Welcome to Pyongyang

7/28/2019 Welcome to Pyongyang

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SPECIALREPORTS

YOUTHINK

SCIENCE

S A T U RD A Y , D E C E M B E R 2 4 2 0 1 1 C 1

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...where freedom, thought and movement arestrictly controlled. A group of Singaporean

journalism students visit North Koreas capital

and give their take on life in the hermit kingdom.

PHOTOS: WONG KANG WEI and TED CHEN

SPECIALREPORTS

PAGES C9-10

Meet Mr Tan Kok Sing, 86,and other unsung Samaritanswho find joy in helping others.

SCIENCE OF THE SEASONHow fast would Santa need totravel to deliver all his gifts?Find out the science behindChristmas icons. C12


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AS A journalist in training, myfirst instinct is to ask questions,to get to the bottom of things.

But that can be a futile effort inNorth Korea where sweepingstatements and evasive responses arethe order of the day. And that is if theofficials bother to answer myquestions at all.

In a land where visitors are taken everywhere bygovernment minders, the controls imposed upon ourgroup of student journalists were stifling, to say theleast.

Interact with the locals? Sure, but only the people cleared to speak to us.We interviewed some students and teachers at the schools we visited, but we were shepherded

hurriedly from one room to the next, barely spending 10 minutes at each class.The children learn English in school, but their basic understanding of the language prevented me

from asking anything beyond: What do you study? and What do you like about school?There was no getting the all-clear for spontaneous interviews with people we passed on the street,

or in the shops.From Day One, it was made clear to us that we were not allowed to wander around on our own.Freedom is limited only to the hotel, Mr Kim Mun Chol, one of our minders, would tell us.Having heard stories and watched documentaries where reporters were censured by their minders

for asking the wrong question, I was aware of the fact that I had to be tactful in my questioning.After a while, it dawned on me that I had begun stopping myself from asking questions I feared

might be taboo or sensitive.

While we had a rare glimpse of life in the hermit kingdom, there was always a feeling that what wewere being shown was not the reality.

Visitors cannot travel freely anywhere, especially outside the capital, Pyongyang. What lies beyondis largely unknown to the outside world.

I went to North Korea with many questions about the place. I returned with many of thosequestions unanswered.

LEI JIAHUI

BY FOO JIE YING

WHEN the chance to peek behind the cur-tain of the hermit kingdom of North Ko-rea came earlier this month for 16 journal-ism students, there was no hesitation.

In a land where the state imposesstrict control over every aspect of the peo-ples lives, our freedom was curtailedright from the beginning with a warm in-troduction to our government minders.

Throughout the seven days that ourNanyang Technological University groupspent in the land, our three mindersstayed close, allowing us out of sight onlyin our hotel.

It was their way of barring us from in-teracting with locals or wandering too faroff.

Still, this did nothing to prevent usfrom stealing glimpses of how life is forPyongyangs residents.

That North Korea is one of the worldspoorest nations is not immediately visiblein the somewhat modern metropolis.

The roads are wide, hedges trimmedand streets litter-free. Colourful propa-ganda murals stand out against the other-wise dull and cement-grey buildings. Awarm, lovely glow embraces the city atdawn and dusk.

Guides we met at places of interestwere dressed either in hanboks, Koreastraditional costume, velvet winter coatsor smart uniforms. Most had a decentcommand of English.

But in between visits to tourist attrac-tions, candid moments cast doubts onthe almost-perfect image the countrytries so hard to convey.

When we visited kindergartens and pri-mary schools, we were greeted by cheer-ing pupils who ran towards us andgrabbed our hands.

I saw a look of panic cross a girls facewhen she realised she did not have any-ones hand to hold. It was as though shehad failed to complete a task.

It was then that I realised these youngchildren had been unknowingly inducted

into the adults routine of false impres-sions.

Of the nations 25 million citizens, thethree million in Pyongyang are the mostprivileged. The closer a North Koreanlives to the city centre, the more affluenthe is.

The city does not merge gradually intothe rural outskirts as you travel out ofPyongyang. Instead, there is an abrupthalt, as though a line was drawn to sepa-rate buildings from forests and fields.

Travelling back to Pyongyang fromKaesong, the nations southernmost city,I saw peasants walking along the high-way, some carrying bundles of twigs forfirewood on their backs.

It was impossible to figure out wherethey were walking to. Even as I was onthe bus, it felt as if the stretch of roadwas never-ending.

Back in Pyongyang, though, weath-er-beaten, high-rise buildings exist, as dowell-maintained and oversized monu-ments of the Kims.

There are art galleries and museums,

restaurants and neon lights, all the trap-pings of a modern metropolis.Yet there are hints of hardship if you

look hard enough.

Take a typical bus stop: Hundreds ofpeople wait for the next bus, and whenthe decrepit vehicle finally pulls up, com-muters are packed like sardines, withsome even clinging on from the outside asit rattles off along Pyongyangs wide,empty roads.

