North Korea 2019 #4: Re-education

April 9, 2019. Today we headed west along the Youth Hero Highway to Nampo, a port city where the Taedong River meets the sea. Nampo is fifty-five kilometres from Pyongyang, about an hour’s drive. We had come to see North Korea’s versions of Daqing and Dazhai—and receive a little socialist re-education.

Another fifteen kilometres west of Nampo brought us to the West Sea Barrage, one of North Korea’s greatest engineering achievements and a frequent backdrop for television news broadcasts. The barrage has its own visitor centre, where a smiling young guide was already waiting for us.

Our guide led us up to a vantage point overlooking an enormous anchor-shaped monument that also serves as a lighthouse. From there, we had a panoramic view of the barrage and the surrounding landscape.

Back inside the visitor centre stood a huge model that made the workings of the barrage easier to understand.
The West Sea Barrage, also known as the Nampo Barrage, is a tidal barrier built across the mouth of the Taedong River. It separates the river from the Yellow Sea, with fresh water on one side and seawater on the other. The eight-kilometre embankment has three locks capable of admitting oceangoing vessels of up to 50,000 tonnes.

The visitor centre shows a multilingual film about the project. It was actually quite good—stirringly made, recounting how the Korean people, led by their Supreme Leader, overcame every imaginable obstacle and finally completed the barrage. It had something of a North Korean Daqing about it.

Construction began in 1981. The project mobilized the resources of the entire country, cost roughly four billion US dollars, and took five years to complete. With that much money spent, there were naturally benefits aplenty. The barrage prevents seawater from the Yellow Sea from flowing upriver, making land around the estuary suitable for cultivation and irrigation while also providing water for industry and drinking.
It also improved transport links. Before the barrage was built, the journey from Nampo to Unryul was 200 kilometres; crossing directly over the embankment reduced it to eight. Transport problem: comprehensively solved.
It provides flood control and power generation as well, along with locks for ships and fish ladders—but I will spare you the full list. The propaganda and mobilizing power of socialism really is something else.

(Footage taken from the official promotional film)

Having seen “Daqing,” we moved on to North Korea’s answer to Dazhai: the Chongsan-ri Cooperative Farm.

In February 1960, the Great Leader Kim Il Sung provided on-the-spot guidance at Chongsan-ri, giving rise to the Chongsan-ri Spirit and the Chongsan-ri Method and transforming the place into a model socialist farm. The mural depicts that historic visit.

The farm was pleasant enough. Enormous monuments, quotations, murals, and sculptures stood everywhere.

Our guide took us to see the greenhouses. Some produce had been set out by the entrance, so we promptly reached for our money and bought fruit and sweet potatoes.

Greenhouses like these are everywhere on the outskirts of Beijing. Here, they were displayed as a model achievement. What puzzled me was that, if they were so good, why had we seen no sign of them being adopted on any large scale along the way?

The farm was full of propaganda monuments and sculptures but curiously short of people. We eventually came across a few women farmers and, after getting their permission, took several photographs of them standing together. Whether from natural shyness or a lack of confidence, they kept looking off to either side instead of at the camera and appeared painfully uncomfortable. Our guide grew impatient. “Squat down, squat down—pretend to do some farm work,” she said. And so we got this photograph, at once natural-looking and thoroughly staged. At the end, Tim gave them fifty yuan. They were absolutely delighted.

As we were leaving, I noticed some dirt on my hands and took out a bottle of mineral water to wash them. The guide stopped me, pulled me around to the front of the tour bus, and said, “Don’t let anyone see. Pretend you’re washing the licence plate, and wash your hands at the same time.” Bottled water was precious and should not be wasted—that much I understood. But why washing the bus was acceptable while washing my hands was not remains a piece of logic I have yet to unravel.
I left the farm with mixed feelings.

Speaking of mineral water, our very next stop was the Kangso Mineral Water Factory, producer of North Korea’s best-known brand of sparkling water.

