Two countries, two systems, one porous border
By Andrei Lankov
The border between North Korea and China is more than 1,000 kilometers long.
For most of its length the border goes along two rivers: the Tumen (Tuman in
Korean pronunciation) and the Yalu (Amnok for the Koreans). Last month I made a
trip along the border, and it was a very instructive undertaking indeed.
I was not alone. The borderland areas are popular with tourists, largely from
South Korea. Chinese, usually from those parts of the country adjacent to
Korea, come there too. Both Chinese and South Korean visitors love to ride
boats that pass just a few meters from the North Korean shore, so people can
throw
cigarettes to North Korean patrols. Telescopes can also be rented for a few
yuan to look across the river and get a glimpse at the neighbors.
It seems that Chinese often perceive these trips as a reminder that their
country, in spite of manifold problems, is doing very well, and that there are
places that look like a hell even compared with the provinces of northeastern
China, which are relatively poor. Generally speaking, many Chinese see North
Korea as a bizarre curiosity, a sort of living fossil reminiscent of China
under Mao Zedong.
Actually, the borderland areas of both countries can be seen as relatively
backward. For North Koreans, the far north of their country has always been the
place of exile for people deemed politically unreliable. With the exception of
some mines, Pyongyang did not invest much there, and it is no coincidence that
the Great Famine of 1996-99 hit the area hardest; the authorities decided to
sacrifice the local population as least useful and most expendable.
On the Chinese side, the borderland areas of Liaoning and Jilin provinces are
also seen as underdeveloped - to an extent that this is seen as a political
issue. However, it becomes clear from the first hours that the difference
between what are considered poor regions might be as instructive as the
difference between areas that embody success and prosperity.
The largest Chinese town on the Tumen River is small and sleepy Tumen, but this
township presents a striking contrast with the impoverished lands across the
border.
However, a few decades ago, within living memory, the situation was the
complete opposite. Until the early 1970s, North Korea was seen from China as a
land of relative prosperity, so during the Chinese famine of the 1960s and the
subsequent madness of the Cultural Revolution, ethnic Koreans from China often
moved illegally across the border for the relative stability and affluence of
Kim Il-sung's North Korea. There, at least, people were certain to receive 700
grams of corn every day.
Things have changed much since then: Deng Xiaoping's reforms in China launched
an economic boom while North Korea stagnated and then began to slide backward,
and by now the Chinese borderland areas have left North Korea far behind. Local
Koreans who frequently visit their relatives on the other side of the border
tell me that the situation in North Korea reminds them of China in the late
1960s, just after the failure of the Great Leap Forward.
Nowhere else is the difference as easy to see as in Dandong, a booming Chinese
city just across from the North Korean city of Sinuiju. Dandong, with a
population of some 2.4 million, is much larger than Sinuiju, which has 300,000
inhabitants. Dandong and Sinuiju are connected by a single bridge across the
Yalu River sparsely used by both cars and trains. While more popular with
tourists who like to go on it to snap pictures of North Korea, the bridge also
serves as a transportation link between North Korea and outside world.
Back in the 1970s, the two cities looked much the same, but now the difference
is truly striking. The Dandong riverfront presents a spectacular picture of the
post-socialist economic boom: highrise apartment complexes and office towers
are being built everywhere, and a large river island is being turned into a
resort development. The riverfront has been completely taken over by
restaurants and hotels, as well as piers for small cruise boats (the thrill of
going near the foreign shore seems to be irresistible to many Chinese).
However, the Korean riverbank is empty and bare, with only the roofs of few
derelict buildings, three or four stories high, to be seen behind the trees. An
abandoned Ferris wheel serves as a reminder that leisure activities can take
place in North Korea, too. The Korean riverbank is also a resting place for few
rusty boats that probably have not touched the water for years, but otherwise
it is empty. There have been reports about some construction going on in
Sinuiju. This indeed might be the case, but no traces of any economic activity
can be seen from the Chinese side of the river.
This contrast becomes even greater at night. Compared with Beijing and
Shanghai, Dandong is not brightly lit, but it still has its share of city
lights. The other shore is in complete darkness, and only some distant lights
hint at a place where the local statue of Kim Il-sung is located (the Dear
Leader's statues are brightly lit until late evening). The bridge that connects
two cities looks surreal: at night it appears as if it abruptly ends in the
middle of the river, since the Chinese half is lavishly decorated with colored
lights, while the North Korean half of the bridge is unseen in darkness. One
can only wonder what the inhabitants of Sinuiju think when they look at the
other side, seeing bright lights in night and mushrooming buildings at daytime.
After all, most of the new apartment complexes in Dandong look luxurious even
compared with the government quarters in Pyongyang, let alone the buildings in
the city of Sinuiju.
