After attending the wedding ceremony in Pyongyang and Hyesan, I returned to work and started anew in the Rolling Department (압연직장) instead of returning to the guard squad. Unlike the Public Affairs and Construction Departments, the Rolling and Steel Departments—the factory’s largest divisions—operated around the clock with three shifts.
Cell secretaries are required to work alongside the production workers but must also spend their spare time preparing various minutes, educational materials, and addressing any issues raised by the party. As a result, they experience significant mental and physical stress, unlike ordinary workers, who only need to focus on the tasks immediately assigned to them. Fortunately, I managed these responsibilities without much difficulty, thanks to my prior experience drafting reports, execution plans, and resolutions while serving as the Sarochong chairman in my military company.
Every morning, I arrived at work 5 to 10 minutes earlier than my colleagues. I would first inspect the cleanliness of the production site and resting room, check the condition of the equipment, and ensure there was enough hot water at the right temperature in the shower room. During the winter, I would also clear snow from the outdoor passageway leading from the main gate to the production site, ensuring employees could walk safely and comfortably. After these tasks, I would prepare for the mandatory morning reading session, where I read and explained articles from Rodong Sinmun to the workers. As the main party newspaper in North Korea, the Rodong Sinmun is distributed to cell and party secretaries, with the subscription fee deducted from the monthly salary and delivered by mail either to the factory or directly to their homes.
I made it a point to address the difficulties faced by each member by selecting a few every day to visit their homes after work. Most of them had completed 10 years of military service and married women they met in the region of their unit. Many were still newlyweds, struggling to settle down in an unfamiliar area far from their hometowns. In some cases, their wives returned to their parents’ homes because the husbands would spend time drinking, gambling, and socializing with colleagues after work. To help resolve these issues, I intentionally visited their homes and, on some occasions, stayed up all night drinking with them to talk things through face-to-face.
After discovering a secret gambling ring that rotated from house to house, I decided to join their gatherings. Initially, the members were shocked to see me and worried that I would report them, which could lead to punishment. However, over time, they began to trust me and eventually confided in me about their troubles.
When these men got married, their parents from both sides had painstakingly saved up to provide household items and belongings for the newlyweds. However, the husbands secretly sold these items at a fraction of their value and used the money to fuel their gambling habits, keeping it hidden from their wives. Each time I asked if anyone had made any profit, they all admitted that they only lost money. This led to escalating tensions, including incidents of stabbing and physical assaults.
I proposed hosting card games at my house or occasionally at the homes of influential friends as an alternative to their gambling. I also established rules where prize money would be awarded based on the final rankings. The first-place winner even enjoyed the perk of being exempted from contributing to food expenses.
After some time, I shifted my approach. I realized that to truly boost the workers’ morale, they needed tangible financial support. However, as a newlywed myself, I had no separate funds to offer. So, I collaborated closely with the department head and the statistician to brainstorm ways to secure finances and provide meaningful support to the members in a practical way.
The factory used to produce a lot of scrap iron and defective materials during production. Instead of throwing them away, we decided to turn them into simple tools for farming and construction and sell them at local stores. To test this idea, I picked five skilled workers and assigned them to the task for a week. After one week, we found that the project had brought in a good amount of money.
Using scrap material to produce and sell goods helped improve the factory’s performance and gave us extra income. After the trial, I suggested that we make agricultural tools by hand whenever production stopped due to power outages. This would benefit both the department and our households. Before long, the practice spread throughout the entire factory. The scrap metal that used to pile up everywhere was neatly organized, and our income doubled compared to our usual wages.
Our bodies were drenched in sweat as we worked in heat-resistant clothes under temperatures reaching over a thousand degree Celsius. With the money we earned from our side work, I treated my fellow workers to beer after our shifts. The beer from the Wiyeon Byeong-eon Beer Factory (위연병언맥주공장), established by a Korean-Japanese named Byeong-eon in Japan, is often referred to as Hyesan Beer. It has a strong reputation in North Korea. This beer is primarily supplied to visitors at the revolutionary historic site in Hyesan, as well as to major construction sites and households during national holidays.
The beer truck began arriving at the factory once a week, then every three days, and eventually every day. After a long day of sweating, we would come out of the bath, gather under the shade of a tree, and fill a one-liter bowl with beer. We would drink it all at once, feeling a delightful buzz and a refreshing burp from the cold beer, which helped relieve the fatigue of the day. It tasted great even without any snacks like dried pollack or squid.
The workers who had previously struggled to adjust to factory life gradually settled into their assigned departments. Hundreds of workers’ families gathered in two apartment buildings, and the sound of laughter from their wives began to fill the air. The husbands, who enjoyed drinking beer at the factory after work, came home with bright smiles, which led them to help their wives with household chores. It was said that when the wives were in good spirits, they would sometimes set up another drink on the table for their husbands.
While I was engaged in strenuous labor, I also drank quite a bit every day. Up until I left North Korea, I could consume five bottles of 40% alcohol in one sitting. However, I am now sober from both alcohol and tobacco.
In just a few months, we saw significant changes in production normalization, and the state of our organization greatly improved. Less than a year after I took charge of a cell in the Rolling Department, the vice director of the city party committee’s propaganda department visited the factory. When I was called into the factory’s party secretary’s office, I learned that exemplary units were being recognized in every province, city, and county for fulfilling the party’s policy of creating loyal party cells, and my cell had been chosen as the top cell in Yanggang Province.
About 10 months after my marriage, my wife, Young-ae, was in her final month of pregnancy. It’s common for women to want to return to their parents’ home for postpartum care, and she wanted to go back to Pyongyang. So, in mid-November 1993, she traveled with me for the delivery. I spent only one night in Pyongyang before returning to Hyesan for work. Young-ae gave birth to our son, Young-jin, at 6 a.m. on November 27 at Pyongyang Maternity Hospital. Without the convenience of video calls on mobile phones, I felt helpless waiting for updates. After eight long months, the following summer, Young-ae returned to Hyesan, carrying our son on her back.
