Introduction: Two Koreas, Two Identities
The 1953 armistice halted the Korean War’s open conflict but cemented the peninsula’s division into two rival states. In the decades since, North Korea (the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea) and South Korea (the Republic of Korea) have each pursued aggressive nation-building projects to shore up their legitimacy. These efforts were rooted in starkly different political ideologies – the North’s doctrine of Juche (self-reliance) versus the South’s early ethos of anti-communist nationalism – and were carried out through comprehensive propaganda, education programs, media control, monument-building, and state rituals. This article explores how each regime constructed a distinct national identity from 1953 to the present, how they portrayed one another as the “other Korea,” and how these narratives evolved over time. We will also consider insights from historians and analysts such as B.R. Myers, Andrei Lankov, Hazel Smith, and Charles Armstrong to understand the historiographical interpretations of Korean ideological nation-building.
Divergent Postwar Ideologies: Juche vs. Anti-Communism
In the aftermath of the Korean War, the two Koreas embarked on divergent ideological paths. North Korea, under Kim Il-sung, gradually developed Juche as its guiding ideology. Coined in the late 1950s and meaning “self-reliance,” Juche blended Marxist-Leninist ideas with an extreme emphasis on national autonomy and the supreme leadership of Kim Il-sung. By the 1960s, Juche had become the “core ideological fixation of the regime”, elevated to the status of a state-defining doctrine. Over time, Juche ideology took on quasi-religious overtones – Kim Il-sung’s pronouncements were treated as scripture, and Juche thought was held up as uniquely and purely Korean. This emphasis on Korean uniqueness was not just rhetoric: the DPRK increasingly stressed ethnic nationalism, portraying Korea as a homogeneous “family state” that must remain free of foreign influence. Historian Charles Armstrong notes, for example, that in 1963 North Korea even outlawed marriages between Koreans and foreigners, explicitly to preserve the “pure” Korean bloodline. In short, North Korea’s postwar ideology evolved into a blend of Stalinist structure and an intense, race-based nationalism centered on the Kim family’s leadership.
South Korea, by contrast, defined itself in opposition to communism. Anti-communism became “the cornerstone of South Korea’s national identity” in the postwar decades. Under President Syngman Rhee (1948–1960), the fledgling ROK enshrined virulent anti-communist legislation (notably the National Security Act of 1948) and portrayed itself as the “distinctly democratic” half of Korea, locked in an existential struggle against the northern “communist national identity”. In reality, Rhee’s regime was authoritarian, but its legitimacy rested on positioning South Korea as the antithesis of Kim Il-sung’s DPRK. South Korean propaganda and education under Rhee and his successors depicted communists as enemies of the nation and credited the South’s alliance with the United States as vital for freedom. This anti-communist stance only hardened after the devastation of the Korean War. The conflict’s trauma “further[ed] animosity and the split between the two Koreas”, making anti-communism not just policy but a defining identity for the South . During the Cold War decades, South Korean nationalism was thus largely “accentuated broadly as not North Korea’s nationalism; that is, an anti-communist nationalism”. Ethnic pride in a shared Korean heritage certainly existed on both sides, but in the South it was harnessed to condemn the communist North and champion the idea that the ROK represented the true Korean nation in contrast to the “Red” puppet state above the 38th parallel38th Parallel Full Description: An arbitrary latitude line chosen by American and Soviet officials to divide the Korean peninsula into two occupation zones. It sliced through natural geography, administrative districts, and ancient communities, creating an artificial border that remains one of the most militarized frontiers in the world. The 38th Parallel represents the imposition of Cold War geopolitics upon a unified nation. Following the liberation of Korea from Japanese colonial rule, the country was not granted immediate independence but was partitioned by foreign powers without consulting the Korean people. Two young American officers chose the line from a map in roughly thirty minutes, viewing it as a temporary administrative fix. Critical Perspective:This line illustrates the disregard Great Powers held for local sovereignty. The division was a geopolitical abstraction that ignored the economic interdependence of the industrial North and the agricultural South, as well as the deep cultural unity of the people. It transformed a singular nation into two hostile client states, setting the stage for a fratricidal war..
Over time, both ideologies would undergo significant evolution. In North Korea, Juche was supplemented in the 1990s by Songun (military-first policy) after the collapse of the Soviet bloc and a catastrophic famine, shifting the emphasis to survival through military strength. In the 2000s and 2010s, Kimilsungism-Kimjongilism was proclaimed, effectively canonizing the teachings of Kim Il-sung and his son Kim Jong-il as the official state creed. Yet as analyst B.R. Myers argues, these high-minded terms often obscured the real thrust of North Korean ideology. Myers contends that “the fundamental ideology governing the regime… is more akin to 20th-century right-wing… totalitarian regimes, combining a radical race nationalism… [and] a Führerprinzip (‘Kimilsungism-Kimjongilism,’ the suryong system)”. In his view, Juche’s philosophical content was less important than its role in elevating the Kim family as the heart of the nation. South Korea’s state ideology also transformed, especially after the late 1980s. The military-backed regimes of Park Chung-hee (1961–1979) and Chun Doo-hwan (1980–1987) maintained rigid anti-communism, but they also promoted development and order as national values. Following South Korea’s transition to democracy in 1987, the official narrative shifted to highlight democratic ideals and global engagement. Anti-communism gradually lost its monopoly over South Korean identity, especially as the Cold War ended. By the 1990s and 2000s, themes of reconciliation and the hope for peaceful unification with North Korea entered the mainstream discourse, reflecting a more confident South Korea that had achieved both economic success and democracy. Nonetheless, a strain of anti-communist sentiment endures in South Korean politics, especially among conservative groups, showing that the ideological divide born in the 1950s still casts a long shadow.
