade, and that the two met in Moscow repeatedly to plan the event. Initially hailed as “magisterial,” The Origins of the Korean War soon gathered up its robes and retired to chambers. The book was such a valuable source of information on Korea in the 1940s, however, that many hoped the author would find a way to fix things and put it back into print.

Instead Cumings went on to write an account of postwar Korea that instances the North’s “miracle rice,” “autarkic” economy, and prescient energy policy (an “unqualified success”) to refute what he calls the “basket-case” view of the country. With even worse timing than its predecessor, Korea’s Place in the Sun (1997) went on sale just as the world was learning of a devastating famine wrought by Pyongyang’s misrule. The author must have wondered if he was snakebit. But now we have a new book, in which Cumings likens North Korea to Thomas More’s Utopia, and this time the wrongheadedness seems downright willful; it’s as if he were so tired of being made to look silly by forces beyond his control that he decided to do the job himself. At one point in North Korea: Another Country (2004) we are even informed that the regime’s gulags aren’t as bad as they’re made out to be, because Kim Jong Il is thoughtful enough to lock up whole families at a time.

The mixture of naiveté and callousness will remind readers of the Moscow travelogues of the 1930s, but Cumings is more a hater of U.S. foreign policy than a wide-eyed supporter of totalitarianism. The book’s apparent message is that North Korea’s present condition can justify neither our last “police action” on the peninsula nor any new one that may be in the offing. It is perhaps a point worth arguing, particularly in view of the mess in Iraq, but Cumings is too emotional to get the job done. His compulsion to prove conservative opinion wrong on every point inspires him to say things unworthy of any serious historian—that there was no crime in North Korea for decades, for example—and to waste space refuting long-forgotten canards and misconceptions. Half a page is given over to deriding American reporters who once mistook Kim Il Sung’s neck growth for a brain tumor—talk about a dead issue.

Cumings is even harder to take when he’s in a good mood. By the time he has noted a vague resemblance between Kim Jong Il and Paul Anka, sniggered about “horny” Korean housewives, and mocked both a tour guide’s English and an African man’s surname (“I dissolved in hysterics”), most readers, with no photograph of the author to go on, will find themselves mentally exchanging his professorial tweeds for a very loud leisure suit. Most offensive of all is the book’s message that we shouldn’t be too hard on the dictatorship in Pyongyang, because human rights aren’t as important to Koreans as to the rest of us.

Does this system promote human freedom? Not from any liberal’s standpoint. But from a Korean standpoint, where freedom is also defined as an independent stance against foreign predators—freedom for the Korean nation—here, the vitriolic judgments do not flow so easily. This is a cardinal virtue among a people that has preserved its integrity and continuity in the same place since the early Christian era … After all, there is one undeniable freedom in North Korea, and that is the freedom to be Korean.

It seems to have slipped the professor’s notice that many countries manage to stay independent without dragging children off to gulags, and that North Korea is a place where a lot of characteristically Korean behavior—speaking bluntly, for example—is punishable by execution. The only significant part of the culture that can be freely indulged under Kim is its ethnocentric streak, which is what Cumings all but reduces it to; confusing cause and effect, he sees propaganda as the reflection of the popular soul instead of (to use Stalin’s metaphor) the engineer of it. The Korean people have always been more outward-looking than their insecure leaders, and for centuries this was especially true of those in the northern part of the peninsula. Even in the months after our disgraceful bombing campaign during the war—a campaign that Cumings rightly calls a holocaust—diplomats in Pyongyang noted no signs of indiscriminate xenophobia.