By 1994, my cell in the Rolling Work Department had earned a strong reputation within Hyesan City. The relationships among the members were positive, and notably, our attendance rate improved from 65-70% to 95-100%.
About two years after my military service, I had the opportunity to receive a great honor. On April 21, 1994, I attended the Conference of Cell Secretaries of the Workers’ Party of Korea (전당세포비서대회), led by Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il. Cell organizations represent the lowest level of the Party, North Korea’s most powerful political entity, which is embedded in all aspects of life, including the military, prosecution, Ministry of Security, Ministry of Safety, factories, farms, science and technology, sports, culture, and health. This conference brought together representatives from all the cell organizations.
Many North Koreans dream of attending a nationwide conference like this at least once in their lives, but over 90% never get the chance to fulfill that dream. Therefore, it was a remarkable achievement for me to participate in such a conference twice before turning 30, one of which included a photo opportunity with the Leader.
The conference was significant for our entire family because two of my brothers and my father were also chosen as representatives. My father, a pensioner from the Uiyon Timber-Processing Factory (위연제재공장), served as the cell secretary for our village, Yeonpung-dong. My eldest brother, Park Sang-cheol, was the cell secretary of the public affairs department at the bog bilberry processing plant (혜산들쭉가공공장), while my second brother, Park Sang-ho, served as the cell secretary at Yanggang Mining Enterprise (광업연합기업소).
What remains vivid in my memory is the evening we gathered at my parents’ house a few days after the conference. My father said, “I lost my father at the age of three and was raised by my single mother. From the age of nine, I lived as a servant in another person’s home. I left my hometown in North Gyeongsang Province in South Korea and wandered through China before finally settling in our Republic (North Korea). I have always felt embarrassed in front of you all because I was not well educated, but today, I am very happy and proud of you. Now that all three of you have been invited to this glorious conference, I have no regrets even if I were to die today. I am so happy to see my sons grown up so well.” He said this while shedding tears silently. That evening, our entire family and the neighborhood celebrated as if it were a national holiday.
Unprecedented events unfolded in North Korea following the conference, capturing significant attention from the international community. It was a period marked by the visit of U.S. President Jimmy Carter to Pyongyang, where he met with Kim Il Sung, and an imminent meeting with South Korean President Kim Young-sam. During this time, there was growing hope and interest in the possibility of unification, whether in Pyongyang or in the region where I lived. Consequently, I felt a heightened sense of responsibility and sincerity at work. In my personal life, I was also filled with excitement and joy at the prospect of holding my first child in my arms.
However, Kim Il Sung died on July 8, 1994, dissipating all the excitement and joy. He unexpectedly passed away at his villa in Myohyangsan Mountain after returning from a meeting with personnel in the economic sector, where the dire economic situation was discussed. For weeks, the nation mourned, and tens of millions of people expressed their grief across the country.
That summer, I received terrible news from my wife, who had come to Hyesan with our newborn son, Young-jin. Her uncle, Jin Myung-chul, had been removed from office and arrested. This powerful man, who had been gifted a Benz with the special license plate of 2.16, was purged. After weeks of mourning and a meeting, he finally returned home and had a drink. This act was reported to the authorities and was deemed treasonous. Jin Myung-chul’s eldest son, Jin-ho, a student at Kim Il Sung University, was also expelled after his father’s execution.
After Kim Il Sung’s death, all family events—including weddings, 1st birthday celebrations for babies, and 60th, 70th, and 80th birthday parties—were prohibited. Even funerals were not held properly for months. In early April 1995, I was promoted from the 1st Cell Secretary of the Rolling Work Department to the department’s Party Secretary. In my new position, I was responsible for overseeing the political and ideological lives of about 200 workers, including five cell secretaries.
The night I was appointed by the city’s party committee, I didn’t get a wink of sleep. Will I be able to handle this? I wondered. Is it really appropriate for someone like me, with a record of dishonorable discharge that only a few people know about? I tossed and turned all night. But in the end, looking forward to the day when I could finally unburden myself, I resolved to sincerely dedicate myself to the new responsibility, keeping my shameful past buried as it was.
In my new position, I often complained to myself when things got tough: Why didn’t I get a job like this when times were easier? Why am I doing this now, when the whole nation is mourning the loss of our Leader and struggling with cold and hunger?
By then, production at the factory had already dropped to less than half of what it was the previous year, and the worker attendance rate had fallen below 50%.
It’s said that three million people died of starvation in North Korea. The hardest time was from mid-1995 to 1996, about a year after Kim Il Sung’s death. People turned to the mountains and peeled the bark off pine trees to survive. Underneath the bark was a thin, white layer that looked like paper. After scraping it off, they mixed it with about 10% rice powder or flour, kneaded it, and steamed it. Almost all the pine trees on the nearby hills were stripped bare, and the mountains became devastated.
During this time, people also foraged for grasses like dandelions, giljanggu (길장구), chenopods (능쟁이), and late-sprouting mugwort in the fields. Dandelions and giljanggu could be blanched and squeezed out before eating, but chenopods and old mugwort—usually fed to pigs—were toxic. If not boiled thoroughly, they could cause serious liver and intestinal problems, sometimes even leading to death.
Most people could only boil the grasses without adding any rice or rice powder, making a simple grass porridge. Even on this poor diet, workers were still expected to show up and produce results. After eating the toxic grass porridge with no grains for many days, everyone’s faces swelled up, especially around their eyes, making it hard to keep them open. They also had trouble urinating. Many became so weak that they just lay down and eventually passed away.
