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South v North Korea: how do the two countries compare?

How big is North Korea's army compared to South Korea? What is the size of the economy, or the average life expectancy?
It's certainly not comparing like with like: North Korea is a small, impoverished and isolated country; South Korea is wealthy and backed by the world's number one superpower.

They never call themselves the names we do either: officially, it's the Democratic People's Republic of Korea (that's the North, to the rest of us) and the Republic of Korea. And, while the South is westernised and industrialised, the North has the distinction of being the most corrupt country int e world (joint with Afghanistan), according to Transparency International, have a high infant mortality rate and homicide rate - plus have one of the lowest press freedom scores anywhere in the world.

The big caveat with all this data is the fact that we know very little, really, about North Korea. These numbers, estimates as they are by the UN and other bodies, are almost certainly wrong. But they are the best numbers we have.

 link to phillyimc.org


Do You Wonder (Ever)? 25.Dec.2013 09:43


Maybe I'm a little bit more skeptical than others, but I sometimes wonder if everything they told me is a total lie. Really: How, in fact, do you know that everything the North American Propaganda Machine has been indoctrinating you with since you were five years old is not 100% total bullmanure? Considering the control they have over every option you choose, how could that not be so? Did you design your own cloths, or did you settle for the uniforms that are sold at Target? Have you observed that the men's zippers always zip on the right, while women's always zip on the left? Or that women's pockets are always tiny? That fortune tellers in many places must pay $500.00 for license fees? That your computer has a "MAC address" that uniquely identifies it on the Internet (no it is not your easily changeable IP address, but you could change it by hacking if your ISP lets you). And consider this:

Tech-FAQ — ANI (Automatic Number Identification)

.... ANI [Automated Number Identification] is one of the core technologies behind the 911 emergency service.

ANI should not be confused with CID [Caller ID]. This service is similar, but there are certain differences. In ANI, the line type and the telephone number of a calling party are captured, even in situations when caller ID blocking is on. ANI serves a function similar to Caller-ID, but utilizes different underlying technology. In addition, although Caller-ID can be blocked by prefixing a call with *67, ANI is (usually) impossible to block.

In fact, whenever you call the police, all of the phone customer's commercial credit scores pop up on the dispatcher's screen. Remember the hissing "space noise" that was especially loud and made astronaut's voices hard to hear only a few years ago? That was fake noise dubbed in to make it sound dramatic; the ground controllers heard the astronauts in the finest high fidelity. Does satellite TV suffer from "space noise"? Think about it.

We live in a make-believe Disneyland! Here is an article about Korea I posted here back in August. Think again about it:


North Korea, a Land of Human Achievement, Love and Joy! Paradise on Earth! Really!

Apparently they lied to us once again. Everything you were indoctrinated in was a lie. We live in a totalitarian state. Full of lies and vermin. Your whole life is part of the Great Deception.

Global Research.com — August 04, 2013 — North Korea, a Land of Human Achievement, Love and Joy
 link to www.globalresearch.ca

As the plane - Russian-built Tupolev-204 - was taking off from Pyongyang Airport, I felt nothing, absolutely nothing. The morning fog was at first covering the runway, and then it began to lift. The engines roared. Right after the takeoff I could clearly distinguish green fields, neat villages and ribbons of ample and lazy rivers below the wing. It was undeniably a beautiful sight: melancholic, poetic, and truly dramatic. And yet I felt numb. I was feeling nothing, absolutely nothing.

Overhead monitors were beaming endless images of one parade after another, of endless celebrations and bombastic concerts. The volume was up, women and men on the screen were singing enthusiastically, soldiers were marching; roaring jets and helicopters were penetrating the blue sky. The conductor was waving his hands. The standing crowd was applauding. Emotions were brought to an absolute extreme; watering the eyes of the people, and omnipresent pride on their faces.

Suddenly I felt empty, scared of something.

After seeing more than 150 countries, all over the world, after covering wars and conflicts, some of unimaginable intensity and brutality, I was suddenly longing for some rest, even for total silence.

60 years ago North Korea won the war. But some 4 million people died many of them, civilians. Maybe it was more than 4 million, nobody knows exactly. The capital city Pyongyang was totally leveled to the ground. I did not want to hear loud music and long speeches. I wanted to pay tribute to those who lost their lives, by sitting quietly by the river covered by mist, listening to the tall grass. But during my 8 days in North Korea, I had very few moments of silence, almost no opportunity to reflect.

What have I seen in those 8 days in DPRK - in North Korea? I saw an enormous futuristic city, Pyongyang, the capital, built from the ashes. I saw enormous theatres and stadiums, a metro system deep below the ground (public transportation doubling as nuclear shelter, in case the city came under attack). I saw trolley buses and double-decker buses, wide avenues, unimaginably ample sidewalks, roller-skating rinks and playgrounds for children.

Statues and monuments were everywhere. The size of some boulevards and buildings were simply overwhelming. For more than a decade I lived in Manhattan, but this was very different grandeur. New York was growing towards the sky, while Pyongyang consisted of tremendous open spaces and massive eclectic buildings.

Outside the capital I saw green fields, and farmers walking home deep in the countryside. Clearly, there was no malnutrition among children, and despite the embargo, everyone was decently dressed.

I saw packed squares, with tens of thousands of people shouting slogans from the top of their lungs. I saw thousands of women in colorful traditional dresses waving their flags and ribbons, cheering when the command was given, welcoming us - international delegates. Marching next to me for peace, was a former US Attorney General, Ramsey Clark, and at my other side, the leader of one of the Indian Communist Parties. There were human rights lawyers from the United States and from all over the world, Turkish revolutionaries, and, for hard to understand reasons, several heads of the Ugandan military.

