In keeping with the requirements of modern warfare, General Kim Il Sung constantly developed new tactics by taking into account both Korea’s geographical features and advances in weaponry. As a result, the “UN” Forces and the Syngman Rhee puppet army were successfully driven out of the northern half of Korea. The General then decided to ensure that no American soldier would ever step foot in north Korea again. The KPA built strong tunnel positions along the foremost line and on both coasts, and then used the tunnels to make raids on the Yankees. By June 1951, the front settled approximately along the 38th parallel. Not one inch had been ceded to the Yank bastards.
Bewildered by their string of defeats, the US imperialists racked their brains for a loophole. Unfortunately for them but luckily for Korea, they did not have the mind of General Kim Il Sung to call on. Stuck with the psychotic ravings of Harry Truman, war maniac, they were compelled to propose ceasefire negotiations.
The negotiations were a farce. The Yankee bastards were simply attempt to accomplish through ‘diplomacy’ what they were unable to achieve by force. Failing to achieve their duplicitous aim, the US imperialists broke off negotiations and launched what they called “strangulation” operations. This was their attempt to “strangle” the KPA by bombing north of the 38th parallel and cutting off the line of reinforcements.
Beginning that summer, I constantly heard the sounds of bombs dropping. I was on edge every second of every day. I never stopped wondering if today was the day when some American pilot would press the button that would kill me or one of my friends. Though none of my classmates said as much, I could tell that they all felt the same way. The way they sat in class, gripping their pencils and their books with all their strength, spoke to their tension. But rather than hiding like some of the other children, I always made it a point to watch as the planes dropped bombs in the distance. I wanted to never forget the sight of the Yank devils raining murder upon the brave Korean people.
One day after school, I saw an enemy plane get shot down by a KPA antiaircraft gun. My jaw dropped. I could clearly make out the Yankee airman parachuting down. I watched him fall towards a ravine, one that wasn’t too far from my house. I ran outside and headed to where he was landing. I wanted to get a good look at this monster who was saving his own life after heartlessly killing who knew how many innocent Koreans.
Many others had the same thought, and I had to push my way through a huge crowd to see the villain. I watched as the KPA men restrained the enemy flier. Even though the Yanks had been the Korean people’s sworn enemy for close to a century, it was the first time that I saw one face-to-face. He didn’t look like a man—at least none that I’d ever seen. If anything, he looked like a cornered wolf, goggling his deep-set eyes and trembling with fear.
I could sense the tide of rising indignation from the crowd. They picked up pebbles and closed in on the Yankee bastard. “Look at him!” I said. “Look how frightened he is! No matter how many of these brutes attack us, we have no need to fear them. We should beat them with a stick, and without mercy. Get him out of my sight!”
As the men took the murderer away, I realized what a victory the General was inaugurating for freedom-loving peoples everywhere. The Americans’ plan for world domination was heavily based on their image of invincibility. They often boasted that they could conquer any nation they desired at any time, so any resistance would be pointless. Now, less than a decade after “winning” World War II and inaugurating an “American century,” the US imperialists were very publicly facing defeat in the small Korean peninsula. American invincibility was being exposed for what it was: Propaganda. A myth. A lie.
As 1951 drew to a close, the US imperialists increasingly realized that north Korea had grown beyond their grasp forever and accordingly implemented a change of plans. The so-called “best army in the world” decided to do the one thing that it actually was best at: killing as many people as possible. Omar Bradley, America’s very first Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, said it clearly: “The goal in Korea is to produce the maximum casualties.”
Echoing the Axis of World War II, the Yankees now aligned with the Japs to draw up a barbarous war plan. Japan was changed from a vanquished nation into a supply base for germ warfare, as the Japanese delivered their biological weapons research to the Americans. Korea was no longer a battleground—she was now a testing ground, a chance for the US imperialists to perform military experiments on actual human beings.
I heard the news, and even I could scarcely believe it. Despite all that the Americans had done, despite seeing one of the beasts in the flesh, I still didn’t think them capable of such depravity. But not only were they capable, they excelled at it. Beginning in November 1951, the Americans began to visit plagues upon Korea. During the night, germ bombs were dropped by B-29s over the northeast and northwest areas of Korea. These bombs were filled to the limit with insects: flies, fleas, bedbugs, mosquitoes, lice, beetles and grasshoppers. The insects themselves were infected with such diseases as cholera, typhus and the bubonic plague. Terrible epidemics spread. People developed fevers which led to severe pains and then, inevitably, death.
Germ warfare affects everyone indiscriminately, which is why it is so strictly forbidden by international law. Every single person in the north now had no option but to take part in the war. A powerful mass movement was launched to cope with the germ warfare. Newly-erected observation posts discovered the toxic bombs as they fell, which were then quickly destroyed. The illnesses were soon kept to a minimum, and the Americans were foiled once more.
