Kulture Korner: Origins of "OK"

 (This post is dedicated to my dad, who will insist until his deathbed that the phrase OK originated with Martin Van Buren's "Old Kinderhook" campaign)

It's not always just hydroelectric dams and missile launches on the pages of North Korea's premier monthly literary journal. They also have a long tradition of printing short "world culture" and "world literature" corners. I came across this one in the January 2000 edition of Chosŏn Munhak:

The text explains that the popular phrase "OK" first originated with a US postal worker named Obed Korey who, when charged with validating large stacks of mail, took to scribbling his initials "OK" on each piece. It was then adopted by the US telegraph bureau as a shorthand for verifying all telegrams, and the usage expanded from there.

I'm guessing on the spelling of the name, because I could find absolutely nothing online verifying this story. It could be that they just made it up, though if so I'm not sure why they would settle on this story, which does not go out of its way to bash the US or otherwise support their ideology. (Readers,  if you can find any other reference to this story, please hmu on Twitter).

Chosŏn Munhak gets a pass on this one, though, because even out here in the information-rich free world there are a bunch of nincompoops with mistaken ideas about the origins of the term.

The best rundown of all the alternate theories, along with the correct history, can be found at the Economist (alternate here). Hint: It didn't start with Martin Van Buren's campaign slogan. It's much, much stupider than that.

Why is this interesting? Well, it suggests that the phrase OK is so ubiquitous that even North Koreans were apparently well familiar with it in 2000 and at least mildly interested in its origins.

Using the magic of Quanteda, I found just ten instances of "OK" in my entire database of novels and short stories. From what I can tell, the phrase occurs exclusively in 1) speech by Americans (or slavishly pro-American South Korean characters) or 2) thoughts/descriptions associated with Americans. Below are a couple of examples:

"Road Guide" [길안내자], a short story about pro-North smugglers in southern Korea in the late 1940s, by author Pak Sŏng Jin, published in the Sept 2016 issue of Choson Munhak:

 "The villagers had heard a rumor that a US military training ground was to be built on their land, but when they asked about it they were beaten like beans on a threshing floor by the thuggish 'Northwest Youth League' gang... When [an 18-year-old local woman] went to an American officer to protest, the guy looked at her with a lustful spark in his pale eyes and said, “Okay, sweetheart!" [오케이, 색시!]

The Cuckoo Never Sleeps, a historical novel set in newly democratic South Korea in the early 1990s, by author Hyŏn Myŏng Su, published in 2016:

"Long ago, Cho Dae-pung had learned through painful experience that he needed the support of the United States to hold power in this country. Even if he lacked all political experience and had no popularity with the people, as long as he had the United States in his corner everything was okay [만사는 오케이였다]."  [context: Cho is a fictional former KCIA director turned conservative National Assembly member] 

How to become a writer in North Korea

Reading so many works of North Korean literature, one gets curious about the origin stories of these writers. Here is what I have been able to find out:

Literary Correspondents

An important feature of North Korea's state literary production system is the role of 문학통신원, or "literary correspondents." These are part-time writers working in various industries while producing stories, essays, or poems that depict their working life. Indeed, most of the biggest names in North Korean literature have histories of working in more humble industries like mining, farming, and manufacturing, and their stories reflect their backgrounds. Paek Nam Nyong (Friend, Field Train, Revival) was an accomplished lathe operator. Paek Bo Hŭm (“Green Land,” Eternal Life, Age of Prosperity) was some kind of botanist. Poet Kim Man Yŏng was a Chollima Steel Factory laborer. 

Winners of the 2014 "Our Schoolroom" Literary Prize

Registered literary correspondents get copies of the KWU literary circulars by subscription, and they attend annual training sessions where they get instruction on how to write ideologically "correct" and inspiring narratives. South Korean Professor Oh Tae-ho, in his 2019 essay "북한에도 작가가 존재한다," describes literary correspondents as entry-level writers who are scattered throughout the North Korean workforce to write stories about their industries. "Laborers, farmers, office workers, soldiers, students – anyone who shows aptitude for writing can become a literary correspondent. Because they produce stories while working directly in their industries, they play an important role in popularizing literature for the masses." 

Kim Ju-song was one such literary correspondent, and he describes the system in detail in his memoir [151-2]:

In North Korea, there are several stages that one must clear in order to become a writer. The first of these is becoming a “literary correspondent of the masses.” Any North Korean citizen, male or female, young or old, can do this. One simply visits the regional KWU office and registers with the officer in charge. After that, you work on writing stories and attend yearly “literary correspondent seminars.” 

These seminars usually last about one month, during which writers work on stories while staying at a designated inn near the regional KWU office. Finished stories are then reviewed by judges [審議員] in the masses’ production division [群衆創作課]; if they pass review, they may be published in a party literary journal. 

That journal is Chongnyon Munhak, one of the KWU’s central monthly circulars. If a LC gets three short stories and two essays published, he or she becomes certified as a “working writer” [現職作家] (the requirements are different for poets).

Working writers do their writing “part-time" while working at their respective jobs. In NK they are also known as "third-class writers.” To become "active duty" writers they must then publish a certain number of stories and essays in the central circular Choson Munhak. It takes great perseverence to get that far, and many fall just short of the goal.

Kim goes on to describe some of the perks that motivated him to become a KWU writer.  Even as a "working writer," one gets the much sought-after "business travel pass" [出張証明書] (granting permission to travel freely within the country for research), three months' paid vacation per year, and an invitation to participate in the annual KWU writers' seminar [全国作家講習] in the capital.

This article has some more good information about literary correspondent system. It says the KWU claims there are presently 1000+ LCs, most in their 20s-40s, working in Pyongyang and various regional factories, offices and collective farms. LCs are organized into literary units (문학 소조) at each workplace, tasked with writing stories based on things they witness and experience. 

Chongnyon Munhak and Part-Time Writers

Unlike Chosŏn Munhak ["Korean Literature"], which only publishes works by full KWU members,  Chongnyon Munhak ("Youth Literature") publishes a mix of full-time and part-time writers, as well as national fiction prizewinners who may be employed at various industries. Thus it is a better venue to find stories by younger, less established writers who likely aspire to achieve full-time status through their craft.

 Some Chongnyon Munhak stories will include short biographical details of the writers in their bylines, particularly if they are national prizewinners. Some authors of short stories published 2010-2012: 

• Kim Hye Sŭng / Farm worker, Hwapyong Cooperative Farm, Wiwon County, Chagang 
• Kim Myŏng Ho / Faculty member, Chŏngp’yŏng Agricultural College
• Yim Jŏng Song / Laborer, Shinuiju Synthetic Fiber Factory, North Pyongan
• Kim Myŏng Ch’ŏn / Laborer, Pyongyang Electronic Medical Devices Factory
• Cho Hyang Mi / Student, Writers’ Development Program, Kim Hyong Jik University of Education

This last is the very program that author and defector Kim Ju-song tried so hard for so many years to enter, as described previously on this blog.

Literary Prizes

Another way for LCs to win recognition and advancement to full writer status is by winning one of the handful of annual literary awards that the KWU gives out. Winners get their stories published and may also earn educational scholarships or more permanent status within the KWU hierarchy. There are four main literary awards: The June 4th Prize [6월4일문학상], The 'Our Schoolroom' Prize [우리교실 문학상], the April 15th Mangyongdae Prize [4.15만경대창작상], and the Educational Thesis Prize [교육테제상].

