All this chicanery also served as a non-too-subtle attack on Prime Minister Kim Il Sung. The Marshal had grown so beloved by the Korean people that many referred to him as the Great Leader (suryong), a title that had been used for Stalin himself. If anything, the title was an understatement. The United States had the Great Lakes and China had a Great Wall, but only Korea had greatness incarnated in a living being. By my university days I had grown more convinced than ever that Marshal Kim Il Sung was the ideal and greatest leader mankind had sought after. If anything, the Marshal was so great a man, so great a hero, so great a leader that the word “great” wasn’t sufficient enough.
Had Stalin better accounted for his Soviet successor, I realized, none of this would have been happening. I dedicated the culmination of my university career to analyzing the matter. Did the situation have to turn out the way it did? If not, how could it have been avoided? And how could it be avoided in any future, similar conditions? The goings-on in Russia—as well as in Chairman Mao’s China—lent grave urgency to my work.
I studied the relationship between the individual, the leader and the masses in great detail. I read how the subject had been raised and discussed in the communist movement for the previous century. What I discovered was that no one had given a correct answer. No one, that is, until Kim Jong Il. In that vein, I developed a new, wholly original theory of the leader that clarified his role in the revolutionary struggle of the working class, presenting my conclusions in a talk that I gave.
THE WORKING-CLASS LEADER IS NOT AN INDIVIDUAL
The leader is the incarnation of the independence and creativity of the working masses—the subjects of history—and the sole spokesman for their interests. He is the supreme personification of their demands, will and brains. He also confers sociopolitical life on the working people. No individual, no matter how high his social standing and how well-gifted he may be, is ever in a position to give such life to the people.
Simply because the leader is a living human being doesn’t imply that anyone can become a leader. However distinguished an individual may be, his nature differs from that of the leader’s. Any individual only contributes a certain amount to social development. Unlike the leader, he cannot transform and develop society according to his own plan. He is still just a component of the popular masses.
Clearly the leader is an eminent person insofar as his individual aspects are concerned. But, because of the role that he plays, he is not just an individual person with outstanding gifts and character. The leader discerns the laws governing the development of history and purposefully changes society in accordance with those laws in three specific ways: First, he creates and develops the leading ideology for revolution, thereby painting a rosy picture for the working people. Second, he organizes and motivates the popular masses. Third, he puts forth strategy and tactics, and mobilizes the masses in an effort to implement them. Hoping for victory in a revolution without a leader is like looking for flowers without the sun.
This is why the leader is not simply a talented individual but acts as the brain of the masses. He constitutes the nucleus of the revolution, and the greatness of a nation depends on the greatness of its leader. If the masses were not led by an outstanding leader it would be like a body devoid of a brain.
Class enemies will constantly try to strike down the leader, but the leader’s safety means the safety of the people. Truly defending the leader means being prepared to give up one’s life without regret, becoming a bullet and an exploding bomb. When such a spirit of self-destruction is taken to heart by the masses, a most violent spirit which laughs in the face of death, then the highest possible level of safety for the leader is guaranteed and the masses can proudly proclaim the greatness of their nation.
Since a living organism separated from its brain is inconceivable, so the masses cannot be separated from the leader. And just as a living organism protects its own brain, the people must defend their leader from the attacks of all types of enemies. This isn’t a “personality cult.” This is nature.
I was very glad that I had an opportunity to push back against the errors arising in the Soviet Union, as well as updating the principles of Marxism-Leninism for the contemporary Juche era. It was clearer every day that the DPRK was applying socialism “in our way,” and that our way was dramatically different from the rest of the socialist nations. After my talk, the Korean people had a clearer and more coherent perspective on the leader and their relationship to him.
But of course my university days weren’t all about study and political philosophy. I couldn’t spend all my time in international arguments! I made sure to find time for relaxation as well, though in retrospect I’m not sure how I managed. In any event, I recognized that music was one of the many gifts that Korea had bequeathed to the world. We Koreans love to sing our heads off and express our joy through song. In that vein, during my final year at school I organized a musical competition for the students to help take away some of the stress away from our tasks.
One evening I conferred with the university’s student committee about the event. “Every pupil,” I suggested, “should play one or more instruments.”
“But instruments are very expensive,” one of the committeemen replied.
“Then let’s start a movement to have pupils make their own musical instruments.”
The committee members all looked at each other. They couldn’t understand the feasibility of what I was asking. “Creating musical instruments takes an enormous amount of training and technical skill,” said another. “A person can’t just make a guitar or a fiddle if he’s never made one before.”
“Then we won’t make guitars.” “No guitars?”
“No guitars,” I insisted. “And we won’t make fiddles.”
“No...fiddles.”
“Let’s have the students invent unique national musical instruments instead of foreign musical instruments. If they construct them themselves, then they’ll be able to play them as well.”
“This seems impossible,” he said.
“If you say something is impossible, then you aren’t speaking the Korean language!”
