How Ten Years of Work in North Korea Led to a Hockey Tournament

A PERSONAL REFLECTION OF TEN YEARS WORKING IN NORTH KOREA

Emotionally, North Korea has meant the world to me.

When I started working there I was fresh out of university. A wide-eyed 22-year-old Brown University graduate who was passionately fascinated by North Korea— the history, the culture, the society, and of course the people— I moved across the Pacific to Beijing. My curiosity was academic— I wanted to understand all the facts. Beijing was where I finished high school and had always felt comfortable to me, but my true purpose was to understand North Korea and Beijing was the most natural access point to Pyongyang.

Fast forward ten years. I’ve been working in North Korea for the past decade and have visited the country around 50 times— this is just for background, I don’t actually count nor care how many times I’ve been there. Each trip has been a special experience in its own right. Every time I arrive in Pyongyang this feeling of comfort overcomes me and I think to myself, “I’m back.” An effortless smile comes to my face when I smell the retro furniture infused with cigarette smoke, hear the sound of metal chopsticks clanking together, bite down on squishy-crunchy red and white kimchi, and taste the acorn soju. I grimace with each sip. I sit with North Korean colleagues, building on friendships that go back a decade together, while dipping dried pollack fish into mustard, soy sauce and metallic tasting beer. I walk across the cold, grey, dimly lit marble floors of the Changgwangsan Hotel and push the oversized square elevator button. I’m back and it feels inexplicably profound.

My connection with North Korea has become a difficult, humbling, deeply personal journey.

Working in North Korea can feel like a lonely, thankless task. In a shallow sense, I’ve had to get used to attacks from left and right, from people who accuse me of being a naive propaganda shill to those who believe any and every bit of engagement work in North Korea only emboldens the government there to commit abuses against their people. Sometimes this makes me feel bad. I believe I’m not oblivious to the realities of life in North Korea, and I’m trying my best to design initiatives that do not diminish that truth while at the same time help people gain a more nuanced understanding of each other’s lives. Yes, that’s a lot of words, and they mean something to me because that’s how my brain works. But sometimes I just have to stop and accept my own conviction. I love working there because I love the people I’ve met there. And deep down, I think others could feel the same way.

Over the years I’ve learnt the facts— observing and studying how North Korea’s economy functions, how people live, how organizations work, and how to coordinate and negotiate projects within this complex political and social environment devoid of trust. And I’ve had to become patient, open-minded, and a consistent pain in the ass, three things I’ve never honestly been conditioned to doing. I know that pain in the asses keep pushing, and each push can bring people closer together. In life, my goal has never been to make a lot of money, or become famous, or do anything crazy grandiose; rather, I simply believe that bringing people together is the most foundational way to achieving long term peace— and I want to play a role in shifting the debate about North Korea back to the people.

THE PYONGYANG CUP TOURNAMENT

Welcome to 2020, or Juche 109, whichever you prefer. Inertia Network is launching the Pyongyang Cup— the first mixed-team hockey tournament turned social experiment in North Korea. To me, this project represents the next phase of my personal journey working in North Korea, an initiative geared to help people not only connect, but to pursue a common goal together.

But why?

North Korean hockey players are not part of the foreign language speaking Pyongyang elite. They are not tour guides with a Government mandate to work with foreigners. And they don’t have university degrees.

They mostly come from the northern countryside cities of Kanggye, Manpo, Hyesan and Chongjin. Their lives are not defined by glamour, they use old second-hand equipment, busted up skates, and eat, sleep and breathe hockey when not spending time with their family and friends. They are normal people, and their stories and lives resonate with so many fellow Canadians I know.

At its core, our team wants to design a project that brings these “ordinary” people together from North Korea and abroad to work together for a common goal. We know sports exchanges and friendly games have been hosted in North Korea— we’ve even organized them before— and North Korea has certainly taken to international sports as seen by their participation in the Olympics and World Cup, not to mention Denis Rodman’s numerous basketball visits with the Marshall. But when have North Koreans and foreigners really had to work together to win something? What other example of true cooperation between common citizens and foreigners exists in this country? And in spite of all the challenges and hurdles, how can we push even further to use something as quintessentially Canadian as ice hockey to allow people to authentically connect, learn about and care for one another?

The Pyongyang Cup is designed as a potential solution to these challenges. It is highly experimental. The goal is not just for Canadians (or anyone else who plays hockey) and North Koreans to have a great time playing hockey and participating in activities together, but also to allow people to be vulnerable with one another and build a common culture. The project uses hockey as a medium for social connection in a place where so much mistrust exists and far too many barriers have been constructed to keep people apart. It’s the next step in my ten-year relationship with North Korea, where each step is designed to close the gap a little more between people.

A LITTLE ADVICE FROM THE FOUNDER

To our detractors who believe this project is not possible to do within the modern social confines of North Korea— I say ten years of working in this country has taught me a valuable lesson— don’t give up and keep pushing. Authentic connection between people is possible even though the system is designed to work against us. While I want you to believe me, I can’t force it— you’re entitled to your opinion just as I’m entitled to my experiences. If you want to try to experience it for yourself, I say come join us.

I believe trust building starts with people. You don’t have to join or even support this initiative, but let us try.

My advice to participants, observers, detractors, and supporters: keep an open mind and maintain a discerning eye. Things are not always what they appear to be, and this applies in multiple ways on both sides of the 49th parallel. We are not here to convince you one way or another or get preachy with politics. We are not here to tell you how to think. This is not a political project. You’ll learn about politics, you’ll face them in daily interactions, but ultimately this is a project about people and bringing them together to share in an intense experience. It is what you make of it.