JUANA SUMMERS, HOST:
This month, a new president took office in South Korea, promising to reduce tensions and resume dialogue with North Korea. His first move was to unilaterally call a halt to psychological warfare operations along the inter-Korean border. NPR's Anthony Kuhn reports on what that means for residents.
ANTHONY KUHN, BYLINE: Long-legged white birds swoop over rice fields in the farming village of Dangsan-ri (ph) on the inter-Korean border. One mile across the Han River estuary is North Korea. If you look up in the hills, you can see a loudspeaker, which blasts unsettling noises at Dangsan-ri at all hours. We visited last week while the loudspeaker wars were still in progress.
(SOUNDBITE OF SHRIEKING NOISES)
KUHN: Ahn Hyo-cheol (ph) is Dangsan-ri's village chief. He says a public health clinic did a survey to gauge the impact of all the wailing and screeching noises on residents.
AHN HYO-CHEOL: (Through interpreter) They didn't ask every single resident, but they found a hundred percent of the people they asked are sleep deprived. But still, the government is doing nothing except for soundproofing windows and not even for all homes.
KUHN: The two Koreas have been blaring propaganda at each other on and off for more than six decades. The South restarted the broadcast last June in response to the North sending trash-filled balloons into the South. Village Chief Ahn says the South needs to move first to end it.
AHN H: (Through interpreter) What we are all asking for is that we stop our own broadcasts toward the North for at least one or two months. And if they stop, that's the simplest solution. If we stop and they don't, then that's out of our hands.
KUHN: Some people, though, think the South's broadcasts are an effective tool. Ahn Chan-il (ph) is a former North Korean soldier who says he was persuaded by the broadcast to defect to the South in the 1970s. He says he sprinted across a minefield in the demilitarized zone, ready to kill himself with his pistol to avoid capture if he stepped on a mine. Before that, as his army rations dwindled and he felt hunger pangs, Ahn listen to broadcasts describe how the South was surging ahead of his country in private ownership of cars, fridges and TVs.
AHN CHAN-IL: (Through interpreter) While I was hearing the numbers, I was also seeing with my eyes - because I was manning outposts inside the DMZ - the helicopters and the vehicles moving on the other side.
KUHN: Ahn is now president of the World Institute for North Korean Studies. He argues that the South's broadcast should not be seen as psychological warfare because they're welcomed in North Korea's closed society.
AHN C: (Through interpreter) I think we should reframe it as a cultural operation or cultural communication and use it as a way to enlighten North Korean soldiers and residents.
KUHN: For years, the North belted out propaganda trashing the South's leaders while praising their own. Since last July, that was replaced by just noise.
(SOUNDBITE OF UNIDENTIFIED NOISES)
KUHN: Village Chief Ahn's wife, Kim Ok-soon (ph), says it makes no sense.
KIM OK-SOON: (Through interpreter) You're under this sonic bombardment every day. It would be much better if actual bombs fell. At least then, the government would do something about it.
KUHN: Then last Wednesday, President Lee Jae-myung called a halt to the South's broadcasts. The North returned the favor the next day. He says he wants to restore trust and engagement with the North. But defector Ahn Chan-il argues that Pyongyang is more interested in stopping the broadcast to save scarce electricity than to resume negotiations with the U.S. or South Korea. And even before the loudspeakers fell silent, as the moon shone over the rice fields of Dangsan-ri, it seemed the sonic battle was already being won by...
(SOUNDBITE OF FROGS CROAKING)
KUHN: ...Crickets and frogs.
Anthony Kuhn, NPR News, Dangsan-ri Village, South Korea.
(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC) Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.
NPR transcripts are created on a rush deadline by an NPR contractor. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Accuracy and availability may vary. The authoritative record of NPR’s programming is the audio record.
