6. Hope and Aspiration for the Future
In my school years, like many others, I had big dreams about the future. I wondered if I could be an actor after playing Hayashi, a Japanese businessman, in a school play. The audience’s boisterous laughter fueled thoughts of pursuing acting.
My artistic inclination was evident through accolades received in oratorical contests, notably during the annual Anti-American Imperialist Struggle Period (미제반대투쟁일간) from June 25 to July 27. My inherently direct and passionate nature stirred audiences, evoking enthusiastic applause and cheers. This artistic flair became more pronounced during my decade-long military service. As my tenure concluded, I received a recommendation to join Pyongyang University of Dramatic and Cinematic Arts (평양연극영화대학), an opportunity I regretfully passed on and occasionally reflect upon.
At one point, I aspired to be an athlete. During either my third or fourth year in middle school, on Labor Day (May 1), the Nampo Sports Institute (later renamed Nampo Sports College) organized a significant track and field event at Hyesan Stadium to scout student-athletes. Nampo was the epicenter where aspiring talents gathered, all vying to become future professional athletes.
I eagerly participated in multiple races—100m, 400m, and 1200m—along with the grueling 30km National Defence Marathon. Even middle school and college students were required to don a khaki outfit and carry an army backpack containing a wooden gun for the marathon. I managed to secure positions within the top five for the three sprints and clinched an eighth-place finish in the marathon. Among the thirty chosen candidates from each school, only ten students earned admission. I succeeded in passing the long-distance test, solidifying my place among the qualified candidates.
I believe that the training in track and field, the mother of all sports, during my school years built a good foundation for the future. It provided invaluable lessons that later translated into success when I excelled as a Taekwondo master in Ryanggang Province after serving in the first-line troops.
Academically, I performed well overall, save for one stumbling block—mathematics. My struggle began in the third year and unfortunately persisted. Initially, my math scores were promising until the second year. However, a strained relationship with my teacher, Cho Young Ok (조영옥), who also served as the homeroom teacher for Class Two, contributed significantly to this decline.
Our year was divided into six classes, and I belonged to Class Three under the guidance of the literature teacher, Kim Jong Ok (김종옥). As the Class President, I had frequent interactions not only with the homeroom teacher but also with other subject instructors. At a certain point, I noticed a shift in Ms. Cho’s demeanor towards me—she seemed distant and often treated me harshly. I attributed this change to a sense of competition and possible jealousy toward Class Three, which was known for its unity and consistently strong academic performance.
She struck my head with a thick pointer and threw a chalk eraser at me a few times, leaving my face covered in chalk powder.
I, in turn, nicknamed her 깽깽이 (Yelper), which eventually caught her ears and worsened her attitude toward me. In defiance, I stopped attending her class and naturally, my math scores slid to the bottom. Even the two homeroom teachers ended up being awkward because of me, a representative figure of my class.
Reflecting on those events, I’m overcome with a sense of regret. Even the nickname, born out of spite, now holds a bittersweet nostalgia, evoking a longing within me. I hope that, with time, Ms. Cho might see the humor in it as well. It’s been over 40 years, and her whereabouts remain unknown. My wish for her is one of love and happiness for the remainder of her life.
The number of subjects we learned in middle school increased from the People’s School. In addition to the primary two subjects, the Revolutionary History of Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il, we delved into Literature, Mathematics, Nature, Physics, English (or Russian, Chinese), History of Chosun, World History, World Geography, and Arts.
My favorite subject was English. While other middle schools nearby taught Russian or Chinese, we had a young English teacher named Kim Yon Wol (김연월) who graduated from college in the same year as my homeroom teacher. The never-heard-of English pronunciation and intonation piqued much curiosity and fun, and her favorable demeanor toward me also boosted my interest in the subject.
At the beginning of the class, we were always greeted in English, and I, Class President, was called out to report the absentees. Conversing in English was intriguing to all of us, so we preferred it more than the head-aching math class. The government’s instruction was to learn English properly so as to liberate South Korea from the American Imperialists.
