“But I AM the inminbanjang!”

John Everad

The author is a former British ambassador to North Korea.

When I lived in Pyongyang in the late 2000s, I was often struck by the extent and complexity of North Koreans’ personal networks and the effort they put into maintaining them.

At the core were family and “friends.” North Korean families had squabbles and problems like families everywhere, but in times of trouble they closed ranks, helping and protecting even distant relatives. My contacts were fiercely critical of characters in the South Korean dramas they secretly watched who failed to look after family members. That Kim Jong-un had his uncle by marriage, Jang Song Thaek, executed in 2013 must therefore have shocked North Koreans deeply.

“Friend” means something quite different in North Korea from the South. When two North Koreans are friends, they support each other whatever happens and remain loyal. Groups of friends exchanged illegal information and sometimes watched South Korean dramas together, so one member could wreck the lives of the others by denouncing them. Complete trust was essential. When I told North Korean friends about someone who might interest them, they always asked, “Can he be trusted?” When a waitress at a Pyongyang hotel was banished to a provincial town after an improper relationship with a foreign visitor, what most distressed her acquaintances was that one of her friends must have denounced her.

Beyond this intimate circle, North Koreans invested considerable time and energy in sprawling networks of contacts with whom they exchanged gossip and favors. Men spent time together in ubiquitous smoke-filled covered beer stands, while more senior men expected gifts. Cigarettes were common currency for small favors, while bottles of luxury alcohol were passed upward to more important contacts. One acquaintance joked that such bottles circulated like money and doubted anyone ever actually drank them.

There were three reasons my North Korean acquaintances invested so heavily in these networks.

First, they were early-warning and support systems. My contacts often heard in advance about imminent crackdowns by security agencies or party campaigns and knew to be especially careful, hiding illicit objects such as DVDs of South Korean dramas. When one friend was caught drinking coffee from a machine reserved for VIP visitors, her boss threatened to denounce her to the party unless she resigned. She mobilized her family and friends and eventually asked her father, a senior military officer, to intervene. A phone call from him made the problem disappear.

Second, networks were vital sources of unofficial news and information. My contacts knew that state media, including Korean Central Television, offered half-truths at best, so trusted friends and family pooled unofficial information. Relatives in far-flung provinces reported what was happening there, and news of startling events such as executions traveled quickly. Foreign friends were also prized as sources of information and as people with whom North Koreans could check what they had heard elsewhere. Access to a foreigner also raised a person’s standing within a trusted circle.

Third, personal networks were essential for protection. Laws in North Korea are enforced capriciously, and because it is extremely difficult to make ends meet without breaking at least some laws, most people are vulnerable to punishment. Whether someone is actually prosecuted often depends on their relationship with those in a position to denounce them.

This makes the inminbanjang, or head of the neighborhood unit, particularly powerful. Usually responsible for managing and monitoring an apartment block or row of houses, they are expected to report illicit activity within their neighborhood unit. The inminbanjang were often reluctant to pass denunciations upward because trouble in their unit could reflect badly on them. Residents who maintained good relations with them by doing favors, helping them avoid criticism and giving gifts would therefore often find their illegal activities went unreported.

Incidentally, every inminbanjang I met or heard of was a woman. While North Korean politics at the highest level is dominated by men, at the grassroots it is mostly women who wield power.

I have written about a particular group of people, mostly from the outer elite, in Pyongyang at a particular time. Perhaps North Koreans outside Pyongyang, or North Koreans today, operate differently. But frankly, I doubt the difference is great.

Readers will know better than I how similar this reliance on networks is to life in South Korea. I have read that during the Joseon Dynasty (1392–1910), officials maintained sprawling networks both for personal protection and to advance their careers. They seem similar to what I found in North Korea. It is one of many ways in which North Korea resembles a social fossil, a society frozen in time.

The last word should go to an older woman I knew. She told me that relatives from the provinces had appeared unannounced at her doorstep and that she was letting them stay in her apartment.

I asked whether accommodating unregistered relatives might get her into trouble with her inminbanjang.

She drew herself up to her full height, looked me straight in the eye and said forcefully:

“But I AM the inminbanjang!”