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Tales of Two Koreas

Untold Stories About the DMZ

Tales of Two Koreas 2022 AUTUMN

Untold Stories About the DMZ The demilitarized zone (DMZ) that bisects the Korean peninsula is a rich repository of stories. They are told by people who have lived in and around the DMZ for many decades, preserving a unique culture and distinctive memories. Park Han-sol has recorded their lives in “about dmz,” a magazine that unveils unknown aspects of the national division. Life does not always go according to plan. Park Han-sol is an architect and doctor of engineering. She studied landscape architecture as well as architecture, but going a step beyond these fields, she is now working to discover immaterial stories to fill material space. All About is a content company that she launched to chronicle recollections of unheard-of things and places in Korea. The company’s first project was an independent magazine titled “about dmz.” It’s not something she had imagined herself doing, but she says it brings her immense happiness.   Park Han-sol, the president of All About, a content company, preserves the unique culture and memories of inhabitants inside the DMZ through the “about dmz” indie magazine. PEOPLE LIVE THERE “If you google ‘DMZ,’ you’ll find images of natural scenery as well as military images focusing on the truce village of Panmunjom,” Park observes. “But people are living there, making their own memories.” Although All About also explores other locations, the commitment to “about dmz” is permanent. After all, it is the company’s cornerstone. The DMZ is a remnant of the Korean War, which erupted on June 25, 1950. It refers to a strip of no-man’s-land created by the UN Command, the North Korean People’s Army, and the Chinese People’s Volunteer Army, when they signed an armistice agreement on July 27, 1953. Spanning 248 km across the Korean peninsula, the DMZ itself is divided by the so-called Military Demarcation Line. On either side is a 2 km wide band controlled by South Korea and North Korea, respectively. Fifteen border towns occupy the southern side of the DMZ, and stories about three of them have been published in book form. The first book, “about dmz, Vol. 1: Active Cheorwon,” sheds new light on the border town in Gangwon Province. Cheorwon was merely regarded as a cold and quiet place, but it contained a trove of stories passed down through generations. This book vividly captured the town’s sights and sounds, based on these recollections. The second book, “about dmz, Vol. 2: Relieve Paju,” introduces Paju in Gyeonggi Province both as a border town and a holiday destination. It contains stories about a picturesque marsh where flocks of migratory birds stop to rest; places that attract vacationing city dwellers; and Jangpa-ri, which bears the scars left by a U.S. military base once stationed there. The use of “Relieve” in the subtitle has a double connotation – “freed from a burden” and “bringing relief.” “about dmz, Vol. 3: Revive Goseong” just came out in August. The stories about Goseong, a border town in Gangwon Province, differ from those about border towns in Gyeonggi Province. The DMZ still remains a “mystery” to Park, despite her many visits over a long period of time to do research and collect stories. The more often she visits, the more intrigued she becomes. “The houses in Minbuk Village in Cheorwon, near the DMZ, are called House No. 1, House No. 2, House No. 3, and so on. The village was built in an area north of the Civilian Control Line to cultivate fallow land. The residents use house numbers instead of regular addresses for the sake of convenience as they have long been under military authorities’ control. The village also has an armory, and army officers used to conduct roll calls every day to make sure that everybody was accounted for and even carry out military training for local residents – all a legacy of the past. A unique culture has been built there with memories of the times after the Korean War piled up in layers.” In Minbuk Village, there are traces of the abandoned Geumgangsan Line, the electric rail link between Cheorwon and Naegeumgang, the inner part of Mt. Geumgang, currently in North Korea. Built in the 1920s, during the Japanese occupation (1910-1945), the Geumgangsan Line was Korea’s first tourist railway. Remains of buildings erected during the Japanese occupation still stand nearby. Had it not been for the Korean War and national division, the railway would likely still be in service. “This area isn’t as vast as described by mass media. In fact, it looks desolate. It’s because border guards of the South and the North often cut the grass and trees or burn them to ensure clear visibility. The most beautiful scenery I’ve ever seen there was of a f lock of red-crowned cranes [durumi]. The birds arrive in Minbuk Village every winter thanks to the benevolence of villagers who do paddy rice farming. They leave grains of rice on the paddies for the birds, instead of binding threshed rice stalks into sheaves to sell after the harvest. In a sense, the villagers and the birds are living together as partners,” Park says. All About is helping the villagers sell their rice in the market under the brand name “Durumi,” as part of a marketing campaign for their specialty products.   REVIVED MEMORIES Park realized she knew virtually nothing about the DMZ in 2016, when she was studying at Seoul National University’s Graduate School of Environmental Studies. At the time, her thesis advisor was involved in the “Real DMZ Project,” an urban culture and contemporary art project. When she accompanied one of her professors to Minbuk Village, she marveled at the surrounding landscape. Born and raised in Seoul, she had never visited a rural area, and growing up with no brothers, she had no firsthand experience of a military culture or environment. She felt sorry that nobody had told her about the post-war years, and thinks she would have taken an interest in this area much earlier. “The day I first participated in peace and security-themed tourism in Cheorwon, I realized belatedly that everyone was only talking about the Korean War. None of them told us about the post-war period. Then, we visited Minbuk Village, where I stumbled on bits of memories about times before and after the Korean War in every aspect of the villagers’ lives. I wanted to record them myself,” she says. A later visit to the Holocaust Memorial in Berlin with her thesis advisor also motivated Park to launch a magazine telling stories of the DMZ. One of the exhibition rooms was filled with records of the holocaust victims’ ordinary lives, such as diaries and letters. Another room featured family photos in big frames. They looked ordinary enough, but when she approached them, she was overcome with emotions. The captions explained the fate of each person a few years after the photos were taken. They were lumped together as victims, but the exhibition helped Park realize that each person had been an ordinary person living an ordinary life. She broke into tears and decided that day to record the memories of every villager in the DMZ herself. “I was lucky. With three fellow students at graduate school, I took part in a student business plan competition hosted by SNU. Our team was one of the 10 finalists, but the other teams were from startup companies that were already famous. At first, I was curious why we were chosen when we were clearly inexperienced, but I was happy because it seems our ideas about the value of the DMZ were recognized. That made it easier to launch our business,” Park says. With North Korea’s Mt. Geumgang seen just across the border, Myeongpa-ri in Goseong is the most northeastern village in South Korea. ⓒ allabout UNSOUGHT STORIES Since its launch in 2019, All About has conducted a variety of projects, including producing goods, planning exhibitions, and running a camp site, in addition to publishing “about dmz.” One of the projects offers campers a chance to stay overnight at the Seoul Campground in Pyeonghwa (“Peace”) Village in Cheorwon, within the Civilian Control Line. Currently, the company is running the camp site for the Seoul Metropolitan Government, on a contract basis. But one day, Park plans to build a space for those researching memories of the DMZ and bring more people to the area. The DMZ is not the only target. All About’s next goal is to present the public with pertinent content about other places in Korea that have so far failed to attract widespread attention. She plans to introduce visitors to the “local culture and memories of local people,” not from the viewpoint of locals, but from the perspective of “outsiders.” “We’re also going to widen our horizons to other regions. But the DMZ is still our reason for being. Whenever we visit residents in any border town to collect stories, nearly all of them welcome us warmly – whether it was the people in Cheorwon, Paju, or Goseong. They seem to find comfort in realizing that somebody is curious about stories that nobody has asked them about before,” she says. Until not long ago, Park was overloaded as she put the finishing touches to “about dmz, Vol. 3: Revive Goseong.” This border town abounds with stories, too. Though it has the longest coastline in Korea, mountains blanket 70 percent of the region, which means residents lead a very idiosyncratic life. Metaphorically speaking, North Korea lies a stone’s throw away, with the Geumgang mountain range straddling both sides of the DMZ and stretching to this area. Myeongpa-ri, which was recently separated from Minbuk Village’s administrative jurisdiction, is the northeasternmost village in Korea. Here we find Myeongpa Beach at the northernmost tip of Goseong. While the land remains divided between the South and the North, the mountains and seas are connected to each other. A few years ago, massive wildfires engulfed the area. Park hopes a revival will occur; thus, the title of Volume 3, “Revive Goseong,” conveys her company’s wishes along with its presentation of the residents’ memories. “As COVID-19 increased interest in nonface-to-face travel, Goseong began to emerge as a popular destination, which is also linked to revival,” she says. Local villagers help run a camp site after converting an abandoned school in Minbuk Village in Yugok-ri, Cheorwon. ⓒallabout An article titled “In Search of Traces of Mt. Geumgang” contains cherished memories of the last peak of the mountain range that stands in Goseong. It appeared in “about dmz, Vol. 3: Revive Goseong.” ⓒallabout Park Mi-kyeongFreelance Writer Han Jung-hyun Photographer

