by Susan V. Lawrence


        The official mourning period for Kim Il Sung is over, but the innumerable statues, murals, mosaics and other sites across North Korea that are associated with the Great Leader's life have become unofficial shrines. In Nampo, a port city southwest of Pyongyang, flowers and wreaths cover the base of Kim's statue in the town center. North Koreans who were out of the country when Kim died make an obligatory pilgrimage to the huge bronze Kim statue on Mansu Hill in Pyongyang, where loudspeakers pump solemn music into the air 24 hours a day. Around the country, slogans wishing Kim Il Sung "long life" are being replaced by new ones proclaiming that he will "live forever" in the hearts of his people. 

        Such devotion may ensure that the Great Leader's aura will long survive. But his deeds may not: The Hermit Kingdom that he created over the past 50 years could be on the verge of its first tentative steps toward integration with the modern world. Unprecedented talks getting underway in Pyongyang between the United States and North Korea could eventually end decades of political estrangement with an agreement to open liaison offices in each other's capitals, which could lead to full diplomatic ties. 

        Before going that far, U.S. officials insist that Pyongyang must fully answer unresolved questions related to its suspicious nuclear program. Working-level discussions are continuing in Berlin, and high-level talks to address both nuclear and political issues are scheduled to resume in Geneva at the end of next week. Adding to the uncertainty surrounding the talks is the absence from public view of Kim's son and apparent successor, Kim Jong Il. He has not made an appearance since his father's funeral almost two months ago -- raising speculation in the West that a power struggle is underway inside North Korea. 

        Despite these fears, the relentless mourning for Kim and mounting economic problems, daily life in North Korea -- glimpsed during a recent, rare visit by a group of Western tourists -- is anything but somber. Schoolchildren play in the fountains outside the Tower of Juche, a 558-foot monument to Kim Il Sung's philosophy of self-reliance. Fun seekers row boats and take cruises on the nearby Taedong River. Romantic couples dine at the motor cruiser-cum-restaurant moored on the bank. 

        Even though no one seems to be in a hurry to replace images of the father with those of his son, no one in North Korea suggests that anyone other than Kim Jong Il is in charge. Perhaps foreshadowing things to come, a stone tablet in the garden of the Mansudae Art Studio, which crafts all memorabilia honoring the Kims, carries the text of a poem Kim Il Sung wrote last year that implicitly endorses his son's leadership. And the Pyongyang Times reports that choreographers are busy preparing a new "mass gymnastic display" about the father and son called "Our Sun and Star." 

        In the dark. Still, Kim Jong Il's prospects for holding power over the long term may rest less on his image-making appeal than on his ability to reverse the dramatic shrinkage of the North Korean economy. The country boasts a modern infrastructure -- suspension bridges, fast expressways and new housing developments full of tall, solidly built apartment blocks -- but there are glaring signs of economic strain. Traffic is light and, to save gasoline, ordinary vehicles are banned on Sundays in Pyongyang. Only cars belonging to high-ranking cadres and foreigners are exempt. Street lights are kept off, leaving the capital's streets pitch-dark at night. Bus and trolley service is so limited that crowds at major stops often number in the hundreds. Passengers hang from the sides of buses as the vehicles pull away. 

        Workers cut the grass in Pyongyang by hand, using tiny scythes. In the countryside, fields are well tended, but ancient tractors are the only agricultural machinery in sight. 

        Meanwhile North Koreans are increasingly aware of the realities of the world outside. The government tampers with radio sets to prevent listeners from receiving unauthorized foreign broadcasts, but anyone with a basic knowledge of electronics can easily undo the damage. English speakers tune in to fuzzy BBC broadcasts, and others listen to Korean-language broadcasts from China and Japan and -- when they aren't jammed -- from South Korea. 

        Before the collapse of communism elsewhere, North Koreans enjoyed a diet of movies from socialist brother states in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union. Now, foreign cinema comes mainly from fast-changing Southeast Asian societies such as Thailand and Malaysia. Other favorites include Love Story and Mary Poppins, which depict very different lifestyles from those of North Korea.


        Irreverent visitors. Ethnic Korean visitors from other countries expose their North Korean cousins to different ways of thinking. At the Mangyongdae Children's Study Palace in Pyongyang one recent afternoon, a group of ethnic Korean children from Russia and China met with North Korean hosts, who were all dressed neatly in white shirts and red League of Socialist Working Youth scarves. The irreverent visitors wore jeans, sneakers and oversize T-shirts emblazoned with such phrases as "Stay Cool." Foreign currency stores in Pyongyang sell imported electrical goods and foreign cognacs, whiskeys and cigarettes. Few have the money to buy, but anyone can browse. 

        North Koreans who visit big tourist hotels such as Pyongyang's 44-floor Koryo Hotel find themselves in another world. In the lobby of the Koryo, Iranian women in chadors enjoy soft-serve ice cream in cones. A male Syrian student in tight jeans blows kisses to the Korean women shop clerks. Wealthy North Korean elites smoke Mild Seven and Dunhill cigarettes and murmur over cocktails. 

        While most people in the capital are forced to get about by foot -- the government says walking is healthy -- a good third of the cars that do drive around Pyongyang are Mercedes-Benzes. Those charging the fastest down Pyongyang's empty avenues belong to Central Committee members who have license plate numbers with a 216 prefix, representing Kim Jong Il's February 16 birthday. 

        This display of privilege apparently does not rouse public ire in the tightly controlled society. If North Koreans realize that their economy is less vibrant than their neighbors', most accept after a lifetime of indoctrination that South Korea -- not the Kims -- is to blame. North Koreans believe that their government must devote enormous resources to defense so long as hostile South Korean and American forces stand eyeball to eyeball with North Korean troops along the 38th parallel. The only way to release military funds for development of the civilian economy, North Koreans reason, is to eliminate the South Korean threat by reuniting the two countries. As economic problems at home mount, the pressure for unification -- by force if necessary -- could mount too. 

        At a recent packed performance of the Pyongyang Circus, the number that provoked the most mirth was a slapstick routine depicting South Korean President Kim Young Sam, dressed in a white suit, standing behind a podium claiming credit for the development of South Korea. The downtrodden people, represented by a man in a black waistcoat and trousers, heckled him, shot him with a water pistol and threw a hand grenade at him. The president pulled on a helmet, took up a riot shield and entered into a pitched battle with his tormentor, only to wind up collapsed under his toppled podium. The audience roared with laughter.