A view of the foggy morning skyline of Pyongyang from the 170m-tall Juche Tower. The pyramid-like Ryugyong Hotel is scheduled to be operationalby April next year. The modern skyline belies the fact that North Korea is one of the worlds poorest nations. PHOTO: WONG KANG WEI

QUESTIONS IGNORED

Tourists watch propaganda videos as part oftheir itinerary during their tour in Pyongyang.Most videos have similar content praising theleadership of founder Kim Il Sung and his sonKim Jong Il, and denouncing the actions of theUS imperialists. For example, the video beingscreened above states that the United Stateswent into a severe recession after World War IIand had high unemployment rates, which is nottrue. PHOTO: WONG KANG WEI

HINTS OF

HARDSHIPIF YOULOOK HARDENOUGHDays before news broke that NorthKorean leader Kim Jong Il had died, 16journalism students from Singapore weretraversing the country from Dec 3 to 10.

They braved the harsh winter andvisited the Demilitarised Zone, a sportsvillage, monuments and various schools.

They also saw first-hand how visitorsare handled in the secretive state.

The students were selected forSojourn Short Overseas JournalismExperience a reporting practicumabroad offered by the Wee Kim WeeSchool of Communication andInformation at NTU.

Team members were Elizabeth Law,Wong Kang Wei, Lei Jiahui, DansonCheong, Edwin Loh, Khoo Fang Xuan,Foo Jie Ying, Jennifer Dhanaraj, Lim Yi

Han, Lee Jian Xuan, Jeremy Lim, LowWei Xiang, Trinh Hoang Ly, AnnabelleLiang, Kenneth Goh and Alvin Chia.

The trip was fully funded by the WeeKim Wee Legacy Fund.

Next stop: Propaganda

saturdaywelcome to pyongyang

THE STRAITS TIMES SATURDAY, DECEMBER 24 2011 PAGE C2


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BY ANNABELLE LIANG

FIVE military officers surrounded me,barking remarks in Korean as I stood still,my camera in hand.

I had left a souvenir shop just outsidethe Demilitarised Zone between Northand South Korea after buying somesweets.

As I took out my camera to photo-graph the surroundings, a stretch of hous-es in the distance caught my eye. I re-

called documentaries which claimedNorth Korea built empty houses along theborder to entice citizens from the South.

I was snapping away when the shout-ing started. I do not understand Korean,but anyone could tell I was in trouble fortaking pictures of something consideredoff-limits.

Our chief minder, Mr Hwang SungChol, was at my side in a flash.

Please delete, he said, gesturing tomy camera.

Our tacit understanding had been thatwe could take pictures until told not to.Now I was being told photography wasnot allowed here.

It was clear from the start that theNorth Koreans are wary of visitors carry-ing cameras.

A s s oo n a s w e b oa rd ed t hestate-owned airline Air Koryo that flewus to Pyongyang from Beijing, we weretold: No pictures in the aircraft.

North Korea bans camera lenses ofmore than 150mm, though some visitorsclaim to have sneaked in larger lenses.

On arrival at Pyongyang airport, all

our cameras were checked. It was only af-ter minutes of scrutinising my camera in-tensely that the officer waved me on.

One of my friends was not as lucky.His Nikon D90 was confiscated, to be re-turned on departure. The reason? It had aGPS port, which means it can tag a coordi-nate to a photo if an antenna is attached.

During our time in North Korea, wewere told not to take photos of disabledpeople, or of soldiers camping outdoorsin the bitter winter cold.

Clearly, such images would do nothingto show North Korea at its best.

Back home in Singapore, I gaze at mypictures of the beaming pupils of Chang-gwang Kindergarten, a stop on the NorthKorean showcase itinerary.

The children wear the widest grins andseem almost mechanical in the way theyknow exactly how to meet, greet and in-teract with outsiders.

Nobody stopped me from taking thosepictures. There was no need to hit De-lete.

Camera-toting visitorsare viewed warilyand certain imagesare frowned upon

Taboo images include the handicapped and soldiers. (Left) A sneak shot of a man on crutches on an escalator in the Pyongyang Metro. He stood still and did not move away despite being uncomfortable with his picture being taken. (Right) A group offemale soldiers practising the goose step in preparation for the celebration of founder Kim Il Sungs birth centenary next year. PHOTOS: ELIZABETH LAW, WONG KANG WEI

PLEASE DELETE PHOTOS

I was snappingaway when the

shouting started.I do not understand Korean,

but anyone could tell I was introuble for taking pictures of

something consideredoff-limits.

Changgwang Kindergarten pupils posing for a shot. Most of the pupils in the elite preschool are children of high-ranking government officials.




4/8

BY TRINH HOANG LY

HOW do you keep 25 million people com-pletely in the dark about what goes on inthe rest of the world?