Of these, the most prestigious is the June 4th Prize, named after the date that Kim Il Sung's guerrilla unit attacked the Japanese army outpost at Pochonbo; this prize is available only to KWU-registered literary correspondents. The "Our Schoolroom" Prize, named after a famous poem that Kim Jong Il allegedly wrote in gradeschool, is awarded to elementary and middle school students. The April 15th Mangyongdae Prizes are for youths who have completed middle school, and the Educational Thesis Prize is for teachers. Prizewinners are selected by the Amateurs Guidance Department [신인지도부] of the KWU.  

Serial prize-winner Ri So Yŏn

North Korea takes great pride in its system for fostering writing talent among "ordinary people," and newspapers frequently print articles about prizewinners highlighting their ordinariness. This 2016 article introduces one Ri So Yŏn, a student at the Namsan School in Pyongyang who at an astoundingly young age has already won the Our Schoolroom Prize and the April 15 Mangyongdae Prize. The article describes Ri as being "born to an ordinary family" [평범한 가정], but Namsan is known as the ultra-elite school where many scions of high-level officials are educated.

Last year the North Korean newsmagazine Tongil Shibo ran a feature story about one literary correspondent, Kim Hye Gyŏng, a factory control operator [조종공] whose poem won first prize at the National Masses' Literature Prize Contest [전국군중문학작품현상모집]. Kim is described as "an ordinary 20-something laborer" who "loved to read books from an early age" and "writes poetry in rare scraps of spare time after work, even when commuting, late at night, or early morning." The article notes, "Every time she writes a new poem, Foreman Kim Chang-il and the other factory employees are delighted as if it were their own, becoming her first readers and informally 'evaluating' the works," and concludes "What would have happened if this ordinary working youth [평범한 근로청년] was born in a society like south Korea, where money governs everything? Perhaps they may hold onto a dream of writing poetry, but they can't even think of letting their literary talents blossom fully."

Tongil Arirang (통일아리랑): Choreographing the Arirang Mass Games

Cover art of Arirang, a novel by
Ri Ryŏng Chŏl published in 2013

"Tongil Arirang" (Unification Arirang) is a short story that appeared in Chosŏn Munhak in February 2009 (after KJI had his debilitating stroke, but over a year before his son was appointed successor). It tells the story of Kim Jong Il's efforts to assist his choreographers in planning the Arirang Mass Games while hosting ethnic Koreans from around the world.

This story appears to be a condensed version of Ri Ryŏng Chŏl's 2013 novel "Arirang," part of the "Eternal Leadership" (불멸의 향도) series. The ambitious reader can find the entire novel on uriminzokkiri.

The story is unusual in having a Korean-American as a semi-sympathetic character. It follows the reconciliation of two old friends who were separated in the chaos of the Korean War. One went South and then emigrated to the US, becoming an accomplished composer and pianist. The other went North and became the foremost choreographer for the Arirang Mass Games. Through the two artists, we get a sense of North Korean archetypes of artists in the socialist and capitalist worlds. Through their eventual reconciliation, we also catch a glimpse of the Party's ideal vision of national unification.

Story Summary

KJI is up late at night looking over the script for Arirang. He calls up Culture Minister Wŏn to discuss final arrangements, which are proceeding despite "the difficult international situation."

They discuss the various foreign delegations that are visiting, particularly the Korean compatriots from the South and overseas. Many of them have been asking after old relatives and friends, not knowing if they are still alive. A Korean-American musician by the name of Chŏn Sang Ŭm had wandered into the Office of Overseas Compatriots (해외교포사업국) asking after his old friend Rim Jin Woo, who was the lead choreographer for Arirang.

KJI recalls hearing a sad story from Rim about his friend Chŏn ten years ago. Rim was quite bitter about it, but he's an amiable enough fellow so KJI figures he'll have welcomed his old friend back by now. He smiles, thinking about the two artists lounging together on a grassy knoll sharing old memories and talking shop.

On the subject of Arirang, KJI asks Wŏn about the problematic "unification scene." Wŏn confesses it's already undergone three revisions. Rim Jin Woo, the choreographer, seems stuck; hence, the committee sent the script to the Leader for advice.

KJI asks to meet Rim and is informed that the choreographer has been sleeping at May Day Stadium lately, engrossed in his work.

An Arirang performance at May Day Stadium, July 2013.
Src: RFA

KJI decides to watch the rehearsal DVD one more time before paying Rim a visit. He reviews the scene where the "wall of division" crumbles. Amid a patriotic chorus, the scene fades in to a riot of dancers in pink, yellow and white skirts twirling against a backdrop of Mt. Paekdu and Mt. Halla. In the middle, they flip their colors to form a red map of unified Korea on the field.

KJI knows what's wrong; the choreography is formulaic and limited, and the most vital message, about "the need to assist our people's self-determination and independent development in the 21st century," is too abstract. The scene fixates on the historic events of the year 2000, but "unfamiliar political slogans cannot stir a crowd."

He turns off the video and listens to a recording of the orchestral score "Bumper Year Comes to Chŏngsanbŏl" (청산벌에 풍년이 왔네), a hybrid folk opera from the 1960s. The dynamic, stirring melody, played by a mixture of Korean folk instruments and modern instruments, calls up a sweeping vision of a misty country morning at harvest time, craggy mountains and roiling rivers. The 룡강기나리 main melody and the constant 휘모리장단 rhythm always fills him with nameless joy. The central theme coalesces in a grand finale evoking the Chollima horse descending from heaven.

This recording shows just how music can move people. Why can't Rim Jin Woo create something like this for Arirang?

Opening Ceremonies of 13th World Youth Festival in
Pyongyang, 1989; a precursor to the Arirang Mass Games
Src: dprktoday

KJI first met Rim when he was choreographing the opening ceremonies for the 13th World Youth Festival (제13차 세계청년학생축전). He immediately sensed that this was an earnest and devoted young artist with a discerning eye and a great sense of mission. Afterward he talked with him at length and learned of his tragic personal history, deeply affected by the nation's division. No doubt, it was this tragic past that enabled him to create such moving art.

KJI checks his schedule; sadly, he has no time to meet with Rim Jin Woo today.

But driving past the Paekŭntan neighborhood in the pre-dawn light, he spots Rim in workout clothes, jogging along dejectedly. He accurately surmises that Rim is troubled about Arirang, and the two men sit down in a nearby riverside park to discuss it.

   "Basically, what you're trying to say in this scene is that our republic, as the leader of its own history, has the power to end our nation's division. ... But the inspiration just won't come. The desire for unification is too abstract and subjective. The passion and joy infusing the whole scene, the way the whole Korean map turns red, it's all very symbolically meaningful - but you need a great story to bring a huge crowd to their feet.... To get it right you'll need to study more about Arirang and our people's history."

Changing the subject, KJI asks about Rim's old friend visiting from America, and learns that Rim refused to meet him. A disappointed KJI asks why, prompting Rim to recall the whole story.

Chŏn Sang Ŭm had been Rim's closest childhood friend. His father, who had gone to Japan to study Koguryŏ era court music, was butchered in the anti-Korean rioting after the Great Kanto earthquake, and his mother died of grief soon after. The orphaned Chŏn came to live with Rim's family, becoming like a twin brother.