I was no different, as my family didn’t receive any food either when the national distribution system completely broke down. Eventually, my wife, Jin Young-ae, sold everything she had brought from Pyongyang, especially the trendy clothes that were popular at the time, at very low prices. But even then, it wasn’t enough to buy expensive rice, so she bought whole corn instead and made puffed corn. We would put a handful of kernels on a plate and eat them slowly, counting each one.
It was no longer possible to push the workers with strict demands and controls like I had done a year or two before. What kind of pressure can you put on people who can’t even stand because of starvation? But in the spring and summer of 1995, I was foolishly caught up in the Party’s call to keep pushing forward.
Attendance rates were dropping because of hunger, and many machines were left idle. Some machines were completely dismantled, with major parts stolen and trafficked. These stolen parts were then smuggled into China.
In order to control the worsening situation, the North Korean authorities created “Non-Socialist Delinquent Youth Training Groups” in each province, city, and county. These groups were made up of key members from the Party, the Ministry of Safety (police), the Ministry of Security, and labor organizations. I was also selected to be part of my factory’s crackdown group. Although I felt sorry for the workers, I couldn’t go against the Party’s orders.
One night, a group of three, including me, went around the homes of workers who had been absent. We rounded them up and locked them in a spacious auditorium on the second floor of the factory. The goal was to make them reflect on their actions, write a self-critique, and commit to returning to work and participating in the organization as they should.
When I returned to the auditorium the next morning, I was shocked to find that many had jumped out of the window, which was 4 to 5 meters high, to escape. It was astonishing to see that those who had fled were the same individuals who could barely walk due to hunger.
I left North Korea decades later, but by then, I had already begun living a double life. During daytime meetings, I sat with the cadre members and led the chant, “Long live the Workers’ Party of Korea.” At night, I resorted to illegal means to survive.
A saying spread among the clever: “If you do what the Party tells you, you will starve to death. But if you do what the Party forbids, you can survive.” I was reluctant to crack down on others who were also struggling, as I was facing the same crisis. So, I often turned a blind eye to minor misconduct. Those I did catch, I would release unless their actions were particularly destructive or severe.
A 30-minute walk from my house leads to the Wiyeon Beer Factory and, further up the valley, a pottery factory. Next to the pottery factory is a marketplace (jangmadang) where farmers from rural areas can buy or sell the agricultural products they grow. While alcohol, food, munitions, and wholesale transactions were prohibited, the so-called “grasshopper market” thrived even in Pyongyang. This market appeared and disappeared quickly, much like a grasshopper, depending on the crackdowns.
When the police confiscated illegal items like expensive Chinese cigarettes, alcohol, and meat, they would submit a portion to the authorities but keep most of it for themselves.
My wife, Yong-ae, who is from Pyongyang, didn’t know how to start a fire in the kitchen stove or carry a water bucket on her head. Unlike Pyongyang, my hometown, both then and now, lacks a water supply system. Instead, we relied on a large, deep well, about 15 meters deep, which provided enough water for hundreds of households.
Yong-ae had no experience with business. If she had been able to sew and mend clothes like she did in Pyongyang, she could have earned some money. However, we couldn’t afford the high cost of a sewing machine at the time. Eventually, she decided to sell the valuables she had brought from Pyongyang to start a business. We used the money to buy rice and ingredients to begin a food business. As for the bowls, we used the ones we already had at home. The biggest expense was buying pork. After much consideration, I asked a well-off friend to purchase a 60kg frozen pig for us on one-month credit. With that, Yong-ae began selling pork rice soup at the market. Food, cigarettes, and alcohol were always in demand.
Climbing up the mountain to the marketplace with large containers of food, a wood-fueled stove, firewood in my backpack, bowls, and a small chair and square table in both arms was truly exhausting. Even more painful was having to pack everything up and run whenever the police conducted crackdowns. If we were caught, we would lose all the money we had earned. While cheap and bulky items like cooked rice or side dishes weren’t confiscated, expensive items like cigarettes, alcohol, and meat were taken. The police often kept these for themselves or reported some to their superiors.
Yong-ae sold soup with frozen hands, warming them by the stove, her nose running and tears in her eyes. On good days, she could sell over 10 bowls, but on bad days, she sold only 2 or 3 all day. If a crackdown happened, she would lose all the money she had made.
The business, which endured severe cold and hunger, failed after three months. We didn’t have a refrigerator, but since it was winter, the 60kg pig was sold without spoiling. We managed to cook and sell all of it, except for one hind leg that was confiscated. Yet, in the end, we were left with empty hands, having made no profit. Looking back, I realize the food business wasn’t a good fit for Young-ae.
After work, I would often go straight to the marketplace, where Yong-ae sold pork rice soup under a lamp. Despite my respected position as the factory’s department party secretary, I found myself wandering the market alleys on cold nights, protecting my wife’s modest food stall from police crackdowns. I often asked myself, ‘Why am I doing this after working so hard and living a life of integrity? My parents were extremely diligent, so why weren’t they wealthy?’ I dreamed of a better tomorrow, but so many questions remained unanswered.
After losing both the pig I had bought on credit and the initial money I had saved, I found myself writing the word ‘why’ once again in my precious journal, which I kept close to my heart. At the same time, I was slowly becoming a double-faced person—defending socialism during the day and engaging in capitalism at night.
May 1st, International Workers’ Day, is celebrated in North Korea. Although supplies were scarce, some goods were still provided for the occasion, and various sports and cultural events were held in factories and enterprises.
I wanted to create something memorable for the 200 workers in my department, as it was my first year serving as the department’s party secretary. In early April, I proposed establishing an operational fund to the department’s party committee. At the time, workers in poor economic conditions were allowed a few days off to purchase food, and I decided to take advantage of that opportunity.