This was soon to change. Throughout the 1950s the regime resorted to crude racism in its anti-American propaganda, often treating inset eyes, big noses, and other Caucasian features as the manifestation of villainy. To the consternation of the diplomatic community, little effort was made to enlighten people about the existence of friendly big-noses, even though—as this spring’s Cold War International History Project bulletin makes clear—North Korea’s cities were rebuilt and its people fed and cared for with enormous amounts of assistance from Eastern Europe. “They expect foreign countries,” one Hungarian diplomat noted, “to give them everything.” Reading the CWIHP bulletin has the odd effect of making one realize what a relatively sensible bunch of people the Soviets were. In the mid-1950s they opposed Kim Il Sung’s brutal collectivization of agriculture; Kim brushed off their advice, only to demand food aid when a murderous famine ensued.

The more the regime evinced its incompetence by relying on foreigners, the more it needed to restrict the people’s contact with them. By the 1960s the party line had taken a turn that reminded a Soviet diplomat of Nazi Germany, as citizens who married Europeans were banished to the provinces for “crimes against the Korean race.” A diplomatic report translated in the CWIHP bulletin shows how the masses finally got into the spirit of things. In March of 1965 the Cuban ambassador was driving his family and some Cuban doctors around Pyongyang when they stopped to take pictures. Hundreds of adults and children quickly swarmed the diplomatic limousine, pounding it with their fists, tearing the flag off, and ordering the occupants to get out. Their rage and insults, directed mainly at the ambassador “as a black man,” abated only when a security force arrived to beat back the mob with rifle butts. (Not for nothing did Eldridge Cleaver say that the North Korean police made him miss the Oakland police.)

“The level of training of the masses is extremely low,” a party official later admitted to the ambassador. “They cannot differentiate between friends and foes.” In other words, everything was going as planned. The regime went on to blur the distinction further by excising all mention of outside assistance from the history books, even as it continued to squeeze billions of dollars from its cash-strapped allies. For decades a foreign proletariat toiling in dingy factories from Vladivostok to Karl-Marx-Stadt helped bankroll Pyongyang’s transformation into a proud monument to ethnic self-reliance, so that someday a Bruce Cumings could boast that it is anything but the ugly Communist capital one might expect. Well into the 1980s Kim was telling leaders of aid-donating states that he was having trouble meeting the basic needs of his people. If South Korea’s dictatorships were America’s running dogs, then North Korea was the Eastern bloc’s house cat: intractable, convinced of its superiority, and to some observers a more independent creature, but never much good at feeding itself—even after the can openers started falling silent in 1989.

The question of where Europe ends and Asia begins has troubled many people over the years, but here’s a rule of thumb: if someone can pose as an expert on the country in question without knowledge of the relevant language, it’s part of Asia. Europeans hoping to lay claim to North Korea should therefore brace themselves, because Bradley Martin’s publisher is touting Under the Loving Care of the Fatherly Leader (2004) as the definitive work on its subject, though it belongs squarely in the “a puzzled look crossed the faces of my guide and interpreter” tradition of monoglot scholarship. Although hardly definitive, it is still an excellent book, well researched and lucidly written. It is especially refreshing to find someone showing serious interest in North Korean propaganda instead of merely hooting at it.

The problem is that the official translations on which Martin was forced to rely do not always reflect the original. Kim Il Sung’s title Eobeoi Suryeong means not “Fatherly Leader”—a common rendering that encourages Martin to exaggerate the influence of Confucianism on the personality cult—but “Parent Leader,” the most feminine title the regime could get away with. As the country’s visual arts make clear, Kim was more a mother to his people than a stern Confucian patriarch: he is still shown as soft-cheeked and solicitous, holding weeping adults to his expansive bosom, bending down to tie a young soldier’s bootlaces, or letting giddy children clamber over him. The tradition continues under Kim Jong Il, who has been called “more of a mother than all the mothers in the world.” His military-first policy may come with the title of general, but reports of his endless tour of army bases focus squarely on his fussy concern for the troops’ health and comfort. The international ridicule of his appearance is thus as unfair as it is tedious. Anyone who has seen a crowd of Korean mothers waiting outside an examination hall will have no difficulty recognizing Kim’s drab parka and drooping shoulders, or the long-suffering face under the pillow-swept perm: this is a mother with no time to think of herself. When it comes to the Workers’ Party, the symbolism is even more explicit, as in this recent propaganda poem:

Ah, Korean Workers’ Party, at whose
breast only
My life begins and ends
Be I buried in the ground or strewn
to the wind
I remain your son, and again return to
your breast!
Entrusting my body to your
affectionate gaze,
Your loving outstretched hand,
I cry out forever in the voice of a child,
Mother! I can’t live without Mother!