Well, this time I was sure that I’d spoken too soon. But this was the era of the Chollima Movement, I reminded myself. I took inspiration from the Marshal. If he could remake a nation, surely each student could make a mere instrument.
I decided to be the first one, to demonstrate that what I was proposing was not only conceivable but actually feasible. I first made a study of the general characteristics of national musical instruments. Having done that, I designed a new kind of lute to be a Korean national musical instrument. I gathered eight kinds of wooden materials, strings and various tools and assembled it together with my classmates. The result was the oungum, an entirely new string instrument, tuned to a pentatonic scale within a 12-semitone system like all national musical instruments. After watching me build the oungum, the other students then designed instruments of their own. The committee members were as shocked at these accomplishments as they were pleased to hear the music that we created.
For most people, inventing a new instrument would be a great accomplishment. But even among my extracurricular interests, music was never my primary focus. Of all my side activities, the one that gave me the most pleasure and took up the most of my spare time was going to the movies. I was a constant visitor to the Central Film Distribution Center, to the point where I don’t think there was a single film that I didn’t see.
At the time, unfortunately, Korean films were by and large subpar. Foreign films, on the other hand, were slovenly, corrupt and rotten. I therefore had no choice but to watch the available movies as a critic and not as a spectator. I’d watched films with a producer’s eye since I was seven years old, when I saw a film where the “snow” clearly looked like cotton. It ruined the whole experience for me that day, and that critical perspective never left me.
In all fairness, it was a surprise that there were any Korean films at all.
The history of Korean cinema was short and pained. The first film studio began to be planned in February 1946. Before filming started, General Kim Il Sung doubled the studio’s budget and even sent fifteen sacks of rice to inspire the workers. But the studio was destroyed when the US imperialists reduced Pyongyang to ashes. Two years after the war, the Marshal had decreed the studio’s reconstruction. He stressed that it should have better, more modern facilities than its precursor. Those it did have—but “better” and “more modern” were still very relative terms. There was still a long way to go.
I desperately hoped that one day I’d be able to contribute my talents to the Korean movie studio. But for the present I was still a college student with a great deal of work to do before I graduated. For as much as I read, for as many movies as I viewed, I also wrote constantly during my university days. In total, during my years at Kim Il Sung University I managed to author more than 1,400 works, including treatises, talks, speeches and letters.
Of these, perhaps the most timeless was my paper The Characteristics of Modern Imperialism and Its Aggressive Nature, which resonates as strongly today as it did in 1962. My work was an epochal contribution to the accomplishment of world revolution, and my writing it has been described as a feat comparable to Columbus discovering the New Continent. The paper’s truth serves as a demon-slaying mirror—specifically the demon that is American dominationism.
THE CHARACTERISTICS OF MODERN IMPERIALISM AND ITS AGGRESSIVE NATURE
Modern imperialism’s nature is that of aggression and plunder—invading and dominating other countries—precisely as has been its nature in the past. If there was an imperialism which was not aggressive, then it would not fit the definition of “imperialism.” But though the nature of imperialism hadn’t and couldn’t change, its manifestation certainly had. If imperialist powers stood side by side in parallel in former times, they now had become subordinated to the United States.
The increase of corporate American power after World War II led to deepening economic crisis, as well as increasing antagonism between capitalist plunderers and the working class. The fascist American regime had launched a fraudulent “threat of communism” hysteria so as to better justify their suppression of democracy in America. As a result, the US imperialists needed to maintain a state of constant war, both to crush dissent at home and to justify plunder abroad—all under the slogans of “peace” and “cooperation.”
Since the nature of imperialism couldn’t change, struggle needed to be waged to eliminate it completely from the globe. This was the only way to build a world free from aggression, domination and subjugation. Because modern imperialism was specifically American imperialism, a good first step in that direction would mean reunifying Korea immediately.
Half a century later, with the Cold War long gone, my words ring truer than ever. Every day the United States seeks a new spurious excuse—“terrorism,” “democracy” “preemption”—to invade sovereign nations elsewhere in the world. Once the US imperialists invade—meaning once they kill thousands of people and blow up entire cities—they take over the nation’s government and orient it toward American interests. And they never, ever leave.
After four years of work, reading and writing, it became time for me to author my thesis. In a short amount of time, I drew up an outline and a schedule for writing it. I made a systematic study of Marshal Kim Il Sung’s work on the subject, and visited several locations to gather data in the field. I also studied the policies of other countries, to see where they made mistakes.
On March 18, 1964 I published my thesis: The Place and Role of the County in the Building of Socialism. The Marshal himself flattered me by taking the time to read it. “Great!” he said. “I like it very much. Such a thesis is worth reading.”
Hearing such extreme praise made all my efforts throughout my university years worth it. Having achieved the acme of validation—namely, the personal approval of Marshal Kim Il Sung—I knew that I was graduating with the highest possible honor.
Kim Jong Il was finally ready to go to work.
