Pyongyang as Lived Experience: Existentialism and Identity in North Korea

Courtesy of Dawn Kim

By David A. Tizzard

Concepts such as decolonization, orientalism, lived experiences and multiple truths are becoming more widespread in both academia and mainstream media. What was once merely derided as post-modernism has slowly become more engrained in the content we consume and how we ask each other to see and analyze the world. We have to account for the history of imperialist oppression when passing judgement; singular definitive narratives have given way to a slew of varied, contradictory, and impassioned tales. One can find evidence of such a change in the very first pages of Black Girl From Pyongyang by Monica Macias. The book is written conscious of these concepts and how they affect us. There is a questioning of truth, Western narratives, lived experiences, and much more.

It has been said that an eskimo doesn't dream of sandy beaches. In that sense, we are all victims of culture: our worldview is limited by the language, thoughts, and experiences we are raised with. However, over time, the growing technological and value-driven interconnectivity of the world has provided us access to a whole new realm of perspectives and realities. Imagine, if you can, what it must have been like for a tall, young, dark-skinned African girl to grow up in Pyongyang in the 1980s. How do ideas of culture work then? And would it ever be possible to dream of sandy beaches if you are raised in the mental maps of North Korean thought?

Culture as destiny?

Amidst a sea of silence and held tongues, a young woman at university raised her hand to question the philosophy teacher: "Sir, are the principles of the public distribution system really ideal? And if our society pursues much more collective wellbeing compared to a capitalist society, then why does the level of happiness or wealth vary so much from person to person?"

An astute and rather reasonable question, you might think. The contrasting economic fortunes of both South and North Korea over the past few decades are well documented. But how would such curiosity, insolence even, be received in Pyongyang where ideological consistency is seen as a politically and morally binding social good? The public imagination would have you believe there would quickly be goose-stepping soldiers marching the student capable of such audacity to be exiled to the countryside or, in more extreme cases, fed to wild dogs. Neither of these happened though, of course. The recent publication of Black Girl from Pyongyang is testament to that reality.

This is a story as much about Monica's identity as it is her two fathers: Francisco Macias and Kim Il Sung. This is a coming of age story about a young black girl in a North Korean boarding school. The youngest of her class at Mangyongdae Revolutionary Boarding School, her peers were generally two years older than her so as to better accommodate Monica's height. To be the youngest anyway is tough, to do so in a Korean setting with age and hierarchy wielding strong influence is something else altogether.

You might forgive yourself for having your mind race to other high-teen escapades such as Harry Potter or Wednesday. It screams Netflix adaptation. And this is testament to the way in which it is written and how the story unfolds. We see life through the eyes of a young girl. The wisdom, maturity, and experience will come later. The start is simply confusion, passion, and North Korea through the eyes of someone who still doesn't know who they are on even the most fundamental levels. You cheer for her throughout, growing up alongside her as she experiences the hunger and deprivation of military training, feels a sense of pride when she becomes a college student and attends the Pyongyang University of Light Industry, and sit beside her crying at night as she comes to terms with her existential searching of who exactly is a black girl in Pyongyang far removed from home and parents.

Exiting the cave

It is when she first leaves Pyongyang to visit her cousin in Beijing that a real change takes place. By leaving her home, she finally understood it. By encountering other people, she saw herself more clearly. Such enlightenment and intellectual development is normally lauded. However, for Monica, it was dangerous. It threatened to disrupt what normalcy she had achieved against all odds in her new home. The nascent danger presented itself most clearly in her philosophy class at university. She had been to China, interacted with Americans, seen South Korea people in the flesh, and realized they are not horned and decrepit.

However, Monica also comes to realize that North Korea is not her hometown either. Despite calling herself Korean, straightening her hair in the morning so that it is like her classmates, and trying so incredibly hard to be accepted, ultimately she comes to realize that her hometown is neither Pyongyang nor Wonsan. Moreover, she doesn't know what her hometown looks or smells like. What is a hometown? In this moment she recounts the classic Korean folktale of the Woodcutter and the Fairy ― a story of people estranged from their natural environment who nevertheless find their way home, whether they want to or not. In a wonderful ironic twist, Monica uses a traditional Korean folktale known to children both sides of the border to prove to herself that she is not, in fact, Korean. The postmodernists would be proud.

Challenging us

The book is not only about Monica coming to term with her own identity, it also challenges our perceptions of North Korea. We can't very easily imagine the situation of foreign students living in Pyongyang; nevertheless, that is a reality. And it has been for quite some time. When I told Korean people I was reading a story of an African girl raised in Pyongyang at the behest of Kim Il-sung, many looked at me askance. When I then showed them some pictures, they shook their heads in disbelief. This is why these books are important. They challenge us in ways we did not know existed. They create another narrative alongside the existing hegemonic thought practices.

Before leaving Pyongyang, Monica recounts the words of her friend Yun Mi. Raised abroad as the daughter of a diplomat, Yun Mi knew about the outside world and what it contained. "Wherever you go, the people of that country have their own fences constructed of self-made prejudices and stereotypes. If we're trapped, those people are trapped too. The only difference is that they have a few more things they can enjoy."

Yun Mi is certainly correct about us being able to enjoy much more than the average North Korean citizen. But is she right about us having our own ideological fences in our minds? That is a question asked by Monica Macias in this book, and it's why, everything else considered, it's worth reading. Are we really living free? Monica discovers that such a life outside North Korea means people having the freedom to criticize her biological father Francisco Macias, the country of her birth, the man who helped raise her, Kim Il-sung, and the country she called home for many years.

Truth and skin

Despite eventually leaving North Korea in search of her roots, it seems that North Korea never really left Monica. Wherever she went in the world, she would find memories and people curious about her story. Some would try to use it for their own gain, leveraging hate and politics; others would be open-minded and curious about a story they never believed could have existed.

In writing this review, I feel somewhat conscious of referring to Monica's skin color and ethnicity so frequently. She is clearly more than this. She is a thinker, a feeler and a philosopher. With an easy nature, the book skips between wonderful photos, lunch with friends, and references to Plato, Bertrand Russel, and Edward Said. To read Black Girl From Pyongyang is to hear a conversation a thinker has with oneself. And it is a great privilege to have done so. Read this book and understand Monica better. Doing so will help you understood yourself more.

Dr. David A. Tizzard (datizzard@swu.ac.kr) has a Ph.D. in Korean Studies and lectures at Seoul Women's University and Hanyang University. He is a social/cultural commentator and musician who has lived in Korea for nearly two decades. He is also the host of the Korea Deconstructed podcast, which can be found online. The views expressed in the article are the author's own and do not reflect the editorial direction of The Korea Times.