Cult of the Leader vs. Authoritarian Presidents
One of the most striking differences in nation-building between North and South Korea is the role of top leadership. North Korea built an extensive cult of personalityCult of Personality Full Description: The Cult of Personality manifested in the omnipresence of the leader’s image and words. The “Little Red Book” became a sacred text, expected to be carried, studied, and recited by all citizens. Loyalty dances, badges, and the attribution of all national successes to the leader’s genius defined the era. Critical Perspective: This phenomenon fundamentally undermined the collective leadership structure of the party. It created a direct, unmediated emotional bond between the leader and the masses, allowing the leader to act above the law and beyond criticism. It fostered an environment of fanaticism where political disagreement was equated with blasphemy, silencing all dissent. around Kim Il-sung and his successors, whereas South Korea’s leaders (even when authoritarian) never attained such an all-encompassing personal cult. From the 1950s onward, Kim Il-sung fashioned himself not just as a political leader but as the Sur-yong (Supreme Leader) in a quasi-monarchical line. The North’s Suryong system ties the entire nation’s identity to the Kim family. Propaganda and official culture elevated Kim Il-sung to almost divine status – he was depicted as the heroic guerrilla who single-handedly liberated Korea from Japanese colonialism and as the paternal savior of the Korean people. After solidifying power by purging rivals, Kim Il-sung entrenched this father-figure image. Yet interestingly, North Korean propaganda often portrays the Great Leader in soft, benevolent terms. Analysts have noted that unlike StalinStalin Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin (18 December 1878 – 5 March 1953) was a Soviet politician, dictator and revolutionary who led the Soviet Union from 1924 until his death in 1953. Read More’s image as a steely, masculine “man of iron,” Kim Il-sung was frequently shown “as benevolent, motherly [in] figure”, without macho militaristic features. Photos and murals commonly show Kim embracing children or weeping with the people, cultivating an aura of compassionate guardianship. This was quite deliberate: in Confucian-influenced society, a stern father figure may command authority, but a caring mother figure earns love and loyalty. The regime crafted Kim as the benevolent parent of the nation, an imagery extended to Kim’s son and heir Kim Jong-il, and now to grandson Kim Jong-un. This dynastic leadership cult, as one scholar put it, “operates through the idolization of the supreme leader and the hereditary succession of power within the Kim family”. To justify the absurd level of reverence demanded, North Korean propaganda leaned on racialist logic: the Korean people were portrayed as a pure yet childlike race in constant peril, in need of a great parental leader. As B.R. Myers observes, North Korean ideology holds that the Korean nation is uniquely virtuous but “so ‘vulnerable’ [as a] ‘child race’, they require a parent leader to protect and lead them”. In short, the Kim cult is rationalized by the claim that only a leader of semi-divine wisdom and purity can shelter the innocent Korean people from aggressors and corrupting influences.
South Korea’s early leaders, meanwhile, were authoritarian strongmen but never achieved a personality cult remotely comparable to North Korea’s. President Syngman Rhee liked to be called the “Liberator” of Korea and concentrated power in his hands, but he was forced to resign in 1960 amid public protests, and his legacy was later vilified more than venerated. General Park Chung-hee, who seized power in 1961, did enjoy considerable popular support for the economic growth under his rule. His government carefully promoted Park’s image as a nation-builder – his New Village (“Saemaul”) rural modernization movement and five-year economic plans were touted as visionary leadership. Schoolchildren in the 1970s might chant slogans about “loyalty” to the president and nation, and Park’s portrait hung in many public offices. Still, Park Chung-hee never became a supreme object of worship in the way Kim Il-sung was in the North. Even sympathetic observers of Park note that “despite his dictatorial reach, Park never achieved an eminence on par with Kim Il-sung; there was no cult of personality” around him. South Korean nationalism under Park and his successors was centered more on abstract ideas – anti-communism, economic prosperity, national security – than on the person of the leader. The contrast was clear: whereas “the North Korean people were Kim Il-sung’s people… North Korean nationalism is a resolutely Kim Il-sung nationalism” , South Korean nationalism, even at its most authoritarian, did not demand worship of a single individual. Instead, South Korea’s leaders grounded their legitimacy in claims to be protecting the nation from communism and lifting it out of poverty.
After democratization in the late 1980s, any vestiges of a leader-focused ideology in the South disappeared. The presidency became an office accountable to voters, and former dictators were reassessed critically. In fact, modern South Korean national identity often celebrates the people’s movements that overthrew authoritarianism – such as the student revolution of April 1960, the Gwangju Uprising of 1980 against Chun Doo-hwan’s regime, and the massive June 1987 protests that ushered in democracy. The heroes in South Korean history textbooks today are more likely to be pro-democracy activists or national independence figures than any president. This stands in sharp relief to North Korea, where history begins and ends with the Kim family’s exploits. The North continues to operate under a dynastic model that one scholar describes as “a blend of totalitarianism and Confucianism” – effectively, a political religion with the Kim bloodline as its sacred lineage. Each transfer of power from Kim Il-sung to Kim Jong-il in 1994, and Kim Jong-il to Kim Jong-un in 2011, was accompanied by elaborate propaganda affirming the eternal continuity of the leadership. Kim Il-sung was posthumously titled “Eternal President” and enshrined in a mausoleum; Kim Jong-il was likewise elevated in state mythology upon his death. By contrast, South Korea’s leadership changes hands regularly through elections, and former presidents often find their legacies debated or even disgraced (two ex-presidents have been imprisoned for corruption in recent years). In sum, North Korea built a familial cult of leadership as the core of its national identity, whereas South Korea – after some early flirtation with strongman rule – ultimately embraced a more impersonal national identity centered on constitutional values, economic success, and popular sovereignty. The difference could not be more profound: one Korea venerates a lineage of “surpassing” leaders, while the other (at least today) venerates the idea that no leader is above the law or the nation.
Building the Nation: Propaganda, Education, and Ritual
Both Korean states understood that controlling historical memory and shaping popular belief were essential to nation-building. They therefore invested heavily in propaganda, educational curricula, media narratives, monuments, and state rituals to forge a cohesive national identity and legitimize their rule. However, the content and tone of these efforts differed greatly between North and South, reflecting their opposing ideologies.
