Buying time to earn money
Ironically in North Korea, people are paying money to their designated workplaces to earn money outside the state’s directives (Image / Asia Images, Courtesy of Shutterstock, Inc.)
Suppression comes in many forms. There is suppression of association, suppression of travel, and suppression of speech. But of these, the most pervasive form of subjugation for people born in North Korea is what you might call job subjugation.
North Koreans cannot freely choose their jobs. They are assigned to a workplace and, once assigned, can’t quit. They may be reassigned or removed. But they can’t leave of their own volition.
Whenever I try to explain about my life there, this is the most difficult part to address.
To explain it, I need to introduce the idea of parallel employment. Most North Koreans live their lives in this way, and no, it doesn’t mean they all work for the secret police.
In a planned economy, which is the pride of socialism, the state determines in advance what jobs are necessary and how many people are needed to fill them. As a result, there is never a surplus or a shortage of workers.
This approach to economics requires the state to directly involve itself in individual job placement and restrict people’s ability to make arbitrary decisions on their own.
In such a system, if you are born with an innate talent for music and the state decides you should work at a butcher shop, you will end up selling pork.
It may feel unfair, but what can be done? The socialist society, no matter how strong your personal desires, requires that you sacrifice for the greater good. One for all!
This was the mindset of parents in the 1960s and 70s in North Korea. It was a way of thinking that became problematic during the arduous march of the 1990s. When food shortages turned to famine, the state was forced to cut rations.
People who had previously relied on the food distribution system, which was almost everybody, suddenly had to be self-sufficient.
They were like animals confined and fed by their keepers and then abruptly released into the jungle. People born in captivity were ignorant of the laws of survival in the jungle and met fates commensurate with their level of preparedness. Some turned to begging, others to trading. Some went to work, believing the country would never abandon them. I won’t elaborate on the fate of those with such misguided faith.
But what became clear was the people who survived were those who did not follow the state’s directives.
By the late 1990s, the country had taken on a strange appearance. Two systems now co-existed. There was a formal system of socialism and a real system of capitalism.
This was a natural development for those who had survived and needed to continue living.
But because of the law, it meant that staying alive was illegal. Everyone became a criminal without committing anything you might normally consider to be a crime.
The phrase, “If you hang it on your nose, it’s a nose ring. If you hang it on your ear, it’s an earring” became a popular saying, a North Korean version of, “Some say tomato, some say tom-ay-to.”
The state demanded that citizens continue to work for the collective good without providing them with a single grain of rice. In other words, job placements by the authorities continued. At the same time, we had to survive.
Our method was to pay for our own time. The concept, known as the “deposit system,” involved paying a monthly fee to our assigned workplace in exchange for not having to show up. The fee of course was non-refundable and so not a deposit in the strict sense. The freed-up time allowed us to engage in actual money-making.
This system still exists. The fee is determined by the job category. If the assigned workplace is a coal mine or a farm, the “deposit” is high. That is because these jobs are under the strictest state supervision, making any change almost impossible.
These workers are considered a cursed group, with 99% of placements determined by the occupations of a person’s parents at the time of their birth. In this part of the class system, upward mobility is nigh on impossible. Thus, it is logical that the deposit prices are high.
The price also rises during those months when higher earnings are possible. For example, between spring and fall, when squid fishing is best, fees nearly triple.
The problem for the fishermen, though, is that the squid seems to have defected as well. They no longer appear along the coast. North Korean fishermen pursue them all the way to Siberia, sometimes even in small boats. Thus they earn enough to feed their families at the risk of their lives. Yet, despite such seasonal hardships, their official enterprises still demand their share.
The fee is also influenced by gender, with men having to pay more. In 2019, the monthly price for men ranged from 80 to 100 yuan, while for women it was 40 to 50 yuan.
I have a cousin with a very strong ideological commitment to the regime. She enlisted and had exemplary military service, reaching the rank of deputy company commander before discharge. She did not mind being poor because she was the proud owner of a party membership card.
But then it became too difficult for her to continue doing unpaid work. She eventually had to participate in the deposit system. When it came to paying the first monthly fee, she was shocked to find that it was 100 yuan. The slap in the fact was that it was higher than other people’s because of her eight years of service and her party membership.
After that, I often heard her lamenting about how her party card had become a burden.
In these ways, people are charged different amounts depending on their situation and environment. But, as long as they pay, they can use their time without being subject to any controls.
They are relatively unmolested because the deposit system is very advantageous for enterprises as well. In North Korea, when the party decides something, it must be done. The burden for executing projects falls on organizations and enterprises but they need to procure the necessary materials and equipment. If they fail, they risk being labeled disloyal and anti-Party. This is where the deposit system comes to the rescue. It is a good source of revenue.
In a country where a month’s salary is barely enough to buy a pack of cigarettes, people survive in this very peculiar way.
But it means that even time is subordinated to the state. The silver lining is that, at least, you can buy it.
Born in Chongjin in 1990, Jang Mi was not a studious child, but under her mother’s influence, she graduated from high school and went on to university to take math and science. She worked as a wedding video editor for seven years until her defection in 2019.
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