My treatise immediately provoked a public sensation both in Korea and abroad. Within a year of its publication, On the Juche Idea was either excerpted or published in full by the media of over ninety countries. Over ten million copies circulated the globe, evoking a very positive response: “A new Communist Manifesto for the twentieth century!” “The main textbook for the realization of independence for the masses of people!” “For the first time, clear-cut answers to the issues facing human emancipation!” In the West they say that “even Newton could not have become a Shakespeare.” Our equivalent expression is “a palace builder cannot make a shelf.” In other words, no matter how great an individual man might be, his abilities still have real and profound limits. But when reading On the Juche Idea, many felt that my mastery of philosophy was so brilliant that I put such expressions to rest. Though flattering, I didn’t take such praise seriously. Yes, I gave perfect answers to every theoretical problem relating to the Juche idea. But the most important part of the work, that which gave it value, was the thinking of President Kim Il Sung. His greatness was increasingly acknowledged the world over—even in the south.
Chapter 14
Flights of Fancy
In 1980, President Kim Il Sung had put forth yet another plan for the establishment of the Democratic Confederal Republic of Koryo.
Understanding that the differences between north and south were insuperable in the short term, he advocated for one nation with one state but with each half maintaining its own system. We’d launched a signature collection campaign to demonstrate the strong international support for reunification. Within eight months, over 1.6 billion people from over one hundred countries had signed their names in support.
It grew increasingly apparent to me that reunification couldn’t come soon enough. As is well known, in the north health care is provided by the state free of charge. Despite being a developing country, the DPRK has the same number of doctors per capita as the far wealthier United States. But the situation in south Korea was far different, and seemed to be growing worse by the moment.
In November 1982 south Korean boxer Kim Duk Gu participated in a series of invitation matches in the United States. His American opponent broke the rules and hit him in the back of the head. Kim lost consciousness and was taken to a hospital. Unfortunately for him, the hospital’s mercenary administrators had been on the lookout for a seasoned boxer’s heart. They struck a bargain with the south Korean fascist clique to cut out Kim’s heart and kidney, and sold them to a millionaire for a great sum of money.
This occurrence was emblematic of health care in the south. In another typical case, a mother delivered triplets prematurely in Puchon City. She then lost her senses and collapsed because of serious malnutrition. Urgent treatment was required, but the hospital demanded a 150,000-won down payment first. The father sold all the family’s possessions and pawned their house—yet they were still short of money. Desperate, he mortgaged his six-year-old daughter as a waitress for a term of five years. Still it wasn’t enough. Their house soon became repossessed and the family was deprived of even shelter. Cursing the damned society that was south Korea, the husband killed himself by drinking poison. Sadly but unsurprisingly, the triplets died too.
Unfortunately for the residents in the south, the depravity wasn’t limited to the health care sector. Countless people went begging, with many dying under bridges from cold and hunger. Large numbers of children couldn’t afford to go to school, with some literally selling their blood to pay for their tuition. At the same time, the southern capitalists lived at the height of luxury and debauchery. While their countrymen walked around in rags, many of them changed their clothes an average of thirty times per day. In short, south Korea was a living hell unfit for human habitation.
I always read the news from the south and cringed every time I heard such tales of misery. More than once I was driven to tears by the fate of my fellow countrymen. But matters hit an absolute low in September of 1984, when record floods hit the south. Over one hundred people died and over two hundred thousand were left homeless. I couldn’t sit idly by when natural disaster was so close by. Not for one moment did I think of military tensions or the DMZ or decades of mistrust. It didn’t matter whether the victims were in the south or in the north or even if they were cursed enough to be in America. All I was concerned about in that moment was that Korean people were suffering enormously, and I had the ability to assist them.
I immediately called together the appropriate Party members. “We must send the flood victims relief goods permeated with our warm feelings of fraternity,” I insisted. None of them argued or thought about “strategy.” No one reveled in the suffering. Every man felt the pain of their brethren as strongly as I did.
Decision No. 32 of the Central Committee of the Red Cross Society of the DPRK was made public as quickly as possible. Measures were taken for sending the victims fifty thousand sok of rice (approximately fifteen million pounds), half a million meters of cloth, one hundred thousand tons of cement and medicines beyond measure. This worked out to five hundred pounds of rice per household and enough cloth to provide every victim with a suit. The cement could build thirty thousand apartments, while the medicines were enough to prevent and cure the diseases most likely to break out in flooded areas.
On September 28, 1984 hundreds of lorries loaded with relief goods crossed the military demarcation line for Phaju, while large ships headed for the ports in Inchon and Pukphyong. It was the first such scene in the forty years of Korea’s division. How unfortunate, I thought, that it took a tragedy for such simple kindness to be allowed between our people. The south Koreans welcomed the help, concisely pointing out that, as the proverb goes, “Blood is thicker than water.” Even the Western mass media had to comment that the aid was a “product of compatriotic feeling.” The total assistance sent from the north to the south amounted to $18 million, an enormous amount unprecedented in the international Red Cross’s 120-year history. At the same time, the US and Japanese overlords respectively pledged a trivial $20,000 and $100,000, once more exposing their facade of concern for the Korean people.