Films Recording the ‘Today’ of North Korean Defectors

Tales of Two Koreas 2022 SUMMER

Films Recording the ‘Today’ of North Korean Defectors Veteran movie director Jéro Yun tries to shed new light on people living today, without stereotypes or prejudice. This is also why he makes both documentary and dramatic films. Award-winning film director Jéro Yun applies cinematic skills honed in France to delve intothe lives of those on the margins of society, particularly North Korean defectors. Film director Jéro Yun, released two full-length films in 2021: “Fighter,” a drama, and “Song Hae 1927,” a documentary. The former is about Jin-a, a young North Korean defector who faces discrimination in the South and struggles to save money. She does menial work in a restaurant and takes on a second job cleaning at a boxing gym, where she is inspired by the sight of confident female fighters. The latter is about Song Hae (1927-2022), the late singer and host of KBS TV’s long-running music show “National Singing Contest,” who fled from his native town in Hwanghae Province, North Korea during the Korean War. These films tap into the deep emotions and scars of defectors’ hearts. Jin-a learns how to box, but “Fighter” is less about her bouts than her struggle to adapt to living in South Korean society. As for Song, he talks candidly about his only son, who died in a motorcycle accident in 1986. A Defector’s Life Throughout his directing career, Yun has gazed into the lives of those on the margins of society, particularly North Korean defectors. His works are cool-headed observations of the inner side of characters, attracting attention at top Korean and international film festivals. In 2011, Yun won the Grand Prix at the 9th Asiana International Short Film Festival with “Promise” (2010), a documentary about a Korean-Chinese woman who never stops hoping to reunite with her son. He also won awards for best documentary at the 38th Moscow International Film Festival and the 12th Zurich Film Festival with “Mrs. B, A North Korean Woman” (2016), whose protagonist goes to China to make a living. “Mrs. B” is related to “Beautiful Days” (2017), Yun’s first full-length film starring actress Lee Na-young. The opening film at the 23rd Busan International Film Festival, “Beautiful Days” is about how Zhenchen, a Korean-Chinese college student, regards her North Korean mother. Yun has also introduced various features of lifestyles in the two Koreas to filmmakers. He showed his short film “Hitchhiker” (2016) at the 69th Cannes International Film Festival Directors’ Fortnight, and “Fighter” in the 71st Berlin International Film Festival’s Generation Section. Student in France When Yun was in his early 20s, he went to France with a friend to satisfy his desire for a totally new environment. The day of his departure was memorable on a level that was more than just personal – it was September 12, 2001, the day after the 9/11 terrorist attacks on the United States. Airport security was on heightened alert and all flights to the United States were canceled. Yun managed to make his way to Nancy, a small town in northeastern France. Once there, he traveled and learned to speak French. Suddenly, without any preparation, he decided to apply for a local arts school and passed the practical skills enrollment test. Becoming a full-time student outside of Korea was totally unplanned, but he overcame his apprehension and reveled in being impetuous. “I was afraid of living a new life all by myself in an unfamiliar place. But it was fun. I was able to think only of myself at the time,” he says, looking back. The experience expanded his horizons. At school, he took courses in video and installation arts, while outside, interaction with classmates from other countries further widened his scope. When a Belgian friend lent him a box of 100 DVDs, Yun found himself in a cinematic world that was totally new to him. Inside the box were classic movies of the 1950s and 1960s made by legendary directors such as Francois Truffaut, Jean-Luc Godard, Ingmar Bergman and Orson Welles. Up until then, Yun had only seen movies brimming with violence, but before him, for the first time, were movies with intellect and experimentation. “I watched all 100 of the DVDs over and over. It was hard to understand them, but they were that mesmerizing,” Yun recalls. What beguiled him most was the fact that filmmaking is a process that cannot be done alone. Needing input from many people, Yun assembled friends to pick their brains and collaborate. “Mrs. B, A North Korean Woman” is a full length Documentary about the life of a North Korean woman who has crossed into China to make a living. © CINESOPA “Beautiful Day” is the first full-length dramatic film Yun directed. It explores how protagonist Zhenchen, a Korean-Chinese college student, regards her North Korean mother. © peppermint&company “Fighter” is a movie about Jin-a, a young North Korean defector who struggles to survive financially and adapt emotionally to her new life in South Korea. © INDIESTORY Life Today Yun and his friends introduced their first joint movie in 2004. Its protagonist was a South Korean woman in France questioning her identity. “Why do I live here?” “Why here and not there?” These were tormenting questions that Yun had asked himself. Fittingly, the budding filmmakers invited other foreign transplants to a preview of the movie. From that point on, Yun’s self-questioning about his life in France morphed into a sustained interest in the life of defectors from North Korea. When formulating his works, Yun focuses especially on his marginalized characters in the context of time. He delves into their past to see how their experiences shape their present behavior and thinking. “Though we live today, today eventually becomes yesterday. And tomorrow can change depending on how we live today. So I usually leave out people’s past stories and try not to cling to their future, either. I just want to show how they’re living today. If the me of today changes, the me of tomorrow will surely change as well. That’s the message I want to deliver,” Yun says. This principle applies equally to his documentary and drama films. For three years while making “Mrs. B,” he traveled together with Mrs. B herself. On the first day of shooting “Song Hae 1927,” he interviewed Song for more than four hours. In his movies, Yun attempts to express the little things that he feels from observing moments in daily life. “What do defectors think of?” “What do they feel here in South Korea?” Yun and the actors repeatedly ask themselves such questions. In addition to conferring with defectors, the actors try to bring their personal experiences into their scenes, while Yun filters out stereotypical images of defectors often seen in the media. “Song Hae 1927” vividly shows the life of Song Hae, the late singer and host of KBS TV’s long-running music show “National Singing Contest.” Questions, not Answers Yun makes films that pose questions to viewers. He does not supply answers. His films normally end with a palpable possibility for the future instead of a denouement. Will the hopes of the mother and her son in “Beautiful Days” be realized? Will Jin-a win a boxing match in “Fighter”? Yun always leaves the audience dangling. But he hints that the characters may wind up living a tomorrow that differs from yesterday. In this way, his characters gain some dignity at the margins of society. “Everyone has a different definition of happiness. I want to give my film characters as much of an open ending as possible. This way, the audience will begin to think hard about how defectors can be happy in South Korea, won’t they?” he asks. Audience reactions to Yun’s films run the gamut, largely depending on the viewer’s personal experiences. Defectors have mixed reactions; some feel embarrassed at the true-to-life depiction of their fate while others express gratitude, thanking the filmmakers for listening to them and absorbing what they heard. Human rights activists and students studying the reality of a divided Korea have differing impressions based on their own background knowledge. For foreign viewers, the films are more of an eye opener on the way the Korean peninsula has been divided into totally different spheres marked by separation and animosity. “I just want my films to be of value, even if it’s to one single person. Nobody knows what kind of work that person could do later, or where,” Yun said. Yun makes films because he believes in the power of every individual, including himself, to influence others. When asked what motivates him, he said that it is “love.” “If there’s a problem somewhere, be it war or national division, there is surely a lack of love.”

Message on Isolation and Freedom

Tales of Two Koreas 2022 SPRING

Message on Isolation and Freedom An isolated village on the southern side of the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) is a remnant of the Korean War armistice agreement of 1953. Two award-winning South Korean artists have reinterpreted the village for their latest collaboration. The aim, as the duo explain, was “to reflect on the ironic, institutionalized conflicts and tensions that beset human history in general.” The division of Korea may be a subject that most artists from this country want to avoid. It is typically deemed too self-evident for much texture, or overly grandiose to encapsulate. Those who take up the subject must often endure criticism that they chose an all too familiar episode. International artists look to their Korean cohorts for cues, but few step forward to venture into the theme from a faraway land. Moon Kyung-won and Jeon Joon-ho were undaunted. They boldly put on “News from Nowhere – Freedom Village,” a multi-faceted exhibition that recently ended at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art (MMCA) in Seoul. Their next stop this year is the 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art in Kanazawa, Japan (May 3-September 11), and shortly afterwards, the London-based Artangel and then the Art Sonje Centre, back in Seoul. A U.S. showing is also being discussed. Moon teaches Western painting at Ewha Womans University in Seoul and Jeon is based in Yeongdo, a seaside area of his native Busan. They have collaborated since 2009, forming a rare duo on the Korean fine arts scene. They constantly explore the role of art in coping with the universal issues of mankind, such as contradictions of capitalism, historical tragedies and climate change. Moon Kyung-won (left) and Jeon Joon-ho pose with a part of their collaborative project, “News from Nowhere – Freedom Village,” displayed at the Seoul branch of the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art for the “MMCA Hyundai Motor Series 2021” (September 3, 2021-February 20, 2022). The duo defined Freedom Village, the only civilian settlement on the southern side of the Demilitarized Zone, as a place created by human confrontation and conflict – a symbol of the isolation endured by numerous people amid the coronavirus pandemic. LOOK BACK “News from Nowhere” is a long-term project that has had several iterations. The title is from the eponymous utopian novel written by William Morris (1834-1896), an artist, designer and socialist pioneer who led the British Arts and Crafts Movement. In the novel, the narrator falls asleep and awakens in a future agrarian society that has no class, no systems of money or authority, no private property and no courts or prisons. Through the novel, Morris hurled scathing criticism at the social problems of his time. Moon and Jeon borrowed not only the title, but also the novel’s style of keenly dissecting the present from a perch in the future. “Our future-based view is not an attempt to diagnose the future but an effort to discuss the present agenda,” they explain. The duo’s “News from Nowhere” premiered in 2012 at documenta, a contemporary art exhibition held every five years in Kassel, Germany. The subtitle then was “The End of the World.” The exhibition led them to win the Artist of the Year 2012 Award from the MMCA and the Noon Award at the 9th Gwangju Biennale in the same year. In the ensuing years, the project, with input from other artists, appeared under different subtitles in various forms, including video works, installations, archival photographs and publications. Previous venues include the Sullivan Galleries at the Art Institute of Chicago in the United States (2013); the Migros Museum of Contemporary Art in Zürich, Switzerland (2015); and Tate Liverpool in the United Kingdom (2018). The duo also represented the Korean Pavilion at the 2015 Venice Biennale, presenting a multi-channel film installation titled “The Ways of Folding Space & Flying.” “News from Nowhere” had never appeared in Korea on an expansive scale before the artists were picked for the MMCA Hyundai Motor Series 2021. Starting in 2014, Hyundai Motor has annually sponsored a solo exhibition by a leading Korean artist at the MMCA. The previous pick was Yang Haegue, an installation artist of international renown. As to why they chose to reinterpret the division of Korea through a unique civilian settlement within the DMZ, Jeon said, “This project has reflected the identity, history and pressing issues of local regions in each different country and city. We thought long and hard about what to do about Korea. We wanted to break from the cliché about a divided nation. But after all, it was a sort of duty that any Korean artist ought to fulfill. So we decided not to make it a simple ref lection of the political situation in Korea, but an immersive experience for visitors to help them think of the universal history of humankind.” “News from Nowhere – Freedom Village” revolves around huge back-to-back screens that show different videos. They help immerse viewers in the installation art, comprising lights, sounds and images appearing on the screens connecting with the exhibition space. On the screen, “A,” a man who longs for freedom (played by actor Park Jeong-min), roams around in the mountains, looking for wild plants to study. © CJY Art Studio BYPRODUCT OF CONFLICT “News from Nowhere – Freedom Village” refers to Daeseong-dong, the only civilian residential settlement on the southern side of the DMZ, the heavily fortified strip of land running across the Korean Peninsula separating the North and South. Everything about the village is atypical. Its name doesn’t ascribe to the usual rendition of topographic characteristics or legends, and despite being inside South Korean territory, the village is controlled by the UN Command. Under the Korean War armistice agreement of 1953, both sides of the war recognized Daesong-dong in the South and Kijong-dong in the North as the only civilian residential areas within the DMZ. Afterwards, the two villages were given new names: “Freedom Village” and “Peace Village,” respectively. But the benign monikers were outright misleading; the villages became emblems of Cold War vitriol. A still from “News from Nowhere – Freedom Village” shows “A,” an amateur botanist, making plant specimens. Having never ventured outside of his native village, he collects and studies plants. © MOON Kyungwon & JEON Joonho In the hope of making his existence known to the outside world, “A” flies balloons carrying his plant specimens. He thus begins communication with “B,” another young man who lives in the future, occupying a small, hightech facility. © MOON Kyungwon & JEON Joonho Yeongsanjae, or the Rites of Vulture Peak, which was placed on UNESCO’s List of Intangible Cultural Heritage Currently, some 200 people in 49 households live in Freedom Village, surrounded by heavily armed troops and barbed wire fences due to its close proximity to North Korea. Private property is not allowed in the village. There’s a midnight curfew and roll calls are regularly held. The residents’ livelihood is mostly farming or raising livestock; commercial ventures don’t exist. Residents are afforded tax benefits and men are exempted from compulsory military service. If a female resident marries a non-villager, she must leave the village, but a male resident can stay if he marries an outsider. The two artists didn’t depict the village merely as a byproduct of the geopolitical situation of the Korean Peninsula. Rather, they used it as a symbol of a world molded by confrontation and conflict. Moon said, “At first, we were thinking of setting the project in an urban area with a more clear-cut identity. But we accepted Freedom Village as our keyword because it is an extremely unrealistic space for us, blurring the border between reality and fiction.” Jeon agreed, saying, “Perhaps for the last seven decades, the residents of this village have lived in a more disastrous situation than the pandemic we are currently in. In the present, when humanity is waging a war on COVID that has lasted for more than two years, the isolation of this village seems like the right keyword that can help us draw a universal consensus and look back on our own lives.” The result is a significant example of how South Korean artists are approaching the DMZ, going beyond the “easy path” of reiterating notions of ideological division and conflict. INFINITE LOOP The exhibition was an ambitious project, consisting of videos, installations, archives, photos, a huge painting and a mobile platform for affiliate programs. The centerpiece was two 15-minute videos shown on large, back-to-back screens. On the first screen, actor Park Jeong-min appeared as “A,” a 32-year-old amateur botanist and village native. “A” studies indigenous plants growing in the DMZ but has never ventured outside of his birthplace. To make his existence known to the outside world, “A” floats a balloon carrying plant specimens that he has collected and studied, along with notes about his daily life. The balloon lands near “B,” a man in his early 20s on the other screen. “B,” played by Jinyoung of boyband GOT7, is living in the future. He occupies a small, high-tech facility, occasionally glimpsing the outside. Startled and deeply puzzled, “B” scrutinizes the balloon for a few days before he finally musters the courage to remove its contents. Thereafter, he continuously receives balloons from “A,” persuading him to step outside of his facility. The spiritual link between the two young men turns out to have no endpoint, reminiscent of the infinite loop of time. Past these videos were photos of Freedom Village, provided by the National Archives of Korea with one proviso. “We were permitted to use images on condition that we would protect the anonymity of the people in the photos. So we obscured faces or superimposed new images on the originals by combining several different images together,” Moon explained. “Sometimes, we put face masks on those people’s faces through airbrushing technology, which resulted in a kind of masterstroke, as if it foretold the current pandemic situation.” In the last exhibition room, a snow-covered forest where “A” searched for plants was depicted in a huge landscape painting. Moon labored for more than six months on the canvas, which measures 2.92 meters by 4.25 meters. The hyper-realistic oil piece is so precise and elaborate that it could almost be mistaken for a photo. A quote from John Berger (1926 -2017), a British art critic, painter and poet, served as a thought-provoking epilogue for visitors. It read: “Sometimes a landscape seems to be less a setting for the life of its inhabitants than a curtain behind which their struggles, achievements and accidents take place. For those who are behind the curtain, landmarks are no longer only geographic but also biographical and personal.” “Mobile Agora,” a set of cube shaped, stainless steel objects placed outside the exhibition hall, can easily be disassembled and reassembled. It served as a venue for monthly discussions by experts in architecture, science, design and the humanities during the exhibition. “Landscape,” an oil and acrylic painting by Moon Kyung-won, measuring 292 x 425 cm, depicts a barren place where “A” roams. It recalls an area in Paju, Gyeonggi Province, adjoining the DMZ. The scenery resembles an image of Freedom Village provided by the National Archives of Korea. © CJY Art Studio