In North Korea, propaganda is omnipresent and utterly state-controlled. From a young age, North Koreans are subject to what Hazel Smith calls a “relentless socialisation campaign” glorifying the Kim family and the ruling ideology. Schoolchildren learn distorted history that credits Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il with almost godlike achievements – for example, that Kim Il-sung liberated the country from Japanese rule (downplaying the role of any other faction), or that Kim Jong-il’s birth was foretold by celestial signs. Classrooms and public spaces are adorned with portraits and slogans; every North Korean town has murals and mosaics praising the leaders or exhorting socialist patriotism. The mass media – newspapers, radio, and the ubiquitous loudspeaker systems – daily trumpet the regime’s heroism and the villainy of its enemies. As one observer notes, North Korean domestic propaganda fosters a “simple world picture” where “the North, led by the glorious dynasty of omniscient and benevolent rulers, [is] the best society on the face of the Earth”, while outside nations live in envy or misery. Until the late 1990s, official media even claimed South Koreans were starving and oppressed (a narrative that had to be tweaked once information seeped in that the South was in fact quite affluent). The regime’s propaganda methods also include grand monuments and public spectacles. Pyongyang’s skyline itself is a propaganda landscape: the Juche Tower rises as a stone embodiment of the state ideology, and massive statues of Kim Il-sung (and now Kim Jong-il) dominate the capital’s Mansudae Hill. These monuments serve as pilgrimage sites for citizens, who bow and lay flowers in orchestrated displays of loyalty. Every year, North Korea stages elaborate rituals and festivals – for instance, the “Day of the Sun” (Kim Il-sung’s birthday on April 15) is celebrated with huge parades, fireworks, and synchronized performances extolling his legacy. The Arirang Mass Games, held in some years, involve tens of thousands of youth in tightly choreographed gymnastics and card-flipping mosaics that create giant images of revolutionary triumphs and portraits of the Kims. Such events are part entertainment, part indoctrination: participants practice for months, internalizing teamwork and obedience to the state’s narrative, while spectators are awed by the visual assertion of unity. Even daily life has ritualistic elements of propaganda – workplaces start the day with ideological study sessions or songs like “No Motherland Without You” (an ode to Kim Jong-il). The combined effect of all this is to envelop North Koreans in a total ideological environment. As Hazel Smith points out, North Koreans do not live in total ignorance of the outside world today – many have illegally watched foreign movies or heard foreign radio – but the state works hard to filter and frame all information. Dissent is brutally punished, ensuring that public conformity to the propaganda line remains the norm.
South Korea’s propaganda and nation-building efforts were vigorous as well, especially during the Cold War, but took a different form owing to the country’s changing political system. In the 1950s–1980s, under authoritarian rule, the South Korean government tightly managed the historical narrative taught in schools and disseminated through media. The central theme was anti-communism and national survival. For example, South Korean school textbooks for first-graders in the 1960s–80s described North Koreans in lurid terms – “as late as 1989, [some] first grade textbooks… argued that the North Koreans are cold blooded killers who continue to show no remorse for their deeds”. The Korean War was taught as a morality tale of communist aggression and heroic national defense. Students each day pledged allegiance to the South Korean flag and often took an “anti-communist oath,” swearing to fight communism. During the military regimes of Park and Chun, schools instituted weekly anti-communist education hours and civil defense drills; children learned songs demonizing Kim Il-sung or lauding the ROK–US alliance. The media was similarly marshaled. Newspapers and broadcasters (all under either direct state ownership or strict censorship) pushed out messaging about the ever-present Northern threat. A national paranoia was cultivated – for instance, the government would periodically announce spy scares or discovery of North Korean infiltrators, to remind the populace of the lurking enemy. Propaganda posters and leaflets were also used, though South Korea’s approach was somewhat less ubiquitous than the North’s. During the war and afterward, Seoul did wage a leaflet campaign against the North: millions of airborne leaflets (called ppira) were sent across the DMZ, urging North Korean soldiers to surrender or villagers to defect to the “Free World.” One South Korean leaflet from the war era depicted a North Korean communist soldier as a snake coiled around a farmer, with the caption “The communist party, squeezing out the sweat and blood of the farmers!” – a visceral image meant to turn Northerners against their regime. Domestically, South Korea raised monuments to celebrate anti-communist victories and to honor the UN forces that helped repel the North’s invasion. For example, one prominent monument in Seoul commemorated the October 1950 “Incheon Landing” operation that turned the tide of war in favor of the South/UN forces.
Over time, as South Korea democratized and society opened up, the content of official narratives diversified. The late 1980s and 1990s saw education reforms that toned down the hardline anti-North rhetoric. By 1996, new history textbooks began to shift focus “from the war to unification,” emphasizing the tragedy of national division and the ideal of peaceful reunification rather than just vilifying the North. The old caricature of North Koreans solely as fanatic villains was softened to a view of them as misguided compatriots to be eventually reunited (albeit still under a non-communist system). This reflected broader social changes: South Koreans’ direct exposure to North Koreans increased (through TV coverage of reunions of separated families, for instance), and many in the South developed a more empathetic view of Northern people’s suffering. State rituals in South Korea also evolved. Under authoritarian rule, there were large military parades on Armed Forces Day and mandatory participation in anti-communist rallies. In contrast, the democratic era introduced new national rituals: memorial ceremonies for the victims of political repression, annual commemorations of the 1980 Gwangju democracy movement, etc., which reinforced a national identity grounded in democracy and human rights. One enduring ritual that straddles both eras is the annual June 25 remembrance of the Korean War’s start – but even that ceremony’s tone changed from one of anti-communist ferocity to a more somber commemoration of all the war’s dead and a call for peace. Today, South Korea’s government still employs propaganda in subtler ways (for example, promotional videos about Korea’s global achievements or public service announcements emphasizing national unity in face of northern provocations), but it operates in a vibrant media landscape where multiple viewpoints contend. Thus, unlike in North Korea, the state’s voice in the South is just one of many, and its propaganda is often balanced or challenged by media, opposition parties, and civil society.
