My favorite quote is the saying, "Hurry slowly," which the first Roman emperor Octavian advised his generals. I understood it as a reminder not to rush and ruin things, but to move steadily toward the goal while thinking things through.
On the other hand, these days, old emotional wounds kept resurfacing, so I began softly strumming the digital piano to forget them. At the same time, I was reminded of the claim that Russia’s strong opposition to Ukraine’s NATO membership stemmed from the geopolitical wounds of past invasions, and I also thought of how North Korea has carried the emotional scars from Japan’s invasion longer than those from South Korea. So I started the discussion by asking the AI, "Can we keep the war at bay by embracing new things and innovating?"
Finally, when I thanked the AI for the good discussion and well-organized summary, it praised me, saying that the columns I had been writing for a long time had become even stronger. My gratitude for artificial intelligence grows even stronger.
Wounds Are Not Forgotten, Only Moved
On New Civilization, the Granary, and North Korea’s Gradual Marketization
Lee Hyeong-chun · Independent Columnist
1. The Question: Can the New Make Us Forget?
Can new technology, an innovative attitude, or education in a new civilization make a society forget its old wounds? Many believe so. Look at Germany and South Korea, they say: both modernized relentlessly and seem to have moved beyond their past, while Russia and North Korea appear trapped by old wounds, circling the same ground.
Look a little closer and the contrast begins to crack. West Germany, in the midst of its 1950s “economic miracle,” kept a deep silence about its Nazi past. In 1967 Alexander and Margarete Mitscherlich diagnosed this as an “inability to mourn,” and the silence finally broke when the generation of 1968 confronted their fathers. In South Korea, the Jeju April 3rd massacre remained an unspeakable memory through decades of compressed growth, and only began to be addressed publicly after a special act was passed in 2000. Prosperity did not erase the wound. It merely postponed the reckoning by a generation.
My conclusion, then, is this: wounds are not forgotten. They can, however, be moved. What moves a wound away from the center of a nation’s identity? That is the question this essay sets out to answer.
2. Russia and North Korea: Not a Wound, but a Doctrine
It is often said that Russia keeps going to war because of the wounds of the Second World War. Soviet wartime deaths are commonly estimated at around 27 million, so it is true that the memory sits at the core of Russian identity. Yet Russia handles that memory not as a wound but as a victory. Victory Day has swollen into a grand state ritual, and the 2022 invasion of Ukraine was wrapped in the language of the Second World War: “denazification.” The wound did not start the war. Power is using the memory of the wound as a language of mobilization.
Moreover, the wound closer to Russia is the collapse of the Soviet Union in the 1990s. In his 2005 address to the Federal Assembly, Putin called that collapse the greatest geopolitical catastrophe of the century. My inference is that the humiliation of a lost empire is being spoken through the borrowed memory of the Second World War.
North Korea’s wound toward Japan works the same way. It is less a pain the people carry on their own than a doctrine the regime has taught. Kim Il-sung’s anti-Japanese guerrilla narrative is the root of the regime’s legitimacy, and the memory of Japan is the scaffolding that holds it up. As the 2002 Japan–DPRK Pyongyang Declaration showed, when interests aligned, Pyongyang knew how to place that wound on the negotiating table. A managed wound is less a wound than a resource.
3. The Trap of Teaching: The Lesson of East Germany
One might then reason the other way: if the wound is a doctrine, why not have the regime teach something else—innovation, the new civilization—and let the wound disappear? This is half right. After normalizing relations with Japan in 1972, China toned down anti-Japanese education while it was absorbing Japanese loans and technology, then turned it back up through the patriotic education campaign of the 1990s. The temperature of a doctrine follows the needs of the regime.
The other half is dangerous. Strip away the doctrine and the real wounds underneath come to the surface. When glasnost loosened Soviet doctrine, people did not forget their wounds; they poured out the suppressed ones all at once—the Gulag, the purges. If North Korea’s doctrine changes, the wounds the regime itself inflicted will rise: the Arduous March famine, the political prison camps, the families scattered by guilt-by-association.
More dangerous still is innovation taught by the victor. After reunification, East Germans became the side that had to “learn” West German institutions and markets, and along with mass unemployment they acquired the sense of being second-class citizens. That wound still shapes eastern German politics; the far-right AfD finishing first in the 2024 Thuringia state election is one cross-section of it. The moment we try to teach North Korea the new civilization, our teaching becomes another form of discrimination, another wound.
This is why I always say that wanting reunification and intending to achieve it are two different things. The will to achieve it means imposing my design on the other side, and its structure is the same as teaching. North Korea must learn for itself. First it must secure its standing as a state in the international community; then it will engage with South Korea and follow the geopolitical conditions as they naturally unfold. That is the path I have long envisioned.
The “two hostile states” line that Kim Jong-un has advanced since late 2023 resembles this path only on the surface. I read it as a move to protect the regime. So long as a richer South exists as the “same nation,” the regime’s legitimacy is shaken; so he has turned the South into a foreign country. The demolition of Pyongyang’s Arch of Reunification in January 2024 belongs to the same logic. But even a defensive move plants a new doctrine in the next generation: the South is a foreign land and an enemy. When North Korea one day has its standing and seeks exchange with the South, that doctrine may remain as an obstacle—and as yet another wound.