Podcast Airs Voices for Change

Tales of Two Koreas 2021 WINTER

Podcast Airs Voices for Change “Sabujak,” a podcast produced by university students, hands a microphone to North Korean refugees in hopes of increasing acceptance of the group in South Korean society. The radio broadcast helps them let down their guard through candid conversations under assumed names. “To tell the truth, I’m from North Korea.” Any North Korean refugee living in South Korea needs considerable courage to utter this simple statement because it typically invites suspicion, derision and discrimination. “Sabujak” (podcast_sabujak) attempts to soften these hardened attitudes through candid conversations with North Korean refugees. The radio podcast, run by university students in Seoul, thereby aims to remove prejudice toward resettlers from the North and break through the emotional wall that segregates them. In the student operators’ ideal world, “I’m from North Korea” should elicit a response as nonchalant as, “Oh, yeah? I’m from Daegu,” rather than condescension. Hence the name of their podcast: a crafted mashup of Korean words that mean “a small, amicable chat with friends from North Korea.” Most of the guests are reluctant to be identified for fear that their families in the North may face abuse. They prefer using nicknames, which have included “Kyongsong Pine Mushroom” and “Hyesan Potato Rice,” suggesting links to Kyongsong County in North Hamgyong Province and the city of Hyesan in Ryanggang Province, with their signature foods. Most guests on Sabujak, a podcast produced by university students, want anonymity. But some guests allow their real name or face to be revealed. Park Ye-young, head of the Unified Korea Cooperative, appeared in a three-part program from October 11 to 13 this year, under the nickname “Kim Chaek Hairy Crab.” From left: Sabujak staff members Park Se-ah and Ahn Hye-soo, and Park Ye-young. © Sabujak GUESTS The promise of anonymity helps persuade North Koreans to accept an invitation to the talk show. At the beginning of the podcast, most guests waver. But soon, nostalgic thoughts seemingly melt away the hesitation to speak candidly about their life and birthplace. After leaving the recording studio, many say they feel more confident about coping with their life in the South and being more forthcoming. “After each program recording, guests say, ‘I’ve tried so far to forget bad memories about North Korea. But speaking about my experiences today, I’ve come to accept my past somewhat more.’ I feel happy then, because of whatever small, positive effects our podcast can have on them,” said Park Se-ah, a Yonsei University student and a producer of the program. She joined the podcast as a volunteer, a follow-up after tutoring children from North Korea and a budding interest in North Korean refugees. The podcast began in 2018. It was the brainchild of Park Byung-sun, then a business administration student at Yonsei University. Now he works at a consulting company. “I launched it in the hope that South Koreans would feel no distance from, and become more friendly with, North Korean refugees if they heard about refugees’ experiences on a podcast,” said Park. “I thought I shouldn’t turn away from the prejudice and discrimination that refugees experience in our society. I therefore concluded that I should launch a podcast that would broadcast their unedited stories as they are.” THE BEGINNING The first broadcast aired in August 2018 through Project Jieum, a social startup club at Yonsei affiliated with Enactus. An international non-profit organization, Enactus was founded by the U.S. National Leadership Institute in 1975. Jieum, whose metaphorical meaning is “intimate friends,” has expanded its membership base beyond Yonsei to include students from Catholic University of Korea, Sogang University, Seoul National University, Sungshin Women’s University, Ewha Womans University and Chung-Ang University. Three teams of three student staffers operate the podcast. Everyone has to be a multitasker, extending invitations and serving as a host, editor or director from one broadcast to the next. The podcasts are recorded at Studio Bombyeot (Spring Sunray) near Hongik University nearly every week of the fall and spring semesters, with each term considered a “season.” A show usually consists of three parts, each lasting 12-15 minutes; the first segment is about life in North Korea and foods from the guest’s hometown, the second about escaping the North, and the third about settling down and living in the South. Before recording, producers have an online chat with the guests to create a natural rapport and outline the program, but no defined is drafted. The format is a free-flowing conversation. Political or religious topics are off limits in principle, but are sometimes lightly touched upon at a guest’s behest. During the initial seasons, most guests were college students; it was easier to invite them as they were the same age as the producers. Of late, guests from various age groups are appearing as the program becomes better known and previous guests introduce it to their relatives and acquaintances. So far, the show has hosted about 130 guests. Most can be described as ordinary people; this is by design. In addition to addressing the emotional distress and barriers refugees endure in South Korea, the producers aim to chronicle the stories of North Korean individuals who have never been in the spotlight and to convince South Koreans that refugees have more in common with them than they realize. One of the most memorable guests was a businessman who was wanted by the North Korean State Security Department for his activities as a broker for defectors from the age of 15. Another impressive guest was a high school student nicknamed “Kilju Meatball.” He was born and grew up in Kilju County in North Hamgyong Province, home of the Punggye-ri nuclear test site. A few guests have revealed their real names. One was Na Min-hee. With a solid family background, she enjoyed a comfortable life in Pyongyang and secured work in Europe to earn hard currency for the North Korean regime. Another identified guest was Joo Seong-ha, who now works as an international affairs reporter for the Dong-A Ilbo, a prestigious Seoul daily. Park Ye-young, head of the Unified Korea Cooperative, wanted to reveal her real name, though the producers had given her the nickname “Kim Chaek Hairy Crab.” “We were cheered up when Park thanked us South Korean university students for running a podcast with a deep interest in issues of the divided Korean nation and unification,” said Ahn Hye-soo. Ahn, a senior law student at Sungshin Women’s University whose grandfather hailed from Hwanghae Province, North Korea, joined the podcast after hearing about it by word of mouth. Sabujak tries to present the details of each North Korean refugee guest as candidly as possible without exaggeration or generalization. The podcasts are recorded at Studio Bombyeot (Spring Sunray) near Hongik University. The photo shows Sabujak staff at the studio. They are, from left, Ahn Seong-hyeok, Ahn Hye-soo and Park Se-ah. OPERATIONS Students from North Korea have also participated in the podcast’s production since Season 3, which began in September 2019. They include Ahn Seong-hyeok, a senior political science student at Yonsei, and Park Beom-hwal, a sophomore physical education student at Seoul National University. Ahn fled from Chongjin, North Hamgyong Province with his parents and arrived in the South in December 2011. He is the current head of the podcast. Audience feedback is Sabujak’s most important communication tool. Listeners submit comments or messages on Instagram. Response has mostly been positive. Some listeners even send “card news,” rearranged from broadcasts of the previous week. © Sabujak “I joined the staff at the suggestion of a friend of mine who works at the podcast,” said Ahn. “I feel overwhelmed with pride when guests say they’re too busy to think of their hometown often but can talk about memories of the old days thanks to our program.” Season 7 began in August 2021. The podcast receives support, including expenses for renting recording studios and costs for live broadcasting, from agencies such as the Wooyang Foundation, a charity organization; the Cultural Center for Inter-Korean Integration under the Ministry of Unification; and Yonsei University’s Institute for Higher Education Innovation. The accumulated number of online searches for Sabujak topped 200,000 in September 2021, a healthy number considering that radio podcasts have to compete for attention among troves of video platforms and audiobooks. Listeners give feedback via comments or send direct messages on Instagram. Response has been positive, with encouraging and supportive comments, which naturally buoys the volunteer staff. Among the refugees, the podcast is a popular attraction, making it easier to secure guests. To supplement the podcast, producers have published an essay book titled “I Will Live an Ordinary but Special Life,” a collection of stories from 12 guests from Seasons 1 and 2. The book sheds light on what motivated them to flee North Korea, how they resettled and what difficulties they encountered in the South, revealing their thoughts, emotions and memories, and stressing similarities and differences between the two Koreas. The producers say that in the process of talking with their guests, they came to realize their own view of North Korean refugees was too general. They admit that when they first became involved with the podcast, they assumed that all of the refugees would think similarly and could be placed in a “single category.” In contrast, they have learned that their guests have more sophisticated perspectives and behavior. For one, they seldom describe South Koreans in broad strokes, but tend to see Southerners as “individuals with characteristics and peculiarities.” An essay collection titled “I Will Live an Ordinary but Special Life” introduces unique North Korean foods with illustrated recipes. In the book, 12 podcast guests introduce their hometown food, along with their own experiences and memories related to the foods. © Project jieum CHANGED PERSPECTIVE Thus, the producers have gradually detached themselves from generalities, acknowledging that the parade of guests has presented a much more nuanced cohort. Now, they try to portray North Korean refugees not as a group of people with a particular image, but as distinct individuals, each with their own aspirations and difficulties. “When we have a debate on national unification in class, students are equally divided in their opinions. It’s most heart-wrenching to hear young people call each other ‘enemy,’” Ahn Seong-hyeok said. “I want to broadcast North Korean refugees’ stories for a long time, so that our podcast can faithfully play the role of a bridge between South and North Koreans to help them have a better understanding of each other.”