A vivid illustration of South Korea’s shifting identity work is the War Memorial of Korea in Seoul, opened in 1994. On its grounds stands the Statue of Brothers (Figure 2), an 11-meter-high sculpture of two soldiers – one South Korean, one North Korean – hugging each other with tears on a cracked dome that symbolizes the divided nation. The accompanying plaque explains that the embrace represents “reconciliation, love, and forgiveness” between the brothers, and by extension between the two Koreas. The monument acknowledges that Koreans on both sides are family, sharing “the wish for national peace, reconciliation, and reunification” . Such imagery and language mark a significant departure from the rhetoric of earlier decades, which rarely admitted any virtue or shared humanity in the North. It shows how South Korean state narratives, by the 1990s, were incorporating a more inclusive, nationalistic (in the sense of one Korean people) message alongside the older anti-communist stance. Meanwhile, in Pyongyang, monuments built in the same period – like the giant bronze statues of Kim Il-sung (unveiled 1972) and Kim Jong-il (added 2012) – send a different message: glorifying the leaders who, in the North’s telling, are the nation. Thus, through monuments and rituals, both Koreas project their values: the South now foregrounds remembrance, sacrifice, and the hope of brotherhood overcoming ideological division, whereas the North emphasizes eternal loyalty to its revolutionary founders and the purity of its socialist Korean paradise.
Mirror Images: Portrayal of the “Other Korea”
In building their national identities, each Korea also constructed the image of the other – the rival Korean state – as a foil. How North and South Korea depicted each other in textbooks, media, and official discourse offers insight into their propaganda and evolving goals.
North Korea’s portrayal of South Korea has always been scathing, though not without shifts in emphasis. For decades, North Korean media refused even to acknowledge the name “Republic of Korea” or the legitimacy of the Seoul government. The South was typically referred to as the “south Korean puppet regime” or just “puppet,” implying it is a marionette controlled by foreign (American) powers. North Korean dictionaries explicitly define “puppet” as “a political group of traitors to the nation who serve as puppets for foreign invaders, including imperialists, and betray their homeland and people”. This encapsulates Pyongyang’s view of the South: not a true Korea at all, but a treasonous entity selling out the nation to the United States. In the first decades after the war, North Korean propaganda painted a horrendous (and largely fabricated) picture of life in South Korea. As Andrei Lankov describes, Pyongyang’s line was that “South Korea [is] the colony of the U.S. imperialists”, where American occupiers and their Korean “lackeys” subject the people to “unparalleled brutality”. North Korean news would claim that poverty, unemployment, and crime were rampant in the South – for example, propagandists alleged that a quarter of South Korean women had become prostitutes for U.S. troops, or that South Korean children survived by polishing American soldiers’ boots and selling their blood to “two-legged wolf” Yankee doctors. These grotesque stories were meant to convince North Koreans that their southern brethren lived in hellish misery longing for liberation. Up through the 1990s, North Korean school lessons and novels often asserted that the South’s population was starving under capitalist exploitation, a narrative somewhat undermined by the North’s own severe famine in the 1990s.
Interestingly, around the late 1990s and early 2000s, North Korea quietly adjusted its portrayal of the South. With more North Koreans becoming aware that South Korea had grown economically successful (through illicit TV, radio, and refugee testimony), the old propaganda about the South’s destitution lost credibility. According to Lankov, a “new propaganda line was being born” by the early 2000s. North Korean fiction and media began to admit that South Koreans enjoy material prosperity – driving cars, eating well, living in modern houses – but this prosperity was reframed as a Faustian bargain. The propaganda now stressed that although the South is rich, it paid a terrible price: “they were deprived of their precious national identity” in the process. In North Korean publications, South Korea started to be portrayed as morally bankrupt and culturally polluted. Frequent mention was made of mixed marriages in the South (especially between Korean women and American men), portrayed as a tragic dilution of Korean purity. South Korean popular culture was dismissed as decadent Americanized fluff. The blame for this “spiritual pollution” was placed squarely on the American military presence and the “traitorous” pro-American South Korean leadership. Essentially, the North shifted from claiming superiority in standard of living to claiming superiority in ethnic purity and virtue. As one North Korean propaganda piece summed up: “the North is a torchbearer, a proud protector of nationhood and racial purity. South Korean prosperity is tainted and hence should not be envied”. The South’s wealth is acknowledged but portrayed as hollow because the South Koreans supposedly lost their true Korean soul under foreign domination. Furthermore, North propaganda insists that ordinary South Koreans secretly resent their situation and yearn for the North’s leadership. Even in the Sunshine PolicySunshine Policy
Full Description:The foreign policy of South Korea towards North Korea from 1998 to 2008. Initiated by President Kim Dae-jung, it emphasized cooperation, economic aid, and engagement rather than containment, hoping to soften the North’s regime through contact. The Sunshine Policy was based on the fable of Aesop (where the sun, not the wind, forces the traveler to remove his coat). It led to historic summits, family reunions, and joint economic projects like the Kaesong Industrial Complex. The goal was to separate politics from economics, believing that economic interdependence would make war impossible.
Critical Perspective:While it temporarily lowered tensions, critics argue the policy failed to curb North Korea’s nuclear ambitions. By providing unconditional aid, the South may have inadvertently subsidized the survival of the Kim regime during its famine years, without securing irreversible steps toward disarmament or human rights improvements in return.
Read more era (when South Korea had a pro-engagement president, Kim Dae-jung, who was praised mildly in North Korean news), internal North Korean narratives did not credit him. In a novel, a character based on Kim Dae-jung might still appear as “a disgusting… clownish lackey of the American imperialists”. The consistent message: only Pyongyang and Kim (Il-sung or Jong-il) can “save” South Koreans. North Korean media has even made bizarre claims that Kim Jong-il (and now Kim Jong-un) are admired or “worshipped in the South” – an outright falsehood designed to reinforce the North’s sense of legitimacy. According to this narrative, “the North must fight for the ultimate salvation of the South, to enable all South Koreans to enjoy the loving care of the Dear Leader”, and only American troops and a few “national traitors” in Seoul stand in the way.
