Without You, There Is No Us by Suki Kim Read Free Book Online

“Sincerely,” and so forth. It seemed strange to be teaching something so basic to college students, and yet, as I faced the blackboard with a piece of chalk between my fingers, I had only to tilt my face thirty degrees upward and I would be staring straight at the portraits of Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il—one dead and the other hanging on for his dear, great life. And when I faced the boys, my eyes rested on two very similar slogans on the wall behind them: “Our Party sent our students to college to read a lot of books and study hard,” attributed to Kim Il-sung, and “Our Party wants our students to study hard,” by Kim Jong-il. Every student, at all times, wore a pin bearing the tiny image of Kim Il-sung’s face on a red background on the left-hand side of his chest, presumably because it was closer to the heart.
    I told them that the letter was not only a convenient short writing exercise, but also a way for me to get to know them better, and that it would not be graded. Hearing this, they seemed both relieved and disappointed. I could not tell if they wanted to be graded or not. In those first few days, the students nodded so eagerly at everything I said that I was never sure if they had understood anything at all. When they handed in their letters, I saw that most of them had copied my sample word for word, starting with “Dear so-and-so,” and signing the letters “Sincerely, Suki.”
    They wrote about their families, their ardent desire to better their English, and their love of sports, mainly basketball and soccer, although one student did write of his passion for golf and how he played it often. I learned that many of their fathers were doctors and scientists. One student wrote that his family had moved to Mansudae Avenue just a few weeks ago, thanks to the Great Leader, and another mentioned his nice home on Unification Street. From this, I gathered that Mansudae Avenue and Unification Street were coveted addresses. Another wrote about a family outing to Okryu-Gwan, Pyongyang’s best restaurant, about yoga being his favorite pastime, and about how he hated candy. A third student wrote that his friend was born in Beijing because his father had been a diplomat.
    It was clear that these were not the North Koreans I was used to seeing depicted in the media. I had spent months interviewing defectors in Chinese border towns as well as in Seoul, and nothing in their testimony could have prepared me for these young men. Most of the defectors were impoverished farmers from the northern edge of the country, bordering China, very far from Pyongyang. My students, however, came from the upper echelon of the DPRK. Many of them had transferred from either Kim Il-sung University or Kim Chaek University of Technology—the equivalent of Harvard or MIT. They missed the prestige of their old schools and their friends there. Some of them seemed reluctant to serve as guinea pigs in their government’s brand-new experiment where the teachers were all foreigners and the lessons were conducted in English.
    Interestingly, almost none of the students brought up the Great Leader in the first letter, as if there was a tacit understanding not to go there. Yet one student wrote:
    The Juche ideology is the most correct and unique one. It illuminates the way of the world’s revolution. The Great Leader applied the Juche ideology to the whole sphere of revolution and construction. As he led our revolution correctly, our country was able to grow from a poor country to a powerful and prosperous nation. Nowadays, his idea is admired as the best in the world.
    About five minutes before the end of the second period, I saw the face of Beth, the dean, who was at the window, looking nervous and motioning me to come outside. My heart sank. Had I already done something wrong? Said something inappropriate, somehow been reported by a student from the first class? Each group had a monitor, who ordered the rest of the class to rise and call out