But I did not come here to march. I came here to film and to photograph, to see the faces of local people, to read what was written on those faces, to feel, to sense, and to try to understand.

Instead of loud cheers, I came to listen to the whispers, hoping to catch understated facial expressions, tiny signs of fear, of joy, of love and even of existentialist confusion.

The West, its policy makers and mass media, succeeded in creating an image of a dehumanized North Korea. They did it by blurring the faces. For decades North Koreans were being portrayed as inhabitants of some monstrous hermit empire where men, women and children all look alike, dress the same, behave like robots, never smile and do not look into each other's eyes.

Before I came here, before I agreed to come, I explained to the organizers that I was not interested in all those elaborate fireworks and packed stadiums. I wanted to see a mom taking her child to school. I was longing to capture the faces of lovers at dusk, sitting side by side on some remote bench, whispering to each other those urgent words, those pledges that make life worth living; the same words, the same pledges, uttered all over the world.

Paradoxically, I was discouraged to do so. Instead I was asked to march. From a storyteller and a man who is used to document the world, I was converted into a delegate. And whenever the crowd spotted me, it cheered, and then I felt embarrassed, I was longing desperately to become invisible, or to at least find some hiding place. Not because I was doing something wrong, but simply because I was unaccustomed to such naked outbursts of enthusiasm directed at me.

And so I marched, for peace and for the re-unification of the Korean nation. And while I marched, I kept filming and photographing. It must have looked awkward, I have to admit: a delegate who was filming a bunch of women who were dressed in their colorful traditional dresses, cheering him with their paper ribbons, and shouting at top of their lungs.

I soon discovered that I was fighting for every glimpse of reality, of common life. Instead I had been fed with an extravaganza.

I was taken to those stadiums with 100,000 people, where children change positions of their boards periodically, and the entire side of the tribune suddenly becomes like some colorful, living storyboard. I was witnessing huge events, with thousands of dancers, with fireworks and multiple bands.

Yet what impressed me the most was an ancient and tiny stone bridge in Kaesong City, near the Demilitarized Zone. And the scene around the bridge: a tiny girl, perhaps three years old, her sock torn, crying, while her mother caressed her hair in the most tender, warmest way imaginable.

My hosts, they did not seem to understand. I explained to them, again and again, but my words sounded too foreign to them.

As far as they were concerned, I was just 'some famous writer, filmmaker, and journalist'. They needed me to show great support for their revolution, and deep reverence for their suffering during the Western onslaught more than 60 years ago.

Naturally I felt reverence and grief, but that was all that I was expected to feel. I felt much more.

But I fell in love, instantly with the North Korean countryside, and the faces of North Korean farmers and city dwellers. These were pure faces, honest and expressive. What could I do? Love is subjective; it is irrational. The exaggerated greenery of the fields, children playing at the roadside, soldiers returning home to their villages for a short home-leave, women facing the sun at dusk: it was overwhelming; love at first sight, as I said.

I was photographing through the windshield; I was annoying the organizers, demanding that they stop in the middle of the road.

Then on July 26 I met, together with Ramsey Clark and few other delegates, Mr.Yang Hyong Sob, the Vice President of the Standing Committee of the Supreme People's Committee. He looked like a very kind man, and I was given a chance to exchange some ideas with him. I explained that the best way to combat Western propaganda is to show to the world the faces of North Korean people.

"It is their common tactic", I said. "They portray people of China, Cuba, Venezuela, Russia, Iraq, Afghanistan, Serbia, as heartless, as if they were some plastic androids. Then, subconsciously, compassion for the people of those nations vanishes from the hearts of the Western public. Suddenly it is fine to starve them, to bomb them, to murder thousands, even millions of those androids. But once the faces are shown, the Western public gets confused; many refuse to support mass murder."

The Vice-President nodded. He smiled at me. As we were leaving, he locked me in a bear hug, and said simply "Please come back!"


a good way to tell 25.Dec.2013 20:35


A good way to determine how livable a country is, is to see which country has citizens who risk death to escape.

See also, Cuba, the former Soviet Union, and East Germany. I think we can all see the common thread in those nations.

Did You Try To Escape The U.S.A. Lately? 26.Dec.2013 23:15


You will not die trying to.

They just will not let you!

really 27.Dec.2013 09:46


They won't let me? Because I have left the country around 3-4 times in the last 5 years, by car and plane, and nobody tried to stop me. I didn't have to sneak across a DMZ patrolled by armed guards. I didn't have to risk getting shot by snipers while crawling through barbed wire and tank traps, and I didn't have to make a raft out of spare tires and an old piece of wood frame to float to another country. In other words, the right of free passage is a sign of a relatively open and free society. I say relatively because I am not so gullible to think that the US is an ideal nation, but compared to North Korea, I'm quite content, even with my crappy wages and paycheck-to-paycheck existence.

If your country has to forcefully keep you from leaving, and we all know what countries I am speaking of here, then the country is probably a hellhole that only keeps a population based on fear, starvation, poverty, and force.

But You Are Back! 27.Dec.2013 16:05


Just about the whole world hates Americans and will not let them stay for long. Edward Snowden is the only (non-super wealthy) person who escaped.

My real point was that we ONLY know what they told us. It could all be a gigantic lie. Every now and then I catch a glimpse of something I'm not supposed to see. The trick is to separate from the herd and put yourself in a strange situation. There will be found pieces of the puzzle that don't fit in.

ok, I'll give you that 28.Dec.2013 11:56


Misinformation is a real thing. there is no doubt. So have you ever seen anything that makes you think the DMZ isn't real? Have you ever seen anything that makes you think that the stories of people risking their lives to cross the berlin wall were fake? Those flotillas leaving Cuba are all made up? For the past 40 years or so?