It’s easy to imagine what Carl Jung would have made of all this, and he would have been right. Whereas Father Stalin set out to instill revolutionary consciousness into the masses (to make them grow up, in other words), North Korea’s Mother Regime appeals to the emotions of a systematically infantilized people. Although the propaganda may seem absurd at a remove, it speaks more forcefully to the psyche than anything European communism could come up with. As a result, North Korea’s political culture has weathered the economic collapse so well that even refugees remain loyal to the memory of Kim Il Sung.

The Yangs, for example, are former Party members who recently defected to the South with their two boys. As part of a campaign to prevent the formation of a refugee ghetto in Seoul, the family was resettled in Mungyeong, a charmless sprawl of apartment blocks and love hotels a few hours to the southeast. I visited them there in May. As we sat on the floor of their tiny living room, I told them how a young refugee once shrank from my approach because—as she later explained—I looked like the stick-nosed Yankee effigies she used to run knives into after school. “Yes, you do have …” the mother shouted over the general laughter, but she caught herself in time. Turning to the older boy, who is sixteen, I asked what wisdom he could remember from the Parent Leader. “Man is the master of his own destiny,” he said shyly, his voice trailing off. What about his parents? “We didn’t memorize sentences,” the mother said, embarrassed, so I asked her to explain Kim Il Sung’s ideology of Juche for me in her own words. “The main thing is, man is the master of his destiny,” she said briskly. “And?” I asked. Silence. “Well,” I said, “if people are the masters of their destiny, why do they need a leader?” The younger boy came to his mother’s aid: “It was something about flowers needing the sun to grow.” Everyone frowned at my pen scratching away; they were letting the Parent Leader down. “It wasn’t so much what Kim Il Sung said,” the father blurted out at last.

This is of course true. Expanses of tautological prose have been ghostwritten to fatten the spines of the two Kims’ collected works, but few people ever read them. North Korea is a unique socialist country in that its ruling ideology is conveyed through what is written about its leaders, not by them, and the message could hardly be simpler: Foreigners bad, Koreans good, Leader best. “The most important thing to us was that Kim Il Sung suffered for the people; he fought for us,” the boys’ mother said. With a start I realized that this elegant fortyish woman, who now sells American cosmetics for a living, had tears in her eyes. “The Leader would sit on the ground with farmers, just like we’re sitting here now. And if he shook someone’s hand, that person would be happy forever. Of course, Kim Jong Il is not like that.” Conversation turned to the railway explosion in the North at the end of April, and to the regime’s immediate focus on the material damage. “It’s because Kim Jong Il never suffered,” the father said bitterly. “What does he know about the common people?”

It would appear that Kim knows just enough. The border with China remains so porous that even children often sneak back and forth, and yet no more than three or four percent of the population has chosen to flee for good. The regime obviously did the smart thing by publicly acknowledging the food shortage and then blaming it on American sanctions, instead of pretending there was no food shortage at all, as Stalin used to do. The Dear Leader has also deftly exploited the tradition according to which Koreans care for their parents in old age: the masses are told that it is their job to feed him, not the other way around, and his famed diet of “whatever the troops are eating” is routinely invoked to shame everyone into working harder. Never has a dictator been such an object of pity to his people, or such a powerful source of guilt. In 2003 North Korean cheerleaders, living it up on a rare visit to a sports event in the South, responded to a rain-soaked picture of Kim by bursting into a hysterical lament that baffled their hosts.