On the South Korean side, depictions of North Korea and its people have run the gamut from demonization to begrudging respect to fraternal empathy, depending on the era and the speaker. In the staunchly anti-communist decades, South Korean state propaganda described the North Korean regime in apocalyptic terms – as an illegitimate, barbaric aggressor. Government-issued textbooks and films heavily emphasized North Korea’s invasion in 1950 and its atrocities during the war. Northern soldiers and communists were frequently labeled “reds” (ppalgaengi in Korean, a derogatory term) and often dehumanized. For instance, a mid-20th-century ROK textbook might simply describe North Koreans as brutal communists to be feared and hated. The Korean War dominated the narrative of the North in the South: it was taught as a surprise attack that proved the evil of communism. South Korean media for many years downplayed or denied any atrocities by the South, while highlighting those of the North (such as the Seoul National University Hospital massacre of 1950, etc.). Moreover, ROK propaganda stressed that North Korea was a puppet of foreign powers (first the Soviets, then the Chinese). Thus, North Korea was often not even accorded the status of an independent Korean entity in Southern discourse; it was portrayed as a tool of an international communist conspiracy.
In the late 20th century, especially after inter-Korean détente began in the 1970s and with the advent of democracy in the South, the portrayal grew more nuanced. While South Korean schoolchildren continued to learn that Kim Il-sung started the Korean War (a truth the North denies), by the 1990s they also learned that this war was a great tragedy that devastated both Koreas. History textbooks were revised to include the suffering of North Korean civilians and the hopes for reconciliation. The language used to describe North Koreans shifted from purely pejorative to more neutral or sympathetic terms. For example, where an older textbook might call North Koreans “communist bandits,” a 1990s textbook might refer to them as “North Korean soldiers” or even “brethren in the North”. South Korean media also began to humanize North Koreans through documentaries about famine victims or interviews with defectors describing everyday life. By the 2000s, during the Sunshine Policy period, the official stance was that while the North Korean regime’s actions were objectionable, the North Korean people were Koreans like those in the South and deserving of help and eventual reunification. The starkest illustration of this evolved view is again the Statue of Brothers (Figure 2) and its message of “brotherly love transcending ideology”. Such imagery would have been unthinkable in Seoul in the 1960s, when the wounds of war and fierce anti-communism were at their peak.
That said, South Korea’s view of the North has not been uniformly rosy in recent decades. Threat perception remains high, especially when North Korea conducts nuclear or missile tests or when conservative administrations are in power in Seoul. South Korean military and security documents still often refer to the North Korean regime as the main enemy. And some segments of South Korean society harbor resentment or fear toward the North. But generally, public discourse in the South today distinguishes between the North Korean regime (often condemned for its dictatorship and human rights abuses) and North Korean people (often seen as unfortunate victims). This is a notable difference from the North’s approach, which rarely, if ever, separates the South Korean government from the people in its condemnations – everyone in the South is assumed to be a puppet unless proven otherwise.
In summary, each Korea’s portrayal of the other has been a distorted mirror serving its own nation-building narrative. North Korea’s depiction of South Korea shifted from insisting the South was a living hell to begrudgingly admitting its material success but dismissing it as “tainted” by impurity. The South’s depiction of the North shifted from total demonization to a more complex mix of criticism of the regime and compassion for North Koreans. Both shifts tell us about the changes within each society: North Korea doubling down on ethno-nationalist legitimacy when its economic model failed, and South Korea embracing democratic and humanitarian values as it gained confidence and strength.
Evolution and Shifts Over Time
The story of Korean nation-building is not static; it has evolved through leadership changes, generational shifts, and global transformations. From 1953 to 2025, both North and South Korea’s identity narratives have undergone significant, albeit very different, changes.
In North Korea, the first phase (1950s–1960s) was about revolutionary legitimacy. Kim Il-sung, having eliminated domestic rivals, embarked on reconstructing a war-torn nation while cultivating a personality cult. Juche was articulated in a 1955 speech and gradually entrenched in the 1960s. During this time, North Korea also experienced genuine developmental success – the economy initially grew faster than the South’s, and the regime used this to tout the superiority of its system. The 1970s saw Juche formally written into the state constitution (1972) and the iconography of the regime reached new heights (the Juche Tower, massive portraits, etc.). The leadership cult was fully established: Kim Il-sung’s portraits were mandatory in every home and public building, and his ideology was touted as the guiding light for all aspects of life. By the 1980s, however, cracks were forming. Kim Il-sung prepared for succession by elevating his son Kim Jong-il, who took on major propaganda roles (he was said to be the mastermind behind the Mass Games and the arts, earning titles like “Dear Leader”). Kim Jong-il’s rise showed the solidification of hereditary rule, unique in the communist world at that time. When Kim Il-sung died in 1994, North Korea faced its gravest crisis: an entrenched personality cult suddenly without its central personality. The regime responded by enshrining Kim Il-sung as Eternal President, making even death a part of the myth (he remains the state’s official president to this day). Kim Jong-il, inheriting a country in famine and industrial collapse, leaned even more on ideological control to maintain authority amid the disaster. He introduced Songun (military-first) politics to justify diverting scarce resources to the army and to present the military as both protector and model for society. The late 1990s propaganda was filled with narratives of the “Arduous March,” likening the famine years to a heroic struggle that North Koreans must endure with the same spirit as they did the anti-Japanese guerrilla years – again linking back to Kim Il-sung’s legacy.
