Fischer - A Kim Jong-Il production: the extraordinary true story of a kidnapped filmmaker, his star actress, and a young dictators rise to power

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For Mom, Dad, and Crosby

Contents

The primary source for this book is the firsthand account of their time and experiences in North Korea by Shin Sang-Ok and Choi Eun-Hee. Shin and Choi have written several memoirs and articles about the years they spent working for Kim Jong-Il, which I have used as a starting point for the research and telling of this story, cross-checking dates and facts against other contemporary accounts, news archives, academic research, and original interviews. I have conducted nearly fifty original interviews with participants in the story as well as North Korean defectors, either involved in Shin and Chois own story or who simply lived in North Korea in the 1970s and 1980s and informed my description of that time. And while North Korea largely remains a mystery to outsiders, there are tools today that can help confirm or disprove information, such as Google Earth, used by many studying North Korea to locate buildings and landmarks described by those North Koreans who have escaped. Wherever possible I have traveled to the locales of the action: to South Korea, Austria, Germany, Hungary, Hong Kong, and, of course, North Korea.

Most of the physical descriptions in the text are taken from contemporary photographs or footage. Dialogue is only in quotes if quoted in an original source, such as Shin and Chois memoirs. On occasion, I have shortened dialogue, but I have made rigorous efforts not to excise elements that would alter the intended meaning or tone. Where dialogue was available from several different sources, I chose the translation that seems most accurate and natural in the context, or found the original source and commissioned a new translation from a professional native speaker. My own Korean is extremely rudimentary, so any errors of judgment are, of course, entirely my own.

It has become a truism about accounts of North Korea that, because of the DPRKs isolation and lack of transparency, each story must be taken at the tellers word. I have endeavored to corroborate facts wherever it was possible to do so. A more detailed discussion of the process employed to verify Mr. Shin and Madame Chois personal version of the facts can be found at the end of this book.

Korean names are written with the surname first, followed by the personal name: for example, Kim is the family name, Jong-Il the first name. As there is no fixed style regarding spelling (Kim Jong-Il has sometimes been transliterated as Kim Chong-Il, and Choi Eun-Hee as Choe Un-Hui), I have chosen the most common spellings for all names involved. When there was any doubt, I tried to write the names in the most natural, readable way for a Western reader.

Until the early twentieth century, Koreans traditionally made no use of family names. It was the Japanese empire, when it colonized the peninsula, that legally required Koreans to do so. The vast majority of Koreans, seeing an opportunity to enhance the perceived prestige of their lineage, chose one of a handful of family namesKim, Lee, Park, Pak, Shinassociated with the countrys landed nobility, so that today only about 270 surnames are shared by over seventy-five million Koreans. Any people appearing here with the same surname are not related, unless specifically indicated.

KIM JONG-IL

The Great Leaders son, and head of the Propaganda Film Studios

SHIN SANG-OK

South Korean film mogul

CHOI EUN-HEE

South Korean film actress

KIM IL-SUNG

North Koreas Great Leader, founder of the DPRK

The last thing Shin Sang-Ok remembered was sitting in his cell, unable to feel his own heartbeat, too weak to move or stand. He had been held in a North Korean detention center for almost two years, crammed inside a solitary cell barely big enough to lie down in, with one tiny slit of a window high up on the wall and thick steel bars across it. Bugs teemed through cracks in the floor. Except for a thirty-minute lunch break, a ten-minute supper, and a thirty-minute sunning period in the prison yard, he was required to sit in the exact same position all day, head bowed and motionless, absolutely stock-still, or suffer even greater punishment.

He had been on a hunger strike for five days when he lost consciousness. Now, awakening in a prison infirmary, he struggled to breathe. The August air was hot and thick with humidity. A blinding headache blurred his thoughts. His mouth felt dry and metallic, and his stomach was seized with cramps. The simplest movement hurt.

This guy is probably going to make it, a voice said. He just moved his toes.

Shin blinked his eyes open. An investigator was standing by his bed, a high-ranking military officer at his side. A prison guard stood attentively behind them. The two men talked among themselves in agitated tones, never addressing Shin directly. After a short while, all three men left.

It was then that Shin became aware of another prisoner in the room. The convict pulled a chair up by Shins bed and brought him a tray of food. Shin knew him. He was a trusty, an inmate given charge of basic tasks around the prisonsweeping, mopping, serving food, and delivering messagesin exchange for more freedom and time out of his cell. Often a trusty was also a snitch; it was the way he had obtained his position and the way he kept it.

Eat, the trusty said.

Shin looked at the tray: rice soup, a bowl of stew, and an egg. By prison standards the food was luxurious. Shin turned it down anyway. When the trusty spooned some soup out of the bowl and tried to feed him, Shin pinched his mouth shut tight. Take it, the trusty insisted. It will do you good. You need to eat. The man persisted, and eventually Shin gave in. At first, the thought of food made him feel sick, but one taste and his hunger rushed back. He quickly devoured most of the meal but, in gratitude, left some of it for the trusty.

What happened? Shin asked.

You missed roll call yesterday, the trusty said. I went to check on you and found you unconscious on the floor. You should have seen their faces. They were so scared theyd let you die. They sent for the doctor and he checked your pulse and had you taken here. Theyll be relieved to know you will live.

The trusty eyed him carefully. Now I really know youre an important person. No one cares here if a prisoner dies. I went on hunger strike once. They told me that a man dies in ten days from hunger, a woman fifteen. It didnt take me long to give in and start begging for food. Ive heard of important prisoners on hunger strike being held down and force-fed through a funnelthey wouldnt even do that for you. For the sake of your pride, they said. Thats how important you are.