Thursday, May 13, 2010

Me and Mr. Kim



The Kims and I go way back. Back to when it was my job to kill them. I did not succeed. Metaphorically, I was just the person who loads and aims the gun, but someone else was responsible for pulling the trigger. For more than 60 years that responsible someone, the governments of the United States and South Korea, have ostensibly gazed across the 38th parallel with a “make my day” attitude. What would it take? Hummm...kidnapping, hijacking, hatchet job, underground invasion tunnel, a missile launch over Japan, a seizure of a US naval vessel, or sinking of a ROK naval vessel? What provocative incident would be beyond the pale? What constitutes a casus belli on the Korean peninsula? In short, nothing, nada; we are never going to attack the North. Imminent attack is the lie that the North uses to control its citizen's behavior and its excuse to squander all its resources, that are not intended for the lavish Kim lifestyle, on its military. Maybe even a lie the U.S. and South Korea perpetuate to keep the North from becoming crazier than it already is.

There have been indications that mental illness runs in the Kim family. There was even an incident years ago where one of Kim Il-sung's younger brothers was reportedly found wandering the streets of Pyongyang, gun at the ready, screaming at the top of his lungs, "I'm going to kill you Kim Il-sung!" And just like Amy Winehouse, when they tried to send him to rehab he said, "...no, no, no." It mattered not, he still disappeared, but unlike Amy he never sashayed into a London hot spot ever again.
Kim Il-sung's mortality was of intense interest in the South. But you have got to hand it these old commie farts like Kim and Castro, they could teach the Okinawans a thing or two about longevity. The assumption was that hell would to to hell in a hand basket when the old guy died. In fact, war games always started with Kim Il-sung croaking, which prompted one US Air Force general to quip, "How many times is that guy gonna die?"
Once, sort of. Kim Il-sung suffered a heart attack and died the next day, July 8, 1994. The dear leader’s demise may have been hastened by his dear son's insistence that no medical care be administered until the best doctors arrived from Pyongyang, the next day. Only the best for dear ol’ dad. Still a government employee, now living in Japan, I immediately thought that the kimchi was about to hit the fan.  But then, much to everyone's surprise, nothing happened. That is because even in death Kim Il-sung is still in charge. North Korea is most likely the only sovereign nation where the president resides in a mausoleum. In the superlative shuffle, Kim Ilsuong remains the "Eternal Leader" while his son, Kim Jong-il, is the "Supreme Leader." Thing 1 was simply replaced by Thing 2.  Crazy, yes, crazy like a fox.  
 
"Who wouldn't want Kim Jong-il as their leader?" May be the gush of every patriotic North Korean, which is likely every living North Korean, happy to have the best dictator in the world as their leader. He has a great personality and makes his own military-inspired clothes. He may even do his own hair, which looks a lot like Amy Winehouses'.  A personality profile suggests he has a lot in common with the late Saddam Hussein, another member of the dictator club; sadistic, paranoid, antisocial, narcissistic, schizoid, and schizotypal.  Which is redundant as hell and just a fancy way of saying he likes himself a lot, does not much care for other people, and he has no compunction about doing vile things to them.  But the paranoia part I completely understand.  After all, I was out to get him.  
When my sojourn in South Korea came to a close I thought my relationship with the Kims was over. As enemies we move in different circles and back then I thought Macau was a dump. But six years later, there I was, stopped on the side of the road in Pudong while a motorcade whizzed by and a fizzle of discomfort washed over me.  We were not in Hogwart’s neighborhood but something evil this way passed. Rumors circulated and then were confirmed by official announcement several days later, Kim Jong-il had visited Shanghai. So close. Surely there would not be another encounter.
Six more years would pass.  If this six year thing kept up one of us must have a diabolical marking on our bodies and I am not referring to my tattooed eyebrows.  This time the setting was Guangzhou; the White Swan Hotel. An establishment swarming with pudgy Americans with their equally pudgy Chinese babies.  

A phone call late in the night. "I'm sorry madam, but you must check out in the morning."

"Huh?" The fog begins to clear and indignation sets in. "Wait a second. Why? My reservation is until Friday."

The impassive, unedifying response. "I'm sorry madam, you must check out in the morning."

Rumors circulated once again. Big wig in town. Entourage taking over the White Swan. Could it be? Yes it was. But the confirmation occurred after my evicted ass was already on a flight back to Shanghai.

Why do the Dear Leader and I keep crossing paths? Could he be nursing a grudge? Is it unfinished business? I am no longer an employee of the United States government, so it is no longer my on my daily “to do” list to eradicate Mr. Kim.  And as an amateur genealogist I have discovered we have something in common, both of us are the descendants of Presbyterian ministers. Could this be sectarian, as so many conflicts are? I am a lapsed Catholic and I gather Mr. Kim now only worships himself.  Can’t we just be frenemies? 

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