The 2000s and 2010s brought new shifts. North Korea acquired nuclear weapons, which the regime weaved into its identity: it now claimed to be a mighty nuclear-armed nation standing up to imperialism, a source of pride. Under Kim Jong-il and then his young son Kim Jong-un (who took power in 2011), propaganda began to emphasize not only self-reliance but also (interestingly) a promise of eventual prosperity – Kim Jong-un spoke of improving living standards and even allowed modest market-oriented measures, though always under the banner of socialist principles. Kim Jong-un also resurrected some imagery of his grandfather (he has styled his clothing and public persona to resemble Kim Il-sung’s, to evoke nostalgia and legitimacy). Throughout these changes, the core ideological pillars – the Kim cult, the nationalist myth of racial purity, the narrative of external threat – remained intact. If anything, as Myers argues, North Korean ideology has shed virtually all pretense of orthodox socialism and become “a race-based paranoid nationalism cloaked in socialist imagery”. In practice, the regime’s policies are flexible (they can negotiate with the U.S. pragmatically, engage in markets when needed), but ideologically they continue to project absolute infallibility. Andrei Lankov observes that the North Korean propagandists have proven adaptable: when reality undermined one propaganda point (e.g. the South’s poverty), they “had to change their tune” and found a new basis (national purity) to claim North’s superiority. This has worked in the short term to justify regime survival, but Lankov and Myers both caution that such a strategy may be “unsustainable” in the long run as the gap between propaganda and reality grows. For now, though, North Korea’s nation-building formula – a mix of fear (of enemies) and fervor (for the leader/nation) – remains potent, and any shifts have been about re-calibrating emphasis rather than abandoning the fundamental narrative.
In South Korea, the shifts have been dramatic because the country itself transformed from authoritarianism to democracy and from poverty to prosperity. The 1950s under Rhee were marked by instability and poverty; nation-building then relied on anti-communist zeal and the lingering pain of the war. After Rhee’s fall, a brief democratic interlude (1960–61) gave way to Park Chung-hee’s coup in 1961. The 1960s and 70s under Park saw the forging of a new South Korean nationalism that incorporated economic progress. Park launched the “modernization of the fatherland” as a quasi-ideology: citizens were called to discipline and hard work, with the promise that building a strong economy would validate South Korea’s system over the North’s. Indeed, as South Korea’s economy boomed in the 1970s, the government propagated a narrative of “miracle on the Han River” – portraying its developmental success as a national triumph that only the free (albeit politically repressive) South could achieve. Anti-communism was still an official tenet – the Yushin Constitution of 1972 even included clauses about safeguarding against North Korean ideology – but the confidence in economic and technological progress became equally a part of the identity. The 1980s began under Chun Doo-hwan’s martial law regime, which tried to impose social stability through conservative values and censorship (even banning songs or literature deemed “subversive”). However, this decade also saw the rise of civil society and the pro-democracy minjung movement. Competing narratives emerged: the state’s line was that stability and anti-communism were paramount, while dissidents argued that true Korean nationalism required democracy and reconciliation. These currents came to a head in 1987 when mass protests forced a transition to democratic elections.
From the 1990s onward, South Korea’s national identity underwent a liberalization. The new democratic constitution affirmed liberties and elected civilian presidents. South Korea also joined the ranks of wealthy nations, which boosted national pride. International events like the co-hosting of the 2002 FIFA World Cup or K-pop’s global rise became part of a modern nationalist narrative – South Korea as a vibrant democracy with a dynamic culture on the world stage. Regarding North Korea, South Korea’s approach oscillated depending on political leadership but generally moved toward engagement in the late 1990s (the Sunshine Policy). President Kim Dae-jung (1998–2003) framed engagement as a moral duty of the stronger South to help Northern compatriots and paved the way for the first inter-Korean summit in 2000. This era saw official media referring to North Korea more respectfully as “North Korea (Bukhan)” rather than the harsher old term “Communist bandit” or simply “the North” in pejorative tone. The idea of a single Korean people (hanminjok) was emphasized in joint events and cultural exchanges. However, after the mid-2000s, North Korea’s continued military provocations tempered some of the idealism in the South. Conservative presidents like Lee Myung-bak and Park Geun-hye (2008–2016) took tougher stances, and the South Korean narrative re-incorporated more criticism of the North’s regime (especially on human rights and nuclear issues). Even so, the fundamental identity of South Korea by this time was secure in its democratic and economic accomplishments. Anti-communism no longer defines daily life or popular identity as it once did; surveys show many young South Koreans are more passionate about issues like economic opportunity or social justice than about fighting communism. Indeed, one challenge in the South is that younger generations, with no memory of a unified Korea or of the Korean War, sometimes feel increasingly distant from North Koreans. The shared ethnicity is acknowledged, but it doesn’t automatically translate to a desire for unification at any cost (which older generations, with family ties across the border, often felt). This generational shift means South Korean identity continues to evolve – potentially towards a more civic-national concept (inclusive of Korean-born immigrants, etc.) rather than the purely ethnic nationalism of old. Still, the notion of a common heritage with the North is far from gone, as evidenced whenever images of separated families reunions are broadcast, stirring public emotions. South Koreans take pride in their hard-won freedoms and standard of living, and these have become key pillars of what it means to be “Korean” in the South – often implicitly contrasted with the lack of freedom and hardship in the North.
In summary, over the past 70+ years, North Korea’s ideological nation-building has adapted to crises (from communist revolutionary fervor to Juche self-reliance, to military-first defiance, to nationalist-nuclear bravado) but remains rooted in the Kim cult and the narrative of an embattled pure Korea. South Korea’s nation-building journey has pivoted from authoritarian anti-communism to democratic nationhood, integrating new values but still mindful of the northern threat in varying degrees. Both Koreas’ identities have proven resilient, each underwritten by a mix of historical memory and myth-making that justifies the continued separation of the peninsula under two regimes.
