The Two Koreas_ A Contemporary History - Don Oberdorfer [136]
In my 1991 meeting in Pyongyang, as in other meetings with him over the years, I found Kim Yong Nam a puzzling figure. In greetings before business began, he was cordial and relaxed, but once at work, he relentlessly followed his script in a way that reminded me of former Soviet foreign minister Andrei Gromyko. An American diplomat described his performance as resembling a robot's. Koh Yong Hwan, a former North Korean diplomat and high-level interpreter who defected to the South, called him a "model" for North Korean officialdom: "If Kim 11 Sung was pointing to a wall and said there is a door, Kim Yong Nam would believe that and try to go through it." Yet by all accounts he is highly intelligent and, due to his high position and prestige within the system, an important behindthe-scenes figure in Pyongyang.
The foreign minister's polar opposite in demeanor was the colorful and flamboyant Kim Yong Sun, another important figure in Pyongyang's diplomacy, whom I met for the first time on my 1991 trip. Born in 1934, his career path was notable for its craggy leaps and reverses. Originally a politically minded provincial official in the southeastern part of the country, he served in political posts in other areas before joining the International Department of the Workers Party. In the mid-1980s, he was ousted and reportedly sent to work at hard labor in a coal mine as punishment for decadent behavior in organizing Western-style dancing at party headquarters. According to North Korean lore, he was rescued from oblivion by his friendship with Kim Kyong Hui, Kim Il Sung's youngest daughter by his first wife and the younger sister of Kim Jong 11. In contrast to the austere foreign minister, Kim Yong Sun is reputed to be a hard-drinking, partying buddy of Kim Jong 11, a ladies' man and devotee of high living.
Unlike all others whom I interviewed in Pyongyang in 1991, Kim Yong Sun did not wear a Western coat and tie but a zippered olive-drab shortjacket similar to the U.S. Army's "Ike jacket." Sitting across a conference table at Workers Party headquarters, he apologized for his casual dress, saying that he had come straight from a meeting with workers and peasants in the countryside, who had encouraged him to return quickly to the capital when he told them he had an appointment with Washington Post reporters. It was a somewhat flattering touch, until I learned from a delegation of American Quakers months later that he had told them the same story, wearing the same jacket, at the start of their meeting.
Kim Yong Sun had more self-confidence and flair than anyone else I met in North Korea. His authoritative yet freewheeling style appeared to be grounded in intimacy with the Dear Leader, as Kim Jong Il was then known. It was notable that of a half-dozen senior officials I saw, only Kim Yong Sun volunteered to discuss the role of the Dear Leader, whom he described as "giving guidance in all fields: politics, economics, national defense, and diplomacy." The party secretary said he received frequent personal instructions, including telephone calls, from Kim Jong Il.
While Kim Yong Sun's fundamental positions did not deviate from the policy line of the party he served, he managed to present them in more accessible and impressive ways. At the end of our long conversation, which contained a plea for dialogue and cooperation with the United States, the party secretary said to me, "I understand you know Baker," referring to the U.S. secretary of state. "Please tell him I want to meet him." Although he and other officials were highly critical of American policy, the fact of my presence and the messages they gave me suggested eagerness for a direct relationship with the United States.