After discussion, we secured a group travel permit for about 10 people for a one-month period. Under the pretext of obtaining materials for the factory, the group traveled to Kimchaek 5 to 7 times a month, where our main factory was located. Kimchaek, with its large port, is known for its abundant sea and fishery products. In contrast, Hyesan City, being an alpine region with no access to the sea, had fish that were both rare and expensive.
Most traders in Kimchaek were involved in the fishery business. The most commonly transported products were mackerel, squid, and various types of salted seafood. Successful transportation could yield a profit two to three times the original cost. Since carrying fish on trains was prohibited due to the strong odor, the fish had to be packed into bundles weighing less than 20 kg and loaded into the luggage compartments. Even though the round trip between Hyesan and Kimchaek could take 3-5 days, a group with a month-long travel permit could still make 6-7 trips.
Traders often hid metals such as copper, hard alloy, nickel, and cobalt inside the fish stomachs, or concealed them in 50-kg resin containers filled with salted fish.
When the metals arrived at Hyesan Station, inspectors who were in cahoots ensured they passed through the arrival inspection without issue. The metals were then sold at a metal shop in Hyesan for prices 5 to 10 times higher than what they had been purchased for in Kimchaek.
At that time, North Korea was in a state of lawlessness, with even bullets and pistols from the military and the Ministry of Security being sold to China. Choi Young-cheol, from my village, asked his friends at a military factory to collect pistol parts piece by piece. Eventually, he assembled a complete pistol and sold it to China for a profit. However, the pistol somehow ended up in the hands of a Korean-Chinese who worked as a spy for the North Korean security department in Jangpaek County. As a result, Choi Young-cheol was sentenced to 10 years in a reformation prison.
Occasionally, hidden items were discovered by an inspector’s portable metal detector, resulting in the confiscation of everything. However, our workers were at least released without further consequences because if the inspectors arrested the illegal sellers, they would have to report all the seized metals to their superiors, preventing them from keeping the confiscated items for themselves. I learned about this after collaborating with train inspectors to get involved in the metal business myself.
Despite the risks, the business trips my department organized remained popular, and the profits earned by our travel groups gradually increased. Each participant was required to contribute 10% of their earnings to our department’s joint fund. On April 30th, the day before International Workers’ Day, we ordered two 100-kg pigs, 100 liters of alcohol, 100 liters of beer, along with fruit, candy, and nuts. We also prepared 60 packs of relatively expensive Chinese cigarettes. My plan was to distribute 10 packs to each group cell, with the remaining ones reserved for the cadre members who were also invited.
All members’ parents and children were instructed to gather by 8 a.m. on May 1, Labor Day. Each cell was responsible for preparing a grill and gathering firewood, along with hand axes, kitchen knives, and other utensils.
After all the workers finished their shifts, I visited the party secretary’s room to invite the factory’s cadre members to the event. The next day, everyone attended. There was a palpable excitement in the air as people looked forward to relaxing and drinking in the mountains without restrictions on Labor Day. However, the festivities took a turn when many got drunk too quickly and were unable to participate in the planned sports events. Instead, the day was filled with singing, dancing, and various entertainment activities.
Some years, snow covers the ground until May, but that day was warm, with green grass underfoot, allowing us to enjoy a proper meal for the first time in a long while.
At that time, many people, like innocent sheep, relied solely on party rations and starved to death. In my department, several members perished in their 30s. Witnessing such deaths felt like a ticking time bomb for everyone, a reminder that it could happen to them as well.
The 10-member business trips to purchase food continued into the following months.
At the end of August that fall, I secretly sold iron that had been denied delivery and organized another event. Since my factory was an iron-producing plant, the disappearance of a few tons of materials could be easily concealed. Furthermore, if defective products piled up, the party secretary in charge could be held responsible, so my superiors willingly consented to my disposing of 500 kg of defective products.
One evening, after all the cadre members and employees had left work, I arranged for a 5-ton truck to enter through the main gate. Having had a good relationship with the guards while serving as head guard, they responded to my request without hesitation. The truck left the factory within just five minutes, loaded with scrap iron, and headed to a ranch in Daejung-ri, Unheung County, where the load was exchanged for two 80-kilogram sheep.
The sheep were then delivered directly to my parents’ home, where my father would slaughter and prepare them for cooking the following day.
My father was a skilled butcher who could quickly slaughter animals and was adept at treating household pets. Though he had no formal training, he was knowledgeable about folk remedies and rarely made mistakes in caring for livestock. Villagers often sought my father’s help before consulting a doctor, and as far as I know, he never accepted any money or gifts, such as a bottle of alcohol, in return.
As a child, I enjoyed eating sheep tails. I’ve noticed that in South Korea, sheep retain their long tails as they grow, but in North Korea, they are cut off within 1 to 2 months of birth. This practice is based on the idea that as sheep grow, they need to gain weight and size, and if the tail is nourished, it can impede the growth of other body parts. After tightening the tail with a thick rubber band for 10 to 15 days, blood circulation is cut off, causing the tail to fall off on its own. During this time, the lamb experiences significant pain and is unable to graze properly for many days.
Later on, breeders developed a new method for removing sheep tails using a heated kitchen knife, which eliminated the prolonged suffering of the animals. In the spring, village farmers would bring their newly born lambs to my father for tail removal. We would then grill the tails over firewood and enjoy them. Although not as thick and fatty as cow tails, they were quite savory and delicious.
The next day, I sent two workers to my parents’ house in advance to prepare bulgogi with the meat and make soup with the remaining bones. The rest of us gathered at my parents’ place about an hour before the usual finishing time. At that time, many houses in my parents’ neighborhood sold alcohol, and all of it was sold out thanks to my factory’s party. I sometimes dream of reuniting with all the members who were present at that party, imagining how nice it would be.
Throughout 1995, almost all members took turns going on 10-member business trips. Unfortunately, during these trips, some workers lost their lives in tragic accidents.