In North Korea, telling stories seemsto be the trick.

With the reunification of the Koreanpeninsula a fixation, stories about the Ko-rean War feature prominently in muse-ums, schools and history books.

At the Fatherland Liberation War Mu-seum, we hear what North Koreans hear.

A black-and-white documentaryblames the Americans for starting the Ko-rean War on June 25, 1950 to revive theireconomy after World War II through thesale of arms.

Americans are the enemy, plain andsimple. And they are only ever referred toas American imperialists.

Americans are also used to help bolster

the cult of personality surrounding NorthKoreas founder Kim Il Sung and his sonKim Jong Il, who died a week ago.

Remnants of American planes shotdown by the North Korean army underthe leadership of our fatherly leader com-rade Kim Il Sung, according to ourguide, are displayed as trophies.

At the war museum, we saw childrenand adolescents from outside Pyongyangcongregate to hear these stories.

The indoctrination starts in schools.Kindergarten children learn about Mr

Kim Il Sungs humble beginnings.Revolutionary History is a requisite

subject throughout 10 years of compulso-ry primary and middle school education.

At the 10-storey Pyongyang MiddleSchool No. 1, there are portraits of thetwo Kims in every room. There areplaques bearing their quotes everywhere I counted 40 at staircase landingsalone.

Students learn about the exploits ofMr Kim Il Sung, Mr Kim Jong Il and hismother Kim Jong Suk, during the war

against the Japanese and the Korean War.At Pyongyang Primary School No. 4,

we were shown three rooms, each dedicat-ed to one of the revolutionary Kims,and students have weekly lessons abouthow the trio devoted their lives to NorthKorea.

An exhibition room displays a collec-tion of Mr Kim Jong Ils pictures and be-longings when he was a student there.

The story goes, not surprisingly, thathe was a well-liked boy, a natural leaderand a genius in every subject.

In North Korea, there is only one ver-sion of all these stories.

People have no access to the Internet.Television, radio and newspapers are allcontrolled tightly.

Our hotel provided access to twoNorth Korean TV channels, in Korean.The regular programming consists of pa-triotic movies, news programmes prais-

ing Mr Kim Jong Ils success in improvingthe lives of North Koreans and karaokevideos of patriotic songs.

It is no different at the cinemas. TheNorth Korean feature film The Kites Fly-ing In The Sky is typical of the pervasivepropaganda. Made in 2008, it tells the sto-ry of a marathon champion who quits herflourishing professional career to takecare of orphans.

Why would she do a thing like that?Not because she is moved by compassionor love of children. Instead, her main mo-tivation is to lessen the burden the or-phans pose for the state and Mr Kim IlSung, who devotes his life to care for thepeople of North Korea till hes care-worn.

Her charges express similar attitudes,with one giving up her violin studies at aprestigious music school to join the armyso that she could play the violin to theGreat Leader when he visits the frontlines.

So many stories. Fact, fiction and fan-tasy.

BY LOW WEI XIANG&LEE JIAN XUAN

THERE is no such thing as a free and easyvisit to North Korea.

If you are a foreigner, you are assignedan official minder who will go with youeverywhere to explain, translate andguide.

He will also stop you from taking inap-propriate photographs and wandering offthe itinerary.

Our group had three minders. And itdid not take long to figure out that they

did not like questions about South Korea.Actually, they preferred that we just pre-tended there was only one Korea, theNorth.

One of our minders, Mr Kim MunChol, who is in his late 40s, stopped smil-ing when someone in our group askedhow ordinary people lived.

Pressed, he started rambling abouthow journalists had been killed in NorthKorea in the past. Oops. Was that an ob-lique warning to avoid broaching sensi-tive topics?

But our exchanges with our minderswere not always tense.

Most of the time, they would answerquestions in English with a smile and tryto accommodate requests.

But always, we were aware that wewere being watched too.

As we took notes or snapped pictures,at least one minder would be peering overour shoulders, intervening politely whenwe crossed the line.

Over the days, the trio seemed towarm to us and mealtime conversationsgrew noisier as we traded jokes andshared details about our lives.

Our young woman minder, Miss LeeMi Hyang, 22, would sometimes linkarms with the girls in our group or leanher head against their shoulders.

Our two male minders appeared morereserved at the start, but they too becamemore relaxed as the days went by.

It helped that dinnertime broughtrounds of North Korean beer and wine.Even Mr Kim loosened up.

Our most senior-ranking minder wasthe 26-year-old Mr Hwang Sung Chol.On our final night together, he gave in toour pestering and showed us a picture ofhis girlfriend of 10 years.

One of our last images was of Mr Kimand Ms Lee tiptoeing to wave goodbye tous at the airport before they vanishedfrom sight.

In an e-mail later, Ms Lee said of thatparting: I felt as if I (had been) separatedfrom my blood brothers and sisters.

