Free Dear Leader by Jang Jin-Sung Page B

for television. My parents and teachers were shocked at Kim Jong-il’s granting of my wish, as was, of course, the Party Secretary for Pyongyang Arts School.
    It was 1994 when I began my working life. Before my first day at work, I went to see Kim Sang-o’s widow, and in the traditional Korean show of reverence, I offered her a deep bow.
    Kim Sang-o had died in 1992 of tuberculosis in a special ward on the eleventh floor of Kim Man Yu Hospital, a state-of-the-art facility. Even his final breath, he gave to me. All cadres had to sign an oathof loyalty to Kim Jong-il when they were close to death, swearing that their single-hearted devotion would continue after they died. Poet Kim Sang-o had added the following words to his handwritten will: ‘I leave behind unfinished works, to be completed by my children and my student.’ His funeral was handled by the United Front Department, as befitted a dignitary of the state. Kim Il-sung also decided that the Homeland Unification Medal – one of North Korea’s highest state honours – was to be awarded to Kim Sang-o on the day of his funeral. The
Rodong Sinmun
duly announced this as an ordinance of the state.
    It was Kim Sang-o’s will that prompted the UFD to recruit me into its ranks, although I had originally applied to be an Arts Writer. Following a stern complaint from Kim Jong-il that the UFD had ceased to produce works of Kim Sang-o’s quality, UFD First Deputy Director Im Tong-ok had personally sought me out for recruitment. The vetting process for a Central Party cadre required at least six months of rigorous background checks, but the process was rushed through on orders from above and my transfer to the UFD happened quickly.
    There was another problem, though: the Party required UFD staff to be graduates of literature or the social sciences, and music just didn’t cut it. So I was admitted to the graduate faculty of literature and languages at the University of Kim Il-sung in September 1996, under the pretext of doing my trial period at the UFD. But this wasn’t about due process; it was only a means of achieving an end. The one-year UFD trial period was also replaced by my graduate degree, and I was admitted to the UFD upon graduation.
    Because of this history, my request to return to my place of birth was about much more than merely revisiting friends and seeing my hometown again. It was really to make a pilgrimage to the place that had brought me to Choi Liang and Kim Sang-o, who had taken my hand in theirs to guide me towards my calling.

MY HOMETOWN
TRANSFORMED
3
    PYONGYANG STATION WAS so crowded that it was difficult to see along the platform. There seemed to be more passengers who had spent days waiting for a delayed train than people who were there to buy tickets or embark on their journey; and it wasn’t just because this was the central railway terminus in the capital city of North Korea.
    In North Korea, apart from sections of track linking newly constructed stations or in the development zones, the rest of the country relied on a single-track railway laid during the Japanese occupation of the Korean peninsula during the first half of the twentieth century. North Koreans were used to the fact that trains never operated according to a regular timetable. Both Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il stressed that the railway was the nervous system of the nation. But in reality, North Korea was like a person with nerve damage paralysing one half of the body. Natural disasters were not even a major problem, given the constant physical breakdowns, problems with the engine or tracks and frequent blackouts. Even when the electricity was actually working, the power was low, and passengers bounced up and down as the carriage hiccupped its way along the track. Sometimes villagers along the line would race the train on their ox carts, laughing as they overtook the passengers in their carriages.
    Besides, there were higher priorities, as passenger trains must always give way to