Refocusing with a Wider Lens

Tales of Two Koreas 2021 AUTUMN

Refocusing with a Wider Lens A young Briton’s book of candid photographs and short personal essays illuminates her emotional struggles as a foreign resident in North Korea and challenges common perceptions of the North Koreans. Lindsey Miller arrived in North Korea with rock-bottom expectations. The 2017-2019 posting of her diplomat husband would mean encounters with heartless, robotic people who would openly exhibit hostility, she thought. Still, undaunted, she grabbed her camera and ventured out of the foreign district in eastern Pyongyang. Lindsey Miller didn’t plan to write about North Korea, but after leafing through her photographs, she felt compelled to share her experience and visual interpretation. “North Korea: Like Nowhere Else,” a compilation of 200 photographs and 16 essays, was published in London in May 2021. © Lindsey Miller Being part of the diplomatic community afforded Miller the advantage of not having a minder who might interfere with her photography. Her early photos were mostly of buildings; she thought their exteriors and designs were exotic. But her attention soon shifted to capturing images of everyday people and learning their stories. Returning home to the UK and resuming her life as a composer and music director, Miller didn’t intend to produce a book. She says that after two years in North Korea, she feels even less knowledgeable about the country than when she first arrived there. But with her photos stoking memories, she felt compelled to share her encounters. The result is “North Korea: Like Nowhere Else,” a compilation of 200 candid photographs and 16 short essays based on her interactions and arc of emotions while in the North. “North Korea and the experience I had there are so much bigger and more complex than I could have ever imagined, and it can never be summarized in a simple sentence,” she says. “My book conveys an immersive, sensory experience of what day-to-day life was like for me living as a foreigner in North Korea. It explores the complicated, emotional impact my experience had, but most importantly, it shows how I saw the daily lives of the North Korean people.” One of her favorite photos is of North Korean soldiers on the move in a truck. It reflects the book’s aim of seeing North Korea not only in terms of amilitary state, but as a place where people lead their daily lives with the same joys, familial love and aspirations that can be found anywhere else. Young soldiers gaze back at Miller’s camera in one of her favorite photographs. Some ended up waving and blowing a kiss toward her, defying their stonefaced image in the West. © Lindsey Miller “My book explores the complicated, emotional impact my experience had, but most importantly, it shows how I saw the daily lives of the North Korean people.” Interactions “If we spend more time with the men in the photograph, and knowing the context I detail in the caption, how would our perceptions change and what would that say about us?” Miller asks. The soldiers were in their early 20s. They exchanged greetings with Miller, and one blew her a kiss. Everyone laughed and she blew a kiss to him in return. In general, Miller found North Koreans to be “very friendly, kind and curious.” But moving beyond spontaneous encounters was usually impossible. As a foreign resident, she wasn’t permitted to visit a North Korean’s home without an escort, and like all foreigners, she owned a local mobile phone that didn’t connect to the telecommunications network used by North Koreans. “Conversations themselves were frustratingly limiting,” Miller says. “Certain topics had to be avoided because of the risk to the person you were speaking to, and to yourself. And so there you were, two people, stuck in the middle of this controlled cage, trying to balance natural curiosity with careful small talk in an effort to actually get to know each other.” “It was also difficult developing relationships with Koreans as there was never any clear line between authenticity and falseness in social situations. You never knew if the person you were speaking to was genuinely interested or if they had been tasked with an ulterior motive.” Despite the hurdles, friendships were formed and so were connections, even if fleeting. “I was once invited to have drinks with some North Korean students,” she recalls. “They asked where I was from while drinking heavily and it felt like I could have been anywhere in the world. Music was playing, students all around were drinking and having a great time. After five minutes they said, ‘We can’t chat long because of security, but it was great to meet you.’ It was moments like that which were precious, and I wish I could have gone on for longer.” These barriers to interactions meant that questions naturally lingered. For example, why were schoolchildren carrying backpacks emblazoned with Disney characters, cultural symbols of North Korea’s so-called “greatest enemy,” the U.S.? Questions In 2018, U.S. President Donald Trump’s Singapore summit with North Korean leader Kim Jong-un elicited inquiries. Miller had learned about it through international news services, but North Korea’s state media reported it a full day later. Her North Korean acquaintances came and asked questions about what was happening. “That year brought some much-needed relief, and with the slogan ‘we are one’ being used so frequently, along with seeing Kim Jong-un shaking hands with Donald Trump, it really felt like something had changed, whether that was actually the case or not. My North Korean friends said many times how much lighter they felt,” Miller notes. Many North Koreans also asked her about British culture but didn’t seem to understand gender equality or same-sex marriage. Questions about South Korea were broached, but they were usually geared toward politics or her personal view of the two Koreas’ future rather than details about life in the South. Miller’s attention was most drawn to young women in Pyongyang, especially those in their late 20s and early 30s, her own age group. They seemed to value work and their career more than marriage and childbearing. Many asked what it was like to not have children and have a career. The 2018 North-South pop music concert in Pyongyang was particularly meaningful, given Miller’s career in music. “I felt incredibly privileged to be watching that concert and to see the expressions on the faces of the audience. It was a moving experience as well for many of the performers, some of whom had family from the North now settled in the South. It was an emotional event and one which I will never forget.” On a more practical note, North Koreans who attended the pop concert were happy that TV broadcasts included the South Korean song lyrics, Miller says. They struggled to hear the words through the rhythms and lyrical patterns in the South Korean pop songs, which are very different from those in North Korean music. A huge portrait of Kim Jong-il looms over a subway station in Pyongyang. Images of the late leader are ubiquitous in the North Korean capital. © Lindsey Miller Unhurried, elderly North Koreans are seen in front of a worn apartment building. Miller was always curious about what North Korea’s older generations had seen and done, and what their successors would undergo. © Lindsey Miller Marching soldiers pausing to give friendly waves grace the cover of Miller’s book, which provokes readers into regarding North Koreans in more approachable terms. © Lindsey Miller Outside Again Miller visited South Korea for the first time after returning to the UK from North Korea. “It was so poignant to visit South Korea after having been to North Korea first, and visiting the DMZ from the South after having visited it from the North was very moving and emotional,” she says. “What North Korea taught me most was the value of compassion and human connection. In such an isolated place, I was so thankful for the cherished friendships I managed to build with a few North Korean individuals,” Miller says. “In the beginning, I never thought those kinds of friendships would be possible, but I was wrong. It wasn’t easy, but it was possible.” Those friendships now exist in a vacuum. There is no way to stay in touch – no links through email or telephone – and even if she knew postal addresses, letters and parcels would undoubtedly be intercepted. “Once you’ve left, it’s like a lifeline has been severed,” Miller says. “Writing this book probably means I won’t be able to go back. But I would want to be able to look my North Korean friends in the eye and know that I was honest in recounting my experiences and the truth of my time there. That I was honest about the lives of the North Korean people and I didn’t sugarcoat the facts because I wanted to go back someday. If we continue to sugarcoat the facts for our own selfish gains, we’ll never discuss the truth of the situation in North Korea. North Korean people deserve better than that.” “Perhaps with this human focus, we can inspire change in how we speak about North Korea and consider the 25 million people living there in a more personal, connected way. It starts with us,” Miller adds. A Korean edition of her book is scheduled to be published on September 15.

REFUGEE DOCTOR’S CHARITABLE SERVICE

Tales of Two Koreas 2021 SUMMER

REFUGEE DOCTOR’S CHARITABLE SERVICE Seok Yeong-hwan left a comfortable medical career in North Korea for the South. As a groundbreaker in practicing traditional Korean medicine handed down on both sides of the peninsula, he generously helps those who cannot afford treatments. To patients accustomed to acupuncture needles as thin as a strand of hair, the needles at Yeongdeungpo 100 Years Clinic can be intimidating. But patients from North Korea feel differently. Seok Yeong-hwan, 55, runs the clinic. Stacks of North Korean books on medicine, including “Koryo Medicine,” hint at his uniqueness. He is the first North Korean-born doctor licensed to practice traditional Korean medicine in South Korea Abandoning a promising career as an army medical officer, Seok fled to the South with his girlfriend, now his wife, in October 1998. Taking advantage of his military rank to elude checkpoints and hitch rides, they traveled from Pyongyang to Seoul – across the DMZ, instead of via a third country as most refugees do – in only three days. The dream behind his 100 Years Clinic is to help patients have one hundred years of a happy, healthy life. North Korean transplants call the infirmary a “clinic for refugees.” They can receive treatment and even get life advice there without any fear of burdensome bills. Since opening in 2002, Seok has not accepted a single won from financially strapped patients Clinic for Refugees “Some refugees complain that they have difficulty making themselves understood by medical professionals at many other hospitals or clinics. Refugees say they can bare their hearts to me and thus feel at home, to some extent,” Seok said. “Anyway, I arrived in Seoul before they did and I had the same experience. It’s hard for me to ignore their predicament as I understand them better than anybody else.” The clinic also receives many KoreanChinese patients, who agree that medicines and treatments prescribed and administered by Seok are effective because their diet and lifestyle are similar to those of North Koreans. Even senior South Korean government officials were frequent visitors at Seok’s first location, near Gwanghwamun, the downtown section of Seoul. Skyrocketing rent forced him to close Gwanghwamun 100 Years Clinic in 2017, after 15 years in operation. His site in Yeongdeungpo District, located in southwestern Seoul, spans 661 square meters (double the size of his first clinic) at a lower price. Seok hails from Kapsan, a mountainous county in Ryanggang Province, North Korea. His family connections gave him a comfortable life. But after regime founder Kim Il-sung died in 1994, Seok began to feel disillusioned as he witnessed malnourished soldiers and heard other doctors recall their overseas experiences. He eventually yielded to these doubts and misgivings. When he fled the North, Seok was an army captain and surgeon serving as chief of emergency medical services at the North Korean People’s Army’s “Hospital 88.” Before that, he worked at the Research Center of Basic Medical Sciences in Pyongyang, also known as a “longevity research center.” It was one of the perks of being the son of a senior officer in the Supreme Guard Command, the equivalent of the Presidential Security Service in South Korea. Seok and his wife have since lost contact with their parents. Now, they have one son who is studying computer engineering at college, another son in high school and a daughter in middle school. Seok doesn’t know the whereabouts of his three brothers, either. “My relatives have vanished without a trace. People are saying that they’ve evaporated, literally,” he said. When Seok arrived in the South, there were no established standards for North Korean refugees to become medical doctors. The Ministry of Education and the Ministry of Health and Welfare permitted him to sit for the licensing exam for traditional medicine based on the advice of the Society of Korean Medicine and other experts. 1. Seok provides volunteer medical care on a weekly basis. He regards it as payback to the people in South Korea who helped him resettle and become the only person with medical licenses from both the North and the South. 1. Seok provides volunteer medical care on a weekly basis. He regards it as payback to the people in South Korea who helped him resettle and become the only person with medical licenses from both the North and the South. Starting Over Studying far into the night, Seok struggled with South Korea’s traditional medical textbooks, which are full of difficult classical Chinese characters. He had only learned basic Chinese characters in the North. Three years after resettling in South Korea, he passed the licensing exam, becoming the first person to obtain such a qualification in both Koreas. He went on to earn a master’s degree in traditional medicine from Kyung Hee University in Seoul, and is now considering pursuing a PhD. According to Seok, one major difference between the traditional medical practices of the two Koreas is found in acupuncture techniques. “In the South, doctors use thin and small needles to give patients less of a stinging sensation. But in the North, they use very thick needles,” he said. “People normally think thick needles will give them more of a stinging sensation, but it’s not true. Patients feel relaxed and refreshed after an acupuncture treatment with large needles. It’s one of the things that refugees miss most.” His clinic is famous for a unique North Korean style of acupuncture techniques, with “super-size” and “fire” needles, and even gold needles that normally would be used only to treat senior officials in North Korea. The gold needles are 0.6mm in diameter, much larger than typical acupuncture needles, which are 0.12mm to 0.3mm in diameter. Traditional Korean medicine is based on Dongeui Bogam (Exemplar of Korean Medicine), a text compiled in 1610 by Heo Jun (1539-1615), a Joseon-era royal physician. But the two Koreas have diverged in its application since their division. Therapeutic medicine has flourished in the North, where doctors treat patients based on the four-constitution (sasang) medicine developed by Yi Je-ma (1837-1900), a medical scholar of the late Joseon period. Under this system, patients with chronic diseases receive traditional treatment aimed at boosting their vitality and creating an immune response to fight disease. “I received many benefits from South Korean society in the process of settling here. It’s natural that I should return the kindness.” “Life-Saving Folk Medicine in North Korea,” a book on “Koryo medicine,” the North Korean version of traditional medicine, written by Seok. Seok is the author of several books that introduce the North Korean version of traditional medicine. One is “Kim Il-sung’s Ways to Stay Healthy and Live Longer.” It describes the natural therapy used by the late North Korean leader. Pride in ‘Koryo Medicine’ Seok is very proud of Koryo medicine. He employs “Yusimhwan” and “Taegohwan,” traditional medicinal globules, making use of his experience as a cardiovascular and hematology specialist at the Research Center of Basic Medical Sciences back in Pyongyang. The two types of sphere-shaped medications are known to have been favorites of Kim Il-sung and his son, Jong-il, when they were alive. They are believed to be effective in treating stress disorders and preventing aging. Medical study in the North consists of six years in the classroom and six months of clinical training. Students of Koryo medicine attend classes in both Eastern and Western medical theory and practice. North Korean doctors normally use both Eastern and Western tests to examine a patient, but treatment is mainly based on Eastern medicine, according to Seok. The North also has an abundance of medicinal plants and a sound preion service based on patients’ constitutional types, Seok explains. Patients’ own willpower to recover is most essential, and then followed by what medicines and treatment they receive from which doctor, he said. Volunteer Healthcare Seok has published four books so far: “Life-Saving Folk Medicine in North Korea” (2003), “Climbing Mountains, Digging Wild Ginseng” (2003), “Kim Il-sung’s Ways to Stay Healthy and Live Longer” (2004) and “Healthcare in North Korea” (2006). He also provides volunteer medical care for elderly people, a service he began in 2004 with another traditional medical doctor from the North. “I received many benefits from South Korean society in the process of settling here. It’s natural that I should return the kindness. Volunteer work also makes me feel happier,” he said. Seok has been leading a volunteer group, initially called the “Federation of North Korean Refugees in Medical Profession,” which was then expanded and renamed as the “Hana Nanum Foundation” (hana meaning “one” and nanum meaning “sharing”), since its founding in 2015. The number of volunteers and supporters participating in the group has increased as the number of North Korean refugees in the medical profession and their sympathizers has grown. At present, the group has about 130 volunteers, including some 30 traditional medical doctors and physiotherapists.