So it comes as no surprise that many North Koreans illegally move across the
border to find work and refuge in China. Around 1999, when the disastrous
famine stuck North Korea, the number of such refugees reached an estimated
200,000-300,000. Nowadays, the number has shrunk considerably, even though old
figures are often uncritically cited by the world media. It is believed that
some 30,000-50,000 North Koreans are currently hiding in China.
Why did their numbers go down recently? There are few reasons for that. To
start with, a remarkable improvement of the domestic situation in North Korea
played a role, but most of people with whom I talked in China last month agreed
that the major reason for this change is the revival of North Korean border
security in recent few years. Until 2004 or so, North Korean authorities
usually turned a blind eye to the mass exodus of their people to China. Perhaps
they believed that the border acted as a security valve by letting some people
out. It is also clear that at the height of famine and economic disruption,
they had no resources to control the border at the necessary level.
It seems, however, that most policies are initiated by the North Korean
authorities, not by their Chinese counterparts. For most of its length, the
border is in essence unguarded on the Chinese side. There have been reports
about Chinese patrols or even fences being erected in the area, but it seems
that such measures are taken only occasionally and in some relatively small
areas. I traveled 300km along the border, and only once saw a military patrol
(four or five uniformed men were sitting in the shadows near a small truck,
obviously having fun). Marked police cars were encountered four or five times,
and no checkpoints were ever seen.
Local Koreans insist that the Chinese authorities generally ignore border
issues. According to them, a North Korean refugee has some chance of being
arrested only if he or she is unlucky or does not know how to keep a low
profile, but the overall probability of arrest is not very high.
The physical obstacles for a trespasser are not too formidable either, since
the border waterways are both shallow and narrow. The Yalu in its lower
sections is broad, but the Tumen remains a narrow stream for nearly its entire
length, and the upper parts of the Yalu do not form an impressive obstacle for
any border-crosser. For most of the border's length, both waterways can be
easily waded over in many spots even by old or infirm people.
This creates an ideal environment for smuggling. Indeed, the area is frequented
by North Korean traders. Until a few years ago, most of them were illegal
border-crossers. In most cases they did not try too hard to avoid detection,
since bribing the border guards was a better strategy. North Korean guards are
ready to receive 800 yuan (US$105), an equivalent of their annual salaries,
from professional smugglers to allow them to move bulky merchandise almost
openly.
However, since about 2003 some North Koreans have been allowed to apply for
permission to visit China regularly and come back with merchandise. On the
other hand, all ethnic-Korean residents in Yanbian autonomous prefecture, home
to many of the Korean-Chinese in Jilin province, now can go to North Korea any
time they wish. Ostensibly, the goal of such trips is to meet relatives on the
other side of the border, but it is an open secret that nearly all trips are,
first and foremost, trading expeditions.
Of course, customs officials expect their fair share of both legal fees and
bribes. Corruption in North Korea is shocking even to Chinese visitors, who are
not exactly used to a clean government.
A Korean-Chinese who occasionally goes to visit his relatives described his
usual experience: "They are so greedy. Officials take bribes in China, too. But
perhaps nowhere in the world are the officials so hungry for bribes as they are
in North Korea. At customs, they slowly go through the luggage and sometimes
put aside a few things they like, and then they say that those things are not
allowed into North Korea. This is the hint, and I have no choice but to tell
them to take those things, some clothing or small items. And it is a tradition
that everybody who checks you should be given some foreign cigarettes. Last
time I took five cartons of cigarettes with me, and only one carton reached my
relatives. All others I had to give away to the officials."
A particular role is played by the chogyo, North Korean citizens who
permanently reside in China. This is a relatively small group, some
5,000-10,000 people (well below 1% of the ethnic-Korean community in China),
but their economic and social role is out of proportion to their numbers. Their
unusual legal standing allows movement between China and North Korea almost at
will, and this means that they have great opportunities for very profitable
trade.
A similar group, known as hwagyo, consists of Chinese citizens who are
allowed to live permanently in North Korea. Hwagyo is a Korean
pronunciation of Chinese characters that are read as huaqiao in Mandarin
and used to describe overseas Chinese. There are also only a few thousand hwagyo,
and in North Korea they enjoy a number of privileges, including the right to go
overseas with relative ease. Nowadays, as my interlocutors never failed to
stress, the hwagyo have become the most prosperous social group in North
Korea. Being a hwagyo means to be rich, and this wealth comes from
involvement in lucrative cross-border trade, both legal and illegal.
In a shopping mall in Dandong, I came across a shop that bears the proud name
of a "joint Korean-Chinese venture". This is an excessively grandiose name for
a small operation jointly run by two women in their 50s. One of the two owners
is a chogyo while another is a hwagyo. This makes a perfect
partnership. They can go back and forth to North Korea, even visiting Pyongyang
when necessary.