The Americans next resorted to saturation bombing in a final attempt to wipe Korea off the map. The heinous American murderers destroyed factories, schools, theatres and houses at random. Helpless, I watched streets being reduced to heaps of ashes. The Yankees were trying their hardest to completely level the mountainous land that was north Korea. “When I grow up,” I shouted at the planes, “I will make you pay a thousand times more for the blood shed by our people!”
Once again, General Kim Il Sung’s brilliant command saved the day. The very same B-29s which had bombed Japan were shot down one after another in Korea by Koreans using Korean tactics. American planes were shot down, not by Soviet-supplied guns, but by Korean antiaircraft guns made up of rifles installed on cart wheels. American warships were sunk, not by Chinese naval vessels, but by the small torpedo-boats of the KPA. The Korean people were protected from artillery attacks, not by hi-tech foreign weapons, but by bombproof shelters and tunnels—in other words, by the Korean land itself. It was Juche tactics that pushed back the unprecedented assault, and it was only Juche tactics that could have done so.
All anyone could talk about was the future of Korea, whether there’d be anything to salvage even if victory was declared. Even though I was only ten years old, I realized that there was something extremely crucial that no one was giving enough thought to: the health and well-being of General Kim Il Sung. I knew he must have been barely sleeping. I knew that every single lost Korean life was like losing a child for him. I knew I had to step into Mother’s footsteps, to go see him and take care of him— but I simply couldn’t.
In early 1952, I realized that the General’s fortieth birthday would be coming up, on April 15. Even though we’d been separated for almost two years at that point, I knew he wouldn’t be thinking of himself on that day. What should have been a major national holiday would pass by under the clouds of war. I assembled my school’s art circle and convinced them that we should put together a colorful performance to celebrate the blessed day. Despite the trying circumstances facing our nation, the other students also wanted to greet the event as best they could. They wanted to sing songs and to dance, not hear bombs explode and hide from danger.
We began rehearsals immediately, different groups practicing their parts wherever and whenever they had time. One afternoon, I was walking past a classroom when I heard a girl rehearsing her poem inside. I knew the poem well, as it was popular at the time. “Wher
e Are You, My Dear?” was about a mother yearning for her daughter who was fighting, somewhere, at the front. The title referred to the mother calling out in grief for her daughter to return home safe and sound.
I stopped dead in my tracks, my fists shaking. I barged into the room, startling the girl. “Which Korean mother is tearing at her chest, crying for her daughter who has gone to the front?” I yelled.
“What?” the girl said. She didn’t have any idea what I was talking about.
“Our mothers have sent their sons and daughters to war to vanquish the enemy. They tell their children to crush the Yanks and to come back home as heroes. The mothers of the fighting Koreans aren’t feeble-hearted with worry. Do you know where I first heard this poem?”
“I don’t,” the girl admitted, bowing her head.
“Last New Year’s, someone recited it at the entertainment gathering. The room which had been so gay and cheerful suddenly became filled with desolation. That poem is full of nothing but venom! Invisible, dreadful venom.”
“So what should I do?” she asked me.
“We have many great poems like ‘Mt. Paektu’,” I told her. “It would be better to read a poem that fills the audience with inspiration rather than war-weariness.”
“That’s a wonderful idea.”
On April 15th, the performance went off very smoothly. I knew better than to expect General Kim Il Sung to attend; he had far more important things to concern himself with. All I hoped was that he would know, somehow, that the students supported him with all their hearts, and that we would be cheering the KPA on to victory until our last breath.
I was doing my homework the following week when the phone rang. To my delight, it was the General himself. “I heard about the performance you organized. I am very proud. I’m going on a field guidance tour in Sinuiju next week and I want you to come with me.” For a moment I was shocked that he knew about my little show. After all, he was busy trying to win a war! Then I realized this was further evidence that the General knew everything that was going on in Korea at all times.
FIELD GUIDANCE
In capitalist countries, administrative executives live lives completely removed from the people. They are surrounded by bodyguards, and only engage in staged interactions with their supporters. But in Korea, General Kim Il Sung originated a popular leadership method known as “field guidance.” He believed that he should go wherever the people worked, rather than remaining stuck in an office. When he visited coal mines, he met with the miners and listened to their opinions. Then he looked into every corner of their lives, examining their hostels and dining halls. He sat with farmers in their fields, and housewives in their flats. If necessary, he even stayed in the farther provinces for several days to acquaint himself with the local situation. This method didn’t change even during the war, and it was how he was so aware of what was happening everywhere in Korea.
Through field guidance, the General established the policy of the Workers’ Party of Korea and the state. This was why the Korean people trusted and supported government policy so thoroughly: They themselves were the ones who dictated it. His field guidance tours were of course highly anticipated and famously touted in the press. The people knew that their every concern would be listened to and taken care of due to the politics of loving care.
For me to accompany General Kim Il Sung on field guidance was a huge honor, and I could barely contain myself. I also missed my father, and wanted to see him. Apparently the feeling was mutual. When I saw him again the following week—for the first time in months—he paused and then smiled. “You are growing up very quickly, Comrade Jong Il.”