Sharing Art for a Single Korea

Tales of Two Koreas 2021 SPRING

Sharing Art for a Single Korea “A South-Facing House, Again” – an art exhibition by a North Korean refugee and her South Korean mentor/art therapist – attracted many viewers near the end of 2020. It highlighted efforts toward mutual understanding between North and South Koreans, and their shared desire for unification. North Korean refugee “Koi” named herself after the colorful carp to mask her identity and express her newly-acquired freedom. Koi in a fishbowl rarely surpass eight centimeters in length, but those in a river can grow up to 15 times bigger. The young artist likens herself to a fishbowl variety that has now reached the “wide and free river” of South Korea. In December 2008, Koi left her home in Chongjin, North Hamgyong Province, and sneaked into China, motivated by a close friend and her family members who had settled in South Korea. She couldn’t be deterred even by her own family’s warnings of severe punishment should she be captured. After many twists and turns in China and Thailand, Koi arrived in South Korea, her “dream land,” in March 2009. She personified an old adage that says, “The newborn calf is not afraid of the tiger.” Today, she fully realizes the risks she took as a new, 18-year-old high school graduate. She says she would not attempt the journey now if she were still in the North. Upon arriving, Koi set her sights on a fine arts education in Seoul. To prepare for the college entrance exam, she attended Heavenly Dream School, a private alternative school for displaced North Koreans in Seongnam, Gyeonggi Province. In 2012, Koi was admitted to Hongik University’s Department of Textile Art and Fashion Design. She was the department’s first student from North Korea. “A Map of the Korean Peninsula Embraced by Sigma” Shin Hyung-mee and Koi. 2020. Acrylic painting on wood. 160 × 100 cm. A collaboration by Koi, a North Korean refugee, and Shin Hyung-mee, her South Korean mentor/art therapist, displayed at their joint exhibition, “A South-Facing House, Again,” held in Seoul in November 2020. It employs the mathematical symbol (sigma) to express the whole of all parts. “Unit Harmony” Koi. 2020. Special fabric. 100 × 100 cm. This solo piece by Koi expresses her belief that many wishes for unification will eventually build one Korea. The artist says she was inspired by paper airplanes carrying notes of wellwishes. Coincidence or Karma While at the university, Koi met Shin Hyungmee, an art therapist, through the Young Defectors’ Christian Association. “When I first met Koi in 2013, I immediately felt that she had a very bright and positive view of life,” Shin recalls. At the time, I was participating in group counseling for young refugees, supported by the Korean Methodist Church headquarters. I knew that Koi eagerly wanted me to teach her privately. I’ve been her mentor ever since.” The two artists created nine works for a joint exhibition held in Seoul from November 25 to November 30, 2020. The theme of the event was “national unification.” It was the second round of “A South-Facing House,” an exhibition series launched in 2008 by Seoul Women’s University and the Incheon Dongbu Office of Education as an art therapy project for young refugees. The series has showcased participants’ artistic talents in a variety of genres, including painting, textile art and installation. The 2020 edition was hosted by the Unification Ministry at Topohaus, a gallery in Insa-dong, an arts and crafts conclave in central Seoul. The exhibition introduced Koi and her special relationship with Shin to the broader art scene. They collaborated on three of the artworks and separately produced three works each. “A Map of the Korean Peninsula Embraced by Sigma,” one of the joint pieces, expressed the artists’ impression of Korea through the mathematical symbol denoting a sum. In an earlier project called “Communicate with Colors,” 30 refugees and 29 South Koreans came together, each creating a different color of paint based on their own view of national unification. These hues were supplemented by a “color of emotion” made by Shin and Koi. Thus, 101 colors were exhibited and later handed over to institutions involved with education for national unification. “The Road to a SouthFacing House I Walk with You On,” one of Koi’s individual works, was an installation piece. It evoked 50 pairs of the sneakers that she wore back in the North. “I put a handwritten letter in each pair of shoes to say hello to 50 friends of mine in the North. The letters reflect my longing for my family and friends, and my wish for national unification,” she explains. “Many visitors lingered in front of the work. Some of them read each letter carefully and shed tears. Others left notes to say they were very touched.” “Unit Harmony,” another piece by Koi, was crafted based on her inspiration from paper airplanes carrying notes of well-wishes. Each of the “units” stands for a different dream. It embodies the image of one Korea built on many wishes for unification, just as all these smaller dreams together make up a bigger dream. Consideration and Patience “Long-Distance Running Track,” a solo piece by Shin, depicted the long and rough journey taken by 46 individuals from among the many North Korean refugees whom she still remembers meeting as an art therapist. “Ever since I was a child, long-distance running has been difficult for me,” Shin says. “I wanted to compare North Korean escapees’ experiences of both dangerous moments and peaceful relief along their journey toward South Korea with how runners feel during a long-distance race.” Despite their special relationship as a mentor and a mentee, as they worked together, Shin and Koi were constantly reminded of their different values, outgrowths of the disparate environments and experiences they have had. Communication, consideration and patience were critical. They thought hard about how to integrate their two different cultures. Koi says she was encouraged by the sheer number of visitors to the exhibition. “I had anticipated that there would be only a small number of visitors due to COVID-19, but was surprised to find out that more people came than expected. I was convinced that my talent could be used for national unification. More importantly, two artists from the South and the North were able to engage in collaborative activities rather than doing something separately. We’ve already gotten off to a good start toward national unification, I believe.” The exhibition was initiated by Shin. “We prepared it not as a one-off event, but as a long-running program,” she says. “With this serving as momentum, we’ll play the role of a bridge so that it can develop into a bigger project and more people can take part in it, approaching the topic of North Korea in a natural manner with optimism about unification.” Another exhibition is scheduled for later this year at a gallery run by the National Unification Advisory Council. “More importantly, two artists from the South and the North were able to engage in collaborative activities rather than doing something separately. We’ve already gotten off to a good start toward national unification, I believe.” . “The Road to a South-Facing House I Walk with You On” Koi. 2020. Fabric, handwriting, installation of 50 pairs of sneakers. Each of the 50 pairs of sneakers, the same type as those Koi wore in North Korea, includes a letter she wrote to say hello to her friends in the North. When art therapist Shin Hyung-mee (left) and Koi, her mentee from North Korea, work together, their different values often surface. They find communication, consideration and patience to be critical to their collaboration. Steps toward a Dream Currently, Koi is studying for a master’s degree in fashion business at Hongik University and working for a fashion-related organization. In 2016, she planned and participated in a group exhibition by nine young North and South Korean artists at Common Ground, South Korea’s first shopping mall made of shipping containers, under the sponsorship of Kolon Group. Her dream is to become an influential expert in the fashion industry and the world of arts and culture so that she’ll be able to play a useful role in uniting the two Koreas. Shin has maintained a close relationship with refugees since 2004. It all began when she met a boy from North Korea while working as a volunteer for Doctors Without Borders. As an art therapist, she also facilitated defectors’ mental healing and communicated with them at Hanawon, a government facility for defector re-education. She studied fine arts at Ohio University in the United States and obtained her master’s degree in art therapy from Seoul Women’s University Graduate School. Now, Shin is undertaking a doctoral program on clinical art therapy at CHA University. She is also preparing for various activities designed to raise awareness of the important public task of helping displaced North Koreans live a fulfilling life in the South.