Mr Hwang, one of the groups minders, on his cellphone. Despite North Koreas isolation, mobile phones are increasingly popular in Pyongyang and it was recently reported that there are now morethan a million cellphone users in the city. Most of the cellphones are made in China, North Koreas largest trading partner, and have high-tech features such as touch screens. PHOTO: WONG KANG WEI

BY JENNIFER DHANARAJ

EVEN as I left my home for my flight toPyongyang, North Korea, I made sure mymobile phone was where it always be-longed placed securely in the palm ofmy hand, fully charged.

I was clutching it even tighter than usu-al, knowing that I would have to partwith it for seven days because mobilephones were not allowed past the airportof the North Korean capital.

With a flurry of WhatsApp texts, Face-book notifications and tweets rapidlystreaming in on the way to the airport, Istarted to display signs of separation anxi-ety.

And these were signs that I had previ-ously only witnessed (and laughed at)when my friends boyfriends left Singa-pore for their six-month-long exchangetrips.

Of course, when push came to shove, Ieventually surrendered my phone to mymother, who reassured me that shewould take care of it.

As I embarked upon my journey to thenotorious country, I would involuntarilyreach for my phone to tweet mundanethings that no one else could possibly beinterested in, forgetting that I would beunplugged for the next week.

I miss my iPhone would be such anexample.

By the time we arrived in Pyongyang, Ihad become accustomed to the fact that Iwould no longer know what my friendsback home were eating.

What worried me even more was that Idid not have something to keep me occu-pied during times when conversationswould inevitably be punctuated with awk-ward silences. The thought of everyone

looking around uncomfortably was trulya concern for me.But to my surprise, by the second day,

I found that conversations flowed mucheasier. Everyone had completely forgot-ten about their obligations to check theire-mail, or post whatever they were think-ing about on Twitter or Facebook. Some-how, we had all let go of our electronicbaggage.

Instead, my schoolmates simply ex-pressed their thoughts out loud. Ofcourse, sometimes we had no choice butto hear things we did not necessarilywant to hear.

And when we received such snippetsof unwanted information, I would sudden-ly miss the ability to filter content as andwhen I wanted. But those moments wererare. (I have a high threshold for the phe-nomenon known as Too Much Informa-tion.)

What I loved most about being un-plugged in Pyongyang were the rides toour destinations.

Had I been plugged in, I would neverhave noticed that there were always peo-

ple milling about in the dark, headingstraight ahead with such purpose, eventhough we could not figure out what theirfinal destination was. The locals simplykept walking, giving us more conversa-tion topics for our daily late-night beersessions.

I would also never have noticed thatthe further the apartments were from thecapital city, the less lit they were.

I might have missed out on the latestgossip by being completely unplugged forseven days, but I certainly learnt a lotmore about North Korea, precisely be-cause I had that much more attention togive.

Letting go of my need to be tuned in al-so allowed me to know my travel mates alot better than I would have otherwise.

In fact, under no other circumstanceswould I have stood up and sung anddanced like I did in the karaoke room ofthe Koryo Hotel in the last two nights ofour stay there.

I would also never have known howmuch I enjoyed listening to and singingpop songs from the 90s.

Truthfully, Id be getting to know mytravel mates based on their Facebook pro-files alone, in the comfort of my ownroom.

Of course, while I had enjoyed living ina bubble for seven days, my appreciationfor a gadget-less world disappeared assoon as I saw my phone upon my return.My mothers concerns and questionswere soon drowned out by the 489WhatsApp notifications, 18 Facebook no-tifications and 150 new e-mail messageswaiting to be read.

Soldiers are often seen marching from place toplace, chanting slogans and singing patrioticsongs. The group here are on their way to aconstruction site where they will work one ofthree eight-hour shifts, in a schedule that willsee construction go on throughout the harshwinter nights. In North Korea, it is mandatoryto serve three years in the military.PHOTO: JEREMY LIM

Official minders makesure foreigners do notveer off the itinerary orask impolitic questions Kindergarten lessons using a model of Mangyongdae, the birthplace of founder Kim Il Sung. Bythe time they are five, most North Korean children would already be able to recite the entire

history of Mr Kims birthplace by heart. PHOTO: ELIZABETH LAW

MINDERSKEEPERS

All in one voice

Letting

go of myelectronicbaggage

A tapestry weavingfacts, fiction and fantasy




5/8

BY WONG KANG WEI

THE clock strikes 10, and a siren ruptures

the silent Pyongyang night.The music that follows sounds like a

traditional Korean string instrumentscreeching a repetitive tune that reverber-ates through the street.

Its the signal for people to go home,says our minder, Mr Hwang Sung Chol.The music blares from Pyongyang railwaystation two more times every night, at11pm and midnight.

Tonight, a few of us have a rare chanceto walk along the capitals dimly litstreets to our hotel.

