4. Entering Middle School
On September 1, 1977, I entered middle school. The troublesome colt of the kindergarten safely graduated from the People’s School and now became a middle school student. Fortunately, the middle school I attended was located just behind my house. I could easily reach the school’s playground by taking a short walk around the back of my house.
It was during this time that my third older sister also graduated from middle school and found employment as a chick carer at a chicken factory on the city’s outskirts.
Neither my sister nor my parents had envisioned this career path for her. Initially, she aspired to attend a Light Industry College (경공업전문학교). However, her school assigned her to take the entrance exam for a Physical Education College (체육전문학교). This decision was made by the teachers, who adjusted the allocations and equalized the number of applicants for each school.
The unexpected test allocation notice left both my parents and my sister bewildered. In tears, she pleaded with my father to help her secure a chance to test for her first choice by using his connections within the provincial party. Even my mother sided with her on this matter. However, my father did not grant their request.
He firmly insisted that all his children gain admission to higher education institutions based on their individual merit. This unwavering principle of his had been forged during his prior career in Pyongyang, where he served as the organization manager of the Minchong (민주청년동맹 조직 부장). In that role, he was responsible for the education and placement of young people into higher-level schools.
After the liberation, North Korean leaders placed a strong emphasis on training and uniting the youth, recognizing their crucial role in establishing a new government. Achieving unity among these young people during a turbulent period of transition proved to be a challenging task. Various factions, including the Soviet faction, the Shanghai faction, and the domestic faction, engaged in fierce competition to expand their influence. This competition sometimes escalated to the point where guns were fired and people killed each other.
The factional strife eventually came under an organization called Choson Communist Youth Alliance(조선공산주의청년동맹) thanks to the tenacious effort of those former anti-Japanese guerilla fighters (항일유격대) who were deeply committed to communism. Those youth who joined the organization, later renamed as Choson Socialist Democratic Youth Alliance (Minchong in short, 조선사회주의민주청년동맹), took the lead in constructing the new Choson and were always at the forefront of resolving any difficulty.
These young individuals, such as the 17-year-old hero Ri Su Bok (리수복), played a pivotal role in the Korean War, famously described as someone who ‘blocked the cannon barrel with his chest (적의 화구를 가슴을 막다).’ These youths had experienced extreme poverty before the liberation, making the newborn nation appear as a savior for which they were willing to sacrifice their lives. Kim Il Sung further reinforced ideological education during the nation-building process, resulting in the entire population, including children, becoming completely united under the banner of the Juche idea.
Those involved with the youth were profoundly patriotic and felt a deep sense of gratitude towards the government. They strictly adhered to the principle that no room should be allowed for personal interests when it came to university and college recommendations.
Young people from factories and villages gained access to higher education through recommendation letters. The Minchong organization of their respective factory or village would initially write a reference, which was then forwarded to the corresponding organization at higher administrative levels, including the city, province, and headquarters.
My father, serving as the Minchong’s organization manager, consistently rejected any attempts by individuals seeking university or college admission through parental or relative connections. He insisted that students be admitted solely based on their competence. This principle extended to his own children, as he remained averse to any special privileges his cadre position might have offered them.
My oldest and second oldest sisters managed to attend college on their own, and it was unlikely that my father would grant the favor my third sister and mother were desperately pleading for.
Unlike me, who had a deep love for sports, my sister had an aversion to PE classes. In the 1970s, North Korea had only a handful of universities. Apart from a few select graduates, most students went on to attend colleges (전문학교), many of which later evolved into universities.
Only a small number of graduates from physical education colleges pursued careers as professional athletes. The majority of them ended up working as teachers at People’s Schools or middle schools. However, becoming a PE teacher wasn’t a viable option for my sister. She expressed to our parents her intention to forgo attending college. This decision distressed my father, but he eventually arranged a job for her through his connections at the city’s labor office. She was assigned to work at a chicken factory on the outskirts of the city, becoming the first among us siblings to enter the workforce.
I entered middle school at a time when our family was in turmoil over my third sister’s career path. The school I attended was coed, and my older brother issued a warning: ‘You better do well. In my school, they punish boys in a girls’ classroom and vice versa.’ My brother, a top student, was concerned about his sister, who prioritized play over study, potentially facing humiliation, but I hardly cared.
Unlike the People’s School, which was situated on a steep hill, my middle school was a convenient three-minute walk away from my house and I found school life to be enjoyable. Although I wasn’t particularly strong in academics, I relished spending time with friends and participating in the literature club. My homeroom teacher during the first year taught Korean, and she was exceptionally kind.
Throughout my school years, my favorite class was physical education, followed by Korean, and then Korean history. While I may have been less attentive in other courses, I found my homeroom teacher’s Korean class particularly engaging.