The shop trades in paintings by North Korean artists who are willing to sell
their works very cheaply. The buyers are overwhelmingly South Koreans who are
happy to pay for the North Korean exotics. The works might look kitschy, but
there is no doubt that they were produced with remarkable technical skill. The
entrepreneurial ladies visit major fine-arts academies and state-sponsored
institutions in Pyongyang, placing orders there.
Next to their shop one can see a number of others, also run by North Korean
petty capitalists (often with hwagyo or chogyo backgrounds), that
also sell North Korean souvenirs to South Korean visitors. It is remarkable,
however, that the topics are quite non-political. Only after some explicit
demand can a sales clerk produce something more politically charged - say, a
Kim Il-sung badge (probably not a real thing, but a Chinese imitation).
Both Dandong and Yanji have shops that specifically cater to the tastes and
demands of North Korean merchants and visitors. Usually, such shops are
clustered on the same street, creating a sort of North Korean market area. The
shop signs tell what the North Korean wholesalers usually buy: household goods
such as refrigerators or television sets, calculators, notebooks, pens and
other stationery items, mechanics' tools, fans and telephones, as well as small
power generators and batteries - in recent years a measure of self-reliance for
power supplies has become an important sign of an affluent household in North
Korea. They also sell fashionable clothing and footwear, often to be copied by
North Korean manufacturers.
Another major item of the illegal trade is the videotapes and discs with
foreign movies and shows that are increasingly popular in North Korea. The
North Korean authorities try to restrict the inflow of foreign, especially
South Korean, movies, but the profits are too high. The North Korean population
wants entertainment, and has had enough of biopics depicting the great deeds of
the Dear Leader, Great Leader and their august family. In most cases,
entrepreneurs in China record the South Korean serials that are shown by the
local TV networks almost daily, and then sell the recordings to the smugglers.
The border is also a major source of information for North Koreans. Since the
1960s, the North Korean authorities have exercised information control that is
exceptional even by communist standards. North Koreans can go to prison if they
are discovered to possess radios with unlocked tuning. All foreign publications
(including those from "fraternal" communist regimes) are sent to the closed
sections of the libraries, to be accessed only by the carefully selected owners
of special permits, and even a trip outside one's native county is impossible
without formal permission. Until recently, this system held, but changes in the
borderland areas brought about a gradual disintegration of the North Korean
information blockade.
Throughout the past decade, an estimated 500,000 North Koreans have been in
China, overwhelmingly in the borderland regions, both legally and illegally.
They have seen Chinese reforms, and they do not buy the official North Korean
propaganda anymore. They are also skeptical about statements by Beijing
ideologues who still describe China as a "socialist society". For them, modern
China is an embodiment of capitalism, pure and simple, and also a demonstration
of capitalism's efficiency and success.
A representative of a small non-governmental organization who has worked in the
area for a decade told me how North Korean low-level officials typically react
to China during their first visit: "They literally do not sleep their first
night. They are overwhelmed by this prosperity, these lights, this abundance of
food, this relaxed behavior of people." One has to keep in mind that this
particular NGO operates in Tumen, a city that is clearly poor and
underdeveloped by Chinese standards.
In many cases, North Koreans can see signs of Chinese success even without
crossing the border. At nighttime, the bright sky over the Chinese towns is
seen for dozens of kilometers, and in daytime one can easily see the many
construction sites on the banks of the border rivers.
What is more important, the Chinese borderland serves as a conduit of
information about South Korea. The South Korean presence in the area is
remarkable, and at any given moment one out of 10 Korean-Chinese is in South
Korea, working, studying or doing business there. Therefore, the
border-crossers soon learn that South Korea, routinely depicted in the official
Northern media as a living hell, is actually richer than China, which looks to
them like a perfect paradise. They sometimes buy and secretly watch
"subversive" South Korean movies and shows that are frequently broadcast by the
local Chinese stations. This new information is penetrating the North, and
recently it has become clear that even the notoriously shameless and inflexible
North Korean propaganda machine has had to change its tune somewhat to adjust
to this new knowledge.
The border is not really sealed anymore. The difference in living standards is
large and growing, and this can be easily seen. We can only surmise when the
effects of this new situation will be felt, but there are good reasons to
believe that the borderland areas will play a major role in the future of what
is now known as the Democratic People's Republic of Korea.
Dr Andrei Lankov is an associate professor in Kookmin University, Seoul,
and adjunct research fellow at the Research School of Pacifica and Asian
Studies, Australian National University. He graduated from Leningrad State
University with a PhD in Far Eastern history and China, with emphasis on Korea.
He has published books and articles on Korea and North Asia.
Head
Office: Unit B, 16/F, Li Dong Building, No. 9 Li Yuen Street East,
Central, Hong Kong Thailand Bureau:
11/13 Petchkasem Road, Hua Hin, Prachuab Kirikhan, Thailand 77110