This is downtown Pyongyang, and itsmostly in the dark, save for the orangeglow from the street lights.

Two young children, probably around12 years old, catch my eye as they emergefrom an underpass. They are unaccompa-nied by adults, playful and carefree.

Spotting our small group of foreigners,they keep turning to look at us.

Many adults are equally curious,though nobody makes eye contact or sayshello. Its almost as if we are somewherethat we are not supposed to be.

For most of our visit, our group was

ferried around by bus, even over short dis-tances, with almost zero opportunity tointeract with people on the street.

Tonight is the exception. And althoughordinary North Koreans are within reach,they keep their distance and we dont con-nect.

We are halfway to our hotel when ourminder, Mr Hwang, needs to use the toi-let. He leaves our small group on thestreet with strict instructions to stay putand not take any pictures.

We do as we have been told, for all of10 seconds. Then we start clicking away.

A middle-aged woman walks past meas I take a picture of a dimly lit shop. Shemutters and walks on.

There is a constant stream of peopleon the street, and there is no indicationwhere they are heading or how far theywill go.

And why are there still so many localsout at night despite the music tellingthem that their Dear Leader wants themhome, in bed?

(Above) North Koreans walking in a dimly lit underpass beneath a traffic junction. Underpasses are common in the city centre, replacing pedestrian crossings at road intersections. (Below) At the front of the relatively brighter-lit Pyongyang railwaystation, two slogans flank the portrait of Mr Kim Il Sung on the top of the building. They read: Long live the Great Leader and respected comrade Kim Jong Il! and Long live the glorious Workers Party of Korea! PHOTOS: WONG KANG WEI

The Kaesong Industrial Region is where SouthKorean companies have set up factories. Thereis also a rural side to Kaesong, with glimpsesof livestock being herded along roads andpeople doing their washing in rivers. The city,which used to be the capital of the ancientKoryo dynasty, is now the ninth biggest city inNorth Korea with a population of just over300,000. PHOTO: WONG KANG WEI

DOWNTOWN IN THE DARK

The city centre is

dimly lit and residentskeep their distancefrom foreigners

Rural aspect

The music that follows sounds like atraditional Korean string instrumentscreeching a repetitive tune thatreverberates through the street.

Its the signal for people to go home, saysour minder, Mr Hwang Sung Chol.

The music blares from Pyongyang railway station twomore times every night, at 11pm and midnight.

A mural at Pyongyang Grand Theatre depicts soldiers and children singing and dancing. Such murals are often the greatest sources of light at night.




6/8

BY EDWIN LOH

A TRIP on the Pyongyang Metro begins like most othersubway journeys: One buys a ticket and goes under-ground. But that is where all similarities end. The escala-tors are packed and nobody moves. Speakers play patriot-ic music as commuters make the roughly three-minute,110m descent to the platform of the worlds deepest met-ro system.

A change in air pressure causes ears to pop. At theplatform, commuters are treated to the sight of intricatehandmade mosaic artwork on walls bathed in the softglow of crystal chandeliers.

This is Puhung, one of two stations that tourists areroutinely brought to as part of the city tour.

Built by the Korean Peoples Army, Puhung opened in1973 as part of the metros north-south Chollima line. Itis more than twice as deep underground as the deepesttrain station in Singapore and doubles as a bomb shelterfor Pyongyangs citizens.

Patriotic fervour deepens in the air as news bulletinsproclaiming the days national achievements are broad-cast loudly over speakers.

Newspaper stands bearing the citys official paper,the Rodong Sinmum, line the platform, keeping commut-ers occupied as they wait out the five-minute interval be-tween trains.

As the electric trains roll quietly into the station, the

all-female platform staff wave their signal paddles stifflyto get passengers in line for boarding.

According to our minder, Mr Hwang Sung Chol, thetrains are made in the Czech Republic. However, obser-

vations of the make and model point to German originsinstead.

Further observations put the carriage capacity atroughly 160 passengers. However, our designated car-riage is suspiciously empty, even though reported esti-mates put daily ridership numbers at between 300,000and 700,000.

As the doors close, passengers are plunged into twi-light darkness as the dimly lit carriage barrels down thetrack on its three-minute commute to the next station.The air inside the cabin is thick and musky. Eyes dartleft and right as locals and foreigners examine one anoth-er warily. This happens under the watchful gaze of thetwo Kims, whose portraits are hung in every carriage.

Although the vinyl-lined seats offer a chance to getup close and personal with a local, no one moves aninch.

One cannot help but feel like an ideological interlop-er.

A flood of bright lights fills the carriage, signalling thetrains arrival at Yonggwang station, which means gloryor glorious light.

Passengers hurrying to escape the stuffy carriagecome face to face with a 4m-high, cheerfully coloured

mural of Pyongyang city in springtime.