To concede the effectiveness of the personality cult is not to agree with Selig S. Harrison’s startling assertion, in Korean Endgame (2002), that Koreans have a “built-in readiness … to accept as truth what is dispensed from higher authority.” No regime ever needed to subject its citizens to a lifetime of brainwashing in order to make them follow their natural inclinations. What must be acknowledged is that Kim Jong Il has evinced a genius for propaganda ever since managing the efflorescence of his father’s cult in the 1960s. Even so, he cannot cover his lack of charisma completely; it’s as if Hitler died and left the Third Reich to Goebbels.

Kim must also be aware that the infantilization of the people has come at a price. Away from Pyongyang’s carefully monitored tourist sites, North Korea is a much more raucous place than any dictator could be comfortable with. “One surprising thing,” Michael Breen writes in Kim Jong Il: North Korea’s Dear Leader (2004), “surprising because you expect robots, is … how frequently fights break out.” According to refugees, even women fight out their differences, and young female teachers are said to hit children the hardest. This lack of restraint is a problem for many North Koreans trying to adjust to life in the South. Social workers complain that the refugees pick fights with strangers, and storm off jobs on the first day. “I’d have thought they’d be better at controlling themselves, coming from a socialist system,” is a common lament.

In short, the conventional Western view of North Korea’s official culture as a stodgy combination of Confucianism and Stalinism—two ideologies that prize intellectual self-discipline above all else—could not be further from the truth. Fortuitously enough, this view has so far encouraged Americans to stay cool in the face of Kim Jong Il’s missile-rattling. But misperceptions of hostile regimes are inherently dangerous, especially when Uncle Sam is doing the misperceiving, and this one has as much potential to excite tensions as to reduce them. On August 18, 1976, a detail of U.S. and South Korean soldiers at the DMZ were pruning a tree when People’s Army soldiers demanded that they stop. The Americans refused, prompting the North Koreans to wrest away their tools. In the ensuing clash two American officers were killed. Unable to conceive that Communist troops could act out of spontaneous rage, Washington assumed that Kim Il Sung had ordered the incident. Troops were set on high alert, and nuclear-capable B-52s dispatched to skirt North Korean airspace. Luckily for everyone, the Parent Leader issued an apology for his children on August 21. As the Americans saw it, of course, Kim had “backed down.”

Perhaps the most unsettling thing about the nuclear accord brokered by Jimmy Carter in 1994 is the decade of crowing it set off in North Korea. A high-school textbook remembers, “The Great Leader dragged the Americans, who had fallen into a state of extreme terror and unease, to the negotiating table … All problems discussed during the talks between America and Korea were resolved to Korea’s advantage, and the intense nuclear standoff ended in our victory.” This is evidently sincerely believed; if it weren’t, the North Koreans would not still be so enamored of Carter and Robert Gallucci, the chief U.S. negotiator back then. Both men—and this must thrill them no end—are praised in propaganda literature as fervent admirers of Kim Il Sung.

It is reassuring, then, to read in Harrison’s book that the agreement actually represented a victory of high-ranking North Korean “doves” over their hardline colleagues. I just wish he had explained why even the most hawkish propagandists remember it so fondly. What bothers me more is the author’s insistence on interpreting the two Kims’ every act as part of a rational pursuit of national security. We are told, for example, that the deployment of atomic weapons in South Korea in 1958 frightened Pyongyang into starting its own nuclear program. As the CWIHP bulletin makes clear, however, Eastern European diplomats in the early 1960s were aghast at the North Koreans’ assertions that a nuclear confrontation was nothing to be afraid of, and that the time had come for another invasion of the South. It is by no means certain that this sort of adventurist thinking has been abandoned. In a propaganda novel set in 1993, Kim Jong Il and his generals regard a likely American air strike on the Yongbyeon nuclear facility as the perfect opportunity for a “sacred war” (seongjeon) of reunification. Harrison ignores such things, which may well be better than overreacting to them; but to approach North Korea as if it were the détente-era Soviet Union is asking for trouble. When he gets his next update on the hawk-dove struggle from officials in Pyongyang, a city where most foreigners count themselves lucky to learn their tour guide’s name, he should perhaps keep in mind that North Korea has always viewed the existence of similar factions in Washington as the manifestation of a ludicrous disunity. No one under Kim Jong Il would describe his government in such terms to a Yankee visitor unless the goal were to extract more concessions from the outside world.