Forgotten Children Documented

Tales of Two Koreas 2020 WINTER

Forgotten Children Documented “Kim Il Sung’s Children,” a documentary film that took 16 years to compile, brings to light a forgotten page from the Korean War – the shipment of thousands of North Korean orphans to communist Eastern Europe to be educated. In 1952, at the height of the Korean War, thousands of North Korean orphans were hustled onto the Trans-Siberian railroad. After traveling across the Eurasian continent for days, they arrived at the small Romanian town of Siret. There, the excited children stuck their heads out and waved at an assemblage of smiling townspeople who would be their caretakers. The three-year war orphaned more than 100,000 children. It is well documented that many South Korean orphans became adoptees in the United States or Europe. Far less known is the fate of North Korean war orphans. “Kim Il Sung’s Children,” a documentary film released in June 2020, finally sheds light on those children who were accepted by the Communist Bloc under what is known as a Soviet-orchestrated foster education program. About 5,000 North Korean war orphans are said to have arrived in five Eastern European countries – Bulgaria, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Poland and Romania – ostensibly to receive an education. In order to unravel the details, Kim Deog-young, the director of the documentary, made more than 50 trips to Eastern Europe over 16 years, beginning in 2004. But this pursuit began with a love story. Park Chan-wook, a fellow film director, had told Kim about a Romanian woman who was searching for news about her North Korean husband more than 40 years after being separated from him in Pyongyang. The couple were closely linked to the orphans while in Romania. “It was the first time that I ever learned about North Korean war orphans,” says Kim. Compelled to find out more, he began his long quest to unearth records and tap into old memories. A North Korean child answers a question at an elementary school in Budapest, Hungary, in the 1950s. Courtesy by Kim Deog-young The inion on the commemorative plaque found at National Central School No. 2 in Plakowice, Poland says that North Korean war orphans studied at the school from 1953 to 1959. Teacher Couple Georgeta Mircioiu, 18, had just graduated from a teaching school in 1952. Her first assignment was teaching fine arts at Korean People’s School, an elementary school where North Korean orphans attended classes in Siret, about 100 kilometers from the Romanian capital of Bucharest. The faculty included North Korean Cho Jung-ho, 26. The two teachers fell in love and were married in 1957 after obtaining permission from their respective governments. Two years later, the North Korean regime suddenly decided to recall all of the children. Cho returned to Pyongyang with his wife and their two-year-old daughter, but soon after their arrival he was purged and sent to a remote coal mine. Mircioiu was left to live alone with their daughter, who suffered from a lack of calcium. When North Korea adopted its ideology of juche, or self-reliance, it launched a campaign to expel foreigners, even those who were spouses of North Korean citizens. Mircioiu and her daughter had to return to Romania in 1962 and have never been allowed to re-enter North Korea since. In 1967, Mircioiu lost contact with her husband. Today, as she approaches 90, she continues to plead with the North Korean government to tell her at least if her husband is still alive or dead. However, since 1983, all she has received from Pyongyang is a brief message that “he has gone missing.” Mircioiu lives in Bucharest with her 61-year-old daughter and keeps sending letters of appeal to international organizations, anxiously awaiting news of her husband. Mircioiu still wears a gold wedding band engraved with “Jungho 1957.” She learned Korean to preserve her marital memories and the love that she shared. She has even published a “Romanian-Korean Dictionary” (130,000 entries) and a “Korean-Romanian Dictionary” (160,000 entries). The couple’s heartbreaking story was compiled by Kim Deog-young and aired on KBS TV in 2004, under the title “Mircioiu: My Husband Is Cho Jung-ho,” as a special feature marking the anniversary of the Korean War. Meanwhile, Kim had continued to follow the trail of North Korean orphans in the five Eastern European countries. He finally hit upon a 4-minute 30-second film from a Romanian film archive. It shows North Korean children getting off a Trans-Siberian train. Kim said that, as soon as Mircioiu saw the film, she called out the names of the children one by one, her eyes filled with tears. In that moment, it struck Kim that he “should not overlook this history.” He was inspired to do anything possible. It wasn’t easy to locate traces of the North Korean war orphans who had arrived in Eastern Europe in the early 1950s, though he scoured archives, schools and dormitories. And it was nearly impossible to find officials who had served during those years; most had already passed away. But he eventually managed to find people who had spent their childhood together with the North Korean children and recorded their remembrances. Sudden Farewell “Kim Il Sung’s Children” shows a vivid black-and-white clip of North Korean children studying and playing together with local kids. It also shows scenes from their group life, getting up at 6:30 every morning to salute a North Korean flag emblazoned with the face of Kim Il-sung and singing “Song of General Kim Il-sung.” Even now, more than 60 years later, their Romanian and Bulgarian classmates can still sing the song in Korean, which begins, “Each range of Mt. Jangbaek (Paektu) has traces of blood…” “Back then, we used to play soccer and volleyball on a hill. We were just like real brothers,” Bulgarian Veselin Kolev recalled. He said the North Korean children used to call their teachers “mom” and “dad.” Dianka Ivanova, one of their teachers, showed an old photo and pointed to one of the children in it, saying, “This is Cha Ki-sun, who liked me the most.” Kim learned that some children escaped from their dormitory and grew up to settle in nearby areas, marrying local women and becoming taxi drivers. He tried to track them down, but to no avail. The foster education program is known to have been planned by the Soviet Union. It was part of a propaganda campaign to publicize the “superiority” of the communist system and criticize the “consequences of the U.S. intervention in the Korean conflict.” In 1956, the North Korean children, who were adapting to a new life in a new country, began leaving their friends and teachers. A confluence of events prompted the sudden recall of the children. Resistance movements against the Soviet Union sprang up among Eastern European countries; the so-called “August Faction Incident” in North Korea also occurred that year, an aborted move to remove Kim Il-sung from power while he was visiting Bulgaria; and two North Korean orphans in Poland were caught trying to flee to Austria. Their days of adapting to a new life and new environment abruptly terminated, the North Korean children said goodbye to their friends and teachers and returned to their homeland in groups between 1956 and 1959. Before they traveled back to North Korea, some children attempted to leave traces of themselves behind. Steles or obelisks on which their names are carved still stand in forests near their old schools. Before they traveled back to North Korea, some children attempted to leave traces of themselves behind. Steles or obelisks on which their names are carved still stand in forests near their old schools. Director Kim Deog-young hopes that his documentary film, “Kim Il Sung’s Children,” will help people around the world have a better understanding of North Korean society. Georgeta Mircioiu, a Romanian who taught fine arts at Korean People’s School, poses with her North Korean husband Cho Jung-ho. Cho supervised and taught children at the same school. A group photo of children and teachers taken at Kim Il Sung School in Czechoslovakia in the 1950s. Eastern Europeans still vividly remember their North Korean classmates, with whom they studied and played together more than 60 years ago. Winds of Chang The release of “Kim Il Sung’s Children” coincided with the 70th anniversary of the outbreak of the Korean War. The coronavirus lockdown doomed its chances at the box office, but the film has nevertheless reached large audiences in some 130 countries through Netflix with the help of a Korean-American supporter. Despite its failure to attract attention in South Korea, the film has been invited to the main events of 13 international film festivals, including the New York City International Film Festival, the Nice International Film Festival and the Polish International Film Festival, winning significant attention from people around the world. 

Testimonies on Divergences in Music

Tales of Two Koreas 2020 AUTUMN

Testimonies on Divergences in Music A published collection of interviews with senior pro-North Korean artists residing in Japan provides valuable insight into North Korean music and how its distinguishing characteristics have been formed. A scene from “The Song of Mount Kumgang,” one of North Korea’s five major revolutionary operas. Premiered in 1973, it tells a story of family members separated during the colonial period and then reunited under the socialist system led by Kim Il-sung. The picture is from a 1974 performance by the Kumgangsan Opera Troupe, which was founded in 1955 under the pro-Pyongyang General Association of Korean Residents in Japan. While the native music of North and South Korea have the same roots, they no longer share the same harmony. What is called gugak in the South is minjok eumak in the North, both meaning “national music” but with different connotations. The two sides even differ in their use of traditional musical instruments. The South focuses on preserving the original form of these instruments, while the North crafts variations that can also be used to play Western music. “A Collection of Oral Recounts by Senior Overseas Korean Artists – Japan” parts the curtain on the development and current state of music in the communist North. The weighty volume, illustrated with rare historical photos, was published in December last year by the National Gugak Center, a Seoul-based public institution for preserving and promoting traditional Korean music. “North Korea has outdistanced South Korea in terms of the endeavor to modernize traditional musical instruments and try their hands at fusion music,” said Cheon Hyeon-sik, curator at the National Gugak Center and co-author of the book along with Kim Ji-eun, a researcher of North Korean music. The North’s effort at modernizing native Korean musical instruments has turned the 12-string zither, the gayageum, into an instrument with 19 or 21 strings. It has also changed the tone scale of traditional Korean music from pentatonic to heptatonic scales. Some modernized instruments of the North have been accepted by South Korean performers. They include the okryugum, a 33-stringed zither; the jangsaenap, an oboe-type, double-reed wind instrument; and the daepiri, a clarinet-like brass instrument. The co-authors spent three years conducting interviews and compiling the book. “The interviewees unanimously said that it’s impossible to discuss music apart from politics in the North,” they explained. “It has also been reaffirmed that music has greater influence than any other art genre there.” This is based on the background of the late leader Kim Jong-il’s instruction: “Music should serve politics. Music without politics is like a flower without fragrance. Politics without music is like politics without a heart.” Thus, music in the North has come to have a different face from music in the South, where it largely plays a part in each individual’s pleasure and taste. The poster for “The Flower Girl,” a revolutionary opera that toured China in 2008. Some 50 Meritorious Artists and People’s Artists performed in the production, alongside members of the Sea of Blood Theatrical Troupe. © Yonhap News Agency Cheon Hyeon-sik (left) and Kim Ji-eun, co-authors of “A Collection of Oral Recounts by Senior Overseas Korean Artists – Japan.” The book is based on interviews with eight prominent musicians and dancers residing in Japan. Interviewees The book’s eight senior artists residing in Japan – all of them recipients of North Korea’s People’s Artist, Meritorious Artist, People’s Actor, or Meritorious Actor awards, and recognized as supreme authorities in their respective fields – were interviewed between 2017 and 2018. Two passed away while the book was being compiled. The interviewees were: Im Chu-ja (1936-2019), choreographer and dancer; Lee Chor-u (1938- ), composer and deputy director of the Isang Yun Music Institute in Pyongyang; Jung Ho-wol (1941- ), singer and former actress of the Kumgangsan Opera Troupe; Kim Kyong-hwa (1946-2017), former conductor of the Kumgangsan Opera Troupe; Hyun Gye-gwang (1947- ), dancer; Ryu Jon-hyon (1950- ), opera singer; Jong Sang-jin (1958- ), composer; and Choi Jin-uk (1958- ), professor of music education at Korea University Tokyo. Composer Jong Sang-jin said most of his North Korean cohorts compose “program music,” primarily based on Russian-influenced melodic motifs, staying away from Western “melodic fragments,” be they symphonies or smaller orchestral works. However, Jong noted that there is slightly more diversification these days, and works with more melodic fragments than before are being written. Co-author Cheon provides complementary interpretations to better explain the different aspects of music in the two Koreas. For example, he cites the operas of both Koreas based on the ancient folk tale of Chunhyang. North Korea’s folk operas emerged along with the state’s effort to modernize traditional musical instruments in the 1960s. The genre began there with “The Tale of Chunhyang” and went on to yield revolutionary operas in the 1970s. The North Korean opera version of the tale showcases the Western bel canto technique for beautiful singing, instead of Korea’s traditional raspy vocal style of pansori (narrative song). It also highlights class struggle, a sharp contrast to the Southern version, which sticks to the original plot of a love story between an aristocratic boy and a lowborn girl that leads to a happy ending. “North Koreans learn pansori as a mere subject of study, no longer enjoying it as a genre of folk music,” Cheon said. Pansori has been rejected by the socialist regime in the North largely on the grounds that it is permeated by upper-class values, while in the South it has gained remarkable popularity as a representative traditional music genre. Vocals In the North, vocal music has undergone changes in techniques, lyrics and even musical forms. In other words, it has been transformed to suit the goals of the North’s socialist revolution and its people’s sensibilities. Two vocal techniques in particular are emphasized: “minseong” for the traditional vocal genre and “yangseong” for Western classical music. The former is also called “juche style,” referring to a clear and lilting style rooted in the traditional seodo (western province) style of singing. “The Tale of Chunhyang” features singers performing in the traditional folk style, whereas “The Flower Girl,” a revolutionary opera, highlights those singing in the Western style. Singer-actress Jung Ho-wol said North Koreans prefer high voices. They believe that native folk songs should be sung in a thin, high-pitched tone. But they have come to love songs sung in low voices as well, as many mezzo sopranos have come on stage these days. “According to Mr. Jong Sang-jin, each of the outstanding North Korean operas has its own characteristics,” Kim Ji-eun said. “For example, ‘Sea of Blood’ gives off a nationalistic and folksy feel; ‘The Flower Girl’ presents many refined melodies; and ‘The Song of Mount Kumgang’ has a very modern touch.” These characteristics also stand out in the orchestral arrangements. “Sea of Blood” was written with a focus on purely native instruments. The orchestra for “The Flower Girl” initially featured native instruments and Western brass instruments, later adding violins for overseas presentations. And the orchestra for “The Song of Mount Kumgang” only consists of western instruments, with the sole exception of bamboo wind instruments. The interviewees largely agreed that national music has lost its charm in the North, in comparison to the Western music that appeals to young people nowadays. 1.Biographical data of choreographer and dancer Im Chu-ja. She dedicated herself to teaching students after establishing the Korea Dance Institute in 1957, earning a reputation as a “great star” in the dance world of Korean residents in Japan. She passed away in 2019. 2.Jong Sang-jin, a composer, recalls the life of Kim Byong-hwa, conductor of the State Symphony Orchestra of North Korea. Photos of Kim and the orchestra’s concert in 1992 at the Tokyo Metropolitan Theatre are shown on the right-hand page. Winds of Change The interviewees largely agreed that national music has lost its charm in the North, in comparison to the Western music that appeals to young people nowadays, Kim Ji-eun noted. For example, the Samjiyon Band, which mostly performs European classical music, enjoys great popularity, and its concerts that feature conductor Jang Ryong-sik attract even larger audiences. The band drew significant interest when it visited the South to give concerts in celebration of the 2018 Winter Olympics in Pyeongchang. Kim recalled the interviewees’ claims that the North’s music scene is undergoing changes in step with overseas trends, introducing a variety of new vocal techniques. “Mr. Jong Sang-jin further said that North Korean music colleges these days mainly teach three types of techniques, following the performing style of the Moranbong Band; that is, the techniques for native folk songs, Western classical music and contemporary pop music.” Currently, the members of the Moranbong Band, known in the South as a “North Korean girl group,” are the most popular artists among North Koreans. The band was launched in 2012, shortly after Kim Jong-un came to power. Its leader Hyon Song-wol aroused much attention from the South Korean media and public during the band’s visit for the 2018 Winter Olympics. Most of the band members are graduates of either Pyongyang University of Music and Dance or Kum Song Music School. The latter is the alma mater of the North’s First Lady Ri Sol-ju. This has sparked speculation that she was the one who initiated the band. Both the Moranbong Band and the Korean People’s Army State Merited Chorus are regarded as icons of the Kim Jong-un era. Their performance style exerts strong influence on other performing arts organizations in the country. Isang Yun (or Yun I-sang, 1917-1995), a South Korean-born composer who was charged with acts of espionage for North Korea in 1967, is highly esteemed in the North, whereas he has not received a proper evaluation in the South. The Isang Yun Music Institute in Pyongyang and its Isang Yun Orchestra remain active today. “There are many people in Pyongyang who are crazy about Yun’s music,” Cheon quoted the interviewees as saying. Elements of jazz and rock are also increasingly seeping into North Korean music. Regime founder Kim Il-sung once forbid and demonized the genres, saying, “Western pop singers take drugs and lead dirty lives.” No doubt the carefree lifestyles of many musicians were of little help in dissuading the authorities in Pyongyang. But the interviewees agreed with Kim Ji-eun’s view that swing rhythm and jazz beats seem to have been integrated into North Korean music today. 