By 1996, the North Korean economy was in complete disarray, and our factory was on the verge of closing. As soon as production began, electricity would be cut off, causing well-heated steel materials to cool down. Some machinery would fail due to breakdowns or theft of parts. The most damaging issue was the ongoing theft of machines containing copper. Additionally, the failure of train operations meant that industrial boiler coal, which had been transported from coal mines thousands of miles away, was not arriving at all.
The factory Party committee’s main agenda for the New Year had always been the economy, leading to a factory-wide overhaul. I switched positions with the vice-head of the department responsible for production, but this time I had the added responsibility of acquiring materials. As a result, while managing production, I also ended up traveling to Hamheung, Pyongyang, and Kimchaek to purchase the necessary mechanical materials.
I used to be someone who worked doggedly day and night, but in my new position, I discovered the excitement of making money through frequent travel. My first material purchase business trip was to the Hamheung Steel Factory (함흥강철공장) in Hamheung City. The group consisted of six people: Park Chul, the chairman of the factory’s Sarocheong, the head of the welfare department and two of his underlings, the driver of a 10-ton cargo truck, and myself.
It took us two days to reach Hamheung. The staff from the welfare department had prepared luxurious food and drinks for the trip. All of them were shrewd businesspeople. While ordinary people struggled to afford even grass porridge, those engaged in business lived quite differently.
The trip lasted about 15 days. Park Chul and I stayed at his in-laws’ house in Hamheung City, while the other members stayed at an inn. Park Chul and his wife had adopted a daughter, as they had no biological children, likely due to his wife’s inability to conceive. His in-laws treated their son-in-law with the utmost care. Their home was a large single-family house, and Park Chul’s father-in-law was the materials manager at the 7th Corps tungsten-alloyed factory, making him very powerful and wealthy.
During our stay, Park Chul’s brother-in-law suggested that we take pobedit (tungsten alloy) and sell it in Hyesan. As a result, we received 50 kg of pobedit from his father. In return for providing us with the pobedit, Park Chul’s father-in-law only asked for the initial cost to be settled the following month.
We loaded the 10-ton truck with 5 tons of molding sand and buried the pobedit within it. The welfare department staff added two barrels of wood varnish into a 180-liter drum, in which they had hidden copper and other metals. In Hyesan, there was a musical instrument factory that not only produced musical instruments but also made various wooden products. They sold the varnish to the factory in bulk.
With the help of my parents, I took some cash with me, hoping to find a business opportunity during the trip. Using that money, I bought 300 ducklings in Hamheung. Each duckling cost 10 won, but I expected to sell them for 20 or 30 won in Hyesan. I purchased all the available ducklings in the market that day, believing it would be profitable even if I sold them for just 20 won.
However, after spending a day at Baekamryeong in Yanggang Province, situated 1,800 meters above sea level, all the ducklings perished due to the heavy snow and snowfall. At that time, 1 kg of rice was priced at 10 won, meaning the loss of the dead ducklings equated to 300 kg of rice disappearing into thin air. A two-person household could have survived for a year on that 300 kg of rice, especially when supplemented with other types of grain.
At Baekamryeong, where a strong wind blew and snowflakes danced in the air, our group got off the truck, gathered dry branches, and started a fire. Park Chul, the welfare department head and chairperson of Sarochong, sat in the passenger seat, while the rest of us huddled in the cargo compartment of the truck, getting soaked by the falling snow.
We all gathered near the bonfire to warm up and dry our clothes. The 300 ducklings I had bought were grilled for about two hours over the roaring fire, and we enjoyed them with alcohol. Despite being ducklings, the sheer number filled an entire gunny bag. After everyone had their fill, I took about 50 ducklings home.
Upon arriving in Hyesan, I first reported to the factory’s manager and party secretary before heading to my parents’ house. My wife, carrying our young son, joined me. When my parents asked how the trip went, I told them I had brought back a specialty dish from Hamheung and presented the grilled ducklings.
They enjoyed the food. After finishing their meal, I shared the real story about the ducklings. Instead of scolding me, my mother encouraged me, saying that ambition was good, even if the attempt didn’t succeed, not realizing that temperature control is crucial for ducklings.
In any case, I gained more from my first business trip to the Hamheung District than I lost. We successfully purchased and stocked all the materials needed for the factory, and selling the 50 kg of pobedit brought in a substantial profit. We earned 500,000 won from the sale of the Pobedit. Only 100,000 won was returned to Park Chul’s father-in-law as agreed, leaving us with a generous 400,000 won.
About ten days after returning to Hyesan, I went on another business trip and continued to do so about twice a month. I missed my wife and son, but I had no choice. The country’s economic situation showed no signs of improving, and as the head of the family, I felt it didn’t matter whether the methods were legal or illegal as long as I could make money.
In the six months since becoming the vice department head (부직장장), I visited Hamheung and Kimchaek more than ten times and also traveled to Hoichang County, Pyeongannam-do. From Hamheung and Kimchaek, I brought back metals such as fobedit, copper, and nickel. I went to Hoichang to buy gold for personal reasons. At that time, 1 gram of pure gold (95%) was priced between 100 and 115 RMB. A friend of mine had a Korean-Chinese relative visiting his home on business. She had earned money by selling three tons of industrial goods and food in North Korea and was planning to buy gold before returning to China. Through my friend’s mediation, I secured a large amount of credit to purchase 2 kilograms of gold.
Lee Yang-soo, my childhood friend who was working as the department head of the Mining Federation Enterprise (양강도 광업연합기업소), accompanied me. Two others, Kim Chang-do and Kim Hyung-gil, who secured funds through different means, also departed around the same time but separately.