Considering that for decades the North Koreans refused to listen to their own allies, it seems naive for the author of Korean Endgame to assume that what Washington does “will largely determine what the North … will do.” The Juche regime has received substantial U.S. aid since the famine, but the dominant slogans of anti-American prop-aganda remain “A hundred thousand times revenge” and “A jackal can never become a lamb.” In other words, even as the regime tells the outside world it wants nothing but better relations with Washington, it tells its own people that better relations are neither desirable nor conceivable. In January of 2003 Pyongyang issued a taunting poster of a missile attack on the Capitol.Later that year, with the six-party talks in progress, an old tale of murderous missionaries was reprinted in four North Korean magazines, complete with racist caricatures.

Still, the thrust of Harrison’s book is valid.

The goal of the United States should be to disengage its forces gradually … over a period not longer than ten years, whether or not this can be done as part of a negotiated arms-control process … The stage would then be cleared, as it were, with the initiative left to Seoul and Pyongyang. Washington would have its hopes and its advice but would recede into an unaccustomed posture of detachment, ready to let the two actors make their own mistakes.

This is excellent counsel. Far from being a stabilizing factor on the peninsula, the U.S. presence serves only to rally the North Koreans around their military-first government. As Harrison makes clear, this is no time to get sentimental about our old ally. Seoul asks that U.S. troops stay, but at the same time it poses as a neutral mediator of the resulting tensions, often playing down the nuclear threat just as Pyongyang seems bent on playing it up; a disastrous miscommunication among the three parties seems all but preordained. It is a shame that Harrison does not place greater stress on the need to extricate our troops even if the arms-control process fails, because it’s hard to see how it can succeed. Kim Jong Il refused to let South Korean doctors tend to blinded children after the North’s railway explosion last spring; such a pathologically secretive man must be expected to balk at an early stage in the verification of nuclear dismantlement, no matter what agreement he has signed. Washington will then renege on its part of the bargain, prompting Seoul to voice regret over American “intransigence.” This, in turn, will embolden the North to demand a re-negotiation of the point in question, and we will all be right back where we started, albeit with even more nukes to worry about.

In the meantime, anything can happen. Having predicted the speedy downfall of the regime back in 1994, Pyongyang-watchers now predict that it will be around forever, but North Korea is already well into a precarious post-totalitarian phase. Thousands of citizens in border regions chat with refugees by smuggled cell phone, and millions more enjoy illegal access to television broadcasts from outside the country. The majority of the population has bought and sold things at open-air markets, and many young people in rural areas have simply stopped attending school and political meetings. The personality cult will find it hard to adjust to this kind of change without routine recourse to anti-American alarmism, and if there are no grounds for confrontation, Kim Jong Il can be expected to create them. All the more reason, then, for America to heed Harrison’s advice and pull out. But will we do so? Our patriotic dash into the Iraqi quagmire hardly inspires confidence that we wouldn’t follow our own Dear Leader into a new conflict in North Korea, especially since the WMD really do look like a “slam dunk” this time.

The only comfort to be had from the new batch of Korea books is provided by Breen’s biography of Kim Jong Il, which details a hedonistic streak as wide as the DMZ. Apparently the dictator lives in a huge palace stocked with Paradis cognac, and every summer a fresh “Joy Brigade” of high school beauties gets to admire the ceiling. Breen waxes indignant about this, but would he rather Kim were sharing a tent with a mountain goat and a well-thumbed Koran? We can all breathe a little easier knowing that our most formidable adversary wants his virgins in the here and now.