“Yes, General,” I said. My heart was overcome with every possible good emotion, but I maintained the calm demeanor befitting a revolutionary.
That afternoon was a military field guidance tour. We visited KPA artillery units and a tunnel construction site. It was very exciting to see the actual weapons and edifices that I’d been reading about in the newspapers. It felt like I was inside a storybook—one that surely had a happy ending of victory over the cursed Americans.
As we walked around, the General constantly stopped to examine every little detail. With great ease, he offered many suggestions that instantly and enormously improved productivity and morale. All the soldiers watched him with great admiration, hanging onto his every word. A few even gave me knowing looks of respect, which I treasured enormously.
That evening we began to drive back to Pyongyang. As we came to a fork in the road, the driver went to turn down the highway.
“Let’s take the lane instead,” General Kim Il Sung said.
The driver hesitated. “Are you sure? That way looks very rough.” “Didn’t the General say that the car should go along the lane?” I barked. “Drive the car on that road immediately! We should always do what the General says without fail because his instructions are always correct.”
The driver turned along a narrow path across some foothills, and soon we crossed a wooden bridge over a gorge. Suddenly scores of enemy bombers appeared in the sky. The planes rained bombs on the highway that we almost went down, carpeting it completely. I’d never been so close to a detonation before. My ears began to ring as the bombs burst with terrific explosions. Worse, I could make out the shrapnel cutting through the air with shrill, screeching howls. It was far too obvious what would have happened if we’d disobeyed General Kim Il Sung’s request.
I turned to look at him, but the General showed no fear whatsoever. His jaw was set in firm determination. “This isn’t the closest I’ve come to death. Do you see this?” he said, pointing at the back of his neck.
“Do you mean that bump?” I said.
“It’s a war wound, and it’s been growing every year. It’s too close to an artery to be removed, so it’ll keep growing all my life. One inch in another direction, though, and that would have killed me. So this attack means nothing.”
“No,” I said. “It means that the enemy must’ve had some hint of the route that we were to take.”
General Kim Il Sung nodded, having come to the same upsetting conclusion. It felt like we didn’t take a single breath the entire way back to the capital. The tension was so strong in the car that I feared for what would happen when we arrived back at Supreme Headquarters. I knew the General’s fury would be a terrifying thing to behold.
When we pulled up to headquarters, the General threw the car door open and bolted inside. I followed after him as fast as my little feet could take me. It seemed as if every inch of the room was covered in maps, books and charts. I quietly sat down in the corner in his office, just like I when I’d been younger. I didn’t speak as General Kim Il Sung looked through some papers, wanting to confirm some information.
Then the General abruptly stormed into the hall. He returned to the office a few minutes later, pacing with tremendous fury. A while after that several guards came in, dragging a pair of prisoners behind them. I recognized the men from the newspapers as disgraced Party traitors.
The General finally acknowledged that I was in the room. “Take a look at these men,” he told me. “They’d already admitted to being spies on the US imperialists’ payroll. But clearly they still have allies in positions of power, allies who almost succeeded in the killing of us both. Do you know what happens now, Comrade Jong Il?”
“No,” I said.
General Kim Il Sung turned back to the class enemies with a look full of anger and contempt. “Now, my brave KPA soldiers are going to interrogate these traitors until they let me know who those allies are.”
For me, this was perhaps the scariest moment of the war. Of course I’d understood that class enemies were everywhere. But I never thought they’d be able to get this close to the General. I never thought that they’d be able to so convincingly portray themselves as loyal. It wasn’t a surprise that the US imperialists—who had engaged in germ warfare—would try to assassinate General Kim Il Sung. What was surprising is that they’d find Koreans so w
illing to join with them. This meant that traitors could be anyone and anywhere. The struggle against them couldn’t be suspended even for a moment.
Then I had an epiphany. “Do you know the poem ‘Where Are You, My Dear?’?” I blurted out.
Every head in the room jerked to look at me, as if they couldn’t believe that I was interrupting. “Go on,” the General said. “Explain what you mean, young comrade.”
“That poem was written to spread a spirit of capitulation,” I explained. “Was this done intentionally?”
“What?” said one of the traitors. “How would I know?”
The General cuffed him across the face for his impudence. “Answer the question!”
“Yes!” said the other traitor. “The poet was an anti-Party, counter-revolutionary factionalist. He was a paid spy. Just like us.”
“We’ll find this ‘poet’ soon enough,” said General Kim Il Sung. “We will pull these counterrevolutionary weeds by their roots and exterminate every last one of them.”
“Right away,” said one of the soldiers. The KPA men dragged the class enemies away to be interrogated, leaving General Kim Il Sung and I alone in the office.
“You see that I need people that I can trust,” the General told me. “I hadn’t thought of you in this way, since you are my son and you are still quite young. But despite your youth, you’ve demonstrated your loyalty to me and to the revolution time and time again.”
Dear Reader: The Unauthorized Autobiography of Kim Jong Il Page 6
