Absolute power changes a person. When that power belongs to a nuclear-armed dictator sitting atop a totalitarian state, the psychological toll on anyone within arm's reach is staggering.
Lee Il-gyu knows this better than most. As a former high-ranking North Korean diplomat who served as a deputy director in the foreign ministry, he crossed paths with Kim Jong-un on seven distinct occasions. His accounts strip away the cartoonish veneer often pushed by foreign media and replace it with a claustrophobic reality. Meeting the Supreme Leader isn't a political appointment. It's a high-stakes survival test where a single misspoken syllable can shatter a career or end a life.
The Reality Behind the Iron Curtain
Most people picture North Korea through state-sanctioned parades or grainy missile launches. But the day-to-day governance runs on terror. When foreign dignitaries visit, the logistical machinery required to keep the regime looking immaculate involves hundreds of officials working under crushing pressure.
In late 2018, Il-gyu handled on-site coordination for Cuban President Miguel Díaz-Canel's high-profile visit to Pyongyang. That schedule featured high-level meetings, a banquet at Mokran House, and a massive stadium performance. For Il-gyu, interacting with Kim meant answering sharp, hyper-specific questions about aircraft types, cuisine choices, and population statistics. Experts at BBC News have also weighed in on this trend.
His first encounter happened in a VIP airport waiting room. His voice shook. His body locked up completely. You would be terrified too. If you fail to perform your duties flawlessly under those lights, the consequences ripple out to your entire extended family.
Surviving a Month of Rigid Conditioning
You don't just walk into a room with the North Korean leader. The preparation process takes a full month of intensive behavioral training.
The regime enforces absolute physical discipline. You learn not to fidget, sway, or make any unnecessary movements. Eye contact is strictly regulated; staring directly at Kim for any extended period is a fast track to disaster. If he walks down your corridor, you don't panic or scramble. You step aside smoothly and carry yourself with practiced composure.
Conversation rules are even stricter. You never speak first. You never volunteer enthusiasm or show off your personality. When he asks a question, your response must be short, precise, and completely factual. Rambling gets you noticed, and in Pyongyang, getting noticed by the top leadership is never a good thing. Everything around him gets recorded by secretaries tracking every movement to compile official revolutionary histories. Honesty is mandatory, but standing out or trying to flatter him with fake smiles is strictly forbidden.
A System Built on Fleeting Fates
State propaganda paints Kim as an infallible, god-like figure. Il-gyu notes the reality is far more jarring. Behind closed doors, Kim shifts between moments of casual human interaction and terrifying cruelty.
During one diplomatic function, a 60-year-old interpreter made the fatal mistake of cutting in while Kim was speaking to clarify a point. Kim immediately labeled him an "insolent man" and banned him from ever entering his presence again.
Everyone in the room thought the man's life was over. In North Korea, a single sentence from the supreme leader can seal your fate instantly. Fortunately, the interpreter had a brother-in-law inside the powerful Organisation and Guidance Department. That connection saved him from execution. Instead, he spent a grueling week undergoing mandatory self-criticism sessions, writing confessions day and night until the party decided he was rehabilitated.
Why Absolute Power Matters Today
Rumors about Kim’s health—sparked by recent medical scares and temporary state media blackouts—routinely captivate global news cycles. Yet whether the current leader stays in power or a successor takes the reins, the underlying mechanical terror of the regime remains identical.
No domestic check exists on his authority. The military answers only to him. The courts serve his interests. When you remove all accountability from a government, human life becomes cheap currency. Lee Il-gyu’s testimony proves that beneath the red carpets and diplomatic handshakes lies a fragile system held together by absolute fear.