A colonial era water carrier

Rim's father worked in the streets of Seoul as a water carrier (물지게장수) until he died in a car accident. After that, Rim Jin Woo and his little sister Jin Ae both quit school, and Rim took work as a dockworker and porter to support Chŏn's piano lessons. Jin Ae even sold her blood to help pay Chŏn's school fees, and the two of them fell in love.

After unification, the two friends fell out. Chŏn was studying under an American professor who taught him to separate art from politics and pursue "art for art's sake" (예술지상주의), and Rim resented his friend's new reverence for American culture. Chŏn disagreed with Rim's political activism, his anti-Americanism and his full-throated opposition to the Syngman Rhee regime.

The trials of the war would soon reveal the true colors of the two men.

During the "strategic short-term retreat" (전략적인 일시적후퇴), Rim got recruited into the  National Security Command Choral Group (경비사령부협주단)  and went North with his sister. Chŏn joined their convoy, but they got caught up in a USAF strafing attack near Sunchŏn. They got separated in the confusion, and Jin Ae was shot.

For some time Rim did not know what became of his friend. Then one day, to his shock, Rim heard Chŏn's amplified voice from overhead.

   There was Chŏn Sang Ŭm, riding above their heads in an American helicopter, calling out to them by name and urging them all to "escape" to "the free world."
   This was the same Chŏn who had praised the North's land reform policy and cheered for the Northern performers (북반부예술인들) at the Bumingwan Concert Hall! How could he leave his beloved Jin Ae bleeding on a stretcher and go join the Americans? His blood boiled as he recalled his friend's admiration for American bourgeois culture.

The enemy opened fire and Rim was hit in the stomach and shoulder. Several days later, his sister Jin Ae died from her wounds.

Now, Rim confesses to KJI that he went to the Koryo Hotel but couldn't bring himself to confront his erstwhile friend. "No matter how bad things were, how could he desert his homeland and run off to play piano in a foreign country?"

KJI learns that Chŏn had left a letter for Rim at the Overseas Compatriots Office. He cancels all his important plans for the day and reads the letter.

Dear Jin Woo,
   I know what you must be feeling as you receive this letter, and of course your feelings are completely correct.
   But I write in hopes that, even if I can't be forgiven, I can at least offer some consolation to you and relieve some of the horrible guilt and pressure I have suffered over these many years. If you have any leftover affection deep in your heart, I beg you to hear what this miserable human has to say.
   I don't sleep much anymore. In my head I relive endless scenes from those days I spent living off your family's mercy. How we used to fight over our one ragged blanket, until one night you wrapped it completely around yourself. The next morning you were so apologetic... I'll never forget your kindness or the pure heart of Jin Ae, who gave her blood for my school fees.
   After the dream passes, I awake to terrible sorrow at what I cannot change...
   Jin Woo, do you remember? When I said I'd follow you north, you slapped my shoulder heartily as if you'd been worried. To be honest, what I was feeling at the time was total antipathy; I hated being swept up in the tide, just blowing this way and that. I went with you purely out of love and friendship.
   But on the road north I had time to coolly assess my situation. All the things we saw on the road - the streets and towns turned to rubble by American bombs, the corpses strewn all over the place, the crying baby clinging to its dead mother's' breast - I saw the true evil that lurks in the human heart and was chilled by the terrible force behind it. And then I worried what my life would be after it was over. You all seemed so certain that the People's Army would strike back and win, but I knew that either way more blood would flow. Which side would prevail, only time would tell; but I couldn't just drift along with it any more. I'd rather escape and seek solace in my music, free from ideological intrusions...
   I didn't get far on the road back to Seoul before I was detained by the Americans. The agent in charge of my case asked me to join the "open arms program" (귀순공작). Of course, I had no real choice...
   After that my life went smoothly, "without obstacles." I became a US citizen, created my own world of music, and gained adulation and riches. But I've never stopped secretly feeling deep sorrow and doubts about my life's meaning. It pours out of me during my long lonely nights at the piano keyboard, burying my mind in waves of emotion, and it's never left me through all these years.
   One year my concert tour took me to a certain country. We performed only one concert there, but the audience reaction was unexpectedly intense. It was the retirement concert of the great composer and cellist Rostropovich, who had once performed at the American White House.
   That day he performed all his greatest works, including his arrangement of the 2nd movement of Dvorak's New World Symphony. After he finished, someone asked why he was so attached to that piece.

Mstislav Rostropovich conducting the New York Philharmonic in April 2005.
Src: New York Times

   Rostropovich replied: Every artist hopes to create a masterpiece, but the opportunity comes maybe once in a lifetime. Why? Because art is the expression of all things human, and to create great art one must first refine one's humanity. If this work of mine gives you joy, it is probably because I composed it as a son's final farewell to Mother Russia.
   Later I learned that he had applied for permanent residency status during that visit to his homeland, hoping to live out his last years there. The Soviet officials refused his request, on the grounds that he turned his back on his homeland at its most difficult time and greatly aided the United States' anti-Soviet policies.
   But his words that day really shocked me. In that instant, I understood the source of the nameless oppressive feeling that had plagued me for so many years. Rostopovich had walked the path of anti-Soviet anti-communism, building an ivory tower to his own art, all because he, too, had sacred feelings that transcend ideology.
   From that day on I asked myself: Who is my art for? What is my music really about? How many of my creations can I really, unreservedly take pride in? Not one. It was all for myself, all these so-called "humanistic" (범인류적) works to dress-up the big powers' hegemonic ideology of "globalism" (대국의 패권적리념인 "세계화").
   I was filled with terrifying remorse. My conscience had negated everything I once took pride in.
   I gave up everything - performing, composing, music itself. My only task was to seek out my true self, right my wrongs, and start anew.
  So much time had passed. What had happened? That part of my homeland called "South Korea," which I had left in disgust, continued to wear the guise of an independent country, but everything that happened there aroused the same feelings of hatred in me as before. But the North was the opposite. The more I learned of the North's history, the clearer it became that its government truly gives its all for the people and humanity, just as we had experienced under the Republic's rule during the war. And the Northern Fatherland (북부조국) is truly a great country, a land whose people live with a noble mission and a strong will.
   And in its decades-long nuclear confrontation with the US, I saw the strength of the North's resolve.
   Jin Woo, I must make a shameful confession. When American jets, ships and missiles threatened the Republic and the nuclear tensions ran high, I sat in the corner of a back-country diner outside of Kansas City crying into my beer, bemoaning the weakness of my people. But the Republic spectacularly defied my expectations.
   When it withdrew from the NPT, and when it declared a quasi-war footing - Jin Woo, how can I express the passion and joy I felt? The earth-shaking developments continued to unfold, amazing the whole world.
  I couldn't figure it out. How can the nation that considers itself the "world's sole superpower," that thinks nothing of trampling a whole sovereign nation in a morning whenever it has a bellyache, be outmatched by this one tiny nation? Because of its military power? Well, that makes sense. The US and the Western powers all acknowledge the North's great military force. But that's not the true reason.
   Then one day when I was in Hong Kong for medical treatment, I saw an ad for the "Arirang" mass gymnastics performance and concert.
  It was just a few pages in a magazine, but it gave me a revelation. I felt the truth communicated through art, the truth of a spirit that stands up proudly before the whole world in its endless struggle for justice in the new century.
   Here were creators with a true understanding of the value of culture. I wanted to meet them immediately - all the more so when I saw that my old friend was among them. I had some worries because of our past, but I requested a meeting anyway.
   Jin Woo, what kind of human being am I? What right do I have to stand before you and talk about art and humanity?
   Once I saw a trout struggling to swim through some rapids, going upstream to lay its eggs. Its skin was torn and its scales were shredded.
   Back and forth it went, slowly losing energy. But finally, with a great push, it reached the top of the rapids. Thinking back on it, I figure I'm more worthless even than a trout. From what I hear, a trout knows where its home is and even goes hungry just to return there to lay eggs, bringing new life back to its birthplace.
   Even though I have been unfilial to my fatherland in everything, I can only hope you will hear my plea.
   I heard the whole story from the Overseas Compatriots' Office. About the horrible events that happened after I went south; about how you suffered false charges because of me. How could you meet me with an easy heart after that?
   It's too late now. I'm too imperfect a human to create art, and the sunset has deepened too far for me to redo my life. I wanted to face my shame and apologize to you a hundred times, but my crime is too great. My only wish is to call out "Jin Woo!" once more with all my soul, like in old times.
   I pray that Jin Ae is at peace. I pray that you are well.
   A sinful human,
   Chŏn Sang Ŭm.