Historiographical Perspectives on Korean Nation-Building
Historians and Korea scholars have offered insightful interpretations of how identity and propaganda function in the two Koreas. Their perspectives help us understand the deeper currents beneath official narratives:
B.R. Myers, in works like The Cleanest Race and North Korea’s Juche Myth, argues that North Korean ideology is fundamentally misunderstood if one takes its Marxist-Leninist slogans at face value. Myers posits that internally, the DPRK operates less like a communist state and more like an ultra-nationalist, quasi-fascist ethno-state. He notes that “the actual content of Juche… may not be worth studying” as a coherent philosophy, but what matters is how Juche evolved as a tool for the regime. According to Myers, the regime’s “inner track” propaganda (meant for domestic consumption) emphasizes a mythos of the Korean people as a childlike innocent race and the Kim leader as the protective parent – a narrative rooted in 20th-century Japanese colonial ideologies and wartime racialism, repackaged with Korean characteristics. He highlights how North Korean propaganda heavily uses racial discourse: for example, the frequent claims that North Koreans are the purest of peoples, threatened by inherently evil foreigners, requiring a paternal leader to shield them. Myers’ interpretation shines light on why North Korean propaganda focuses so much on emotional appeals (motherly leader images, stories of protectiveness) rather than communist theory. It is a perspective that underscores continuity between North Korean nationalism and pre-1945 Japanese ultra-nationalism imposed on Korea – a controversial view, but one that has spurred much debate in Korean studies. Crucially, Myers warns outsiders not to be duped by North Korea’s “export track” propaganda (like talks of reunification or peace for foreign audiences). The real ideology, he says, is in the internal messaging which remains hardline and militaristic. This viewpoint suggests that the core identity Pyongyang has built is not socialist utopia but a militant, race-based nationalism with the Kim cult at the center. Andrei Lankov, a Russian scholar of North Korea who studied in Pyongyang in the 1980s, offers a more realpolitik assessment. He agrees that North Korean ideology has largely become a facade for regime survival. Lankov observes that North Korean propaganda has shown a pragmatic flexibility: when it became untenable to claim the South was poorer, the regime “began to rely on the nationalist message” to preserve a sense of superiority. He and Myers both documented the post-2000 shift in North Korean propaganda that admitted Southern prosperity but disparaged its “lack of purity”. Lankov often emphasizes that many North Korean citizens privately don’t believe a lot of the propaganda – especially those who have consumed foreign media – but they tolerate it as a matter of necessity. He famously quipped that North Koreans have learned to “say one thing by day and another by night,” indicating a cynical compliance with official ideology. From a nation-building standpoint, Lankov argues the regime uses ideology instrumentally: juche, militarism, or racial nationalism are all means to an end (the end being regime continuity). In one analysis, he stated that “the ideology of the regime has changed quietly but significantly” over time, and that “the emphasis now is on nationalism” to buy the system more time. However, he predicts that no amount of nationalist propaganda can forever paper over the material disparities and information penetration, implying that North Korea’s identity narrative may face a legitimacy crisis in the long run. Regarding South Korea, Lankov has noted that while anti-communism was once literally a matter of life-and-death (e.g., students in the 1980s could be arrested for reading Marx), today’s South Korean society is pluralistic to the point that some young people even find the old anti-communist ethos puzzling or irrelevant. Lankov’s perspective thus highlights the adaptive and temporary nature of propaganda claims in the North, and the waning of propaganda’s influence in the South as it democratized. Hazel Smith, a British scholar who has lived in North Korea, cautions against viewing North Korea through a lens of exotic “otherness.” She argues that while North Korea is certainly repressive, it is “not uniquely so” , and that many features of its governance (cult of personality, surveillance, propaganda) have parallels in other authoritarian states historically. Smith urges analysts to recognize recent societal developments: for instance, North Korea’s informal markets since the famine have created a generation that is less dependent on the state and somewhat more aware of the outside world. In a 2015 Guardian piece, she debunked the myth that “North Koreans are ignorant of the world outside and believe everything the government tells them.” In fact, she notes that despite intensive indoctrination, North Koreans are not brainwashed robots – many know of global popular culture, and some regime propaganda rings hollow to them. This doesn’t mean the state’s nation-building has failed, but it means it is not all-pervasive to the extent often imagined. Smith also points out that North Korea’s leaders behave in rational ways to maintain power; they are not mysterious madmen driven solely by ideology. For example, the regime’s pursuit of nuclear weapons can be seen as a rational strategy for deterrence given their narrative of external threat. Historiographically, Smith contributes a comparative and sociological angle: North Korea’s propaganda, education, and identity formation are extreme, but not inexplicable – they follow a logic of regime security seen in other contexts too. For South Korea, Smith might note how quickly an official narrative can change in a democracy – e.g., from staunch anti-communism to Sunshine Policy within a decade – reflecting the country’s political diversity. Her perspective reminds us that nations are not monolithic: even in the North, beneath the veneer of uniformity, there are generational and class differences in reception of propaganda. This nuance is crucial in understanding the limits of ideological nation-building. Charles K. Armstrong, an American historian, has written about both North and South Korea’s state-building, especially in the Cold War context. In Tyranny of the Weak and other works, Armstrong highlights how both Korean states actively shaped the Cold War dynamics rather than just passively endured them. For instance, he notes that during the Korean War, when each side occupied parts of the other’s territory temporarily, they immediately engaged in cultural reorientation efforts – from publishing newspapers in the local script to staging puppet shows – in an attempt to win hearts and minds. This underscores that nation-building through propaganda was in full swing even amid active warfare. Armstrong also emphasizes the use of culture and history by both regimes: North Korea emphasized Korea’s ancient struggles against foreign invaders as analogous to its fight against U.S. imperialism, while South Korea emphasized its historical legitimacy as the heir of the Korean Provisional Government (anti-Japanese government-in-exile) and as the “Free Korea.” Armstrong’s research into Eastern European archives revealed details like North Korea’s efforts to eliminate foreign cultural influence as part of its identity – for example, the sharp reduction of Western music and arts performances in Pyongyang as Kim Il-sung pushed a purely Korean socialist culture. This dovetails with the earlier point about banning mixed marriages; together, they show how seriously the North took ethnic and cultural homogeneity as part of its nation-building. On the South Korean side, Armstrong (and others like Sheila Miyoshi Jager) have discussed how the South constructed its narrative of nationhood through memorials and historiography – such as memorializing certain colonial-era resistance figures as national heroes and downplaying others, to align with the state ideology of the time. Notably, both Koreas claimed to be the sole legitimate Korea and traced their state legitimacy to the anti-Japanese liberation struggle – Kim Il-sung in the North, and figures like Syngman Rhee or (later) Kim Gu in the South. Armstrong’s work often reminds us that these processes were dynamic: as the regimes changed (South Korea’s democratization, North Korea’s post-Cold War isolation), the ways history was used also changed. He would likely point out that today, South Korea’s historiography openly reckons with the authoritarian past – something unimaginable during Park’s rule – which itself is a testament to the nation’s identity evolution.
