North Korea’s Curious Case of Department Store № 1
Things are not always what they seem, even for a regular shopping experience
In the heart of Pyongyang, only one block from Kim Il Sung Square, the aptly named Department Store №1 may appear today as a regular shopping centre. Though a little run down and aged, compared to more contemporary shopping centres in Pyongyang, it has notched itself in the peculiar history that surrounds North Korea.
Built in 1982, in under a year according to North Korea, Department Store №1 served as the pinnacle of shopping experiences for the locals of Pyongyang. It was the place to shop. Found in one of the best locations of the capital, the North Korean publication, Pyongyang Review (Printed 1988, Foreign Publishing House) provides a description of the store that is equally vague as it is specific:
On the first floor are many counters for cosmetics, glassware and porcelain, flowering plants, liquor and soft drinks, ornamental vases and household utensils. On the second floor are more specialised commodities, such as goods for children. The third and fourth floors sell goods for women and men. The fifth floor is set aside for the sale of luxuries and valuable good.
Sunset of Socialism, 1989
During the 1980s, North Korea prided itself on producing its own goods for consumers, but like many of the socialist and communist nations of the time it was falling into steep economic decline, slowly unable to provide for the needs of its citizens and yet still attempting to uphold the facade of socialism being the ideal economic system. Despite this, the government continued to pour money into ambitious projects. One of these projects was the 13th World Festival of Youth and Students held on 1989. In short, this was an event to gather people from around the world to host sporting events, lectures and rallies across the space of a few days. Never had North Korea received such a high volume of visitors all at once. And despite this, the government attempted to sustain its act of being a prosperous nation, while experiencing a massive economic downturn, shy of a few months of the fall of the Berlin wall.
During the festival, Department Store №1 received many tourists and locals, browsing Korean goods and items, but according to some accounts, something was amiss.
It is not unheard of for nations to create what are called ‘Potemkin’ infrastructure, that is, to give the illusion of a real building, service, town etc. existing even though it is actually fake.
Attendee, Theodore Dalrymple, who was part of the British envoy at the festival, visited the department store and wrote in his account, The Wilder Shores of Marx:
Its shelves and counters were groaning with locally produced goods, piled into impressive pyramids or in fan-like displays, perfectly arranged, throughout the several floors of the building.
He confirmed, at least with what Pyongyang Review also claimed:
On the ground floor was a wide variety of tinned foods, hardware and alcoholic drinks, including a strong Korean liqueur with a whole snake pickled or marinated in the bottle, presumably as an aphrodisiac.
Dalrymple continued to walk the department store, becoming more curious to the atmosphere unfolding around him. He noticed locals were coming and going from the store but no one was making purchases. People weren’t even taking things off the shelf to browse. Some lined up at counters but weren’t being served, despite attendees standing by. The charade quickly became apparent, Dalrymple continuing to write about what appeared to be actors and not shoppers:
They did not inspect the merchandise; they moved as listlessly as illiterates might, condemned to spend the day among the shelves of a library. I did not know whether to laugh or explode with anger or weep. But I knew I was seeing one of the most extraordinary sights of the twentieth century.
It appeared North Korea attempted to hide its economic failings behind a thinly veiled curtain, that although no one could pull aside, they could still simply look through with ease. Department Store №1 certainly had goods for sale, but seemingly only enough to showcase and only enough to allow tourists to buy, but not for the local population. Or perhaps the supply was available but the locals were unable to afford anything. Or perhaps both.
Later Years
As the years went on, North Korea slowly stabilised their economy in wake of a famine and Department Store №1 became overshadowed by more contemporary shopping centres that were built, such as Daesong Department Store and Kwangbok Department Store.
Some of these shopping centres (including Department Store №1) are now supported by Chinese partners, moving away from the self sufficiency model from the previous century. This would possibly allow for more sustainability of goods for customers.
In recent years, North Korea boasted Department Store №1 receives over 20,000 shoppers a day (and even offers online shopping) but is now, for the most part, only open to locals. Occasionally tourists have been permitted to visit the store in their guided tours, but these stops are rare and photography is usually forbidden.
However, traces of its peculiar nature still linger. In the mid 2000’s, Swedish Journalist Caroline Salzinger planned to visit the store, though upon arrival found it was closed. She recounted one of her guides that was accompanying her had to rush to open the building and during her experience, a diplomat noted no locals left the store with any purchased goods.
More recently, photographer Eddo Hartman photographed the front of the store in 2016, and aside from one of the main glass windows cracked top to bottom, all the items in the front display lacked labels or sales tags.
Department Store №1 was indeed built on a strange foundation: the sensible, official narrative contrasted by the juxtaposition of bizarre testimony from outsiders and visitors. Was it originally a part-time facade, part-time shopping destination for the elite, an image of the ideal for visitors? Did it transform over time and become a very basic department store one could find any capital city, or does the facade somehow remain?
These questions only amplify the mystery that shadows North Korea.
