Looking out the window of a North Korean hotel, you see the law of the jungle laid bare.
I was staying there with Kim, my employee, to scout a casino site. Under the constant gaze of state minders, we couldn’t roam the streets. I watched the world through glass.
Below, a pack of fifteen or sixteen Kotjebi—North Korea’s homeless street children—always loitered. Their faces and clothes were caked in black soot. Indistinguishable.
They survived on small change or rotten food. The clever ones hauled contraband through the black markets for a sliver of bread.
One morning, the routine broke.
I looked down and saw a brawl. Typical childhood friction, I thought. Then it escalated. Five boys swarmed two others, raining down punches and kicks, then striking them with wooden clubs.
I told Kim to do something. Kim grabbed a jar of obsolete local coins, walked to the hotel entrance, and threw a handful into the air.
The fight evaporated. They scrambled for the metal.
A state minder later mapped out the economics of the street. Even the Kotjebi have gangs. Strict territories.
The premier territory is the black market. The boys there are muscle for local syndicates, helping with petty crimes for cheap cigarettes.
The second-tier territory is where we stayed—the city center. Wealthier residents meant spare coins and table scraps.
The most brutal fate belongs to the outliers. The quiet ones who can’t fight their way into a gang. Exiled to the edges of town, they have no food. They simply wait to starve.
Territorial incursions end with fractured skulls. Dead children. Driven by primal survival.
They felt less like humans and more like wild animals. No education. No dignity. Desperate just to see tomorrow.
Kim warned me about lice, but I went down anyway. I brought water to a boy who had been beaten and left in the dirt.
As he drank, my eyes caught the label on his tattered, filthy jacket.
Made in Cambodia.
Even in the darkest corner of this totalitarian state, the cheap debris of global capitalism still finds a way to clothe a dying child.