Hoi Chang Mine is quite a famous gold mine. We purchased 20 boxes of cigarettes, with each box containing 500 packs and weighing 12.5 kg. The price for one box was 500 RMB, making the total cost for the 20 boxes 10,000 RMB. The rest of our cash was prepared and discreetly stored in women’s nylon stockings, which we wore as bands around our bellies. We also brought valuable Chinese products as bribes to prepare for potential inspections at Hoi Chang Station or in the market.
As expected, there was a crackdown at Hoi Chang Station, and we were caught while exiting the ticket gate. Twenty boxes of cigarettes were bulky enough to fill a one-ton truck, making it impossible for us to pass unnoticed. We were released only after giving the police officer two boxes of cigarettes, a wristwatch worth 200 RMB, and a leather belt. In return, the officer helped us secure a free ride in a cargo truck heading to downtown, where the market was located.
By morning, we handed over all the cigarettes to a tobacco vendor in the market. A rough calculation showed that the payment we received was at least enough to cover the initial cost of the 20 boxes of cigarettes.
Although Hoi Chang is not a coastal region, there was a wide variety of fish available in the market. Since gold was mined there, most households somehow possessed a certain amount of gold. Not only could you find novelties from Pyongyang, but there were also all sorts of seafood from remote regions. Prices were known to be the highest in Hoi Chang, but demand remained strong. Vendors from all over the country gathered to buy gold and they easily opened their wallets out of vanity once they arrived in Hoichang.
Caught up in the excitement, we bought beef and seafood, even splurging on a 9 kg flatfish at a steep price. I had visited many markets across North Korea, but I had never seen a flatfish even in the bustling Hamheung market, known for its coastal offerings. Yet, here in Hoichang, they were readily available for sale.
With a substantial amount of money tied around our bellies and a bag bulging with bills from the cigarette sales, we felt a sense of freedom.
At that time, although the situation remained grim, many women struggling to survive often resorted to prostitution, which was quite prevalent. Being young and naive, we had no idea that someone was secretly following us, observing as we pulled out bundles of cash from our bag with each purchase.
Just as we were struggling to carry all the items in our hands, a girl in her early twenties suddenly appeared before us. She offered to let us cook and eat what we had bought at her house, which was conveniently close to the market. Hungry and tired from the long train ride, we decided to follow her, hoping for a proper breakfast alongside the alcohol and precious fish we had purchased.
Her home turned out to be a spacious and luxurious independent house. She was alone except for her younger brother, who appeared to be in middle school.
She shared that her parents had both worked at the Hoichang gold mine but had tragically died in a tunnel collapse some time ago. Her story inspired sympathy in us, and we felt a sense of relief thinking that our payment for the meal would contribute to their livelihood.
A long time later, after she had finished cooking and setting the table, a man in his mid-forties entered the house. He was introduced as the principal of Hoichang Middle School, a friend of her parents, who sometimes looked after the siblings, now orphans.
We brought out the eight bottles of expensive Yangdeuk wine and joyfully dined together with him. After about an hour, the principal took his leave, and Young-soo and I continued to drink until the afternoon. Once we had finished, the two of us unwrapped the Chinese money we had secured around our bellies and placed it, along with our bag of cash, in the wardrobe of the upper room.
When I woke up around 11 p.m. needing to use the bathroom, I noticed that both Young-soo and I were only in our underwear. He was still fast asleep, and my head ached painfully. In hindsight, I suspect the glasses we drank from may have contained anesthetics.
I used the toilet and returned to the room. As I looked around, I noticed our clothes were missing – they weren’t on the hanger or in the wardrobe. I hurriedly shook Young-soo awake, but he simply mumbled that the lady must have put it away in a safe spot and went back to sleep.
I considered lying back down, but an unsettling feeling prompted me to wake the siblings sleeping in the lower room. Upon hearing me, they looked surprised and began searching for our belongings, but they were nowhere to be found. Panic washed over me as my vision began to fade to black.
After a while, when I regained my senses and took stock of the situation, I noticed that the locking cord on the window in the upper room had been cut, and the window was ajar. What struck me as strange was the sight outside: a tall wooden fence, more than two meters high, stood just a few meters away. Beyond that fence was a military base, strictly off-limits to the public.
In the end, the truth was clear: it had been the landlady’s scheme all along. Strangely, the siblings seemed more indignant than concerned and suggested that we report the incident to the military police.
After contemplating my options, I dismissed the idea of going to the police. There was no way they would side with us, who had come to engage in illegal business without even registering for accommodation, over the residents of their own community.
It was around 2 a.m., so I decided to wait for dawn. When the sun finally rose, we called the principal, who lived next door, through the landlady. After hearing about our unfortunate circumstances, he again suggested we report it to the police, claiming his relative there might be able to help. We declined. I had lost all my money, but I didn’t want to sacrifice my honor, which I valued as highly as my life.
Eventually, we received summer shorts and tops from the principal and set off for home empty-handed. The next challenge was that we had lost both our identification cards and our travel permits.
We returned to Hoichang Station, where we had disembarked the previous night, and sought help from the police officer who had accepted our bribe. He was eager to assist us, having benefited substantially from our earlier payment. With his help, we obtained a certificate of loss with the official seal. This document would allow us to travel back to Hyesan safely. In reality, the authorities were primarily focused on apprehending those transporting valuable items like metals. Travelers like us, who were empty-handed, were not on their radar at all.
Thus, we arrived back at Hyesan Station six days after our departure. For the next year, we were hounded by the Chinese creditor, to whom we painstakingly compensated for our losses in multiple installments. She was likely moved by our sincerity in repaying the debt; whenever we had money, we diligently paid her, even at the cost of our own basic needs.
When she returned to North Korea for business about a year later, she invited us to a nice restaurant in the Hyesan Hotel. She praised our efforts, stating that we had done well and no longer needed to pay back the money. Although we still owed her a couple of lump sums, her generosity freed us from the burden of debt.