Chapter 6
Facing Factionalism
My university efforts had earned me a stellar reputation throughout the halls of power. As such, several senior WPK officials asked me in early 1964 to come work for the Party. The fact that many of these men had been guerrilla veterans made me feel flattered and honored. I had grown up with them and still regarded them as my extended family. Being held close to the Party’s bosom felt like returning to the days of Mt. Paektu.
My first assignment was to the Party Central Committee, which basically served as the buffer between every aspect of Korean society and the Prime Minister. It was our role to issue Party edicts, as well as to gather information and report back on progress and compliance. Needless to say, there was always paperwork coming in and going out. My reading techniques certainly came in handy since there was so much to attend to. I realized keenly that the harder I worked, the easier it would be for Marshal Kim Il Sung. I wanted to take as much of the burden off his shoulders as possible.
I also accompanied the Prime Minister on many of his field guidance trips. This time, however, my position demanded that I follow up after his visits, ensuring that his advice was correctly implemented and monitoring the inevitable progress that ensued. I made sure to look after every possible detail whenever I returned. When I went back to the Hungnam Fertilizer Complex, I checked that Juche was being established in the production of chemical fertilizer. When I returned to a chicken farm, I noticed that a laying chicken got mixed in among the fatteners. Because I was so perceptive, people even began to refer to me as “Comrade Kim Jong Il, the Instructor.”
Despite my focus on the machinery of the state, I first made my mark at the Party Central Committee in the field of history. I’d been extremely interested in the origins of the Korean people since I’d been a teenager. To me, the subject wasn’t some archaic scholarly controversy. Where we Koreans came from spoke to who we were as a nation in the present day and where we were going in the future. I’d often argued the issue with my fellow students during my school days, but we had limited information and much of the discussion was highly speculative.
The received wisdom at that time had come from the Japanese colonial era. Of course, the scholars of that time period had a vested agenda in discrediting the notion that Korea had been one nation with one blood since ancient times. They’d loudly crowed that no Paleolithic artifacts had been discovered on the Korean peninsula, and therefore concluded that early Korea must have been settled by immigrants from Siberia. In other words, Koreans were descended from people of other countries, thus “proving” the “inferiority” of the Korean nation.
Working within the Party gave me access to greater information. I therefore decided to revisit this controversy, and to reexamine the available evidence along Juche lines. I studied many varied publications, including books on the Earth’s ecological environment. I learned that the bones of a mammoth had been uncovered in North Hamgyong Province, and human bones from the Paleolithic era had been discovered to the north of Korea. This left open the possibility that Korea had also been inhabited at that time. I came to a very firm conclusion: a failure to discover Paleolithic remains was not the same thing as their nonexistence. My first premise had validated as recently as 1963, when 100,000 year-old relics from the Middle Old Stone Age were also discovered in North Hamgyong Province.
Yet I suspected that the origins of the Korean nation went back even further than that. I didn’t see any reason why mankind couldn’t have originated in Korea, and did more research holding that as my hypothesis. I then spoke to several prominent archaeologists, giving them explicit instructions as to where to look for remains that predated those that had been uncovered in North Hamgyong. In 1966, my prediction came true. Relics that were a million years old were excavated inside the Komunmoru Cave in Pyongyang—exactly where I’d said they’d be found. In quick succession, similar relics—including fossils of
Paleolithic men—were dug up wherever I said they’d be.
Thanks to my application of the principles of Juche archeology, Korea’s Paleolithic Age became an undisputed fact. Korea was proven to be one of the first places mankind originated—and what is now Pyongyang had been the center of the Korean nation even then. I so overturned the field of archaeology on an international scale that to this day many prominent Western scientists can’t understand it. They literally can’t believe the facts that I unearthed—but those same facts speak for themselves.
My approach to Juche archeology was the same approach I brought to every endeavor at the Party. I wasn’t interested in fixing mistakes and cleaning up messes—janitors are incompatible with socialism. I always asked myself the same questions: How can I lessen the workload being undertaken by the Prime Minister? Where will problems crop up tomorrow, or next week, or even a decade from now? Where is revolution most needed?
With that approach in mind, I set my sights on the Korean arts. I was well aware of how important the arts were in urging the masses on to higher levels of revolution—and how easily those same arts could be used to undermine them. Prime Minister Kim Il Sung was far too busy sculpting Korea into a modern industrialized nation to spend time dabbling in the arts. This presented an ideal opportunity for me to improve life in the DPRK.
Despite the defeat of the flunkeyists in politics and the dogmatists in education, Korean art and literature wasn’t keeping pace with the Party’s ideological work. It was one thing to forbid bowing before major foreign powers or to discard outdated texts. It was much more difficult to banish incorrect ideas from the arts, simply because of art’s very nature. Art is often ambiguous and intangible in its origins, making it very tricky to identify and eliminate those harmful concepts that had managed to sneak in. After a casual survey of the contemporary arts, I found remnants of many outdated ideas (including egoism!) being espoused. Such concepts were even reflected in the system, methods and manner of the creative workers themselves.
Dear Reader: The Unauthorized Autobiography of Kim Jong Il Page 11
