Selling to survive By Anna Fifield
Monday, December 10, 2007
Pak Hyun-yong was, by North Korean standards, an entrepreneur. Too much of an entrepreneur. During the famine that ravaged the country in the late 1990s, Mr Pak watched his family die of starvation - first his younger brother, then his older sister's children. Then, eventually, his sister too.
Somehow he pulled through this period, dubbed by the regime as "the arduous march", and was spurred into taking some very non-communist, almost subversive action. He began selling noodles.
Every day he would take 10kg of "corn rice" - a poor North Korean imitation in which dried kernels are fashioned into grains - and turn it into noodles. Then he would get on his bicycle and pedal around his home town of Hamhung on the east coast, bartering the noodles for 12kg of corn rice: 10kg for tomorrow's noodles and 2kg for his remaining family.
"The police would come by and try to persuade me not to sell the noodles, saying that I should not succumb to capitalism and that the Dear Leader would resolve our food shortages," says Mr Pak, who escaped from North Korea a year ago and is upbeat and energetic considering the hardships he has endured.
Now 32, he is in hiding in a bleak, remote village in northern China not far from the North Korean border, together with his wife, with whom he escaped, and their new baby. They live in a one-room house with no bathroom - protected by locals who are helping them settle.
"The [North Korean] police even threatened to imprison me if I didn't stop selling. Suddenly I realised that North Korea was a country where they would stop people's efforts to survive," he says, sitting on the warm floor of his house, still dressed in the apron he wears to work in a nearby butchery.
"I heard that China was a rich and modern country - that they had tractors and that people could eat rice every day, even in rural areas," he says, shaking his head. "Chinese dogs wouldn't eat our rice - they would ask for better."
In almost 20 interviews along the border with China, ethnic Koreans born in China and North Korean escapees, some of whom had been in the isolated state as recently as two months ago, describe a country where change is taking place from the ground up rather than under the direction of its leader, Kim Jong-il.
North Korea remains the most tightly controlled state in the world. But recent escapees tell of the changes that are being driven by necessity in areas near China, especially in the cities of Rajin and Hoeryong in the north and Sinuiju at the southern end of the border.
While it would be an overstatement to say that this represents the type of nascent transition to free-market reforms that has occurred in countries such as Russia and China, the worsening state of the North Korean economy is leading to widespread trading and the emergence of a fledgling merchant class crossing into China, the escapees say.
Some agricultural markets - rather than just state markets - were permitted during the "economic improvements" of 2002, but ad-hoc markets have since sprung up around the country with the tacit approval, if not the encouragement, of the regime. These markets are now the backbone of North Korea's creaking economy as the regime provides almost nothing by way of rations any more.
The parlous state of the economy is probably the driving factor behind Mr Kim's decision to roll back his nuclear programme. The six-party denuclearisation talks are making surprisingly good progress, analysts say, as his regime seeks heavy fuel oil for its rusting industries and an end to economic sanctions.
Certainly, recent escapees from North Korea describe a desperate situation inside the country. Somewhere between 10,000 and 30,000 North Koreans are thought to be living in hiding in the north-eastern provinces of China, especially in Jilin and Heilongjiang, areas considered backward by Chinese standards.
The Financial Times travelled throughout this region to meet North Koreans while seeking to avoid endangering their lives. (North Koreans who are repatriated from China face detention in labour camps or worse, and even those who are not caught put the lives of family members at risk by talking to journalists. For that reason, names have been changed.)
"In Rajin, all the factories have stopped," says Oh Man-bok, a 22-year-old who escaped in September from the city near the borders with Russia and China, considered relatively prosperous because it is one of the North's main trading channels. "The men still have to go to work and have their name checked off but there is nothing to do. Sometimes they sit around and sometimes they go home. They don't get paid but sometimes, in a good month, they get 15 days' worth of corn in rations," he says.
That means women are increasingly becoming the breadwinners, going to the mountains to collect edible plants or to the market to sell home-made snacks. "People survive by selling. They do whatever they can to earn money - selling fried dough sticks or repairing shoes and clothes," Mr Oh says. "But it's very difficult to earn enough to survive and even in Rajin, many people have to eat porridge made from the whey left over from making tofu."
Rajin and Sinuiju, as the main thoroughfares for trade with China, have been more open than the rest of North Korea for some time, but the experiment with capitalism that has been taking place in these two cities now appears to be expanding to Hoeryong.
The city of Hoeryong can be clearly seen from the Chinese side of the border, which is marked by a shallow river only 20 metres wide in places. On the bridge between the two countries, the Financial Times watched North Korean trucks trundle into China and dozens of Chinese - and a few North Koreans wearing badges stamped with the image of Kim Il-sung, Mr Kim's late father and founder of the state - lug bags across.
A Chinese border official says that about 100 a day cross the bridge from the Chinese side, mainly going to visit family members, although in summer as many as 300 go on tour packages to the beach on North Korea's east coast. About 10 North Koreans a day cross into China for trading or to see their relatives. "With Rmb1,000 [$135, £65, €2] they can come to China even if they don't have family here. So they often borrow money to come here and buy things for trading in the market in Hoeryong," the official says.
Bribery appears to be becoming more widespread as trade and travel increases - from a few cigarettes needed to pass through internal checkpoints to the few hundred renminbi expected at border crossings. "Everyone wants to be a border guard these days," says one Chinese-Korean trader. "They don't explicitly say, 'Give me money' - they just keep going through your paperwork and asking you questions until you offer them money."
(To be continued)
[用户系统信息]Mozilla/4.0 (compatible; MSIE 6.0; Windows NT 5.1; SV1; (R1 1.3))