COVER STORY Northern Exposure
North Korea is a monolithic black box to the rest of the world, but stress cracks can be seen in the aspiring nuclear power
Twilight Time for the Sunshine Policy
Will President Kim Dae Jung's signature engagement strategy, the "Sunshine Policy," be displaced by a "Nuclear Winter Policy"?
Look Who's Got The Bomb
Confronted by the U.S., North Korea brazenly admits it's building nukes. Now what does President Bush do? (October 28, 2002)
The Hermit Kingdom's Bizarre SAR
Having failed to build a communist utopia, North Korea plans to create a capitalist one with its own elected officials and a wall to keep out the riffraff (October 7, 2002)
Accounted for, at Last
North Korea admits it abducted Japanese citizens to help train its spies and says some are still alive (September 30, 2002)
Northern Exposure — page 2
Instead of improving things, reforms have made life more harsh, driving up food prices while eroding spending power. The regime's perennial failure to feed its people is undermining Kim's authority. Discontent has been growing steadily for years, and government propaganda is losing its ability to allay dissatisfaction. Information is seeping into the country through capillaries censors can't plug: aid workers and returning North Koreans are entering the North with stories of China's boomtowns and even bootleg Hollywood movies. Titanic was a big hit in Pyongyang. Kim's formidable security apparatus still ruthlessly sets upon anyone foolhardy enough to complain in public. But even at the top of the leadership chain, "there is growing instability because the Dear Leader has fewer goodies to pass around to keep the élite happy," says Choi Jin Wook, a North Korea expert at the Korea Institute for National Reunification in Seoul. "The regime is at a very critical point. There is a good chance we could see a coup attempt from within the leadership."
Other North Korea watchers say not enough is known of the workings of the ultrasecretive North Korean military to suggest that Kim might be toppled. But the possibility that the regime is unraveling was likely to have been a consideration when the top leaders from South Korea, Japan and the U.S. met to discuss the nuclear issue on the sidelines of the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation summit in Mexico last weekend. Washington made it clear that Pyongyang must abandon its nuclear arms program, or face the consequences. But Bush kept the rhetoric low-key, stressing he would use tough diplomacy and not cruise missiles to pressure Pyongyang. North Korea, for its part, demanded on Friday a "nonaggression" pact with the U.S. as a prerequisite to negotiations. Only then would it consider scrapping its nuke development.
Pyongyang's eagerness to strike a deal smacks of even more desperation: it badly needs aid from Japan and South Korea to finance its reform efforts, which turn Stalinist orthodoxy on its ear. Pyongyang said it would raise everybody's salaries and start charging more for food and other commodities. Factories would have to sink or swim on their own. North Korean officials called it "price adjustment measures." But it looked like Kim had finally decided to jettison his failed command-economy model, and introduce market reforms like neighbor China did 20 years ago. Sweeping reform is wrenching even in a robust, modern economy. In an already bereft system headed by cadres with only the barest idea of how a market economy works, it is like jumping on a bus without knowing its destination. "The bus has left the station," says Marcus Noland, an expert on the North Korean economy at the Institute for International Economics in Washington, D.C. And the North's leaders "don't know if they can keep it on the road or if they'll drive it into the ditch."
The ride was already too bumpy for Choi (a pseudonym), who abandoned North Korea for China a month ago. She wasn't starving, yet. But she was tired of "always having to worry about where the next meal was coming from." With carefully stenciled eyebrows, red lipstick and a red jacket, she is petite and pretty but nervous as she tells her story to a Westerner—the first she has ever met. Speaking near the safe house where she is hiding from Chinese police and North Korean agents, she says the government increased salaries in her hometown north of Pyongyang. After that, however, nobody was paid except the teachers, and they have only been paid once since the raises were announced in July. Yet prices went up sharply. The government tried to shut down the town's black market but traders and customers found places to deal in secret. The authorities later allowed trading in rice but tried to cap the price at 50 won (33¢) a kilo, posting guards to check transactions. When traders refused to sell at that price, the authorities relented. Now the black market is open again but rice is 86¢ and rising. "Things have got worse," says Choi. "This was a reform for the rich."
The rich live in Pyongyang, an oasis of relative luxury where only Party members and the most loyal citizens have the right to reside. Checkpoints keep the masses out of this stately city of grandiose monuments, soaring apartment blocks and broad, leafy avenues. Much of the traffic consists of army vehicles and chauffeur-driven Mercedes, a perk for top party officials. The city's 2 million residents get the best food, and a regular flow of trucks hauls in goods from China—electric generators, blankets and boxes full of everything from bananas and oranges to wine and cigarettes. While meat and even white rice are rare for millions of North Koreans, restaurants and outdoor eateries in the capital offer grilled beef, fresh fruit and other treats to anybody with enough U.S. dollars to pay. The supply of electricity is unreliable, but it's far better than in places like Sinuiju, which are unlit at night.
