Impressions from Pyongyang

“What do British people hate?” A straightforward question – but context is everything. When posed by an earnest thirteen-year-old North Korean schoolboy, in a Q&A discussion with British diplomatic visitors, it took me by surprise. But then much of what my colleagues and I experienced during a week-long familiarisation visit to the Democratic People’s Republic of (i.e. North) Korea – the world’s most secretive regime and arguably its worst human-rights abuser – was just as surprising.

For most of us, it was our first visit. I was surprised by the seeming prosperity of its capital, Pyongyang, which seemed to have a spring in its step. We saw building projects of every shape and size, although admittedly, some were dormant. There were growing numbers of luxury sedans and smart Chinese commercial vehicles weaving among the tired, dirty Soviet-era trucks. Restaurants paraded arrays of expensive imported liquors and full shelves. But a trip into poorer neighbourhoods outside Pyongyang revealed that not every citizen shares the capital’s growing affluence.

It was hard not to be amazed by the sights of Pyongyang: The red-neon flame of the 560-ft “Juche Tower” (and its patronage by ‘Juche study groups’ – admirers of Kim Il Sung’s philosophies – from around the world, including England and New York); the striking profile of the unfinished 1,080-ft Ryugyong Hotel; the murals, everywhere, of Eternal President Kim Il Sung and his late son, Kim Jong Il; the world’s largest stadium – May Day Stadium; the metro railway, replete with 40-yard mosaics, chandeliers, and gold statues; and Pyongyang’s own Arch of Triumph.

Pyongyang belies the tougher realities beyond it.  It has a special status: only the politically favoured and economically privileged may visit, reside, work and study there.  The countryside is characterised by mass manual agricultural labor, and chronic underdevelopment.

I heard more about life in the DPRK from diplomats and NGO workers that I met. They suffer unreliable services, limited access to ordinary goods, administrative challenges, and social cabin-fever somewhat more severe than other far-off foreign postings – but have learned to live with this. NGOs also described the stifling effects of international sanctions on their humanitarian, educational and informational programmes. This was especially striking to hear, given North Korean elites’ apparent access to luxury goods and the foreign currency needed to buy it. NGOs nevertheless manage to do important, high-impact humanitarian work, despite the difficulties they face.

I was surprised by our treatment. Representing the UK, given its famous ‘special relationship’ with the DPRK’s bête-noire, the United States, I had expected a cool reception. On the contrary, everyone we encountered– from Ministry officials to schoolchildren – everywhere we went welcomed us enthusiastically. This mostly appeared genuine – a useful reminder that ordinary people can usually get along.  Or that, in this case, ordinary people knew little or nothing of the international condemnation directed at their government.

I also found people’s relative lack of curiosity in us interesting. North Korea’s regime promotes a paranoid narrative that it is under existential threat from hostile outside powers. Given that I live and work in Washington (I made no secret of the fact), I had anticipated questions about life and politics in my host ‘hostile power’. I heard none.

Our visit was a reminder that this is a regime skilled in controlling information and appearances. It could have been all-too-easy, in the carefully-controlled, sterilised experience of the country to which foreign visitors are restricted, to be distracted from the darker side of the DPRK. The recent report of the UN Commission of Inquiry into human rights abuses is a salient reminder that not all is as it seems to the casual visitor in Pyongyang. As Foreign & Commonwealth Minister Hugo Swire said when the report was releases, the international community must respond to the “shocking human rights violations which have gone on for far too long in North Korea.”

My impressions of North Korea filled my mind as the thirteen-year-old North Korean schoolboy innocently asked his question. How to bridge such a huge cultural and ideological divide with my answer? What do British people hate?

Well, we hate injustice. That a certain class of people be denied the basic rights and opportunities of life is a phenomenon we refuse to tolerate. Therefore, our parliament, government, NGOs, press and public are seized of the need to ‘critically engage’ with the DPRK to help improve its human rights record. Our diplomats and British Council staff in Pyongyang are committed to making an important difference, in difficult circumstances and with limited resources.

We also hate oppression. We expect to photograph more or less anything we like; meet whomever we like; speak our minds; and to travel around – and outside of – our country at ease. To leave any country, including one’s own, is a right not a privilege: check the United Nations’ Universal Declaration of Human Rights, Article 13(2).

We hate the thought of absolute deference to authority. From weekly Prime Minister’s Questions, to the political satire of TV’s ‘Yes Minister’ or Private Eye newspaper, we believe society is stronger for its ability to question, challenge or even mock the establishment. Sadly I doubt North Korean television will run its own adaptation of House of Cards any time soon.

But, in the moment and under the watchful eyes of our hosts, the subject of enduring fundamental rights and freedoms felt a bit risqué, especially for a class of thirteen-year-olds. So I told him we hate wasps.  Meanwhile, the tough messaging on human rights, denuclearisation and other topics of concern continues, led by my British and other diplomatic colleagues living their unusual lives in Pyongyang.