Sword dance performance at Arirang Mass Games

Jin Woo is disturbed from his reverie to find himself staring blankly at the young dancers rehearsing on the field. A hopeful assistant choreographer asks his advice about a revision, but he waves her off, saying "Why are you asking someone who can't even get his own job done right?" He's been moody lately, blowing up at everyone.

Last week KJI read Chŏn's letter and returned it to Rim via the Ministry of Culture, along with a message: "Whether Jin Woo meets with his friend is not important. What matters is finding a way to deal with the problem of unification and the fate of our people. Tell him to search for the solution in his life, in the life paths of him and his American kyopo friend."

Taking the Leader's advice, Rim Jin Woo looks back over his life with an artist's eyes. The nation's division cut him off from his mother, he couldn't even write her a letter. When he finally visited the South for a separated families reunion, his nephew told him that she had cried out for him with her dying breath. He sobbed at her gravesite, remembering how she toiled wordlessly, stealing crusts to feed them and doing laundry to cover their school fees. During the war, he'd told her "The good times are here, so don't worry anymore. Soon I'll be a big man and you'll live in luxury." Those were the last words he said to her.

But really, his experience not so extraordinary. Everyone who lived through that time had a sad story to tell.

As winter deepens, KJI continues his ceaseless guidance tours around the country, visiting mines and mountain military bases, but he never neglects the Arirang planning. The Unification scene remains problematic.

One night on the road in to Pyongyang, he dispatches an aide to run to the stadium and fetch Rim Jin Woo. When Rim arrives, KJI has an impromptu roadside conference with him while his accompanying officers wait.

Rungrado May Day Stadium in Pyongyang, where the
Arirang performances are staged

When KJI asks him how the work is going, Rim confesses he's lost confidence, and begs to be taken off the job. KJI tells him "Don’t despair, every artist has these sort of problems." He then talks at length about the nature of art and human feelings.

He asks Rim what he felt when he read his old friend's letter; Rim responds, "I realized that even someone like that, in the end, is just seeking his own land." KJI tells him to ground his work in that idea, in the personal tragedies of division.

Rim finally feels inspired; pleased, KJI tells him to go back to work and “make ‘em cry.”

But Rim still lacks confidence and begs the leader for more specific advice on various scene elements. So KJI, after some teasing, hunkers down and offers his own detailed advice on song order, color, and background transitions.

In parting, KJI asks Rim again about reuniting with his old friend Chŏn Sang Ŭm. The Ministry of Culture has arranged for Rim to join its delegation to Austria next month so that he can meet Chŏn there. KJI encourages him to be magnanimous toward his reformed friend.

KJI is unsatisfied with the idea of a third-country meeting, and suggests giving Chŏn a special invite to attend Arirang and do a concert of his own works. “Then we’ll settle the score. Give him a little scolding. But don’t be too hard on him.”

One year later, Rim is reunited with Chŏn Sang Ŭm and they watch Arirang together. The story ends with Chŏn's glowing review of the performance.

Creative Differences: Politics in the Arts

The story highlights an important ideological difference between North and South: Where South Korean artists have largely fought to keep politics out of their creative process, North Korea disdains "the ideology of art for art's sake" (예술지상주의).

Chŏn and Rim have their initial falling out in colonial Seoul after Chŏn is seduced by American culture and decides to pursue "art free from politics." In his letter, the aged Chŏn looks back over his successful career in America and laments, "How many of my creations can I really, unreservedly take pride in? Not one. It was all for myself, all these so-called 'humanistic' (범인류적) works to dress-up the big powers' hegemonic ideology of 'globalism' (대국의 패권적리념인 '세계화')."

At the end, after Chŏn has finally been reunited with his friend and seen Arirang, he writes of the performance:

   “I’m endlessly amazed. Lofty political meaning expressed through art, refreshing art seasoned by politics; they seem as discordant as the Tristan Chord, and yet, hearing them together fills me with an irrepressible joy… Even Apollo, the god of art himself, could not produce such a work...”

Artistic differences were apparent at the first joint concert between North and South after cultural exchanges were initiated in 1985. Hwang Byung-ki wrote in Korea Focus:

   The response from each side to the music of the other was quite unfavorable. South Koreans spoke critically of North Korea's music and musical instruments for distorting tradition and betraying our nationality, while North Korea berated the South's music for its vestiges of feudalism. As such, the political situation of the time and the atmosphere of confrontation between the two Koreas spilled over into the exchange of art groups, as this effort indeed failed to promote reconciliation. 

It is of course important to remember that the South Korean state was not always as hands-off toward the creative arts. The Yushin dictatorship had its own "Cultural Five-Year Plan" and state-produced cultural ventures, particularly in film, painting and music. Perhaps because of this, in the democratic era South Koreans have become adept at sniffing out political subtext in their own cultural products.

Art through Suffering

The main characters in this story are both artists whose primary motivation is to create a "masterpiece" to last for all time. They repeatedly express the idea that the best artists are "refined through suffering" and suffering is needed to inspire great art. As Rostropovich says: "Every artist hopes to create a masterpiece, but the opportunity comes maybe once in a lifetime. Why? Because art is the expression of all things human, and to create great art one must first refine one's humanity."

After receiving Kim's guidance, Rim ponders what he considers the greatest revolutionary performances of his time – the five great revolutionary plays, the 13th Youth Festival, Arirang. "Extraordinary works of art only came from those who lived correct lives and had true love of people," he thinks.

After hearing of Rim's reluctance to meet Chŏn, KJI is very disappointed with his top choreographer. "A true revolutionary must be able to overcome issues of system or ideology, and acknowledge reality of our national struggle."

KJI encourages Rim to use his personal sorrows as inspiration in his work.

   “With any work of art, no matter what kind, if it fails to stir people emotionally it loses its purpose. But what is emotional impact (정서적감흥)? Is it not the true expression of real life? That’s why your work is stuck, because it lacks this element. Now, let’s look for elements of the 'unification scene' in your own life.
   “When I read your friend’s letter, I got a glimpse of your life... How did it feel, lugging around water pails on the streets as a child? What was it like going back to Seoul with the Family Reunion group? ... And what did you feel when you read your friend’s letter?
   “In your life there is the sorrow of the past and the pain of the present. But is that limited to just one person? No; as I said before, though each path may be different all of our people have come the same way; these officers here, you, and your friend."