Meanwhile, the other two—Chang-do and Hyung-gil—who had left for Hoichang with us, found success. Instead of buying gold, they returned with scrap and new pobedit, which were abundant around the Hoichang mines. They earned several times the margin. In fact, the selling price of scrap pobedit is nearly the same as that of new pobedit, but the purchase price is almost half. Thus, trading used pobedit proved to be highly lucrative. They mentioned that they had attempted to buy gold several times, but each time it turned out to be fake, prompting them to shift their business strategy.
Since then, I gave up on gold and decided to carry pobedit instead. I colluded with the conductors on the train between Pyongyang and Hyesan, as I had known them well from my previous trips.
All the money I had been saving little by little was lost in Hoichang. To recover, I borrowed some money from close friends and returned there. I went back to the military officer to whom I had once given a considerable bribe. Knowing my situation well, he agreed—without any extra compensation—to protect me from any crackdown in Hoichang and up until I boarded the train. Each time, he even arranged a free ride for me on the 6 km route from downtown Hoichang to the station.
Regarding the censorship on the train, I treated the conductors to a meal at a high-end restaurant, and we came to an agreement. They asked for a steep compensation fee, but in return, they offered to load my goods in Cargo Compartment #9, with no volume restrictions—an arrangement unthinkable to anyone else. Cargo #9 is a compartment reserved for specialties produced across North Korea, from all provinces, cities, and counties. It also carries premium goods destined for the Kim Il Sung family, which even railroad censors cannot open and avoid going near.
The head conductor took an enormous risk on my behalf. If anything went wrong, he and his entire family would be expelled from Pyongyang, and he would face execution or imprisonment in a political prison. However, he was willing to take this chance, as he wanted to earn enough to retire comfortably and start his own business.
In addition to confidentiality, he required that each shipment reach the cargo’s maximum capacity, with an average load of 200-300 kg and a minimum of 100 kg guaranteed. This amount of pobedit was equivalent to 3-5 tons of copper. He agreed to collaborate with me because pobedit was compact and relatively easy to transport and manage in terms of demand. I chose Hoichang Mine as my target, given it was the longest and largest mine and consumed the most pobedit.
With the assistance of the soldier who received kickbacks from me, I made my way into downtown Hoichang. There, I met the principal, who lived next to the house where I had previously stayed and been robbed. Assuming I’d never return to Hoichang, he was pleasantly surprised to see me.
I was almost certain that I’d been robbed by the siblings next door. Over a drink, the principal updated me on them, mentioning that they were now dealing in gold, though he wasn’t sure how they had come by such a large sum of money. He also mentioned that the siblings had a reputation for stealing and conning people here and there. I wanted to barge in and demand my money back, but I held myself back; in the end, I was the one who’d been too trusting, and I had no solid evidence to confront them.
I told the principal I was there to let go of the past and start anew. I asked if he had any contacts related to pobedit. He mentioned that a relative of his in the military’s safety ministry was reportedly confiscating large volumes of pobedit from traders coming in from the border regions. Additionally, he had a friend in the mining materials department, and many of the students’ parents at his school were either cadre members or workers at Hoichang Mine.
I decided to purchase pobedit through him. He wouldn’t take any intermediary fee, but I intended to repay him in a big way later.
I kept a low profile and avoided going out as much as possible to protect my metal-purchasing activities. The principal took the lead, allowing everything to proceed smoothly. I secured 170 kg of pobedit, although it didn’t fully meet my goal for the week. Of this, 120 kg was new pobedit, and the remaining 50 kg was used. I transported it using the principal’s relative’s car, and the bribed soldier ensured safe passage from the station to loading. After loading my goods into the cargo section, I moved to the general passenger compartment. My shipment was now in the hands of the train crew, who were in on the plan with me. It was extremely risky, but I was willing to take the chance. Despite the times when trust had been betrayed, I always believed that trust, when honored, brought greater rewards.
As agreed, I disembarked from the train empty-handed when we arrived at Hyesan station after 30 hours, leaving my valuable cargo behind. I waited outside the station for about 30 minutes before spotting six or seven crew members. They were wearing their own bags slung over their shoulders—but my luggage was nowhere to be seen.
The head conductor, after sending off his staff, approached me and instructed me to meet him at the luggage claim section in two hours. He also advised me to arrange a secure truck to transport the luggage. When I arrived at the location, he and another person were already waiting with three containers from Cargo Compartment No. 9. I had previously asked a friend from the military mobilization department, who lived near the station, to keep his business vehicle on standby. Using a military vehicle was a smart decision; goods transported in a civilian organization’s vehicle are almost certain to be confiscated if caught.
With that, I safely handed over the pobedit to the smuggler and returned home. After greeting my parents and wife and spending time playing with my son, I headed to the Yangsoon Department Store near Hyesan Square. A Korean Chinese entrepreneur had recently built this five-story department store—the largest in Yanggang Province—and it was being jointly operated by North Korea and China.
The department store’s products were mostly imported from China, and for North Koreans, who lacked many basic goods, these items seemed extremely luxurious. The underground restaurants, known for Chinese cuisine, also attracted financiers and served as networking hubs for influential connections. Behind closed doors, these restaurants discreetly hosted gambling and other entertainment activities.
Only high-ranking cadre members and wealthy individuals from Hyesan frequented the department store’s underground restaurants, where dining was considered a status symbol. Though the restaurants had been open for decades, their clientele remained nearly the same; over 90 percent of ordinary Hyesan citizens likely hadn’t even seen them.
That evening, I invited all the train crew members to dinner, treating them to lamb skewers and beef bulgogi—dishes that were rare in regular restaurants. I also bought them the most expensive Chinese cigarettes. Once everyone was comfortably drunk, I arranged our next trip and quietly handed the head conductor the payment we had agreed upon.