In sum, historiographical perspectives enrich our understanding by peering behind the official narratives. They reveal, for example, that North Korea’s seemingly bizarre propaganda has an internal logic tied to ethnic ultra-nationalism (Myers), that it adapts pragmatically when needed (Lankov), that its people are not complete automatons (Smith), and that both Koreas actively manufactured national identities through selective memory and cultural policies (Armstrong). These interpretations underscore that ideological nation-building in Korea was a conscious project carried out by regimes over decades, not an automatic outcome of division. It required constant reinforcement and sometimes revision. And, as history moves forward, new interpretations and challenges to these constructed identities continue to emerge.
Conclusion: Identity and Legitimacy on a Divided Peninsula
From the smoldering ruins of 1953, North and South Korea set out on radically different nation-building trajectories, each using ideology to legitimize itself in the eyes of its people and the world. In the North, Kim Il-sung and his heirs fashioned a highly centralized, quasi-religious state ideology that elevates the “Kim Il-sung nation” above all. Through Juche thought, an all-encompassing propaganda apparatus, and the pervasive cult of the Kim family, North Korea created an identity of a pure, invincible Korea under a benevolent supreme leader. The society was mobilized to revere the leader as the embodiment of the nation – a strategy that has sustained one of the world’s most authoritarian regimes for three generations. In the South, a very different experiment unfolded: an initially authoritarian state that invoked anti-communist nationalism to survive the Cold War, later transforming into a robust democracy that reimagined national identity around freedom, economic achievement, and eventually reconciliation. South Korea’s leaders used propaganda and coercion in the early decades, but by the 21st century the country’s identity became far more organic and internally contested, reflecting the pluralism of a democratic society.
Each state also defined itself against the other. For decades, North and South Korea projected inverted mirror images: to Northerners, the South was a land of shameful submission to foreign imperialists; to Southerners, the North was a land of tyranny and deprivation. These depictions helped rally domestic support – North Koreans were taught to thank their lucky stars for Kim Il-sung’s leadership instead of the South’s “Yankee puppets,” and South Koreans were taught to unite behind anti-communist patriotism to avoid the fate of the North. Over time, as realities changed, so did some of the storylines. North Korea doubled down on its claim to moral and racial superiority when it could no longer hide the South’s material superiority. South Korea, growing stronger, was eventually confident enough to acknowledge common ground with fellow Koreans in the North, promoting a narrative of one people divided by unfortunate history. Yet, even today, both Korean states continue to deploy elements of these narratives. Pyongyang still trumpets its Juche-based system as uniquely Korean and superior – pointing to its nuclear arsenal or ideological homogeneity as proof of strength – while casting the South as fundamentally illegitimate. Seoul, for its part, highlights the ROK’s success as a free and modern nation, often implying that it represents the “real” future of all Koreans, unlike the DPRK’s stagnant dictatorship.
The case of the two Koreas demonstrates how ideology and propaganda can shape national identity under very different conditions. In the North, ideology became an all-purpose tool to justify the Kim dynasty’s rule – as one scholar wryly noted, it is less a guide for policy and more a “justification… a tool of domination”. In the South, state-driven ideology was powerful for a time but had to adapt and ultimately give way to a more open discourse as the country democratized. The contrast is perhaps most visible in how each treats history and leadership: one enshrines a single family’s narrative as sacred history, the other has come to critically evaluate its past leaders and policies in public. One celebrates the suryong, the other celebrates the ordinary citizen (epitomized by the millions who rallied in peaceful protest during the 2016–17 impeachmentImpeachment Full Description:The constitutional mechanism by which a legislative body levels charges against a government official. It serves as the ultimate political remedy for “high crimes and misdemeanors,” designed to prevent the executive branch from becoming a tyranny. Impeachment is not the removal from office, but the formal accusation (indictment) by the legislature. In the context of the crisis, it represented the reassertion of congressional power against an executive branch that had grown increasingly unaccountable. The process forces the political system to decide whether the President is above the law.
Critical Perspective:While designed as a check on power, the process highlights the fragility of democratic institutions. It reveals that the remedy for presidential criminality is fundamentally political, not legal. Consequently, justice often relies on the willingness of the President’s own party to prioritize the constitution over partisan loyalty, a reliance that makes the system vulnerable to factionalism.
Read more of President Park Geun-hye, often invoking pride in Korea’s democratic maturity).
And yet, for all these differences, there are echoes across the DMZ. Both North and South Korea’s nation-building were rooted in a profound sense of Korean nationalism – a belief in a distinct Korean people with a 5,000-year history. Each claimed to be the true guardian of Korean destiny: Kim Il-sung’s regime by creating a militant, self-reliant “paradise” untouched by colonial or foreign influence, and South Korea by building a globally respected nation that Koreans could be proud of on the world stage. In both cases, national legitimacy was the prize, and propaganda was the means to secure it. Historians like Charles Armstrong remind us that these processes were not just internal but also influenced by global Cold War dynamics – each Korea was aware it was presenting itself not only to its own people but to international allies or patrons as the legitimate Korea.
Today, the Korean peninsula remains divided, and so do its identities. But they are not static. North Korea’s information barriers have eroded somewhat; if its people ever collectively stop believing in the Kim myth, change could follow. South Korea’s younger generation faces the challenge of keeping alive the memory of a once unified Korea as more than just a textbook idea, even as they cherish the very different society they have built in the South. Ideological nation-building in Korea has been a double-edged sword – it helped two war-torn states cohere and develop under difficult circumstances, but it also entrenched a bitter division through mutual demonization and incompatible narratives. Understanding these narratives, as this article has attempted, is crucial to any future reconciliation. After all, if the two Koreas are ever to reunite or peacefully coexist, they will have to bridge a wide gap not only in wealth and politics, but in identity – the stories they tell about themselves and each other. For now, the work of historians and analysts in parsing these stories brings us a step closer to understanding how nationhood can be constructed and deconstructed on the fraught landscape of the Cold War’s last frontier.
Leave a Reply