Later on, when Rim still isn't getting it, KJI elaborates:

Childrens' gymnastics performance at Arirang Mass Games

“Listening to the main ‘Arirang’ theme the other day I really felt the tragedies of our people’s history. Yesterday the sorrow of having our country stolen, today the pain of division.
   “The sorrow you experienced as a child without a country, your mother who waited so many years and passed away without seeing you, your friend who finally found the truth as a grey-haired old man. Comrade Rim Jin Woo, I think you can express our nation’s sad history through your own life story, no more and no less.”

As usual, KJI has the right idea from the beginning, but he has to almost rub his lead choreographer's nose in it before the man takes the hint. It is easy to see how such a story is meant to inspire North Korean readers. If great suffering is necessary to create great art, then North Korea must have some of the greatest artists in the world.

National Reconciliation

From its theme of redemption and forgiveness, we can conjecture that this story (and the later novel) were aimed at both North Koreans and the extended Korean diaspora overseas. By following two characters who both originally came from Seoul, the story clearly promotes the North as the true homeland of all the Korean people, regardless of birthplace.

The story suggests that the Party will offer forgiveness towards those Koreans who seek it. At their roadside meeting, KJI tells Rim:

   “During the 13th Festival, when our Great Leader heard that the south was sending some religious groups and the National Council of Student Representatives (전대협), what did He say? No matter how extreme their anti-communist sentiment, no matter how great our differences, the feeling is still there. And the way to achieve unification is to revive that feeling of nationalism (민족애) in every heart; this is the truth of unification that transcends all ideology. To awaken them to their identity as Koreans, and to their love of their people. Comrade Jin Woo, wasn't that what brought a Korean American musician and native of the south to come and visit our Republic?"

After hearing that they have planned to meet at last in Austria, KJI again urges compassion:

   “Think how amazing it is, that he saw the truth after only experiencing a few months of life in our Republic. There are some who have done worse than him and been forgiven. How wonderful that he was able to visit his homeland finally in his old age. Just as floodwaters appear muddy in the rainy season, but the groundwater stays clean.
   “Jin Woo, they say a bowed head doesn’t get cut off. Be magnanimous, forget what’s past, and have an open mind.”

With the discursion about the composer Rostropovich getting denied Soviet citizenship, the story warns diaspora readers that they should turn back to the homeland before it is too late. It also hints that, unlike the Soviet Union, North Korea is willing to take a more compassionate attitude toward its many prodigal sons and daughters, if they return now.

Through this story, the Party seems to be sending the message that Koreans are still welcome in the DPRK no matter how many years they've spent in the decadent capitalist world (particularly those who found fortune and fame in their years abroad).

Notes and Links

"Bumper Year Comes to Chŏngsanbŏl" (청산벌에 풍년이 왔네) is the final passage of the North Korean orchestral suite "청산리 사람들", an important 1960s-era work of hybrid folk/modern music combining traditional Korean percussive instruments with modern Western opera instruments. Though the composer passed away over 40 years ago, North Korea's Naenara website published a lengthy epitaph to him in English in 2013. A 2011 performance can be viewed here.

According to this article, 룡강기나리 is a kind of folk melody beloved by North Korean singers that evokes the peasant traditions of South Pyŏngan Province. It has been used as the base melody for several orchestral arrangements, including "Bumper Year Comes to Chŏngsanbŏl." A concert performance by the South Korean Bulsechul Ensemble can be viewed here.

The "Arirang" Mass Games had been a key part of North Korea's foreign tourism outreach every year from 2001 to 2013, after which they abruptly stopped. They returned in 2018 with  a brand new show titled “Bright Fatherland” (빛나는 조국), which was attended by South Korean President Moon Jae-in. An abridged version of the performance and Moon's entrance can be viewed here. On 38 North, Andray Abrahamian posted an excellent summary of how the new show differs from those of the past.

"Blossoming Dreams": Kim Jong Un raises the next generation of artists

"Blossoming Dreams" (피어나는 꿈) is a short story by Kim Il Su that appeared on the literary magazine Chŏngnyŏn Munhak in January 2017. This is the first story I've read that focuses on the qualities of the newest North Korean leader, and (spoiler alert!) he's every bit as extraordinary as his father and grandfather were.

The biannual National Drawing Exhibition* at the International Culture
Center in Pyongyang.  Src: Tongil News

The story follows Kim the Third's efforts to cultivate young artists and architects, and particularly highlights his ability to spot talent in young pupils who have been overlooked by their teachers and parents. This makes it an appropriate complement to earlier stories like "Uri ui Mŏt" that depicted Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il as peripatetic talent scouts for the nation. Pay close attention and you may also detect a not-so-subtle message about youthful potential that has clear implications for young leader Kim himself.

This is the sort of story that would likely be assigned to students to read and discuss in class. It fits in the category of 수령형상창조, stories focused on extolling the magnanimity and revolutionary spirit of the leaders. Unlike the more literary stories reviewed earlier, this one has little in the way of character development or lessons for everyday life.

*Note - In the translated excerpts I have capitalized the male pronoun to indicate where the text uses the honorific pronoun "그이." I find this format helpful both to clarify who is speaking and to give a sense of the reverence for the leader that comes through in the North Korean text. In South Korea this pronoun refers to respected elders, but in North Korea it is exclusively used to refer to the three leader Kims.

The Plot

The Dear Leader Kim Jong Un makes a call to his old college professor, Yu Myŏng Ch'an, to wish him a happy birthday. By the by, he inquires about the professor's son, Yu Kang Myŏng, and learns he is now in his third year of art college.

   "I saw your son's piece 'New Sprouts' on display at the national drawing exhibition. Remember? The one from his workbook..."
   "Ah, I still get the sweats thinking about that."
   The Dear Leader chuckled softly. "Yes, but thanks to that, we found a great talent together, didn't we?"

Flashback to years ago, when the young Kim was a student in Professor Yu's class at Kim Il Sung Military University. One day Professor Yu is setting up for class. As he opens up his lecture book, he seems to pause and frown distractedly at something before hurriedly putting it aside. It's just a momentary pause, but the eagle-eyed young Kim catches it and notices that his normally stoic professor seems slightly out of sorts.

After class, Kim stops by Professor Yu's office and asked about the incident. The professor confesses guiltily that he had unexpectedly found his son's school workbook stuck in his lesson planner.

   "I don't know what to do about that kid. First he wanted to do gymnastics and he ended up breaking his leg. He never sits still. If he's quiet in his room for once, I assume he's finally doing his schoolwork - then I go in and find he's just been drawing silly pictures all over his workbook. He does it in class too, I just got a note from his teacher. How can a merited family (총대가정) produce such an airhead (쭉정이)? This is what comes of my neglecting his education."
   While listening to Yu's story, He slowly turned the pages of the book. It seemed that the kid would get halfway through solving a problem, get struck by a random idea and start drawing all sorts of things - doodles, panel cartoons, flip books.
   "The second one is growing up fine, no problems, but this eldest one is always causing trouble. Last night I really lit into him about it. I couldn't concentrate after that, and I must have left the workbook stuck in my planner..."
   Comrade Kim Jong Un continued examining the photos as He listened. He was quietly impressed by many of them... The child had a good sense of perspective and scale, and though his technique was immature he showed a great talent for capturing small nuances with just a line or a dot...
   "These are quite interesting drawings," He remarked, to Professor Yu's astonishment. "A good drawer must have a sense of spacing, form, proportion and color, and Kang Myŏng's drawings display all of these. In this one, 'Happy Birthday Teacher,' he captures each person's essence through a single distinguishing feature. This is an innate talent." He goes on, "Art forms the base of architecture as well. Artistry and architecture are said to complement each other..."

