The Two Koreas_ A Contemporary History - Don Oberdorfer [133]
For North Korea, 1991 was a terrible year economically. Beginning in January, the Soviet Union demanded hard currency for its exports to Pyongyang rather than continue the traditional concessional arrangements of the past. As a result, North Korean imports from its most important trading partner declined precipitously. The drop was particularly sharp in energy imports, which fell by 75 percent from the 1990 level. This cutback made North Korea dependent on China for more than two-thirds of its imported energy. However, China was unwilling or unable to make up for the Soviet losses and in May notified Pyongyang that it would soon discontinue its concessional sales. The dire result was that in 1991-92 North Korea was forced to abruptly reduce its total petroleum consumption by between one-fourth and one-third, resulting in the deserted roadways and idle construction projects that I observed.
One might expect from all this to find a regime in a deep funk, fearful of the future and uncertain about which way to go. The greatest surprise to me was that Pyongyang's officialdom was, outwardly at least, undaunted by the revolutionary reversals in their alliances. In the North Korean worldview, the faltering of communism in the Soviet Union and its collapse in Eastern Europe proved the correctness of Kim Il Sung's independent policy of juche and his consistent refusal to formally join the Soviet bloc. Deputy Premier and Foreign Minister Kim Yong Nam spoke optimistically to me of "our people advancing along the road of the socialism they have chosen-socialism of their own style." This phrase, reminiscent of China's "socialism with Chinese characteristics," which justified Beijing's swing toward market economics, had first appeared the previous December in a Workers Party organ. In this case, "our own style" justified the absence of change rather than a deviation from the previous well-worn path.
To the evidence before my eyes in 1991, North Korea was unique, a land unlike any other I had seen in my extensive travels as a correspondent. The capital, Pyongyang, had been so leveled by American bombing in the Korean War that the head of the U.S. bomber command had halted further air strikes, saying that "there is nothing standing worthy of the name." Kim II Sung had rebuilt it from the ashes to a meticulously planned urban center of broad boulevards, monumental structures, and square-cut apartment buildings that resembled a stage set more than a working capital. Indeed, it was a synthetic city in many respects: according to foreign diplomats, the population was periodically screened, and the sick, elderly, or disabled, along with anyone deemed politically unreliable, were evicted from the capital.
Pyongyang was dominated by homage to Kim Il Sung. Among its most imposing features was the Tower of the Juche Idea, an obelisk almost as high as the Washington Monument, which was erected for the Great Leader's seventieth birthday to celebrate his self-reliance dogma; an Arch of Triumph larger than the one in Paris, celebrating Kim's return from victory over Japan in 1945; and Kim Il Sung Stadium, seating 100,000 people for mass demonstrations of loyalty to the ruler and the regime. Less celebrated but equally prominent was a mammoth 105-story hotel, built to be the tallest in Asia but that contained architectural defects so serious that it had never been occupied and probably never will be. Pyongyang struck me as a city designed by Russian-trained architects with some nods to Mao at the height of the allegiance to the Little Red Book. It appeared well suited for gigantic displays but not very convenient for