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promoted by the military’s Propaganda Department in order to demonstrate their loyalty to Dear Leader. Kim Jong-il declared Shin’s works, along with those of Kim Man-young, to be ‘People’s Literature’; and the two poets were presented with imported cars and household appliances, as well as extravagantly decorated luxury apartments whose furnishings included sets of gold-plated cutlery.
    Within my department, a panic ensued. Although the UFD also employed poets, it had not been able to satisfy Kim Jong-il with a single epic poem – a serious omission that could potentially lead to an accusation of insufficient loyalty on the part of the United FrontDepartment as a whole. It had become an increasingly worrying concern to my colleagues by the time I joined the Department.
    The problem had been exacerbated by the type of personnel they employed. Due to the constraints of psychological warfare under which the UFD operated, operatives were highly trained in ideological persuasion but had not invested much thought in the literary qualities of the work they produced. It was perhaps the tragic and inevitable consequence of making art anonymously, as Supervisor Park Chul had suggested when he described not being able to publish his works in his own name. Moreover, UFD writers had to accommodate two lies unique to them in the writing process: they had to pretend to be South Koreans in their feelings of adoration for Kim Jong-il, and this had to be expressed in a fabricated South Korean way of writing.
    Although I was the youngest writer on board, at twenty-seven, the onus of rectifying this situation fell on me. When I was summoned to UFD headquarters to receive orders from First Deputy Director Im Tong-ok, I could hardly believe my own ears. Im Tong-ok was the highest authority in the UFD, and even the head of Office 101 could not meet him without being explicitly summoned. The UFD has several sections, and more offices under each section. Office 101, to which I belonged, was part of the policy-making section of the UFD. Between me and Im Tong-ok was the head of Division 19, then that of Section 5, as well as the other various heads of Office 101. To be summoned outside of this chain of command was a striking anomaly.
    The headquarters of the UFD lies in Jeonseung-dong of Moranbong District in Pyongyang. The long, three-storey building, privy to the secrets of the history of the Workers’ Party and our nation’s history of espionage, looked even more imposing than Office 101. As if to hide its secrets from the world, the building faced north, away from the sunlight, and was covered in ivy.
    The Deputy Policy Director of Office 101 led me to the door of Director Im Tong-ok’s office, on the first floor of the building. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath our feet with every step. The majestic old building seemed to be in built in an old Russian style, with its high ceilings and large windows, and the imposing double doors to Director Im’s office added to the sense of grandeur.
    My guide knocked and entered, revealing another open door. He mumbled something into the room, and a loud voice answered from within.
    ‘Ask him to come in. Come in!’ said First Deputy Director Im Tong-ok.
    His title of First Deputy Director meant that he acted with the absolute authority of Kim Jong-il in one of the nation’s key ministries. There were only six institutions considered important enough to be headed by a First Deputy Director: the Organisation and Guidance Department (Kim Jong-il’s executive chain of command, which sits above the constitution and has unrestricted jurisdiction to intervene in any sphere), the Propaganda and Agitation Department (whose First Deputy Directorship was left vacant until 1998, after which Jung Ha-chul was appointed to the post by Kim Jong-il), the United Front Department, Office 38 (in charge of Kim Jong-il’s personal wealth), Office 35 (conducts intelligence activities overseas) and the