The commuters grim faces stand in stark contrast tothe merry murals, their drab clothes made even duller bythe rainbow-coloured chandeliers.

They cross the platform, heads bowed and shoulderssquared, as they go about their daily commute.

It lasts all of 15 minutes and costs five won, but thistrain ride offers perhaps the closest glimpse into the lifeof an average Pyongyang citizen.

BY LEI JIAHUI

THE musicians never missed a note. Thesingers stood with poise, voices in perfectharmony. The dancers executed everymove with grace and precision.

Par for the course with any well-rehearsed group but probably not some-thing expected from these performers they were between four and six years old.

The 20 or so children looked complete-ly at ease on stage, showing no trace offear, only confidence written all overtheir little faces.

They performed so professionally andeffortlessly, it seemed as if they had beendoing it all their lives.

And perhaps they had. At Chang-

gwangKindergarten, one of the most pres-tigious preschools in Pyongyang, childrenare handpicked for their talent andgroomed. The school is home to 500 kin-dergarten and 350 nursery children wholive in from Monday to Saturday.

The preschoolers sleep on tiny yellowbunk beds packed tightly in a crampedand sparsely decorated dormitory.

Their parents, who are largely fromthe elite class, pick their children up onSunday, the only non-work day of theweek.

Apart from academic knowledge, na-tionalist values are also drummed intothe children at a young age.

The preschoolers at Changgwang at-tend lessons on the revolutionary historyof their country. Through songs, theylearn about the struggles and triumphs oftheir leaders.

To help them better visualise, a modelof the native home of Great Leader KimIl Sung, who died in 1994, stands in themiddle of the history classroom.

The 10-storey kindergarten was thefirst of five schools we visited during our

week-long stay in Pyongyang.The tours, which included middleschools and universities, were only aboutan hour each but allowed us to catch aglimpse of the education system.

And while we got the rare opportunityto mingle with students, it was limited aswe were whisked from room to room,spending no more than 10 minutes ineach classroom.

The same scene played out each time children with dazzling smiles plasteredon their faces, seemingly unfazed by doz-ens of clicking cameras and gawking visi-tors.

Whenever the teacher posed a ques-tion, all the children would raise theirhands at 90 degrees with so much rigourthat it seemed almost military.

Their eyes would gleam with anticipa-tion, as they clamoured for their teach-ers attention, yearning for a chance toshine.

In the music class, the teacher played achord on a keyboard and asked studentsto name the notes. Not only could the pre-schoolers identify all the notes, but theyalso did so instantly.

There was, however, a sense that ourvisit was carefully orchestrated. The chil-dren seemed to understand exactly whatwas expected of them and they playedtheir roles to perfection.

For instance, the moment we enteredthe music room, the class of about 30burst into song to welcome us.

Once we walked into the playroom,children rushed forward to grab ourhands, pleading with us to play withthem.

Whenwe were ushered into the gymna-sium, the children cheered at the top oftheir voices, raced towards us and led usin a few minutes of song and dance.

Our visit culminated with a 20-minutemini-concert where the children show-cased their exceptional flair for music anddance.

What was most striking about these lit-tle performers, as it was with all the per-formers we saw in Pyongyang, was thatthey all wore the same smile and expres-sion.

Their radiant grins stretched from earto ear but their unsmiling eyes seemed toreveal something contrived about theirbeams.

After their stunning performance, wegathered the children for a group photo.

Almost immediately, their stagedsmiles dissolved into childish giggles andthey flashed us toothy, cheeky grins typi-cal of any five-year-old.

A brief subterranean experience

Trains are manned by all-female staff, who wave paddles to getpassengers in line for boarding. PHOTO: ELIZABETH LAW

Young, confident andbeaming preschoolersplay out their roles likeseasoned performers

THEY ALL WEAR SAME SMILE

Children are handpicked for their talent and trained at Changgwang Kindergarten. They can easily perform complex musical pieces (left) or dance routines without scores or prompting. But there is asense of careful orchestration in their actions, such as in the way a class cheers with radiant smiles and synchronised hand waving (below) to welcome visitors. PHOTOS: ELIZABETH LAW, WONG KANG WEI

Theirradiant grinsstretchedfrom ear toear but theirunsmiling eyesseemed to

revealsomethingcontrivedabout theirbeams.




7/8

BY KHOO FANG XUAN

GIVING birth to triplets is usually ajoyous moment for a mother but in NorthKorea, it is deemed a triumphant achieve-ment requiring national recognition.

Pyongyang Maternity Hospital sportsa large printed board recording the sets oftriplets and quadruplets it has deliveredsince its opening on March 30, 1980. Thescore: 405 sets of triplets and five of quad-ruplets.

The board also displays images of a setof triplets adorned in auspicious redclothing and shots of helicopters used toferry triplets and quadruplets born inrural areas to the hospital for qualitycare.

