North Korean exiles scoff at talk of war
FILE - In this Wednesday, April 10, 2013, an apartment block stands among the buildings in central Pyongyang, North Korea at dusk. (AP Photo/David Guttenfelder, File)
FILE - In this Friday, April 12, 2013 file photo, North Korean commuters ride on a trolley car in Pyongyang, North Korea on Friday, April 12, 2013. Reflected in the window is a roadside propaganda banner that reads: "Let's follow the example of the space conquerors," referring to the country's rocket launch program. (AP Photo/David Guttenfelder, Filer)
FILE - In this Wednesday, April 10, 2013 file photo, North Koreans pass by a large nationalist painting in Pyongyang, North Korea. (AP Photo/David Guttenfelder, File)
FILE - In this Tuesday, April 16, 2013 file photo, a food shop keeper sweeps the sidewalk with a broom while people line up outside a shop in Pyongyang, North Korea, Tuesday, April 16, 2013. (AP Photo/Alexander F. Yuan, File)
FILE - In this Saturday, April 13, 2013 file photo, two men push their bicycles as a man, back, squats and watches the street in Pyongyang, North Korea. (AP Photo/Alexander F. Yuan, Filer)
FILE - In this Friday, April 12, 2013 file photo, North Korean soldiers stand together along a street in Pyongyang, North Korea. (AP Photo/David Guttenfelder, File)
Asked if there might be war, the 40ish woman with the spangly purple shirt laughed out loud. She waved her hands back and forth, as if whisking away a pesky insect.
She fled North Korea late last summer, pushing her way at night through the chest-deep waters of the Amnok River, following a guide into China and, eventually, to South Korea. The journey cost her $5,000, a fortune back home.
She comes from a part of rural North Korea where electricity is a rarity, and the punishing winters seem to last forever. She came to a city of two-story-tall TV screens that light up the night, a city stalked by armies of financial analysts in well-tailored suits.
Now, amid international fears that North Korea may be preparing for another missile test, and repeated warnings from Pyongyang that it will destroy its enemies, she simply scoffs.
The exiles have seen life in both Koreas, and are unimpressed with what they left behind.
“It’s not even possible for North Korea to have a war,” said the woman, who spent years arranging black market deals for bronze smuggled to China. She asked that her name and other identifying details not be used, to protect relatives still living in the North.
“They don’t have fuel. They don’t have electricity,” she said. “Even if they yell to the world that they’ll go to war, it’s all just talk.”
Foreign analysts have long said that North Korea’s desperate shortages are, in part, because Pyongyang channels so much of its resources to the military and into weapons development.
But in a country where many soldiers have to spend months every year working on farms or construction projects, and where bicycles remain a status symbol for most people, the exiles say North Korea is so poor and undeveloped that it knows it would lose any fight.
North Korea’s most recent round of threats, including warnings of pre-emptive nuclear attacks on the United States, come in the wake of U.N. sanctions approved after Pyongyang’s February nuclear test.
They also come during annual U.S.-South Korea military maneuvers, which Pyongyang has long seen as a provocation.
For weeks, foreign governments and analysts have been debating Pyongyang’s threats: Is war looming? Are the threats nothing but theater; a search for attention and foreign aid? Is North Korea’s new young leader, Kim Jong Un, more dangerous than his father?
South Korea’s small community of North Korean exiles, a group that totals about 24,000, think they know.
“It’s all nonsense,” said Nam-su Han, who fled North Korea when he was 20 years old and now runs a Seoul-based activist group that teaches young South Koreans about life in the North.
“I’m not worried at all” about war, said a former North Korean miner, a friendly man with a mop of uncombed hair who now runs a small Seoul store. “We all know if war breaks out, North Korea will collapse.”
Mixed with that disdain, though, is something you may not expect from people who risked their lives, and often left their families, to reach South Korea: a lingering attachment to the nation they abandoned.
“My heart is always with North Korea” said the former smuggler. “Even today.”
In part, that is nostalgia for their homeland. But it also reflects the difficulty of life in South Korea for most refugees, who are commonly known there as “defectors.”
The exiles come from a place where the government assigns people to schools, to jobs and to apartments. Its security services keep watch over everything and its propaganda dominates television, radio and newspapers. The children of the elite often move swiftly into elite jobs, while the children of farmers and miners normally follow their fathers’ footsteps.
South Korea, by contrast, has fostered one of the world’s most deeply competitive cultures.
It is a nation awash in American-style consumerism that went from an economic backwater to a high-tech and industrial powerhouse in just a couple decades.