Há cada vez mais evidências de que os norte-coreanos estão a ter consciência daquilo que se passa fora de portas. Interessante e prometedora esta informação publicada pela NPR:
Conventional wisdom holds that the people of North Korea are trapped in a world of rigid conformity, totalitarian discipline and complete isolation from the rest of the world.
But increasingly another picture is emerging: North Koreans are far more aware of the outside world, according to evidence provided by North Korean refugees, South Korean humanitarian aid workers, Chinese traders and others. (ler mais)
E o repórter Cathal Kelly, do jornal The Star, encontrou uma forma de quebrar o muro que rodeia a selecção norte-coreana no mundial da África do Sul. Cathal ficou ferido num pedaço de arame farpado e deu por ele a receber tratamento do médico da equipa da Coreia do Norte. Aqui fica uma parte desse relato:
The arena sits hard up against a neighbourhood of tightly packed adobe bungalows. A 2 ½-metre wall topped by razor wire surrounds it. We were told to park alongside the wall. A Portuguese film crew had arrived before us. We pulled up beside them, the rear of our car pressed up against the wall.
I got out to stretch my legs. The police lazily regarded me from behind a wrought-iron fence.
People who’ve spent time in South Africa have told me that after a few months, you stop noticing the razor wire. It’s everywhere — around businesses, houses, public parks, churches. What took them months must have taken me 10 days.
I slipped around behind the Portuguese TV truck, daydreaming. The first thing I felt was a tugging. When I flinched, I felt a ripping. On the section wall I was passing, the razor wire spilled over, hanging about 2 metres above the ground. It caught me on the crown of my head and tore two jagged strips in my bare scalp. There was an impressive amount of blood.
I leaned forward to keep the stream off my clothes. Jean-François jumped out of the car. I explained what had happened. He ran off to get the police. The Portuguese had some napkins.
It didn’t hurt badly, but I wanted to disinfect it as quickly as possible. I walked over to where Jean-François was negotiating with the police.
“What happened?” one cop asked, not moving from his stool.
“Razor wire,” I pointed.