Mr Moon Chang Won, the hospitalsdirector of foreign affairs (presumablythe equivalent of a public relations direc-tor), said triplets are treated as emblemsof luck to the nation.

The late Mr Kim Il Sung, known fondlyas Eternal President of the Republic,decreed that care for triplets and theirparents would be at state expense as suchbirths signify the countrys rapid develop-ment and prosperity.

These lucky ones get a state upbring-ing subsidy, food, bedding and evenclothes for their eventual marriage.

During their hospital stay, triplets intheir incubators are said to be cared forby three doctors and nine nurses.

Based on the genders of the babies, par-ents are gifted either ornamental silverswords or gold rings as a family heirloom.Carvings of the babies birth year, monthand date are made on each of these treas-ures.

But there is a sting: Triplets areseparated from their parents and sent tocare centres until they turn four.

In reports released by state media Kore-an Central News Agency, the late leaderKim Jong Il provided medical facilitiesand tonics, including wild honey, evenduring the famine in the early 1990s.

Pyongyang Maternity Hospital, whichalso provides medical care in the areas ofurology, dentistry, ophthalmology andotolaryngology, is touted as one of thebest specialist hospitals in North Korea.

A tour of the hospital is a must for in-ternational officials and delegates asNorth Koreans are keen to showcase theirtop-notch medical practices.

At the entrance, visitors are greeted bya mosaic carpet said to be made of 35tonnes of natural gems.

There are also marble floorings andstairways, lavish interiors ordered by MrKim Jong Il, who regarded the hospital asa palace where kings of the country willbe born.

In a room not far from the entrance,there are booths with video-conferencingequipment for mothers-to-be and theirfamilies to communicate.

According to Mr Moon, this arrange-ment is made to safeguard patients frominfectious diseases.

Surprisingly, access to rooms contain-ing important pieces of medical equip-ment is granted freely to visitors, unlike

in most hospitals around the world.But the equipment, such as a mammo-graphy machine and a body scanner, arein such poor condition that they couldpass as props for a medical drama set inthe 1960s.

Most sported the United Nations Chil-drens Fund logos out of sight near thebottom, but more prominent red platesproudly declared them as generous dona-tions by Mr Kim Jong Il.

The hospital is said to deliver 50 to 60babies a day, but we met only two moth-ers alongside their newborns on our ad-mittedly very short visit.

The wards for premature babies wereoccupied by tiny bodies attached withbreathing tubes in incubators. The sightof one gasping for air with its heavingchest was upsetting for some in ourgroup.

Packed with premature babies, thewards could be seen as a sign of motherssuffering from malnutrition. However,our guide painted only a rosy picture ofthe country.

It is anybodys guess if the hospital is

indeed a socialist paradise for mothersand babies.

During our visit, we could sense some-thing was amiss with the ongoing show-case as we walked along the dim andunheated corridors.

The rooms seemed to be in operationto mark our presence. In one room, amother did not protest when we bargedin and snapped photographs of hergetting an ultrasound scan of her protrud-ing belly.

Despite the irregularities we saw,North Korea continues to pride itself ashaving the best health-care system in theregion with citizens given medical carewithout having to pay a single cent.

GIVING BIRTH TO TRIPLETS A

TRIUMPHANT NATIONAL AFFAIR

A pregnant woman undergoing infrared heat therapy (above) as part of the hospitals prenatal care regime. The hospital also offers physiotherapy,dental care and tanning beds for women with vitamin D deficiency. Portraits of the countrys first two leaders (below) adorn the walls of every room,seemingly to remind patients and staff that health care is generously provided for by the state.

Such babies are cared forat states expense, butseparated from theirparents at birth till four

A premature baby in anincubator (left) atPyongyang MaternityHospital. The hospitalcalls itself a palace forwomen and claimsforeign women speciallyfly in to give birth there.

State gifts (below) forparents of triplets. Basedon the genders of thebabies, parents get eitherornamental silver swordsor gold rings as a familyheirloom. Carvings of thebabies birth year, monthand date are made oneach of these treasures.PHOTOS: LEI JIAHUI,KENNETH GOH, ELIZABETHLAW, WONG KANG WEI

The gateway to the Demilitarised Zone hasbecome a tourist destination; many visitors areintrigued by the tenuous peace that has heldbetween North and South for almost sixdecades. Over the years, an uneasy truce hasbecome almost the norm. Yet, just kilometresaway from the border the worlds mostfortified both sides have men with heavyartillery trained on each other.PHOTO: ELIZABETH LAW

North-South divide




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BY KENNETH GOH

IT IS easy to have mixed feelings of guiltand satisfaction at the dining table inPyongyang.

As visitors, we were treated to scrump-tious spreads, with lunches and dinnerseach consisting of appetisers, main cours-es and sometimes even dessert.