Same War, Different Memories

Tales of Two Koreas 2020 SUMMER

Same War, Different Memories Artists in the two Koreas have exercised selective memories of the Korean War (1950-1953). Their perspectives and styles in recounting the death and destruction of the fratricidal conflict vary distinctly. The swift fall of Seoul in the first week of the Korean War upended the lives of its artists. Those who failed to flee beforehand were mostly given a stark choice: they would receive food rations if they painted giant portraits of Soviet leader Joseph Stalin or North Korean regime founder Kim Il-sung under the instruction of the pro-communist Korean Art Alliance. Three months later, when the United Nations forces and South Korean troops retook Seoul, these artists faced punishment for collaborating with the enemy. Painters such as Ki Ung and Kim Man-hyong, who were instrumental in pro-North activities, fled alongside retreating North Korean troops. But they weren’t alone in escaping the threat of reprisal; they joined other artists who had willingly gone to the North before or during the war. In total, about 40 South Korean artists switched sides. Had they stayed in the South, the expectations of their approach to art would have been entirely different. “The 38th Parallel” by Kim Won. 1953. Oil on canvas. 103 × 139 cm. The painting depicts a crowd of refugees trying to cross the line dividing the two Koreas. The dark-blue dirt ground and red sky represent their despair and pain, while the bright rays on the hill at the right side of the canvas symbolize hope. “Vestiges of History” by Nam Kwan. 1963. Oil and collage on canvas with a faux rust effect. 97.5 × 130.5 cm. National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Gwacheon. In this melancholic and emotional flashback to tragic moments of war, abstract forms made up of long and short strokes suggest pathetic episodes against a backdrop where time seems to stand still, with light and shadow crisscrossing each other. Art in the South Korean literature has quite a few masterpieces dealing with the war. The same cannot be said for the fine arts. Few artists have attempted to realistically depict the brutal realities of the conflict. “The Battle of Mt. Dosol” is among the few exceptions. Yu Byeong-hui, a signal corpsman in the Republic of Korea Army, produced the work in 1951, shortly after the bloody clash which took place in the rugged Taebaek Mountains, one of the five major battles fought by the ROK Marines. The South Korean national flag, or Taegeukgi, flies high in the center of the canvas, while the North Korean flag lies on the ground, soaked in blood. Some 2,260 North Korean troops and 700 South Korean forces perished in the brutal combat. Kim Seong-hwan (1932-2019) is recognized for having documented the Korean War more graphically than any other artist. When the war erupted, Kim, a high school senior, was already drawing a comic strip – “Meongteongguri” (Dimwit) – for the daily Yonhap Sinmun. After Seoul fell, he hid himself in the attic of his house to avoid being coned into the North Korean army, but managed to venture out to observe the occupation. The teenaged artist produced some 110 true-to-life watercolor sketches based on what he witnessed. One piece depicts South Korean soldiers having captured a formidable Soviet T-34 tank, with dead North Korean soldiers strewn on the street. In contrast, most of the other artists in the South focused on depicting refugees desperately clinging to life and choking escape routes. Battle scenes were seldom revisited. This was probably because many of the artists were refugees themselves who were suffering from the horrors of the war. Kim Won (1912-1994), who left Pyongyang to settle down in Seoul before the war began, captured a group of refugees trying to cross the line dividing the two Koreas in “The 38th Parallel” (1953). The painting depicts some wailing sorrowfully while holding a dead person, and others struggling to ascend a hill, carrying their children in their arms or on their back. The dark-blue dirt ground and red sky represent their despair and pain, while the bright rays on the hill at the right side of the canvas symbolize hope. “Victory” (detail) by Lee Quede. 1958. A mural in the Sino-Korean Friendship Tower. Oil painting. 200 × 700 cm. Pyongyang. This massive mural features several combat scenes at the center, with American stragglers on the right-hand side and victorious Chinese troops in the upper half. Abstract vs. Realism South Korean artists didn’t stow away the horrendous memories of the war even when a semblance of stability returned. Instead, their paintings became more metaphorical or abstract. After the end of World War II, realism had been shunned and realist paintings became considered politically oriented and left-leaning. In some quarters, there was even a tendency to hesitate to recognize such paintings as works of art. Many artists also regarded the socialist realist style of paintings that were popular in the Soviet Union and North Korea as rabble-rousing and ideologically biased. In the wake of the Korean War, South Korean artists sought to express their anger, pain and sense of futility derived from scars of the war and the loss of family. They tried to avoid politically motivated subjects and turned to abstract art, which had gained popularity in Europe and the United States. The memory of seeing many dead refugees during an evacuation never faded for Nam Kwan (1911-1990). He relived those scenes in “Vestiges of History” (1963), a melancholic and emotional flashback to tragic moments. Human figures, symbols and pictograms are placed across the canvas, as if floating around here and there. Abstract forms made up of long and short strokes suggest pathetic episodes against a backdrop where time seems to have stopped, with light and shadow crisscrossing each other. In post-war North Korea, where the Korean War was called the “Fatherland Liberation War,” artists embraced socialist realism. Pyongyang University of Fine Arts taught Russian art as a required course and artists learned how to portray heroic people dramatically. Among the former South Korean artists who defected to the North and painted wartime scenes was Lee Quede (1913-1965). Lee had already attracted public attention while in the South for his awe-inspiring history paintings. His signature war painting, “Victory” (1958), is a mural drawn inside the Sino-Korean Friendship Tower in Moranbong District, central Pyongyang. The tower was erected to thank China for its wartime assistance and promote bilateral ties between the two countries. Several combat scenes, including one on Sanggam Pass in which Chinese troops repulsed U.S. and South Korean forces, are found at the center of the mural, with American stragglers on the right-hand side and victorious Chinese troops in the upper half. “Kosong People, Supporting the Front Line” by Chung Chong-yuo. 1958/1961 (retouched). Chosonhwa. 154 × 520 cm. Korean Art Gallery, Pyongyang. The painting features civilians in Kosong, Kangwon Province, bringing ammunition and food to the front line during winter storm. In post-war North Korea, where the Korean War was called the “Fatherland Liberation War,” artists embraced socialist realism. Pyongyang University of Fine Arts taught Russian art as a required course and artists learned how to portray heroic people dramatically. “Women in the Nam River Village” by Kim Ui-gwan. 1966. Chosonhwa. 121× 264 cm. Korean Art Gallery, Pyongyang. The painting portrays gallant women in a riverside village in Kosong as they take care of soldiers and cattle and join the fighting. Art in the North But more frequently depicted than battle scenes are heroic people assisting North Korean troops. Another artist from the South, Chung Chong-yuo (1914-1984), won a gold medal in a national art exhibition for “Kosong People, Supporting the Front Line” (1961), which features civilians in Kosong, Kangwon Province, braving a snowstorm to carry ammunition and food to the front line. It rhythmically portrays human figures and animals moving from right to left in perspective, effectively evoking a sense of depth and space through implicit brush strokes and graded shades of ink. It is worth noting that, until the 1950s, oil painters outnumbered ink wash painters in North Korea. In the 1960s, however, painters were encouraged to draw the so-called Chosonhwa (literally “Korean painting”), the North Korean-style ink wash painting. This came after paramount leader Kim Il-sung stressed the need to develop Chosonhwa as a national style of painting, using traditional brush and ink, rather than producing Western-style oil paintings. Kim allegedly pointed out that “the weakness of Chosonhwa is a lack of color, and it’s important to depict people’s struggle vividly, succinctly, beautifully and emphatically by applying colors.” Kim is also said to have lavished praise on “Women in the Nam River Village” (1966) by Kim Ui-gwan (1939- ) and “Grandfather at the Naktong River” (1966) by Ri Chang (1942- ), among other works of Chosonhwa. The former depicts gallant women in a riverside village in Kosong as they shelter soldiers, herd cattle and fire weapons. It earned the artist the first prize in a national art exhibition. Interestingly, North Korea doesn’t have many paintings depicting the Korean War. A far greater number of paintings have portrayed Kim Il-sung waging anti-Japanese struggle. It seems North Korean artists have sidelined the “Fatherland Liberation War,” presumably because it was Kim’s failed campaign to take over the South. 