What fascinated me the most was learning about historical novels. My absolute favorite was ‘Gabo Peasants’ War’ (갑오농민전쟁), written by the blind and paralyzed author, Park Tae Won (박태원). This novel spans three volumes, and I read it multiple times.
My father used to borrow books from the library for me to read, and my journey into novels began in the fourth grade at People’s School. The first novel I read was ‘A Girl Looking for a Red Ribbon’ (빨간 댕기를 찾는 소녀), which tells the story of a young girl serving as a liaison for an anti-Japanese guerrilla unit in the Jiandao (간도) region of China before liberation. This story captivated me, and from then on, I would frequently ask my father to borrow novels for me.
Life in middle school was more demanding compared to People’s School. While at People’s School, I would be sent home right after class on Saturdays, in middle school, I couldn’t go home after the fourth study period due to the weekly life reflection and self-criticism (생활 총화) that followed a 15-minute break. Led by the homeroom teacher and the class president, this reflection session involved at least ten students evaluating their own study and behavior, as well as that of their peers, for the past week. If no one volunteered, the teacher would call out students with poor grades or who were frequently tardy.
If a student only talked about themselves and didn’t include any observations or criticisms of others, they were required to stand back up and critique someone else.
This practice of life reflection continued into the workplace after graduation, extended into my married life as a military family member, and persisted during my time at the Gaechon reformatory (개천교화소), where I served a two-year sentence. I lived with this self-criticism session for 50 years.
Another regular activity, separate from the life reflection, was attending the parade on April 15th, Kim Il Sung’s birthday, as part of the Youth Union (소년단 연합 단체). People’s School students participated in the event only once in their 4th grade, but middle school students had to attend every year for the first four years. The month-long practice, starting in mid-March, took place daily after the hour-long lunch break. We would walk 10 li (4km) to Sarambak Stadium (싸람박 경기장) downtown. Walking 20 li each day, in addition to the training, was physically demanding. Despite the hardship, no one complained. We considered it our natural duty to fulfill in exchange for the privileges of living and studying in the DPRK.
If someone ever uttered discontent, they became the target of the life reflection session. They would be required to write a letter of apology, and faced criticism on every relevant occasion. Demonstrating enthusiasm at such events garnered more praise than achieving good academic performance.
At the outset of our training, we found it difficult to walk. The initial discomfort subsided after a few days, but it was replaced by physical fatigue. The intensity was so severe that some middle school students would even wet the bed at night. My mother would quietly wake me up and change the bedding if I didn’t wake up after having an accident. She prepared delicious meals to cheer me up and encouraged me to excel in school.
As the dates for the national event drew nearer, the stadium was filled with students rehearsing. The school parades were the culmination of the program. Six students stood in each row, marching together with synchronized steps. When passing the VIP section of the stadium, which lasted for a maximum of seven minutes, we had to shout, ‘Ever ready (항상준비).’ The month-long toil, even neglecting our studies, which were supposed to be the students’ primary duty, was all for the sake of those seven minutes.
The most envied students during this time were those on the sports team. They were exclusively under the control of the PE teacher, practicing for the national event, even if it meant missing regular classes. The teacher made sure that the athletes were transported to and from the stadium to prevent them from getting too tired. I, of course, yearned to join the sports team, but I had no way to do so because I was already a member of the literature club.
The farm work began after the festive April had passed. First to third-year students worked at nearby farms, while fourth to fifth-year students were assigned to more remote farms for rice planting. After the morning classes and lunch at home, students gathered at the school playground at 2 p.m. and walked in rows to a cornfield on the outskirts of the city. There, we learned from the farm workers how to weed. The field at this time looked as though it was teeming with a swarm of crawling ants.
Before sunset, the homeroom teachers would guide their respective students back to the school. We would part ways in the dark playground once the teacher’s assessment of the day was complete.
Fourth and fifth-year students had to pack for a month and travel to remote farms for potato digging. The farm workers provided accommodation for the students. When it came to meals, the hosts would place a washbowl filled with cooked rice mixed with potatoes on each table where seven students were seated. Students would then serve themselves, taking their portion of mainly potato rice into their soup bowl. For a whole month, our meals consisted of dried radish leaf soup (시래기국) and a bowl of potato-rice with no side dishes. Some students, feeling homesick, would silently cry in their beds.
We moved in rows to the dew-covered potato field after our early breakfast. Upon arrival, the farm workers assigned one furrow to each student. We broke for lunch once the morning task was completed. After the lunch break, we were required to dig potatoes in another section of the field and complete the work before sunset.
During this farm mobilization, our homeroom teachers were on a semi-vacation. The farm workers supervised the students, and the teachers appeared to be more relaxed. Due to the cold climate of my hometown, potatoes and wheat were the primary crops, rather than corn. We participated in farmwork right up until our graduation. With the time dedicated to parade training and farmwork subtracted, there was not much time left for studying.