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"You've lived in North Korea? What was that like?" : Richard Bridle

by Richard Bridle

Richard on the Taedonggang River
I couldn't count the number of conversations where those words, or something of the like, got said. Perhaps I should attempt an answer.

Where to begin? North Korea is said to be so unique that gaining a proper understanding of the context seems pretty obvious. Listen and read. My reading, fortuitously redirected due to the absence of other (1) literature in Pyongyang to bookstores in Seoul, South Korea (2), quickly taught me that the real context is peninsula-wide. Koreans on each side of the demilitarised zone are not inherently different, though they have more recently followed divergent paths.

Listening was one of the principal social activities of almost every day. It helps to be versed in some of the vices the world has to offer. A regular cigarette break outside the office building, even in sub-zero temperatures, offered the opportunity to chat informally with the North Korean government employees, also hardened smokers, seconded to work with us. They had questions they yearned to ask, in discreet places, about the world. And, if you asked the right way, and you listened carefully, they would give you some pointers on how to approach their bosses.(3)

Lining up for Polio Vaccination May 2003
The bosses we tended to meet after hours in semi-formal dinners. They, all men, liked to have a (euphemistic) few drinks, and smokes, to accompany the food. If you could keep up, you were at a considerable advantage. Don't worry about your health. Buy now, and pay later.

But there comes a point in any exchange where you need to speak, so it helps if you know what to say. Early on, a passing auditor asked about our vision for UNICEF in the DPRK. I thought, why didn't I think of that? The resultant five paragraphs, ultimately a Mission Statement crafted collectively over a couple of months, constituted a succinct set of talking points to government, colleagues and external partners alike. I just looked at it again, and, twenty years later, I still like it.

OK, so you eat and drink and smoke with the bosses, and you also do some talking, but where does it get you? They're really extremely nice people, understanding the context, who have intelligently navigated a Byzantine (4) system to be where they are - which is not in a position to make policy decisions. Those are the reserve of someone you will never ever meet.

It's not enough to know your own talking points. You also have to prepare them for others - for the minions to feed the bosses, the bosses their own (unknown) bosses, likely located in that other parallel hierarchy that is the Party - but without it being in any way overt. This is where it's really hit and miss.

One thing that did seem to help goes right back to listening. The national secondees had their own aspirations, to see something of the world and bring back a modest possession, something not attainable where they were. Well that could be combined with training on the roles and responsibilities of national staff through brief placements in nearby country offices. Crucially, it secured a more positive attitude towards advancing UNICEF’s strategic agenda.

Another was to seed some messages in confidential communications, such as the Annual Report, couched in language one could not use face-to-face, without jeopardising face.(5) The fact that such a document was restricted guaranteed its express translation and transmission onto the desks of those who might count.

The UNICEF office is over there
If it all seems like endless fun - at least that is what I’ve been attempting to convey - well it isn't. There are some real traps and pitfalls. In a society where everyone is watching everyone else, it's only natural that someone should be watching you. What do you want to make of that? There were those who became truly paranoid, constantly worried about covert surveillance. But consider, at the time, the unreliability of electricity and frequent breakdowns of electrical equipment. Were the bugs, if they existed, going to be immune to that? And anyway, whose problem was it, if they did listen in? Theirs, of course. They were the ones that had to do something about it.

With all this, the question still remains: did you do/get what you wanted? Appropriately, the answer is yes and no. The situation of children did demonstrably improve from very bad to just plain bad. But that was no doubt as attributable to external factors - improved harvests, temporarily better relations with the west and South Korea - as it was to UNICEF’s supply of drugs, vaccines, therapeutic foods, etc.…, and to WFP's massive feeding programme. More frustrating was the promise of engagement in fundamental reforms to school education and the state childcare system, which proved more ephemeral than real.(6)

And this is where one comes up against real organisational shortcomings. How is it possible to maintain consistent strategic intent over time, when personnel rotates so rapidly, and one is dealing with a slow moving juggernaut? I don't have an answer to that, and I've worked both sides of the street.

But, in answer to your (unasked) question, yes, I would do it again. Cheers!

References

(1) Other than the works of Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il.

(2) 240 kilometres (3 hours) by road, but actually necessitating air travel via Beijing.

(3) “... the best interrogator is the one that listens, the one that invites her adversary to fill the silences she has created by resisting almost every temptation to speak.” Shechester 1974 by Richard J J Bridle (coming shortly from brownhatstories.com)

(4) Understatement intended.

(5) Face (체면 - chemyeon) “consists of six factors with ethics, competence, demeanor, social performance, social personality, and social pride... [It has] two dimensions: social chemyeon and personal chemyeon.” Chemyeon, the Korean Face, by Yungwook Kim and Youjin Jang, Korea Journal, September 2018.

(6) For those of you that have read it, I was reminded of promises made to John Blackthorne by Yoshi Toranaga, the Shōgun in James Clavell's eponymous novel.


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