Training Young People for Unification

Tales of Two Koreas 2019 WINTER

Training Young People for Unification Father Ben Torrey is preparing young South Koreans to effectively reunify with North Korea. His mission, using prayer and labor, continues a more than 100-year connection between his American family and Korea. Father Ben Torrey named himself Dae Young-bok after his father, Father Reuben Archer Torrey III, who called himself Dae Chon-dok. Father Torrey and his wife moved to Korea in 2005. Currently, he is focusing on cultivating “agents of reconciliation and unification” to work in North Korea, the essence of his “Fourth River” dream. High in the Taebaek Mountains of Gangwon Province, Samsuryeong (literally, “Three Water Pass”) feeds tributaries sloping toward the east, west and south. At ground level, a far different tributary is being created for the remaining direction, north. It is the self-appointed “Fourth River” project of Father Ben Torrey, who envisions a stream flowing from the south to hydrate the reunification of the Korean peninsula. Father Torrey is convinced that South Koreans in their 20s and 30s, or the millennial generation, will witness the unification of the two Koreas in their lifetime. He is also convinced that they are far from prepared. Thus, since 2010, he has operated “Fourth River” to equip this generation with skills and knowledge for the rebirth of a unified Korea. The project is housed at the Samsuryeong Center in Taebaek, once a booming coal mining town, about 200 kilometers southeast of Seoul. The center includes the River of Life School, an alternative secondary education school, and the Three Seas Youth Center. The school, which is administered by Father Torrey’s wife, Liz, focuses on cultivating “agents of reconciliation and unification.” Students are taught the importance of cooperation and helping others, a significant departure from the all-out competition in standard schools. The youth center is for middle-school to college-age students. It aims at cultivating their spirit and building up their physical fitness. “It’s all the more important to train young people as future leaders that this country will need at a time when Korea is expected to emerge in the international community as a powerful unified country,” Father Torrey says. “Of course, South Korea is full of bright young people. But unfortunately, they lack not only interest in, but understanding of, North Korean youths,” he goes on. “Even after the two Koreas are unified, there will be various problems in the process of integrating two different societies, or risks arising from the differences between their worldviews, values, culture, and use of language. We need to make thorough preparations from now on as we’ve learned lessons from the German unification and the collapse of the Berlin Wall. We should carefully prepare for these problems now. Project Fourth River is just for such a mission.” Father Torrey is the fourth generation of the Torrey family connected with Korea. Reverend Reuben Archer Torrey, Sr. (1856–1928), his great-grandfather, visited Korea while working as a missionary in China. His grandfather, Reverend Reuben Archer Torrey, Jr. (1887–1970), also a missionary in China, helped restore Korean churches after the Korean War. And his father, Father Reuben Archer Torrey III, rebuilt the Saint Michael’s Theological Seminary, the predecessor of Sungkonghoe University, in southwestern Seoul, and established the Jesus Abbey, six kilometers from Taebaek, to create an ascetic community. Father Torrey speaks to a class in the chapel room at the Samsuryeong Center in Taebaek, formerly a booming coal mining town in Gangwon Province. Father Torrey explains to students the meaning of the Samsuryeong (“Three Water Pass”) watershed, the source of streams flowing downward toward the east, west and south. Family Legacy Father Ben Torrey belongs to the Syro-Chaldean Church of North America but his father was a priest in the Anglican Church and his great-grandfather and grandfather were pastors of the Congregational Church and the Presbyterian Church, respectively. Born in the U.S. state of Massachusetts in 1950, Father Torrey grew up in Korea from age seven to 19. Together with 10 young Korean men, he lived in a large military tent for six months while they assisted his father until the first building of the Jesus Abbey was dedicated in 1965. His father had purchased the land outside of Taebaek on the advice of local Anglican Church parishioners. Father Torrey went back to the United States in 1969 to attend college. Although he returned to Korea in 1978 and helped design and construct buildings in the Samsuryeong area for a year, he never intended to settle down in Korea. He had an IT career until he founded The King’s School, a missionary school, in Connecticut in 1994, and served concurrently as chairperson of the school foundation and dean of the school until 2004. The Calling The inspiration for Fourth River came in 2002, at the funeral of his father, who was better known by his Korean name, Dae Chon-dok. A longtime friend of the late Father Torrey III said the Garden of Eden had four rivers but Samsuryeong only had three. Father Torrey immediately linked the remark to his father’s longtime dream of constructing a facility to train young people for the unification of the Korean peninsula. He recalls how the thought stuck with him after the funeral, and he felt a burning sense of mission to fulfill that dream. Determined to prepare for the opening of North Korea, he told the Jesus Abbey staff in 2003 that he would join the abbey community. The abbey immediately appointed him as director of the Three Seas Youth Center, and Father Torrey and his wife returned to Gangwon once again in 2005. Their two sons and one daughter live in the United States. The River of Life School’s curriculum includes North Korean studies in addition to regular secondary school subjects. It teaches the differences in language, history and social systems between the two Koreas and its library shelves are stacked with books on North Korea. Father Torrey says South Korea’s highly competitive education system is ill-suited for understanding and empathizing with conditions in North Korea. “In the future,” he says, “those who can understand and share the pain of others and who can communicate with those who fall behind will be able to become leaders. We teach how to cultivate cooperative spirit and how to cooperate rather than compete. The very basic element for Korean unification is cooperation.” Father Torrey speaks to a class in the chapel room at the Samsuryeong Center in Taebaek, formerly a booming coal mining town in Gangwon Province. Classes and Chores Work is also a key curriculum component in accordance with the teachings of St. Benedict who stressed the need to “pray and work” (“ora et labora” in Latin). Every Wednesday morning, a slew of tasks await at the Jesus Abbey, which serves both as Father Torrey’s residence and an interdenominational ascetic fellowship community, as well as at the school, the youth center and the Three Seas Ranch, which aims to eventually teach North Korean farmers how to raise cattle. The work includes cleaning, gardening, weeding and pruning tree branches, pasture seeding, and washing clothes and blankets. The ranch sprawls over some 500,000 square meters of land Father Reuben Archer Torrey III borrowed from the Korea Forest Service, serving as an outdoor classroom. Nature and work blend harmoniously. Father Torrey believes that people learn how to cooperate with each other through labor. When he was a teenager, he chopped wood for four years to help his father build the Jesus Abbey, and today he still chops fire wood. He once ran a weeklong summer labor camp for students from other schools at the River of Life School. This was also part of his efforts to increase young people’s understanding of North Korea and help them prepare for its opening. During the camp, the students were not allowed to use their cellphones. The priest is now constructing a school building with a dormitory wing in order to accommodate more students. Some 60 people live together at the Jesus Abbey. Visitors can book a Monday-to-Wednesday stay, in which they will work and eat together; meditate more than three times a day; and pray for someone else, not for themselves. The visitors must also surrender their phones. The accommodation is free as the abbey is funded by donations but, of course, visitors may give as they wish. In May 2019, Father Torrey started expanding the Samsuryeong community, and he is currently collecting money to expand Fourth River. He believes that God will give him as much as he needs. He worries more about conflicts and schisms within the South Korean churches and society. He emphatically says, “We need to restore unity in South Korean society first for the sake of national unification.” The Jesus Abbey, a 10-minute drive from the Samsuryeong Center, is an interdenominational Christian fellowship community built by Father Reuben Archer Torrey III in 1965. Currently, Father Ben Torrey resides here.

Sowing Seeds of Growth

Tales of Two Koreas 2019 AUTUMN

Sowing Seeds of Growth Good Neighbors, an international NGO founded and led by Yi Il-ha, has been in the vanguard of humanitarian assistance in North Korea since the mid-1990s. The efforts go far beyond simple handouts, setting examples for the organization’s similar projects around the world. Yi Il-ha, the founder of Good Neighbors, an NGO for international relief and development aid, visits an orphanage in Nampo, about 55km from Pyongyang, in 2004. Good Neighbors’ humanitarian assistance to North Korea since 1995 has included child protection, agro-livestock development, and health and medical services. One of the most contentious issues surrounding South Korea’s approach to North Korea is humanitarian aid. Some regard assistance as a misguided and unfruitful effort spoiling the leaders in Pyongyang. Others urge charity regardless of the adversarial relationship between the two sides. Yi Il-ha, known as the godfather of Korea’s non-government organization movement, is in the latter camp. The aim of Good Neighbors is a world in which hunger is absent and peaceful harmony is universal. Established by Yi in 1991, the NGO has 52 branches in South Korea and 303 offices in nearly 40 other countries. In 1996, Good Neighbors became the first Korean NGO to receive “general consultative” status from the UN Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC), the highest recognition the United Nations grant to NGOs. A Hunger-Free World More than 3,000 staff members operate the organization’s welfare and relief programs and there are more than half a million donors in South Korea alone. Early this year, Yi anticipated the end of a long freeze on civilian aid programs for North Korea. But the collapse of the second U.S.-North Korea summit in February in Hanoi dashed his hopes. Yi had planned to build a large dairy farm and milk processing plant in North Korea, if Washington-Pyongyang relations improved. He intended to lay the groundwork for raising pigs, cattle and chickens, and build dairy processing and sausage factories. He had also hoped to supply South Koreans with samgyetang, or ginseng chicken soup, made in the North. He further had plans to help upgrade the North’s healthcare infrastructure. They included construction of a pharmaceutical research center, pharmaceutical plants and hospitals and other healthcare facilities, as well as factories to produce injectable solutions and capsules and herbal medicines. With U.S.-North Korea nuclear negotiations in limbo, however, all these plans remain on the drawing board. South Korean veterinarians inspect milk from dairy cows at the Kubin-ri Cooperative Farm in Kangdong County near Pyongyang. Good Neighbors provided the cows and dispatches veterinarians and other experts to take care of the herd. Dairy Cattle Project Good Neighbors’ humanitarian aid programs in the North can be divided into three categories: child care and protection; agricultural and stockbreeding development; and healthcare services. The NGO’s presence in the North began in 1995, when it started delivering food and daily necessities. At the time, North Korea’s economy was on a downward spiral, which culminated in widespread famine in 1997, the year Yi visited the North for the first time. The next year, Good Neighbors’ paradigm changed when Chung Ju-yung, founder of the Hyundai Group, delivered 1,001 heads of cattle to the North in two spectacular parades of 50 trucks across the Military Demarcation Line. Following Chung’s example, Good Neighbors delivered 200 pregnant dairy cows a few months later and built dairy farms in the North. Chung’s largesse was publicized, but North Korean officials wanted the NGO’s deliveries to be unreported. Yi agreed with no objections. However, the fact that the cows were kept in quarantine in Incheon before their delivery became an open secret and they were filmed by a TV news crew as they left the port, upsetting North Korean authorities. After twists and turns, a total of 510 dairy cows were sent to the North and became the herds of four new dairy farms. In fact, the idea of sending dairy cows to the North was conceived in 1995, when Yi visited the Chinese border city of Dandong. There, he met an Australian of Korean descent who had sent 200 head of hanu, or Korea’s indigenous cattle, to the North Korean city of Haeju, only to be told that dairy cows would be more helpful. Convinced that the North Koreans could have a future if they had a viable dairy industry, Yi consulted a senior dairy industry researcher in the United States. He promised to help but ran into U.S. government disapproval. When a fellow Good Neighbors member working for Seoul Milk learned about the logjam, he helped Yi buy his company’s 200 pregnant dairy cows at a giveaway price of 1.5 million won per head. A secondary reason for Good Neighbors’ interest in starting dairy farming in the North was that herds would require ongoing exchanges between North Koreans and South Korean veterinarians, dairy experts and Good Neighbors staff. Sure enough, Yi and his staff have so far made some 140 visits to the North — Yi about 120 visits himself. Eventually, North Korean officials wanted milk processing equipment to increase the added value of milk. After building a cheese processing plant for them, Good Neighbors attached one condition: half of the profit had to go to villagers and the other half to feed destitute children. Raising Incomes The success of this project exceeded expectations. The income of residents in Kubin-ri, a rural village in Kangdong County on the outskirts of Pyongyang, jumped 10-fold in five years. Naturally, the village population grew as well. The villagers were so proud that they described their achievement on a placard, writing in large letters, and placed it at the entrance to their village. After seeing the success of the dairy project, the North’s Agriculture Ministry asked for support for chicken farming. It raised the need to buy expensive eggs to improve breeds, as well as equipment, from overseas. Good Neighbors purchased eggs of the most productive egg-laying chicken breeds from France that cost 5,000 to 200,000 won each, while the North built a chicken breeding farm that was off-limits to outsiders within the radius of 4 kilometers. Again, success bred a request. This time, it was a fertilizer plant. Good Neighbors planned to expand an existing zinc factory near Wonsan and sell zinc produced there to supply raw materials for fertilizer. The project started with a US$1.5 million grant from the South Korean government and a US$7 million bank loan. It was so successful that the loan was repaid in just two years. All in all, Good Neighbors has helped some 220,000 North Koreans, including children, at 25 worksites throughout the North. The NGO’s experience in the North has become a reservoir of models to conduct regional development projects in other parts of the world. Good Neighbors’ food delivery programs for daycare centers in various regions help address chronic food shortages in North Korea. In 2018 alone, 114 tons of powdered milk was sent through Good Neighbors USA. Other deliveries aimed at children have included 150 tons of paper for printing textbooks and educational computers, as well as inline skates and soccer balls. “Before anything else, we should develop specialized relief programs for them. We need to strengthen the human and material resources of the North’s agriculture, stockbreeding, healthcare and education.” Chongsong Pharmaceutical Company in Pyongyang produces dosages for injection. Good Neighbors is helping North Korea improve its health care system. Food Assistance On a bigger scale, Yi believes, the humanitarian food assistance program that is currently in public debate in South Korea should have been implemented earlier. “It’s a little late to do it,” he says. “But the North isn’t in dire need of a few hundreds of thousands of dollars from the outside right now. Before anything else, we should develop specialized relief programs for them. We need to strengthen the human and material resources of the North’s agriculture, stockbreeding, healthcare and education. The North is also interested in sustainable development cooperation rather than food or fertilizer aid.” Yi recalls an unforgettable experience at the Kubin-ri Cooperative Farm. He and a few members of his staff stayed there for about 10 days and became very close to the locals. Together, they caught fish in a stream and then prepared and shared a spicy fish stew. “You can achieve success if you invest in the North, regarding it as a potential market with outstanding talents and abundant natural resources,” Yi says. “We can achieve unification early if many more North Koreans have chances to work and share experiences with South Koreans.” Then he adds, “My primary duty as founder of Good Neighbors is to create an atmosphere of reconciliation between the two Koreas. This is why we can’t reduce or stop humanitarian aid programs for North Korean people. I think I’ll have fulfilled my duty in the world if both Koreas become reconciled and peaceful.”
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