Kyung was standing behind me in line. He was unmistakably North Korean. I could tell by the uniform and the pin he was wearing on his lapel. It bore the likeness of Kim Il-sung, the President of the People's Democratic Republic of North Korea. More like a demigod than a president as we understand that term, Kim wielded absolute power in one of the world's most isolated, not to mention, anti-American states, a fact which made it all the more surprising when Kyung struck up a conversation with me in line, about the unusually thick, eerie, and persistent fog that had been enveloping Moscow for several days. Even old timers could not remember a fog like that, according the the "Moscow News." Yes, making small talk about the weather must be such a strong and universally human impulse that it cuts trough even a fanatical ideology! I had seen his delegation before around the institute. They kept to themselves, and any eye contact they made with Americans was characterized by a skepticism and even a contempt, making it clear to me, at least, that any attempt to smile and strike up a conversation with them would be rebuffed. So I was all the more surprised when Kyung addressed me first, continued talking animatedly, if not a bit nervously, as we left the line, followed me to a table and sat down with me to break bread together.
I could not have predicted that from that encounter while waiting in the breakfast line a friendship would develop, which would last for the rest of my academic year at the Pushkin Institute. Indeed, Kyung was one of the last people I exchanged addresses with. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Before the exchange of addresses, Kyung and I got to know each other through long chats, long walks, and an adventure or two along the way.
For whatever reason, Kyung sought me out and then pursued me. He would drop by my room from time to time to talk. If I wasn't there, he would leave a note. For good reason, I hesitated to drop by his room. I could tell from the way they looked at us whenever they spotted us in the halls or the cafeteria that Kyung's compatriots were not happy with our friendship. I had read that for North Koreans, the Korean War might as well have happened yesterday and that they still considered the United States the enemy. One is suspicious of the enemy, and I could tell they were suspicious of me.
I knew how isolated North Korea was from the rest of the world. I was sure that their delegation's leader was aware of our friendship, and as the weeks and months went by, I was surprised that Kyung continued to associate with me. The North Koreans kept their distance even from the many other delegations from communist countries at the Pushkin Institute, yet here was one of their own who was not afraid to be seen with an American. It must have taken a certain amount of courage for Kyung to befriend me, and although we never talked about that, I admired him for it.
Conversations were free wheeling and, as our friendship grew, they evolved the way one would expect. Small talk about the weather gave way to talk about our intellectual interests, especially in languages and all things Russian, to our taste in food and drink, sports, and eventually our families, hometowns, childhoods, and anecdotes about school and friends.
Kyung could not remember a time when he was unaware of his country's "Great Leader," Kim Il-sung. Long before he started school, Kyung saw Kim's image everywhere- in his home, in some 30,000 monuments to himself all over the country, in all public buildings, on billboards, and even in movie theaters, where the Great Leader would descend from the clouds like a god before the film began. Once, he even saw Kim's image in my room. He dropped by one day and noticed a copy of "Newsweek" on the night table next to my bed. Kim was on the cover. "What does the article say," he asked me. It was an awkard moment for me, but by this time Kyung's and my friendship was well established, so I just decided to tell the truth. "Well, it says that President Kim is a sponsor of state terrorism. Our Secretary of State, James Baker, has stated that North Korea under President Kim has repeatedly provided support for international terrorism. There was no way to sugarcoat information like that, so I decided just to be direct. Kyung did not exactly offer a spirited defense of his Great Leader, and I was glad that he seemed reluctant to discuss it with me. I remember something like "Well, we do support legitimate revolutionary movements all over the world, but it isn't true that we promote terrorism." The moment was awkward for Kyung, too, and I was happy to leave it at that.
Although Kyung and I spent many hours together enjoying each others company, two incidents stand out when I remember our friendship. Kyung invited me to a cultural presentation hosted by the North Koreans, and I was happy to attend. As I recall, it was not driven by ideology but by love of country. A slide show featured beautiful places in the country and scenes of family and friends in everyday life. Attending that presentation seemed to break the ice with Kyung's compatriots, so when Kyung later invited me to join him and his delegation in a friendly game of cards, I accepted, a bit leery but also a bit hopeful that getting to know them would make things less awkward when bumping into them in the halls, the cafeteria or, worst of all, in the elevator.
