Now in the 13th year of my stay in China, I enter South Korean websites whenever I turn on the computer. Sometimes, I achingly look for familiar names from my hometown or for North Korean news from the “Association of North Korean Defectors” and the Daily NK. Whenever I think about them, I shed tears and let out of sighs of sorrow.
I was born in an average farmer’s family in a place called Chongrim-ri of Bocheon, Yangang Province at the end of 1970s. Chongrim-ri is situated between thick mountains and a small brook that flows through.
The only thought I had of the Party Secretary of our neighborhood was that he was a scary person. It started when I was attending the People’s School (elementary school) and overheard my father, who came home with purple bruises around both of his eyes, tell my mother that he was beaten by the Party Secretary. Since then, whenever I spotted the Secretary or the neighborhood officials, I would run out of fear as if I had seen a tiger.
Opium Farm, Such a Foolish Fantasy!
Immediately before the March of Tribulation in 1993, Chongrim-ri was completely converted into an opium farm (called as “white Chinese balloon flower” farm in North Korea). This was welcomed news to the Chongrim-ri people, who had to concern themselves with subsidiary farming due to the shortage in distribution from the farm.
Rumors started circulating that if the opium farming were to succeed, rice and special yearly provisions such as two suit sets, oil, and TVs would be distributed to the entire farm for free.
Outside of the remote village, white opium flowers bloomed elegantly. Also, for the first time, we received white unglutinous rice from the state, instead of cooperative farm distributions.
In 1994, people who had made profit from opium farming gave up all subsidiary farming and returned plots to the farm, requesting for the planting of opium. In July of that year, after Kim Il Sung’s death, the wind of grief deluged the nation. The slogan, “Let us transform our sorrow to strength and courage and exert ourselves!” were posted here and there. There were outcries that drought and flood ruined farming all across the country, but opium farming in our village were attained abundant harvest.
Not only our village Chongrim-ri, but neighboring farms such as Naegok-ri, Hosan-ri, and Uihwa-ri all saw abundant opium harvest. The residents of our village were absorbed in a fantasy by thinking of bundles of money and royal gifts that would be soon be prepared.
The March of Death – “March of Suffering”
However, from November of the year when all of the opium was reaped, the state ceased provision to citizens. The people who did not engage in any farming and had trusted in national provisions started passing out from starvation one by one.
The rumor of the neighborhood Party Secretary going to neighbor counties’ Party and the provincial Party to receive food provisions started circulating silently. At the end of November, everyone ran to the distribution office after hearing the news that the food provision had arrived. Even I, who could not go to school due to extreme hunger, went to the distribution office with my mother when the news reached us.
At the distribution office on that day, we could receive a monthly ration of frozen potatoes and beans brought from the No.2 commodities (wartime preparation commodities) warehouse. The party secretary urged the citizens, “We ruined our farming due to natural disaster, so we do not know when the food provisions will come in. So do not be wasteful with your food.”
Since December of that year, countless trucks carrying soldiers started coming into the village and felling the trees in the mountains surrounding the village. The rationale was that they would sell the trees to China and bring in food to feed the soldiers.
That day, my mother and I bought some rice with the money made from selling two pairs of suiting and dog leather which we had been keeping in our home at a jangmadang which was about 19 km away. When we entered the village, the blood-covered party secretary was blocking the army vehicle carrying logs.
“The people in the village are starving to death. If you are going to take our wood, give us some rice! If you do not give us some rice, you cannot take a single tree.” Soldiers jumped on the party secretary who stood in front of the vehicle and mercilessly beat and stepped on him. Meanwhile, the villagers were crying. An agent newly dispatched from the Army Safety Agency came running over and fired a pistol into the air. The shot astonished the soldiers and one officer started waving a piece of paper.
“Here! This is the command of the General (Kim Jong Il). We can only maintain the country by immediately feeding the soldiers. So anyone willing to wag his finger at the General’s order come out!” Everyone became speechless at the mention of the General’s words. Then, the party secretary weakly stood up.
“These woods are our nation’s and our farm’s property. Very good. Since it is the General’s order, take them. However, bring a verification letter saying that you are taking our farm’s wood.”
The army official took out a “receipt” from the Provincial Forest Management Center. The party secretary, upon receiving the “receipt,” tore it on the spot. “Didn’t you people just say that it was the General who gave the order? Bring a note which bears the General’s signature.” Faced with the party secretary’s mettle, the army officials and the soldiers lost their words. Finally, a person claiming to be an army official took the party secretary’s arm and after pleading with him, took him to the neighborhood party office.
What sealed this occurrence was some sort of a contract made between the soldiers and the Chongrim Farm. That is, “Anyone is going to come to Chongrim-ri and take wood has to show without an exception 4 sacks of corn powder (total of 80kg) per vehicle. The villagers should also be the ones cutting and loading the wood and their meals compensated.”
Such a plan seems unthinkable, but the only farm who could receive food provisions that way was our farm. Trees were just being taken from the other farms.
That winter, our family, everyone covered in blankets, awaited the moment of our death in a cold house where there was no electricity. Every morning, the party secretary would make his round and knock on the door of every home.
Every morning, the cup of roast grain powder which was stirred in warm water, which he carried around to every home, is still vivid in my mind. He even mobilized the young people who loaded the soldiers’ trees and brought trees to homes who were faint with hunger and would light the fires in the kitchens himself.