Business with the train crew continued smoothly for six months, with no accidents during that time. The profit margins in metal trading were 10 to 20 times the purchase price if you bought directly from the source. Even after generously splitting profits with my collaborators, I still ended up with 6-7 times my initial investment.
While others in their hometowns were barely scraping by, my business thrived, and I enjoyed every moment. I ate whatever I wanted, and substantial sums of money continued flowing into my hands.
There’s a North Korean proverb: “A tiger appears in a quiet place” and “If your tail is long, it will eventually be stepped on.” In line with this wisdom, I eventually decided it was time to step back from metal trading and look for a new venture. With the savings I had accumulated, I aimed to find a profitable business that didn’t require long-distance travel.
My reputation among both workers and cadre members grew steadily. Having money made it easier to acquire the materials and equipment parts needed for factory production, and using my resources generously won people’s loyalty and support.
While contemplating my next business venture, I received a letter from my father-in-law. He suggested, “I’ve heard that Chinese and Japanese currency can be traded across borders, so why don’t we try to make a profit through foreign exchange?” He mentioned that a Chinese friend living in his neighborhood was willing to provide seed money. For instance, if 10,000 yen in Japanese bills came from Pyongyang, it could be exchanged for Chinese RMB and then traded back for about 120,000 yen.
This seemed like a fantastic opportunity for me to make a substantial amount of money without traveling or taking significant risks, so I agreed to his idea. A week later, his letter arrived, accompanied by 20 bills of 10,000 yen.
In North Korea, where access to dollars or yen was scarce, encountering a $100 bill or a 10,000 yen note was already a rarity. In fact, most families didn’t even possess North Korean currency equivalent to 10,000 yen or $100. Thus, 200,000 yen represented a considerable sum of money.
I exchanged all the yen sent to me for RMB the very next day. Ideally, I would have preferred to go to the bank across the border, but time constraints prevented me from doing so. The 20 bills of 10,000 Japanese yen transformed into a bundle of over 130 bills of 100 RMB. The cash wouldn’t fit in an envelope, so I packed it in a small package along with a letter. I entrusted it to Kim Pil-soo, the train conductor responsible for sending and receiving our letters. Before the train’s departure, I also gave him a 100 RMB worth of high-end Chinese groceries for his family and plenty of snacks for the entire crew. I requested that he keep the package on the second floor of the upper-class sleeper for safety.
A few days later, I was surprised to receive a phone call from my father-in-law. He hadn’t heard back from Kim Pil-soo since his arrival in Pyongyang, so he decided to visit his house. There, he learned that Kim Pil-soo had lost the package.
My father-in-law asked me if I had informed Kim Pil-soo about the amount of money contained in the package. I explained that I had simply placed the money in a package, tied it with string, and handed it over without disclosing its contents, fearing that revealing too much would attract attention and put me at risk for illegal activities.
Now, Kim Pil-soo was claiming that he wasn’t fully responsible for the lost money because he didn’t know what was in the package, although he acknowledged some responsibility for the lost luggage.
If this issue remained unresolved, my father-in-law’s Chinese friend would keep pressing him to pay the debt. I reassured my father-in-law that I would take care of it and asked him to wait for me. I then contacted Kim Kwang-moon, who lived in Bukseong-dong, Pyeongcheon District, Pyongyang. He was a family member of my younger brother’s wife and a close friend of my father.
Kim Kwang-moon was the head of the Organizing Department of the General Bureau of Western Railway, responsible for overseeing the party life and political situation of all railway personnel. At my request, his department initiated a thorough investigation in conjunction with the prosecution bureau. Meanwhile, I gathered a few strong and agile friends and captured Kim Pil-soo when he arrived in Hyesan. I took him to a friend’s place, threatening and coaxing him throughout the night. However, in the end, it was all in vain. He maintained that he had never stolen the money.
As dawn broke, I realized my efforts were futile and resigned myself to the fact that the money was lost forever.
All I could do now was wait for the appropriate punishment to be meted out to Kim Pil-soo by the Ministry of Railroad Safety, the prosecution, and the party committee. Later, my father-in-law informed me that Kim Pil-soo had claimed he had no money to repay and instead offered to give up all his home appliances, such as his TV and recorder. Even if I collected all his items and sold them at a secondhand shop, they wouldn’t be worth a single 10,000-yen bill, so I declined the offer.
Two months later, Kim Pil-soo was dismissed from his position as head conductor of the Pyongyang-Hyesan train. His crew remained the same, but both Kim Pil-soo and the guide leader were removed from their roles. It was evident that they had colluded to steal my money. The guide leader was discharged from the railroad sector, while Kim Pil-soo was later transferred to the Pyongyang-Cheongdan route. Cheongdan is a small rural area in Hwanghae Province, effectively cutting off his means of making money.
Train crews typically prefer longer routes, especially those that go to border cities like Hyesan, Tumen River, and Sinuiju. This is because they can collect significant bribes during inspections, leading to fierce competition among crew members to secure assignments on these lucrative routes, often involving substantial kickbacks within their organization.
As for the lost money, I ultimately compensated the overseas Chinese individual for the entire amount using all the savings I had earned so diligently, along with help from my parents. The 200,000 yen back then was enough to buy a few nice houses in North Korea.
Years later, when I visited my in-laws in Pyongyang, I learned that Kim Pil-soo had sold all his household items to make ends meet and could no longer afford to send his children to school. I felt some sympathy for him, but I did not give him a single coin.
At that time, my wife was more disappointed than I was. She said her vision went completely black when she first heard about the incident and couldn’t think straight. After learning about our predicament following the repayment, my in-laws in Pyongyang sent us 200 kg of rice by train. We kept about 20 kilograms and sold the rest in the marketplace because I needed the money to restart my business.