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So, not to pretend to be one of those girls who likes football, I hate it. Stupid, boring, annoying football where the scoreline can be exactly the same at the end as it was at the start and people can then describe that as “a good game”. And stupid world-cup football is my least favourite kind, walking its weird patriotism/xenophobia tightrope. I know it’s my hang-up, but when I was a child, England flags were scary. Even Union flags were scary — they mean fascism, skinheads, and aggression. And although I am glad that the flags have been rehabilitated and now sit perkily on windows and dog-collars (actual dog collars. Not the ones vicars wear), they still give me the slight heebs.
But mainly, I resent the disruption to my routine. I like a routine above all things. And in the list of things I dislike above all things, change (of almost any kind) is right up there. So when the BBC abandon the 1 o’clock news to show a football match, I feel a bit like Director General Mark Thompson has come round to my house, punched me in the face, moved my things around and then fucked off. And I don’t like it. Sure, I can watch it on News 24 (which I persist in calling News 24, even though the BBC treacherously changed its name some time ago), but it isn’t the same. Louisa Preston doesn’t come on and do the local news. Peter Cockroft doesn’t appear with my local weather. I hate that.
And I thought my irritation with the BBC’s crush on the World Cup had reached its pinnacle last week, with the vuvuzela story. They ran a piece for five minutes on the 6 o’clock news about the racket these horns make. A racket which apparently makes it impossible for our brave fans to sing their chants. This news story could be distilled into precisely one sentence: People making annoying noise prevent other people from making different annoying noise.
The catchphrase of this world cup, at least in my house is, “That’s not news!” It’s yelled with some fury at the television, so I guess I do have something in common with football fans after all.
But now the BBC has genuinely raised its annoying-ness game, running a piece on North Korea’s role in the world cup. They excitedly report today that this week’s match against Brazil was broadcast live in North Korea, unlike their first match which was shown after a 12-hour delay. To be honest, if I were Kim Jong-il (a fantasy I like to indulge in briefly each day), I would just tell them we’d won. What’s the point in controlling all the state’s media if you don’t pretend to have won everything from the World Cup to Eurovision? He’s missed a trick there.
But that isn’t why the BBC were being annoying. The BBC were being annoying because they reported that the fact that the match was being broadcast live was a big risk to the North Korean authorities, because people might wave placards and protest against them. The report goes on to remind us of how grouchy people were about the path the Olympic torch took in 2008, and how much protesting went on. It then mentions that no placards or protests happened at the North Korea match.
“It is interesting,” proclaims their website, “to ponder why this might be”. The author then spends precisely no time pondering why this might be. Were protests organised but stopped? Have the South African authorities prevented something? Has FIFA? I mean, look how cross they got with the orange Dutch beer ladies. Do people who care about human rights not care about football? Or did they try and fail? Could they just not get the tickets, or are placards removed at the entrance to the stadium?
I don’t know, and if you read the BBC’s website, nor will you. But don’t worry, they’ve wrapped up the story neatly: “Perhaps those who claim that sporting events of this kind can break down barriers and cultural divides have a point.”
And it’s at this point that I am now having to shout at the internet as well as at the telly. That’s right, BBC. A sure sign of the breaking down of barriers and cultural divides is a lack of protests about North Korea. There were no protests because no one wants to protest about them. Hey, I guess instead of worrying about those imprisoned or killed in this secret state, we’ve just learned to get along. Ebony, ivory, and so on. I think this may be the stupidest sentence I’ve read all year, and am officially cross. I’m off to watch the tennis instead.
Much may have changed in the 44 years since North Korea last fielded a team at the World Cup, but the country’s government remains as staunch as ever in controlling the flow of information both to and from its citizens.
Thus far, the addition of totalitarianism to the cosmopolitan, carnivalesque mix of the World Cup has been not only a sinister but faintly surreal exercise, with journalists attending yesterday’s training session outside Johannesburg turned away in farcical circumstances. Having been told that the practice would be open to the media, anyone turning up found the gates barred, and their presence most definitely unwelcome. A small number of photographers were accidentally let into the padlocked and guarded stadium, but were hurriedly ejected as the team bus arrived.
Previously, head coach Kim Jong-Hun had, somewhat sneakily, attempted to trade on the mystery surrounding his players by registering one of his reserve centre forwards as a goalkeeper (FIFA rules state that each team’s squad must include three keepers); his plan backfired, however, when he was found out, and told that striker Kim Myong Won would now only be able to play in goal.
Not that those cheering for the North Koreans are likely to notice the difference: the 1,000 or so North Korean supporters currently in South Africa are actually a cohort of Chinese actors and musicians hired out to cover the fact that few North Koreans possess the necessary funds and permission to travel to watch the tournament. Back at home, television coverage is likely to excise any mention of the team’s defeats or poor performances.
Government supervision also extends to the players themselves. Hong Young Jo, one of the few squad members to play his club football outside North Korea, was interviewed by the Russia’s Sport-Express newspaper in 2008, alongside a burly “translator” from North Korea’s security forces, who followed him at all times, granting or denying permission for Hong to speak to journalists or go for dinner with his team-mates.
The more sinister side of North Korea’s involvement in the tournament was underlined by the protests that greeted the team’s arrival in Zimbabwe for a series of warm-up matches at the beginning of June. Zimbabwean security forces trained by the North Korean army were responsible for brutally quashing a 1987 insurgency in the province of Matabeleland, killing between 8,000 and 20,000 civilians; when the North Korean team were invited to stay in Bulawayo, the province’s capital, mass public outrage caused the entire trip to be abandoned.
However, North Korea’s policy of insulating their team from scrutiny may collide with FIFA’s approach to publicity within the next few days: their rules state that all teams must be available for media appearances at least 5 days before their first game. With North Korea kicking off their campaign on June 15, it’s likely that we will shortly get to see players and coaches communicating directly with the international press. The extent to which they’ll be able to speak freely is slightly harder to predict.
A new exhibition in Vienna displaying North Korean poster art and architecture has been slammed by the Association of Austrian Koreans. The “Flowers for Kim II Sung” exhibition at the MAK museum, has been described as “idolising” and “embellishing North Korea’s dictatorial system”. Museum chief Peter Noever has denied that the exhibition is in any way an endorsement of the North Korean regime in interviews.
In association with the Human Rights Watch Film Festival (17-26 March) Index on Censorship are pleased to present screenings of The Red Chapel, plus a one-off Q&A with filmmaker Mads Brgger. This daring, humorous documentary follows Korean-born comics Jacob and Simon as they visit North Korea from their adopted home of Denmark. Working with Mads Brgger, who poses as their manager, they get permission to put on a show in Pyongyang as a form of cultural exchange. As bizarre an expedition as it may seem, the film gives us a rare insight into North Korea through the eyes of two hilarious and sensitive individuals.
Friday March 19, 2010 6:30pm, ICA, The Mall, London. Includes Q&A with Mads Brgger
Monday 22 March 6.30pm, Curzon Soho, London
Thursday March 25, 2010 7:00pm The Ritzy, Brixton