When former US president Bill Clinton visited Korea’s Demilitarized Zone (DMZ), he described it as the ‘scariest place on Earth’. With the recent death of the ‘Dear Leader’, Kim Jong -il, the world’s eyes have been glued to the most intriguing images of North Korea’s military state. It has been a strange viewing experience, akin to watching black and white footage of life in East Berlin in the former GDR. What has caught my attention is the two and a half mile wide buffer zone separating North and South Korea, known as the DMZ. Within this veritable no man’s land are two tiny villages, Kijong-dong (NK) and Daeseong-dong (SK). Facing off across the most heavily militarized border in the world, these two little enclaves have managed to survive almost fifty years of existing within an atmosphere similar to that inside a stretched elastic band. Ready to snap at any minute. Two worlds in one field.
The Korean War is not over because it never officially ended. However, in 1953 an Armistice Agreement was signed whereby both sides agreed to retreat by 2000 metres. As a result a buffer zone was created in the middle to try and keep some sort of peace. This is essentially an ongoing ceasefire as opposed to a real end to the conflict. In reality, operations could begin again at any minute. There is a joint security area in the middle where North and South soldiers literally face off through glass. The number of personnel involved in securing this border illustrate just how precarious the situation remains after nearly fifty years. There are a staggering 600,000 South Korean soldiers and 37,000 American soldiers on the South side. There are thought to be up to 1,000,000 North Korean soldiers on the opposing side. Between these gigantic armies, the villages of Kijong-dong and Daeseong-dong exist. After the buffer zone was created these were the only two villages allowed to remain due to the fact that the families’ descendants had owned that particular land for generations. Both armies guard them with fierce protection. However, due to their extraordinary positions, they have both become important ideological symbols since the early ‘50s. In the 80’s the South Korean government erected a 320ft flagpole in their village. Kim Il-sung, North Korean leader at the time, responded by building a 520ft flagpole in Kijong-dong. As the villages are only one mile apart, this symbolic adversity became known as ‘the Flagpole War’. The Kijong-dong flag weighs 600lbs. Due to its enormous weight it needs to be replaced three times a year as it shreds itself to pieces in high velocity winds.
When Kijong-dong was built in the early 1950’s it was designed to be as appealing as possible to the South in order to entice defectors. It was a state of the art compound of brightly painted poured concrete buildings with electric lighting. This level of sophistication would have been unheard of in the rest of the country at that time. Up until recently, there would be daily propaganda messages broadcast from enormous speakers on the sides of the buildings, just loud enough so that the villagers in Daeseong-dong could hear and perhaps be enticed to move to the ‘other side’. Of course nobody other than defectors can get anywhere near the North Korean village due to the border separating the two places. However, with the aid of high-tech lenses, new light has been shed on Kijong-dong. What is now clear is that Kijong-dong is in fact a fake propaganda village. Nobody lives there. There is no glass in the windows. The rooms are empty shells. The ‘kindergarten’ is an empty colourful set of bricks. The ‘hospital’ is abandoned. In a sort of pathetic gesture, the north still maintains the facade of a living town. Every night the lights are switched on in the buildings. Caretakers sweep the ‘streets’ occasionally.
Across one mile of minefields lies the South Korean village of Daeseong-dong. Why would anyone want to live in this environment, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of soldiers and mines? The incentives are considerable. South Korean inhabitants live tax-free in Daeseong-dong. They farm their paddy fields and ginseng crops with a guaranteed sale of produce. Anything they don’t sell is bought up by the military. As a result, the average income of the 210 villagers is an astonishing $90,000. They are also exempt from Korea’s compulsory military service. A nice perk, if you ask me. On the downside, there is an 11pm curfew. Why? This is a dangerous place. There have been kidnappings by the North, most recently in 2007. In 1976 two American soldiers were trimming the branches of a poplar tree in the DMZ. This was interpreted as volatile behaviour by the North. The American soldiers were hacked to death with an axe. In fact, this is illustrative of just how tense this area has been over the past half a century. Writing during a 1998 tour of the Joint Security Area, a Washington Post journalist remarked, ‘It’s serious and quiet here, with soldiers everywhere warning tourists against making any sudden or provocative movements’. Anything out of the ordinary may antagonise the North Koreans to do something retaliatory.
With the advent of North Korea’s new leader, Kim Jong-un, the fate of these villagers, and indeed the hundreds of thousands of soldiers fortifying their borders, remains to be seen. Will he seek appeasement or will he continue to build his country’s nuclear arsenal? Will the 'buffer zone' remain a buffer zone or become a battlefield? The four tunnels that the North has attempted to dig into the South are frightening symbols of an ongoing project to penetrate the border. Mark Tran, writing in the Guardian, calls this place ‘a living museum of the Cold War’. Will it remain a ‘museum’ or become something alot more active? The aforementioned Washington Post journalist described his experience in the Joint Security Area thus, ‘It’s an odd feeling to stand here being watched by the North Koreans in their guard towers just a hundred yards away. And it’s even odder to look out and know that dug into those harmless-looking hills are enough soldiers and artillery to wage a war of unthinkable bloodiness’.
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