The evening started off pleasantly enough. They had just gotten a care package from home, and I benefited from their parents' largesse. I could have done without the dried fish, not sure what it was but they were munching on it like we do pretzels and potato chips. A rice based liquor served as a tasty chaser for the fish, and after enough of it, the fish almost became palatable. Then, suddenly, even before a second toast, Kyung's friends started in on me about the Korean War, as if thirty some years had not gone by and it were still being waged. I was taken aback by their hostility, even anger all these years later about the conflict. I tried to be gracious, but at one point one of the cried out, "We won the war, and you lost it!" Despite my best efforts to remain diplomatic, that was too much! "Wait a minute," I responded, "while it's true that we didn't win the war, we didn't lose it either! You didn't win the war! It was a stand off." Kyung, who had heard enough, intervened on my behalf, reminding his friends that I was their guest and that it was rude to gang up on me and deride my county. I was grateful for his defense, even though I was again surprised by the courage it must have taken to defend the enemy to his compatriots. I am pleased to say that evening returned to the card game. Another couple of rounds of the rice liquor relieved the tension in the room, and the pleasant sound of laughter replaced the nastier sound of angry rhetoric.
One fine morning, Kyung burst into my room. He was in the best of mood. Kyung had something to tell me, and he got right to the point. "Kipp, do you know that our Great Leader will celebrate his birthday soon?" "Uh, no, I didn't, Kyung. That's nice." "Kipp, many people from all over the world are sending him cards congratulating him on his birthday." "Oh, that's nice, Kyung," was my reply. "Kipp, would you like to send him a letter congratulating him on his birthday?" "Uh, e-r-r, Kyung, I don't have the proper stationary for that." "Oh, I've got the proper stationery," was his immediate and enthusiastic reply. "Uh, Kyung, I only have cheap Soviet pens from GUM. I don't have the proper pen to write such a letter." "Oh, nonsense, Kipp! I have a nice pen!" In no time, I had exhausted all my excuses! Of course, I could have just said no. Perhaps I should have. But by this time, Kyung had become a close friend I admired. I just didn't have the heart, that's what it amounted to, to refuse his request. In no time, he left for his room and was back with the "proper" stationery and pen! I knew that the letter had to be a masterwork of restraint! I was able to tell the "Dear Leader" that I had seen a cultural presentation about his country, that it was very beautiful, and that his landsmen had been generous and hospitable to me. I can't remember exactly how I worded the birthday congratulations, but only the keenest of readings would have left the impression that I was wishing him a happy birthday. With some apprehension, I handed the missive over to Kyuung, who told me he would put it in an envelope, address it and send it on its way. To this day, I sometimes wonder whether that letter is in a file somewhere and whether it will ever see the light of day when communism falls in North Korea just like all those Stasi files saw the light of day when it fell in East Germany. I've joked with friends that I was probably one of a handful of Americans- the rest being being communists old enough to have been targeted by Woodrow Wilson's Espionage Act- who wrote Kim a letter congratulating him on his birthday. I hope I never find out!
In mid-June of 1988 my remarkable stay in Moscow was coming to an end. There were many goodbye parties. People from some fifty countries had come together at Pushkin to study Russian. We had so many friends and acquaintances from all over the world! I do not recall why, but my goodbye with Kyuung was rushed. We did promise each other a proper goodbye, but it did not happen. He came by my room, and he missed me. He left me a note with his address and a little gift, a 3-D postcard of some flowers. I remembered that the postcard was part of the display at the cultural presentation I attended. I dropped by his room and missed him. Unfortunately, I had no gift for him. I left him a note expressing my affection and admiration for him, and I left him my address.
I got home, and time went by. I knew better than to write Kyung first. If the authorities had caught wind of the fact that Kyung was corresponding with an American, and they surely would have in that totalitarian state, I was sure it would not be good for Kyung. I waited for a letter from him, but it never came. I do not blame my friend one bit! Who knows what happened after he got home. He spent lots of time with "the American," as his friends referred to me. That was brave but perhaps foolish.
I often think of Kyung. I wonder how he is. I even fantasize sometimes about going to that country and looking him up. I try to come up with scenarios that it could possibly work. Perhaps the Pushkin Institute could provide me with a roster of the names in the 1987-88 North Korean delegation. Perhaps I could visit the country. The World Affairs Council of Philadelphia does sponsor a trip to that state, but I know exactly what it would be like to visit there, because I visited East Germany in 1967, the Soviet Union in 1979, Cuba in 1996. All our time would be rigidly scheduled. There might be government arranged visits to factories and schools, perhaps even talks with North Koreans, but they would be officially government approved North Koreans just as they were official government approved East Germans in 1967, just as they were officially government approved Soviets when I had such talks in Moscow and St. Petersburg in 1979, and just as they were officially government approved Cubans when I visited there in June of 1996.
Yes, a reunion with Kyung is only a pipe dream. To my great regret, neither Kyung nor I thought to have a picture taken of us together. I have only his gift to remember him by. Actually, that is not true. I have many hours of friendship to remember him by. Many hours of great conversation characterized by much affection and by much laughter. Kyung will forever remain in my memory and in my heart. That will have to be enough.
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