Left Flank

Ok, I get the point! Nothing changed in DPRK the night the New York Philharmonic Orchestra played (TMH's sly derision, ROK Drop's matter-of-fact outrage, Joshua's total outrage, DPRK Forum's Google-enabled skepticism). But, if not only a way to dupe those foolish American liberals, it was a very entertaining way to upstage ROK President Lee Myung-bak's inauguration. Lorin Maazel owes Lee an apology.

Say you're the beleaguered tyrant of a certain Northeast Asian country.  In a moment of financial duress, you signed an agreement in which you agreed to disclose and eventually give up a nuclear arsenal in which you've invested a great deal of money, pride, and prestige.  You know that in a year, there's an even chance that you might be dealing with the most naive and pliable U.S. President since Jimmy Carter.  You also know that if too many people start getting the idea that you're stalling on that declaration, momentum will shift in favor of turning the economic screws on you again, which you know could be the end of you. You can't survive without money from your enemies, and one of your best sources might soon dry up. Even the foreign diplomat who had been the main proponent of going easy on seems to be turning sour.

Can you last this year without performing on that accursed nuclear deal? Yes, you can!

Fortunately for you, your enemies have an inexhaustible appetite for superficial displays. They desperately want to believe that the gas chambers, nuclear tests, concentration camps, abductions, famines, and global crime syndication are merely a misguided artist's cry for attention. Some of them, though not all, even have the self-important delusion that they can change your nature by playing music for you.

To its credit, The Economist doesn't mention why the gulags are still full and the North Korean people still struggling to survive, but it does dispose of "the self-important delusion":

But will all this bonhomie—both contrived and genuine—really change anything? Donald Gregg, a former American ambassador to South Korea who attended the performance, called it a «16-inch broadside of soft power into the hearts and minds of the [North] Korean people.» But conservative American commentators have attacked it as pandering to a brutal regime. History suggests orchestral diplomacy may be of little real relevance. The Boston Symphony's visit to the Soviet Union was followed soon after by the crushing of the Hungarian uprising. America's relations with China fared better after 1973, but its alignment against the Soviet Union was the critical factor. America has no strategic interests in North Korea beyond stopping it from being a menace.

For the record, that same feature article includes some interesting vignettes of foreigners experiencing Pyongyang.

Choosing what to play in Pyongyang proved the easy part. Finding a suitable venue and getting the orchestra and instruments there were more difficult. The seat of the State Symphony Orchestra, the Moranbong Theatre (recently refurbished under Kim Jong Il's guidance—«no details escaped him,» gushed the state news agency), was rejected as too small. The East Pyongyang Grand Theatre, though bigger, needed modifications to bring its acoustic qualities up to the Philharmonic's standards (the North Koreans obligingly made the alterations, including building an «acoustic shell», at their own expense).

Pyongyang's harsh winter and shattered economy were obstacles too. Organisers worried that the instruments would be damaged by temperature variations as they were transported into and around the city. The chandelier-decked foyer of the venue itself was freezing. Mr Mehta held talks at the foreign ministry with an official wearing a thick overcoat in his office. Pyongyang's heating has been so bad this winter that residents complain they cannot remember the last time they were able to have a shower, says a diplomat.

Unable to find any heated trucks in North Korea to carry the instruments, the orchestra arranged for some to drive up from South Korea (South Korea's Asiana Airlines provided a Boeing 747 jet to fly the orchestra itself in and out of Pyongyang). The North Koreans promised good heating at the hotel and venue—and they delivered it. Mr Mehta had to ask for a window in his room to be unsealed so that he could get a bit of cool air.

The authorities spared no effort to isolate the Americans from the reality of life in Pyongyang. Some attempting a morning jog were turned back by guards at the perimeter of their hotel. Officials like to put foreigners there. It is on an island in Pyongyang's Taedong River from which it is difficult to get into the city proper, and there are no taxis available. When they were not rehearsing or performing during their 48-hour stay, the Americans were taken on bus tours of the city's monuments, including a giant bronze statue of the late President Kim—the country's leader during the Korean war.

It's only been a couple years since I've had heat and air conditioning in a college classroom in Busan, and still not the rest of the building. It must be a Korean virtue to sacrifice when others have much more.