When I graduated from school, Ms. Kim, my English teacher, tearfully wished me success and urged me to keep studying English. Interestingly, my close friend held the position of class president in her class, yet Ms. Kim displayed a greater concern and care toward me than she did toward him.
I once ran into her after my ten years of military service. Never married, she was running a street stall in humble clothes to make ends meet. She remained in the same state when I last saw her before I departed from the country in 2019. Unlike in South Korea, being in her mid-60s means that she is a bent-over old woman (꼬부랑 할머니).
North Korea’s much-touted eleven-year free compulsory education was largely in operation in my childhood. However, as I progressed to the upper school levels, our educational structure appeared to mirror aspects of our southern counterpart, where schools levied tuition fees.
As mentioned earlier, North Korean students were expected to contribute to various causes. Heating was a prime example. While People’s School classrooms were heated by coal-powered boilers, middle schools abruptly shifted to wood stoves. Whether coal or firewood, the expenses associated with fuels were notorious for their high costs. This led to a common sentiment among housewives who lamented, ‘The kitchen furnace eats up more rice than the people do.’
The number of children enrolled in school directly correlated to the amount of fuel expected to be contributed. For instance, a household with three or four students would provide three to four days’ worth of firewood to the school. Additionally, an extra portion had to be submitted to the Laboratory of Revolutionary Ideas of Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il (혁명사상연구실), sometimes even to the Teachers’ Room.
Students took turns standing guard duty alongside their homeroom teacher and were responsible for supplying firewood during their shifts.
The northern mountainous provinces boast clean air and are relatively spared from various diseases compared to the milder southern provinces such as Pyongyang, Pyongan, or Hwanghae Province. However, the northern regions grapple with challenges like insufficient grain production and harsh cold weather, enduring half a year covered in snow and ice.
Monthly donations for different uses weighed heavily on the already burdened parents in such harsh living conditions. At an event where students were unable to acquire requested items, their parents were obligated to pay in cash. Since the extent to which such requests were made was frequent, Some would murmur that they would rather be done with a once-and-for-all tuition akin to that of the Capitalist South Korean students.
Ideological education emphatically begins in the People’s School. The annual grand celebrations for the Chosun Children’s Union (조선소년단) hold significance on June 6, commemorating the patriotic act of Kim Kun Sun (김근순), a courageous nine-year-old girl from the 1930s. Her daring attempt to pass a Japanese checkpoint, concealing a secret note for guerrilla fighters within a green onion, was thwarted. To protect the message, she valiantly chewed and swallowed it, facing brutal execution as a result.
In this historical backdrop, the Chosun Children’s Union emerged as the most agile and youthful organization among all political groups, dedicated to the mental fortification for the leadership of Kim Il Sung. It stood as a vital channel for ideological shaping and devotion to the leadership.
On the celebration day, anti-Japanese fighters and high cadre members of the party put on a red necktie for the children under ten years old to imply that the red batons of revolution are being passed on to the next generation.
In the transition from the second to third years of middle school, students typically become members of the Choson Socialist Labor Youth Federation (조선사회주의로동청년동맹), known as Sarochong (사로청). This organization, comprising a significant membership ranging from five to eight million, prides itself on being a steadfast pillar of support for the Choson Workers’ Party. Notably, the group has undergone a renaming and is now recognized as the Kim Il Sung Socialist Youth Federation (김일성사회주의청년동맹).
The application process for Party membership demanded a recommendation from Sarochong and an individual reference from a seasoned Party member. For many individuals, including myself, this journey involved enduring a decade of military service marked by countless tears and hardships—all in pursuit of becoming a Party member. The belief in the promise of a Party membership for a brighter future served as a powerful motivator for many.
Loyalty stood as the unmistakable prerequisite for entering the cadre. Practical qualifications included a track record of successful military service, Party membership, and a diploma from a prestigious university. As my aspirations were firmly fixed on governmental roles, other equally promising career paths of that era—such as those in the arts or athletics—remained in the shadows.