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This spring marks the 10th anniversary of the Ryongchon disaster — the largest and perhaps the most mysterious disaster in the entire North Korean history.
It happened at 1 p.m. on April 22, 2004,when a massive explosion wiped out a railway station in Ryongchon and the surrounding areas of the adjacent town.
The force of the explosion was estimated to be equal to 800-1,000 tons of TNT. To use a nuclear analogue, it was a 1-kiloton explosion.
The results were spectacular and awful. Initial reports put the numbers killed and wounded in many thousands. Officially, the North Korean media eventually claimed that 154 people were killed and 1,700 were wounded.
However, given North Korea's notorious habit of underreporting casualties from manmade and natural disasters, such figures look quite dubious.
All buildings within 1.5 km of the epicenter of the explosion were severely damaged or destroyed completely. The Red Cross later estimated that some 1,800 houses ceased to exist. One of the buildings housed a local primary school, and it is therefore reasonable to assume that many children and teachers suffered as a result of this disaster.
The explosion was seen and heard in China, some 15km away. This might be the major reason why the North Korean authorities decided to do what they normally avoid: they reported the incident officially.
Indeed, they could not possibly hide it since Ryongchon is located on the major railway line connecting North Korea with the outside world. Travelling foreigners were sure to have seen the massive devastation with their own eyes.
North Korea's agitprop shock brigades took prudential measures: they reported the disaster while emphasizing the heroism and patriotism of the Ryongchon people.
As is the norm, we were treated to usual stories of heroic teachers who bravely rescued the portraits of Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il while also sparing some time to evacuate children — media reports made sure readers knew what was more important.
The explosion was notable for another reason: It occurred on the very day when Marshal Kim Jong-il, having finished a trip to China, passed through Ryongchon in his heavily armed train en route back to Pyongyang. Like his father, Kim Jong-il was afraid of flying and where possible travelled by train. According to the official-version events, the train had passed the station a few hours before the explosion.
But this coincidence has made a number of conspiracy theories look highly plausible. Indeed, only such a massive explosion would have sufficed to kill the Dear Leader in his heavily protected carriage. Thus, rumors had it that the entire explosion was essentially an assassination attempt.
Such theories cannot be confirmed or denied, and it may never be known whether this was merely a tragic disaster of unusually high proportions or an enormously costly assassination attempt. At any rate, soon after the disaster, the North Korean authorities banned the use of private mobile phones. This decision further fanned speculation.
There were speculations that this decision was made after investigators discovered the remains of an explosive device that had triggered the disaster and that a mobile phone had been used to set it off.
At the time of writing, such rumors remain unconfirmed, but Kim Jong-il himself believed it to be an assassination attempt (at least, this is what he said to a South Korean businessman years later, with the conversation eventually finding its way to the notorious Wikileaks).
At least there is little doubt what actually exploded at the station; it was several carriages of ammonium-nitrate fertilizer. Many readers will be familiar with the so-called "fertilizer bomb," this disaster perfectly demonstrates why such bombs are so popular among terrorist groups. Indeed, a variant of this kind of bomb was used to blow up federal buildings in the Oklahoma City bombing of 1993.
It is unknown, however, what made the ammonium-nitrate fertilizer explode, but the official report published by the North Korean government stated that the explosion was the result of a tragic accident: Allegedly, it was electric wiring that produced dangerous sparks and ignited the substance.
The restoration of the town took several years, but now nothing remains to indicate that the great disaster happened. It has also seldom been mentioned since.
Indeed, disasters are not supposed to happen in such a perfect country. Thus, even when they are admitted, they are either made heroic tales and/or quietly forgotten.
Nonetheless, I still suspect that the Ryongchon story will remain a popular topic among more conspiracy- inclined journalists for a long time. After all, it does indeed look remarkably suspicious.
Professor Andrei Lankov was born in St. Petersburg, Russia, and now teaches at Kookmin University in Seoul. You can reach him at anlankov@yahoo.com.
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