The grounds outside the factory were deserted. We waited for ages, but no one came out to receive us. While we waited, our guide told us the story of the mineral spring.
According to the tale, people in ancient times discovered the spring after seeing an injured bird fly down to drink from it. Once the bird had drunk the water, a miracle occurred: its wound healed.
During the Japanese occupation, many wealthy Japanese built villas here. After the Great Leader Kim Il Sung led the people in driving out the Japanese, he declared that something this good should belong to the people. The mineral-water factory was therefore built to keep the Korean people supplied, with some of its output also exported to earn foreign currency.

All the while we were waiting, the loudspeaker overhead kept squawking away, perhaps broadcasting propaganda of some kind.

At last someone appeared. We were dressed in white coats and shoe covers and taken inside the factory. Kangso Mineral Water has been designated Living Monument No. 56 by the North Korean government, and its spring is the only water source to receive that designation. The spring and the surrounding area are strictly protected, with no factories permitted within a ten-kilometre radius. The groundwater is naturally carbonated and free from pollution; in North Korea it is also known as the Water of Longevity.

We were not allowed onto the production floor and could only look through the glass from the corridor. Reflected in the glass were portraits hanging on the wall behind us. Apparently the various Kims have been regular visitors too.

The junior official receiving us said this was the finest mineral water in the world and had won countless awards. Those French mineral waters we usually drank? Compared with this, they were nothing.
Of course, North Korea has no shortage of things proclaimed the best in the world: the world’s largest triumphal arch, the world’s biggest stadium, and—needless to say—the greatest leaders. Mount Kumgang is billed as the finest mountain under heaven. The list goes on and on.

As we were leaving the factory, I remembered that I still had some cigarettes left from the day before and gave the attendant a pack. Delighted, he asked whether we would like to see the spring itself. Tim kept saying, “Yes, yes!”

We walked through a lovely stretch of woodland and arrived at the spring. The man had not even smoked one of his cigarettes yet, but he was already full of enthusiasm. He launched into a long-winded retelling of the same myth and history our guide had just recounted.
I thought to myself: Brother, could you speed it up a little? It’s lunchtime.

After lunch, we returned to Pyongyang for the visit I had long been anticipating: the Pyongyang Metro. Whenever I asked other travellers which sight had left the deepest impression on them, they all said the metro, so my expectations were high. Our guide told us we were lucky. Tourists had previously been allowed to visit only two stations; now we could see three.
At the entrance, our guide led us to an information board and explained that pressing the button for our destination would light up the route and show whether we needed to change trains. It fell astonishingly far short of what I had expected. Never mind Beijing’s cobweb of subway lines—the workmanship of the display itself took me aback.
The Pyongyang Metro has two lines, the Chollima Line and the Hyoksin Line. Then again, Toronto has only two and a half subway lines itself, so we are more or less even and in no position to laugh.

The Pyongyang Metro lies between 100 and 200 metres underground, making it the deepest metro in the world—another world record. The escalator ride down to the platform takes about three minutes.
Our guide explained that the metro had to be built at this depth because the Taedong River is deep and its bed contains a great deal of silt. Another reason is that the stations can serve as air-raid shelters in wartime.

We entered the Chollima Line at Puhung Station. According to sources online, the Pyongyang Metro was built with assistance from China, the former Soviet Union, and other countries. China reportedly suspended work on the Beijing subway and sent two divisions of railway troops to North Korea, where they built the north–south Chollima Line between 1968 and 1973. Naturally, none of this history was mentioned.

Our next stop was Yonggwang Station. Against the backdrop of a mural showing former leader Kim Jong Il before Mount Paektu, the magnificent columns and multicoloured chandeliers made a dazzling impression.

The mosaic murals on the walls were breathtaking as well. In the past, tourists were allowed only this token two-station ride before having to return to the surface.

Now we could travel one stop farther, to Kaeson Station. There were still revolutionary murals, but the other facilities were much more basic. It was not difficult to infer why only the first two stations had previously been open to tourists.

Although we travelled only three stops, it was still good to come into close contact with ordinary North Koreans. The passengers wore blank expressions and avoided our eyes, so I did not feel comfortable taking photographs inside the carriage. I do not recall seeing anyone using a mobile phone. Most seemed lost in thought or exchanged uncertain glances, creating an intriguing contrast with the revolutionary songs blaring from the loudspeakers. The whole scene felt slightly surreal. One final detail: the train doors were not automatic. At each station, you had to pull them open by hand—and pull hard. By the third stop I had finally got used to doing it, but by then our ride was over.