Kim turns to the drawing "Spring," and remarks on how skillfully the child was able to capture the energy of the sprouts coming out of the earth and straining toward the sunlight, in a simple pencil drawing. He scribbles a few notes in the margin, suggests that 'New Sprouts' would be a better title than 'Spring,' and hands the book back to Yu saying, "Please encourage him to continue. Perhaps I should pay a visit or write him a letter, if it would help." Professor Yu is deeply moved by the young Kim's personal attention.

Back in the present day, Kim concludes his birthday call to his former professor and stares out his office window in quiet contemplation. Yes, Kang Myŏng's talent has grown by leaps and bounds since that first notebook, just like the "new sprouts" in his picture. And it is gratifying to see that his words of encouragement were heeded. But one thing gnaws at the Dear Leader. Is it right to consider Kang Myŏng a mere sprout? Just because he is young and "still studying," is it too soon for him to do professional work? If he already has the skill and the talent, why not put him to good use?

Just then in walks Ri Ju Yŏng, Kim's director of architectural design. Ri reminds him that he is scheduled to do on-site guidance at a military construction unit that day.

Kim Jong Un visiting Rungna People's Pleasure
Ground with his wife Ri Sol Ju. Src: Daily NK

At the base, Kim examines various blueprints and designs. He is amused by one blueprint - a logo design for the funhouse at the Rungna People's Pleasure Ground, featuring a monkey. He learns that this was designed by a student at the Pyongyang University of Architecture. As he holds the design, he flashes back to some of the drawings he had seen at an exhibition of the State Exhibition Center for Commercial Art (국가산업미술전시회장).

The exhibit had been full of innovative and amusing designs and mock-ups for all sorts of products. At a display of designs for uniforms and bags, something struck him as familiar. He checked the designer - it was none other than Yu Kang Myŏng, his old professor's son. He had asked the exhibition director if they had many student entries this year. The director replied that yes, they had accepted a few even though they were "still just students," figuring they could benefit from some positive feedback.

Exhibit at the State Exhibition Center for Commercial Art in Pyongyang, 04-08-2016.
Src: Xinhua

Later in the car, Kim remarks "It would be good if more student entries were put on display.... Think about it. Praise from teachers can inspire students for weeks to come, and has great educational value. How much more so if they can display their work and compare it with others?" Ashamed that he had not thought of such a thing himself, Ri responds that it will be done immediately.

Kim once again sinks into quiet contemplation.

   How can these exhibits be such a problem! The thing is that some people have the wrong mindset. Just giving students a little praise and then setting their work aside as "practice" - how can that method effectively raise the next generation? We focus on feeding and clothing them well, and of course that's important. But is that our only task? It won't do to have such a narrow outlook about the future.
   Of course, for a student, learning is everything. But age and experience shouldn't be the only standards for judging good from bad. In the history of our fatherland there are so many examples of great achievements in music, art and design made by students.

At his desk computer, Kim looks over a report on various building modernization plans produced by the University of Architecture. He is pleased to see that students as well as teachers took part in the designs. Here Kim indulges into a lengthy contemplation of the relationship between art and architecture, and the country's need for more building designs displaying sort of creative whimsy that only the young can produce.

3 years earlier...
Yu Myŏng Ch'an stares at the paper in front of him. It's his son's acceptance letter to the Pyongyang University of Fine Art. But now his son has announced that he wants to join the military instead! He says he wants to join an artillery unit like his father.

Lately, due to the enemy's constant military provocations, young people have been frantic to enlist - not only middle school students but older kids who've taken their college exams. Kang Myŏng didn't come home after school today; he's no doubt out with his friends singing patriotic songs and swearing to protect the fatherland.

Yu recalls a young soldier he had known in his artillery unit - a young aspiring artist from Hwanghae Province with a large head who was always nattering on about spacing and proportion. His name was Ri Ju Yŏng (yes, the same Ri who is now Kim's architecture director). "You're a born gunner," Ri told Yu at their first target practice. "You sight your target faster than anyone else. They say a sense of space and form is the essence of an artist. What do you say, why don't we be buddies?" Yu thought this was a little hokey, but he liked the idea of thinking of a gunner as an artist.

Among the unit Yu was known as "Doctor Gun" for his extensive knowledge of everything about artillery guns; their varieties, their different characteristics, and their history. Eventually this reputation spread to the division commander, who called him in and quizzed him on his knowledge. The division commander was so impressed he recommended Yu's admission to artillery officer's school, paving the way to his eventual academic career.

His pal Ri Ju Yong kept showing him drawings. Yu would act gruff and disinterested, but when pressed would always point out brilliant ways to improve the composition or design. In frustration Ri exclaimed "You should be the artist, not me!" to which Ri replied, "I love guns more. Hah! Guns are everything!"

But when his son showed such a strong artistic proclivity, Yu turned to his old friend Ri for advice, and Ri convinced him that the boy's artistic talent would serve the fatherland.

But now, it seemed that his son had heard a greater call to serve his country in the military, and decided to postpone his artistic career. Shoving the acceptance letter away in a desk drawer, Yu felt nothing but pride for his son, who put his country's needs ahead of his own dream.

Yu was walking home from work when a car rolled up and stopped alongside him. Who should step out, but the Dear Leader Kim Jong Un! Yu's former student greeted him warmly, grasping his hand. He congratulated Yu on his son's decision to join an artillery unit - but how could he know? Yu's old army buddy Director Ri told him, of course.

Kim was on his way back from an inspection of the front lines, and had intended to stop by the university to drop off some new materials pertaining to artillery science. He had been hoping to run into Professor Yu there, and proposed they drop by the professor's home for a quick visit. Yu didn't want to interrupt the Leader's busy schedule, but Kim was insistent.

At Yu's home, Kim warmly greeted his wife and two sons. He noted that the shelves were stacked with books on artillery and other military subjects, but there was not a single work of art on the walls. How did Kang Myŏng get inspired to become an artist, growing up in such an environment?