4. The Logic of the Granary: Filling It with Peace
My central idea is simple: when the granary is full, peace follows. North Korea’s recent deployment of troops to Russia is the proof by inversion. Russia was short of shells and soldiers; North Korea was short of cash, food, energy and technology. In June 2024 the two signed a treaty on comprehensive strategic partnership, and two needy states clapped hands. Scarcity breeds dangerous alliances.
Of course there are many cases where wars broke out in full granaries. In 1910 Norman Angell argued in The Great Illusion that in an economically interwoven Europe war would ruin everyone; four years later the First World War began. Russia moved on Georgia, Crimea and Ukraine not in the destitute 1990s but after oil revenues had filled its granary in the 2000s. These counterexamples must be faced head-on.
So the proposition must be rewritten precisely. It is not the size of the granary that decides peace, but how—and through trade with whom—the granary is filled. Russia, filling its granary by selling raw materials, was bound to no one even when the granary was full. Vietnam, by contrast, fought a war against the United States yet normalized relations in 1995 and elevated them to a comprehensive strategic partnership in 2023. For a Vietnam that fills its granary through trade with the West, the granary itself is hostage to peace. This is why I have long argued that North Korea should live peacefully with the United States and fill its granary that way. When peace becomes the means of filling the granary, the fuller it gets, the higher the cost of breaking the peace.
Pyongyang’s leadership will answer with Libya: open the door and the regime falls. Then, at the very least, it must revive its domestic economy. Even with the outer door shut, there are ways to fill the granary from within. The “20×10 Regional Development Policy” North Korea has pursued since 2024—building local industrial factories in twenty counties every year—can be read as an attempt in that direction, though its real effectiveness is hard to verify from outside.
5. Shifting the Axis: From the Military to the Economy
Here we return to the opening question. The new civilization cannot make a people forget its wounds. But when a people’s shared ideological identity shifts from the military to the economy, the wound is no longer at the center of who they are. This is not forgetting; it is a shift in the center of gravity. To shed a wound and accept a new world means precisely this shift.
North Korea has tried this shift itself. In April 2018 a plenary meeting of the Workers’ Party Central Committee declared an end to the parallel line of economy and nuclear weapons and announced a “total concentration on economic construction.” After the collapse of the Hanoi summit in 2019, it turned back to a “frontal breakthrough.” The episode shows how heavily the shift depends on dealings with the outside world.
Yet the shift may already have happened from below. Since the Arduous March of the 1990s and the rise of the jangmadang markets, the broad conclusion of research based on defector testimony is that ordinary people’s livelihoods have come to depend on markets rather than state rations. If the people’s identity has already moved to the economy while the state’s doctrine remains anchored in the military, that gap may be the greatest tension inside the North Korean system today.
6. Institutionalization and Calibrated Control
If a current cannot be stopped, it should be institutionalized rather than suppressed. Only then will rules, not wounds, fill the empty space of legitimacy. North Korea’s own history bears this out. The July 1, 2002 Economic Management Improvement Measures partly recognized markets; the 2009 currency reform tried to crush the jangmadang in one stroke and instead brought soaring prices and public alienation. Suppressing an unstoppable current exacts a price, and the regime pays it. The 2014 Socialist Enterprise Responsibility Management System was a step back toward institutionalization.
An immediate opening would, of course, deliver a shock too great to absorb. That is why calibration is needed. The Chinese Communist Party studied the Soviet collapse systematically. In a closed-door speech in Guangdong in December 2012, Xi Jinping reportedly asked why the Soviet party had fallen and lamented that no one had stood up to resist its dissolution. China’s way—open the economy, hold the politics—was calibration born of fear of regime collapse. North Korea, too, must reform, even if it does so in this way: focusing on reality, adjusting the balance of control, and marketizing step by step.
This choice carries a cost. Calibrated control means the regime keeps much of the key to the granary. China institutionalized private property with its 2007 Property Law, yet its nationalism did not weaken. Because it opened the economy but kept memory closed, the regime could summon the wound again whenever it needed. The day when people speak their own memories for themselves is delayed accordingly. I do not hide this cost. I still judge it better than the shock of an immediate opening. Realism means choosing while knowing the price.
7. Conclusion: Institutionalization Is a Starting Point
The new civilization cannot make us forget our wounds. Teaching a different doctrine from above is not the answer either; it is merely another doctrine, another wound. What moves a wound away from the center of identity is the granary—more precisely, a granary filled through peace, and institutions that recognize from above the shift toward the economy that has already taken place below.
Institutionalization is not the destination but the starting point, because the institutionalization of markets is not the same as the pluralization of memory. Yet nothing arrives without a starting point. I hope North Korea will step up to that line on its own, and that we will learn to wait rather than rush to teach. Reunification is something to be wished for, not something to be achieved by force.
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