Back above ground, we walked to our next stop, the Children’s Palace. The first thing that struck me was its sheer size. The building itself was enormous, and reaching the entrance required climbing what seemed like countless steps. A visit to the Children’s Palace appeared to be a standard item on every tour itinerary, as tourists posing for souvenir photographs were everywhere.

This was the young guide assigned to us. She led us throughout our visit.

The interior was extraordinarily beautiful, a riot of colour like something from a castle. It truly was a palace for children.

We became so absorbed in taking photographs that we left our young guide standing off to one side. Each of these colourful archways led into a classroom.

Our young guide pushed open one door: a singing class was under way. The children threw themselves into it, their expressions wonderfully exaggerated.

She opened another door, and this time the children were dancing. They were highly skilled and practised with tremendous effort. Whenever no visitors were present, they would rest for a moment; the instant the door opened, they launched themselves back into the performance at full force. With one tour group after another passing through, they scarcely had a chance to stop. I began to feel sorry for them. This was no after-school activity. It was a performance with a propaganda assignment, almost commercial in nature. Once that thought occurred to me, I put away my camera and took no more photographs. I did not want to become an accomplice in wearing these children down. I know little about art, but I do know something about computers. So when we reached the computer room, I watched carefully to see what the students were doing. They were merely going through the motions; in reality, they were not doing anything at all.

Tour groups kept arriving in wave after wave. The after-school activities had become a full-blown show—nothing more than a prestige project.

Then again, without this desire to put on a show, the children might never have had such a magnificent palace in which to develop their interests and talents. Whatever has a bad side will inevitably have some good alongside it…

Besides the arts and technology programmes, there were plenty of sports activities too. I asked our guide what qualifications a child needed to take part in the programmes at this magnificent palace. She said any resident could simply sign up and that everyone was welcome. Leaving aside whether that answer was true, my next question would have been: who is allowed to live in this magnificent city? The words reached my lips, but I stopped there. Better not pursue that one too far…

Then it was time to say goodbye to our young guide. Tim tried to give her a tip, but she adamantly refused. Quite right too—how could the future heir to communism be corrupted by a sugar-coated bourgeois bullet? My better half hurriedly rummaged through her backpack for a pen or something similar. There was nothing, only a tube of hand cream she had just started using. In desperation, she gave it to the girl. Tears nearly welled up in our young guide’s eyes. Poor child…

Today’s itinerary had taken us through the sights in which the North Korean people take the greatest pride: the West Sea Barrage, a model cooperative farm, the mineral-water factory, the metro, the Children’s Palace, and more. We had received our socialist re-education. The day was filled with national pride—a resounding chorus of “Amazing, My North Korea!”

We, who had long been “deceived” by “Fake News,” had now had our eyes opened and received a proper education. Considering the encirclement and obstruction of US imperialism, natural disasters, a weak foundation for development, and all the other difficulties North Koreans have faced, their achievements were indeed worthy of respect and admiration.

Yet rather than being “re-educated,” I found myself reconsidering things. There is nothing wrong with flexing your muscles. North Korea’s economy has developed and its people have begun to gain confidence—something well worth celebrating. But confidence should not become blind. First, whether you are truly impressive is for other people to decide. Take the metro or the mineral-water factory: they may believe these things are extraordinary, but set them beside the outside world and the gap is enormous. Second, being impressive depends on real strength, not performance. Take the Children’s Palace or the farm: instead of building prestige projects, it would be better to devote that effort to genuinely educating the children. Strong young people will make a strong North Korea. Putting on a show every day will not.

The North Korean people will never hear these reflections, so I might as well apply them to myself. From now on, I should study harder and post less on WeChat Moments. 🙏😜

Continue Reading

In This Series

More posts

Day Seven: A Whirlwind Tour of Athens

Day Five: Rhodes, City of the Knights

Day Six: Christmas—Taking Gains and Losses as They Come

Day Four: Ephesus, After the Sea Receded