   "Kang Myŏng, I still remember that drawing of yours that I saw years ago. What was it called, 'Spring'? Fresh shoots springing from the earth; it made an impression. Tell me, where do you think dreams come from?"
   "Dreams? The brain makes them while you sleep."
   "Yes, but sleep isn't the source of dreams. Dreams are longing, and hope, and love. They say dreams are the joy of living. I think it is the people's longing for a strong and prosperous country that gave birth to the reality of our country today." As He grasped Kang Myŏng's hands, He seemed to be passing along both His warmth and His great aspirations, and the boy felt overwhelmed with feeling.
   Comrade Kim Jong Un turned his gaze on Yu Myŏng Chan. "Lately everyone's talking about the  recent editorial in the Rodong Shinmun,  'A Country with Great People Will Prosper.' Not only was it well-written, it reflected the urgent desire of our military and our people, to create an 'army of doers' (실천가형의 인재의 대부대)."
   He instructed Yu to bring out Kang Myŏng's college acceptance letter. Bringing the letter and the old school workbook out of the drawer, Yu sighed as if facing an impossible and oppressive question.
   Comrade Kim Jong Un continued: "Seeing the enlistment fervor spreading among our youths, I have felt renewed faith in our outstanding army of young people. There's nothing more patriotic than the sight of so many young men like Kang Myŏng exchanging their college acceptance letters for enlistment papers and grasping the guns of revolution, with their fathers fervently supporting them, putting the security of the country above their own personal development."
   He spoke of how even if war was expected to break out tomorrow, we'd still keep working at national construction until midnight tonight. Such was the firm will of our Great Leader [Kim Il Sung] and our General [Kim Jong Il]. He added, our country's enemies do not dare to tangle with the unrivaled military might of Sŏngun Korea, and no matter how they talk of pressure and war, our advance will not halt for even a moment, and the normal flow of our lives will not be interrupted.
   "In the heat of the war, when our Great Leader recalled college students from the front lines, wasn't that done for the future of the country? The struggle we face today for national construction is a war of creation, lacking the sound of gunfire, a decisive battle against the enemy, and the rich cultural nation of tomorrow will be built by our talented people. As our nation advances into the world of global culture, won't our young people have to shoulder that burden?... The more talented people we have, the better."
    Placing the acceptance letter and the old workbook in Kang Myong's hands, He told the boy, "Kang Myong, your father will have the answer for you. The answer to how to make the dreams of your generation blossom and spread across our land. Our nation and our era demand it. Your generation must stand up and make our nation beautiful in the next stage."
  Yu Myong Chan could hear His voice ringing in his ears long after Comrade Kim Jong Un departed.

Kim Jong Un visits the Wonsan Shoe Factory.
Src: Joongang Ilbo

Fast forward a few years. Kang Myŏng is now a young art student off on his first on-site study (실습) tour of the Wonsan Shoe Factory and the Songdowon International Children's Camp, two prestige projects in the east coast region. But his father fears that he is not mature enough for such professional work. In preparation for his first big study trip, what did the boy do? He asked his mother to pack a bag full of all sorts of snacks and candy. He claimed it was to share with the workers on-site, but his parents have their doubts.

Kang Myŏng calls home regularly to report on his project, his high young voice babbling excitedly over the speaker. The normally taciturn professor frets, "That kid seems to think he's gone off to summer camp, not an on-site study."

Songdowon International Youth Camp
Src: Tongil News

Professor Yu goes into his son's room and looks at the picture on the wall; it's Kang Myŏng's prize-winning drawing "New Sprouts" from the national exhibition. The boy spent a week whittling the frame by hand. Yu teased him that he was making too much of his first big success, and would have trouble keeping it up. "You just wait, I'll fill the whole wall with my designs!" the boy retorted.

Staring at the framed drawing, Yu suddenly recalls another time when Kim Jong Un spoke  on the subject of dreams.

One summer evening Yu paid a visit to Comrade Kim's living quarters and found his student bent over his desk arrayed with various stencils, colored pencils and pens. "I was working on my tactical maps, but then I decided to do a few drawings to blow off some steam," the young leader said. "It's become a hobby of mine and I can't seem to stop." He handed a few drawings to Yu. But what fantastic images they were! Some seemed to be designs for 3-D or even 4-dimensional buildings, or complex geometric configurations. Was this his mental vision of the future?

"Art is not just beauty, it's a way to plant and cultivate dreams inside of people..." Comrade Kim Jong Un's gaze strayed around the room as if momentarily lost in a private world all His own. "Even while studying military science, I feel ever more firmly committed to peace and to creating a brighter, more beautiful land."

The POV switches to Director Ri. Driving back from a construction site with Kim, Ri thinks back over the last few years of amazing construction he has presided over, and the amazing character of the young leader he works for. He remembers something Kim told him one day:

   "Our future as a socialist nation of culture will not be built by architects and experts alone. It will require all our citizens to become gardeners and creators adorning our country with beauty. And it is the young generation that must stand up to bring about this bright future. Lately, I hear the saying 'everything's getting younger,' but isn't that wonderful? This era is young, and our people are getting younger..."
   Youth! Youth is not a matter of how many years one has lived; people feel younger through their love, hopes and dreams. This new era is younger and more dynamic just like our peerless great leader. Ri glances out the car window, and suddenly the fresh new grass outside seems to glow with special meaning....
   Comrade Kim Jong Un, seemingly lost in thought, suddenly commanded the driver to take them to the cable bridge at Kŭmrŭng Tunnel. He said He wanted another look at the skyline of the Rŭngna People's Pleasure Park, which had opened last summer.
   "Comrade Director, have you seen the clips on TV of the people enjoying the dolphin aquarium, water park, and amusement park? They really love it, don't they? They say people can't stop smiling. When they finish the Fun House and the House of Mirrors, it'll be even better." Recalling the sight of the people's joy, He seemed to have completely forgotten how He suffered in the summer heat and fierce winds while touring the site in person.
   "That fun house monkey logo was really well done. It was designed by a college student, right?" He spoke in a voice of deep contemplation. "Choosing a college student's design would have special meaning. It would help us to view our college students in a new light. We must find a way to shape them into the advance guard of cultural construction, as soon as possible. I keep hearing of all the international contests they are winning, and I'm always struck by their originality in design."

Kim orders the driver to stop the car at the top of the Ch'ŏngryubyŏk bluff. There Kim steps out of the car and stands looking out at the sunrise over the new construction in the Munsu district. From this vantage he can see the Munsu Water Park, the new Ryugyŏng Dental Hospital, and the children's hospital under construction.

The new Okryu Children's Hospital

   "We still haven't come up with a name for that children's hospital yet, right? How about Okryu Children's Hospital?" Comrade Kim Jong Un's eyes were sparkling at the thought of tending to the  children's health and future like polishing a piece of jade [ok means jade in Korean, and Okryu is also the name of the ward where the hospital is located].
   "Okryu, Okryu," Director Ri repeated. "In the Munsu district, where the waters of the Taedong glimmer like marbles. What a great, meaningful name. Really wonderful."
   "Isn't it? Then it's agreed!" His bright laugh shook the morning calm. "Is construction nearly finished?
   "It is, there's just a little detail work left on the interior. It should be wrapped up today or tomorrow. There's just a little issue with the fairytale pictures..."

Ri relates to Kim what he saw when he visited the site the night before. They had planned to decorate the wards with fairytale illustrations submitted by various supporters of the project. But looking over the drawings at the last minute, Ri realized that they had no thematic consistency and lacked the "innocence" of children's drawings. The artists had likely never drawn children's illustrations before and just drew what they thought children might like. Kim grasps the problem at once.

   "These fairytale pictures are important not just for decoration; they are vital to the children's recovery and mental development. Pictures communicate emotional messages to children that their doctors and their parents can't express," Comrade Kim Jong Un continued in a voice fraught with emotion. "First-rate equipment and a fanciful, childlike environment! Let's redo the pictures with this attitude in mind...  And while we're at it, let's not stop at just a few pictures. See to it that the whole surfaces of the walls in the waiting rooms and treatment rooms are chock full of drawings!"
   Ri Ju Yŏng quickly scribbled down notes. "I'll make the arrangements immediately. Since we'll want artwork of the highest standard, we'll have to call in some professional artists."
   "Actually, I was thinking of giving the job to the students at Pyongyang University of Fine Art."
   Ri Ju Yŏng's pen faltered on the notepad, and he looked up in surprise. Not professionals, but students? But this hospital was so important to Him! ...
   Suddenly His eyes were twinkling. "What? Don't you have faith in our college students? Their drawings will be more fresh and original than some professional who's been at it for years."
   It was true, students at that age exhibited peak creativity and a sense of adventure. And by handling such a project on their own, they would expand their horizons and build confidence....
   "Comrade, remember Kang Myŏng's drawing "New Sprouts"? You said yourself it showed skill well beyond the student level. Did you know he drew the first draft while still in middle school? If his father had just dismissed that as a doodle, he might never have risen to where he is today. And if we dismiss our college students' work as practice, we'll just slow down their progress..."
   Ri Ju Yŏng suddenly felt a new sense of purpose as if a bright light had gone on in his brain. Like a  bolt of thunder, he was struck by His faith and determination in calling forth students as the pioneers of the new cultural nation.
   Comrade Kim Jong Un raised His voice. "Let's assign the university students the task of creating all of the hospital artwork. All of it! Send them the necessary materials.... Ah, the students are off on their study trips, aren't they?" "Yes, I'll recall them to Pyongyang immediately."