But there is no escaping the irony thatsix million people in this country neededfood aid, according to the World FoodProgramme in March.

Our dining itinerary consisted of tripsto Korean, Japanese and Italian restau-rants, and even a steamboat meal on aboat on the Taedong River. Most of theseeateries are exclusive to the citys elite.

Very often, we would be the only cus-tomers in the restaurants.

The restaurants were hardly packed,save for pockets of families and a coupleof military-looking folk.

Each meal started with appetisers,plates of kimchi and drinks. There wereoften three different cups on the table for beer, soju a type of Korean hard liq-uor and roasted barley tea.

The concept of starters in North Koreatook a bit of getting used to. Instead ofteasing the palate, they fill the stomach.

Think typical dishes served in Chineserestaurants fried fish slices, stir-friedpork, and braised chicken with mush-rooms. Cold dishes included mung beanjelly strips served with minced meat andseaweed, and jellyfish salad.

There were some slightly more exoticitems such as pickled tripe, and chickenstuffed with some sort of mystery meat.

Our meals were long-drawn affairs,stretching up to two hours. Waitressesusually streamed in with the menu formain courses only in the second hour.

These were mostly barbecued meats,soups and rice-based dishes, similar tothose found on South Korean menus.

The mood around the dining table wasusually light-hearted, thanks to a gener-ous supply of beer and soju. Toasting ses-sions, with shouts of chuk bae (cheers inKorean), were common.

Mealtime entertainment would involvepropaganda videos being played on TVsets. However, at one restaurant, we hadthe waitresses playing the piano and sing-ing.

Often, the merrymaking was interrupt-ed by power cuts, which plunged the res-taurant into darkness.

The blackouts were a stark reminder ofhow the country was struggling evenwith basic needs like power supply.

Aware of my dining privileges, and tolessen my feelings of guilt, I made an ef-fort not to leave behind scraps of food.Yet at the same time, it is impolite in Ko-rean culture not to have any leftovers itmeant that your host had not fed you suf-ficiently.

The decor was sometimes a talkingpoint. The National Restaurant, for in-stance, boasts lush canopies of artificialvegetation, with bushes of plastic leaves,roses and grapes sprawled across thewalls and ceiling.

Yet as we wined and dined, I oftencould not help but wonder what an ordi-nary North Korean was having for dinner.

BY LIM YI HAN

THE shops are drab, sporting no adver-tisements or attractive window displays.Shopping Pyongyang-style is certainlynot for fashionistas.

There is little to indicate what eachstore sells, except for a sign that depictsthe items and services on offer. The vege-table stall proudly displays the image of acabbage.

Most of these state-owned shops areon the first level of apartment buildings.

It is no surprise that they are unattrac-tive and dull as the concept of commer-cial competition is completely alien here.

North Koreans receive coupons abouteight times a year to buy necessities rang-ing from clothes to shoes to food.

We are told there are only three depart-ment stores and one supermarket in thecity, and shopping malls are non-exist-ent.

As night falls, the shops are illuminat-

ed by white fluorescent lights. Some evenoperate in the flickering light of candles.

State-owned shops are out of boundsto tourists, who must spend their cash insouvenir shops where North Korean mem-orabilia such as postcards, badges,stamps, national flags, ginseng productsand knick-knacks can be found.

B oo ks a re m os tl y s ol d a t t hePyongyang Cultural Exhibition near theMonument to the Party Foundation.These offerings consist largely of propa-ganda material in a number of languages,including French and Russian.

Still, there are hidden gems to befound, such as a collection of childrensbooks on local folk tales, as well as a beau-tifully photographed Korean cookbook.

One of the biggest souvenir shops is atthe Walhyang Exhibition Hall, across theroad from the citys Arch of Triumph.

The first level, for locals, stands instark contrast to the second, which caters

to tourists.The former sells a variety of itemsranging from bicycles and spectacles tohousehold products and food. It is dingy,and everything is displayed in haphazardfashion, with utensils next to toiletries.

Upstairs, the area is spacious andbright, and items are arranged neatly.Foreigners can shop here, but must pay ineuros, yuan or US dollars.

Guilt andsatiation inequal portions

Bibimbap, served with a small bowl of stock that is added just before eating (left), goes down a treat served with light beer. PHOTOS: WONG KANG WEI

At Pyongyangs souvenir shops (above), items range from knick-knacks to books by both Kims. The Walhyang Exhibition Hall (below) is one of the few shops in the city that serve both locals and tourists, but on separate floors. PHOTOS: WONG KANG WEI

SHOPPING MALLS

AN ALIEN CONCEPTState-owned shops aredrab and sparsely stockedas competition is alien

Often, themerrymakingwas interruptedby power cuts,which plungedthe restaurant

into darkness.The blackouts werea stark reminder ofhow the countrywas struggling evenwith basic needslike power supply.



Documents

Welcome to Pyongyang