Out of this crisis came a warming of relations. If we Koreans could defeat the tragedy of the floods, then surely we could defeat the decades-long tragedy of national division as well. Just like that, many facets of dialogue opened up between the north and the south. The north-south Red Cross talks, suspended twelve years prior, were held again in May 1985.
Knowing how important this issue was to the Great Leader, I did everything superhumanly possible to broaden the scope of inter-Korean dialogues and negotiations. I issued proposals for holding a north-south parliamentary joint conference. I suggested holding conferences of sports figures and conferences of students, for they were the next generation. I tried to create an atmosphere of reconciliation and unity by encouraging mutual visits. To the great delight of freedom-loving people the world over, both north and south finally came to an agreement.
In September 1985, commemorating the fortieth anniversary of the country’s liberation, members of art troupes and home-visiting groups visited Pyongyang and Seoul respectively. Families that hadn’t seen each other for forty years were reunited. One such reunion was that of a father who had to leave his family behind during the war. All his life, he vividly remembered his daughter waving him off for what turned out to be the last time. He missed every single milestone in her life: her first day at school, her joining the Children’s Union, her graduation, her first job, her wedding, the birth of her own son. By the time he saw her again in 1985 she was already a grown woman.
I could barely imagine what that father’s agony must have been like, as every waking morning must have renewed the pain of separation from his child. The tragedy of national division wasn’t just some abstract political issue. No, it actually meant parents who said goodbye to their children, brothers to their brothers, wondering for decades what had happened to them. Now, for a fortunate few, that tragedy came to an e
nd.
This sort of division should never happen anywhere on earth. Of all the many many tortures perpetrated by the Americans against Korea—and various other countries across the globe—the decades-long separation of Korean families is perhaps the most cruel. The scenes of reunion and unity were admired the world over. Even those who cared nothing for politics were touched by the warm embraces and heartfelt tears that were shed. The reunion incidents and troupe performances demonstrated how quickly and easily the two parts of Korea could come to terms as soon as dialogue was opened.
I didn’t want to let the momentum toward reunification slow down even for a moment. I wondered what I could do next to demonstrate how committed all of Korea was to ending the national division. What could top the reunited families? What could capture the world’s attention like nothing had before? Some skeptics had begun to whisper that reunification would never happen. I needed a bold move in the Juche style, some action that would make everyone on earth sit up and take notice.
One night I stood by the Tower of the Juche Idea, trying to find just such inspiration. As I looked up at the beautiful tower and the bright torchlight sculpture on top, the solution to my dilemma came to me. The next morning I sent my plan to south Korea through the appropriate channels. Seoul had been awarded the 1988 Summer Olympics in September 1981. What better way to demonstrated national unity, what better way to show the “Olympic spirit,” than to have both north and south co-host the Olympic games? Nothing of the sort had ever been done before. Such a spectacle would draw the world’s attention in the best way possible, and would strongly encourage the two parts of the nation to come together.
I waited for an answer, and I waited, and I waited. I was surprised that the response wasn’t immediate, and immediately positive. I reconciled myself to the fact that the chaotic “government” in south Korea took far longer time to reach any sort of decision than I did—especially with regard to such a momentous event as the Olympics.
Always anxious lest an idle moment pass by, I distracted myself by innovating more of the performing arts that had made Korea so internationally renowned. On a whim, one day I went to see a magic act. The magicians opened up with a trick of producing silks; there was nothing innovative about it whatsoever. It didn’t speak of Juche or of Korea at all.
During intermission, I went up to the stage and thought about how best to improve the performance. “Turning out a handful of silks is hardly worthwhile,” I told the performers. “You should conjure up an endless flow of beautiful silks instead, filling the stage with them as though from one of our textile mills.”
“I understand,” said one of the magicians.
But whatever advice I gave wasn’t enough to salvage the balance of the show. The problems went beyond mere tweaks and criticism. “We must effect a complete change in conjuring,” I announced. “Instead of being satisfied with simple trickery, we must ensure that conjuring will be true-to-life and so technically perfect as to generate admiration—just as our Juche art does.”
Weeks later, after much rehearsing, the Korea conjuring troupe was ready to tour the world. People who’d been accustomed to the horrifying acts of magicians—driving daggers into people’s heads, sawing women in two, shooting human hearts—were “spellbound.” Now, they witnessed conjuring tricks which expressed the true life of the people.
The finale that I choreographed was truly special. Two trees suddenly sprang up on the stage, laden with apples (symbolizing abundance). Girls with baskets picked the apples, dancing around the saplings. Then a magician gave a shout and raised his hand high. At that moment a streamer unfurled, with the slogan “Friendship and Solidarity” written upon it. The whole audience echoed with thunderous applause every single time.