Fast forward to an evening in October...

Kim sits in his office, looking over a booklet of the completed artwork from the hospital. The university students produced all sorts of fantastic works of art - a flying horse, an orchard of exotic life-like fruit, a child's view of the Pyongyang skyline, an underwater scene of colorful fish, a white rabbit traffic cop. He gestures to Ri Ju Yŏng, standing behind him. "This one hangs in the entrance to the inoculations room. Imagine a little kid scared to get his shot. The sight of this picture will spur him forward!" Kim talks about the students' illustrations like a proud father showing off a child's work, seeming to forget the mountains of documents piled on his desk awaiting his attention.

Meanwhile, old Professor Yu and his wife are touring the newly opened children's hospital. The normally gruff and taciturn Yu cannot contain his excitement at the wonderful artwork his son and his fellow students created.  Turning to his wife, Yu wonders if Kang Myŏng will want to add copies of this artwork to the wall of his room at home. If so, he declares, this time he will make the frames. "I'll show you what I can do. After all, my work is not unrelated to art; it's natural that the son of an artilleryman would become a great artist."



Youth and Potential

The underlying message of this story hardly bears spelling out. It's easy to see why, at this particular point in time, the Party would be eager to publish a story about the untapped potential of young people and the need to deploy their skills in real-world situations.

Kim Jong Un ascended to the supreme leadership position at the tender age of 27 or 28. In July 2012 he was promoted to marshal, the highest military rank, despite having never served in the military and only attended a few years at a military officers' college. Some with contacts in the North have reported a general feeling of skepticism among the public at that time about the qualifications of such a young leader. The regime appears to have made efforts to conceal his real age from the public.

Such a young leader would face skepticism in any country, but the challenge is all the greater in a place like North Korea, where the Confucian mindset places high value on age and experience. However well-trained North Koreans are to revere the bloodline of Mt Paekdu, they are bound to feel some cognitive dissonance when they see elderly generals kowtowing to a fresh-faced young man, hanging on his every word and taking notes as if he were some senior scholar.

Ergo, stories like this one seem geared to implant the concept of "young genius" taking over. But rather than simply illustrating the genius of Kim himself, the author rather cleverly makes a much broader point about how young people in general are too easily dismissed, and the country is wasting valuable human capital by holding them back. This message is becoming all the more important as Kim replaces the elderly cronies of his father and grandfather with people closer to his own age.

Inheriting Greatness

It's hard to express how weird it is the way Kim Jong Un's speech is rendered in Korean. Even in the scenes when he is a college student talking to his professor after class, he uses the speech forms of a respected and learned grandfather lecturing a wayward child. His speech sounds exactly like his father's and grandfather's as they were rendered in earlier stories I've read - jovial, avuncular, manly, patiently condescending, not quite rude but rather abrupt, filled with otherworldly wisdom.

It is distinctly disconcerting to hear young Kim give parenting advice to his professor about his problematic son, offering to stop by and lend a hand ("나도 한번 짬을 내여 가정방문을 하든가") if needed. Recall that at that point in the story, Kim is a university student years from having his first child, talking to a respected professor at the most prestigious university in the country. It is never made clear where he got this wisdom from; he just seems to naturally know more about the world and human nature than anyone else. Kim didn't have any formal titles as a college student, but several times he is referred to as "위대한 스승" (great teacher).

Young Kim seems to have inherited his father and grandfather's habit of staring out of windows in contemplation. Every good idea that these men ever have seems to come when they are staring out of some sort of window, usually on a train or at their office. Other characters also tend to have moments of epiphany while staring out of windows. One begins to suspect that if their windows were taken away, the whole country would fall apart.


Prestige projects

This story makes reference to several locations and projects that actually exist and have recently been promoted as a way of showcasing the new leadership's fun-loving style. These include the Rungna People's Pleasure Park an the Songdowon International Youth Camp. Rungna opened in 2012 and provided the backdrop for Ri Sol Ju's official coming out as North Korea's first lady; Songdowon has been around for over 30 years but recently underwent a renovation and re-opened with much fanfare in 2014. Around that time, several foreign media organizations were invited to tour the location. English-language reports can be found here, here, here, here, here, and here. A North Korean promotional video of the camp can be viewed here.

The National Drawing Exhibition has been held in Pyongyang every two years since 2006 and roughly coincides with Kim Jong Il's birthday. The 6th and most recent festival was held in 2016. The State Exhibition of Commercial Art takes place in April and seems to have been going on for the past several years; KBS did a report on it back in 2012 and Xinhua published a photolog on last year's exhibition.

The "cable bridge at Kŭmrŭng Tunnel" probably refers to the 청류교 connecting the island of the May 1st Stadium with the north shore of the Taedong River. Both the tunnel and bridge were fairly ambitious construction projects when they were completed in the mid-1990s, as is described in detail on this blog.

New construction in Mansudae.

The field of architectural design seems to be having a bit of a moment in North Korean media. KBS reported that the North Korean broadcaster did a major program on "construction guidance" in late December, one month before this story was published. That broadcast particularly highlighted the Pyongyang University of Architecture. North Korean media credits this school with designing the much-lauded new construction in the Mansudae area of Pyongyang.

Director of Architectural Design Ma Wŏn Chun, visiting
the Mangyongdae Children's Palace with Kim in Dec 2016.
Src: NK News

In this story, it is mentioned that PUA is the alma mater of Ri Ju Yŏng, Kim's deputy in charge of architectural design who faithfully accompanies him on his on-site guidance visits to various construction sites. At one point Kim congratulates Ri on his alma mater's recent anniversary and recalls that it was opened in 1953, "rising from the ashes of the war." From this we can infer that Ri Ju Yŏng is a pseudonym for Ma Wŏn Chun, director of the Design Department of the National Defense Commission, who has been an established figure in Kim's entourage since late 2015 and is known as the "architectural brain" behind North Korea's new construction projects. It is common in North Korean fiction to use pseudonyms to refer to certain prominent advisors and bureaucrats, possibly to avoid the hassle of having to censor the stories when those officials fall out of favor. Ma joins the small but growing pantheon of North Korean officials who had once been rumored to have been executed but then turned up alive and well several months later.


For a summary of an interesting North Korea-produced timeline of Kim Jong Il's purported leadership in art and architecture, see this link.

North Korea's uriminzokkiri website posts stories from Chongryon Munhak on a 4-6 month delay. They can be viewed at this link (The site is very slow and I advise not downloading it on a computer you care a lot about).