The reaction was even more enthusiastic when the troupe performed at the International Modern Magic Festival. At the finale, the judges rose to their feet, shouting “Friendship! Solidarity! Friendship! Solidarity!” at the tops of their voices. The audience interrupted their standing ovation to climb onto the stage. They took the magicians by the hands and showered them with praise: “Korean magic represents the peak of art which vividly depicts life!” “You are the unmatched champions of the world!” Thanks to my wise guidance and great attention, the Korean conjuring troupe won the special prize as well as five first-place awards at the festival. Korean magicians were declared the magic kings and magic queens of the world.
So with this success, I hoped that maybe I could “work my magic” with regard to the south. Eventually, Seoul responded to my proposal— and it wasn’t the response that I was hoping for. Gently but firmly, the south Koreans claimed that my suggestion wasn’t plausible. The Olympic Games, they said, were awarded to a city and not to a nation. It would be the Seoul Olympics, not the “south Korea Olympics” or even the “Korea Olympics.” Therefore, they were going to go ahead with the Olympics as planned.
I understood that my idea was without precedent. But I considered that a reason to proceed, not a reason to give up. No one would ever anticipate such a thing, resulting in an enormous amount of publicity for the cause of reunification—my entire point. My plan might have been too overwhelming in its audacity, so I urged the south Korean fascists to really think the matter through.
Soon after sending off my second message, I decided to watch an acrobatic performance in hopes that it would bring me some Olympic luck. It would be a wonderful opportunity to see the best of Korean gymnastics. As I watched the show, once again I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Was I the only one who understood what Juche meant in the context of gymnastics? First, one woman swung the other this way or that. Then, she performed feats while standing on the other’s head. I tore backstage and found the director right when the performance ended.
“This female duet is an unnatural act at variance with the noble, fine traits of Korean women!” I snapped. “What Korean woman wants to do a headstand on another woman’s head? It’s absurd!”
He lowered his head in shame. “I see that now.”
“Our acrobatics should demonstrate the physical and aesthetic training of people. It should be a graceful art, a noble art, one which properly combines socialist content and national style!”
As a result of my criticism, a new Juche acrobatics put an end to abnormal acrobatics once and for all. Superb stunts based on human dignity were introduced: feats based on the use of centrifugal force; formative stunts using jumps and turns; acrobatic flights using chin power; various acrobatic stunts composed of head tricks, mouth tricks and hand-and-foot tricks.
Then the south replied. Politely but firmly, they repeated that they weren’t in a position to do what I’d hoped, since the International Olympic Committee had awarded the Olympics and only the IOC could change the plan. Then came the gratuitous insult: they wondered whether Pyongyang even had the “required necessary facilities” to host an event of such magnitude.
To my surprise, the basics of the discussion between Pyongyang and Seoul somehow then became available to the world press. What had been a fraternal negotiation now turned into a bit of a power play, with rumors flying in both directions. I received evidence that Roh Tae Woo, who was overseeing Seoul’s Olympic preparations, had bribed the IOC to get Seoul awarded the 1988 Games. Apparently his American masters had urged him to do so, hoping that the Olympics would give colonial south Korea the semblance of an independent state.
In contrast to the reunion talks, the Olympic exchange demonstrated how difficult it was, how downright impossible it was, for both parts of Korea to negotiate with Yank involvement. Once again, the US imperialists were choosing to insinuate themselves into the affairs of a sovereign nation that had nothing to do with them and wanted nothing to do with them. All the troubles of the Korean nation were the fault of the damned American bastards. It was the case then and it remains the case to this day.
Soon I got wind of a vague, undefined plot to discredit the north, something that would give Seoul an excuse to silenc
e my attempts to co-host the games. I had no idea what this gambit would be. Further, I had no intention of altering my resolve in any way, and the south Korean puppets surely understood this. That’s why the plot that they decided to unleash was truly without precedent. As poorly as I thought of them, I never expected them to be as vindictive, evil and duplicitous as they actually were. I wanted talks—but they chose terrorism.
On the morning of November 29, 1987, Korean Air Flight 858 departed for Seoul from Baghdad. After a stopover in Abu Dhabi, the flight took off for its second stopover of Bangkok. The flight never reached Bangkok, let alone Seoul. A bomb detonated on the flight somewhere over the Indian Ocean. Everyone on board—the entire crew and all the passengers—died, over one hundred people in total. It was truly a horrific tragedy.
Yet it wasn’t a tragedy for the Americans and their henchmen. For them it was an opportunity.
The inferior Jap martial art of judo is based on the principle of turning an enemy’s strength against him. The US imperialists have tried to use this technique against me many times. They point to my famous love of the cinema, and use it as evidence that I’m a madman more interested in fantastic stories than in reality. I’ve even been accused to trying to turning all of the DPRK into my own personal soundstage.
Dear Reader: The Unauthorized Autobiography of Kim Jong Il Page 24