The hidden secret of winter military training… Supply burden on officers’ families
Image: NCNA
This month, winter descends on the peninsula bringing freezing temperatures and biting winds. For North Korean soldiers, this means the start of winter training.
The purpose of the annual exercises at this time is primarily to prepare the troops for an armed invasion by South Korea, strengthen combat readiness, enforce discipline and loyalty, and instill ideological commitment through political indoctrination. Specifically, they include mock combat using models of South Korean cities, counter-drills against US–South Korea joint exercises, and theoretical education such as “enemy studies,” all aimed at enhancing combat power and reinforcing regime cohesion.
It is a harsh season of marches, shooting practice, and tactical drills in snow-carpeted mountains.
One of the bright sides for those involved is that rations seem to improve slightly. But behind that change lies a peculiar structure in that the families of officers, and not those of ordinary soldiers, are compelled to “voluntarily” take on the job of supplying meals.
Thus “winter training” is not just seasonal practice. It is a large-scale mobilization in which the entire army concentrates its strength. Yet it is an open secret among the people that the logistical system supporting it is incomplete.
Officially, the military is supposed to provide food and supplies, but in reality many soldiers fail to receive even the basic calories they need. In this situation, the practice of officers’ families taking turns to provide food has, over decades, hardened into a de facto institution.
When training begins, these families receive a schedule. If there are ten households, each takes responsibility for one day every ten days, providing meals for the soldiers in training.
Why does the soldiers’ table change? Because the menu depends entirely on the financial situation and what is available of each officer’s household. One day it may be rice and kimchi, another day rice cakes. These meals carry the warmth of home cooking.
Still, the pressure is immense. Families must provide meals sufficient for soldiers to endure the training.
“During winter training, officers’ families would gather to check whose turn it was that day,” one defector from Pyongyang recalled. “It was said to be voluntary, but no one could opt out. If you did, you risked falling out of favor.”
The burden is heavy. Ordinary North Koreans rarely have sufficient reserves for winter, and preparing meals for dozens of soldiers can paralyze an entire working day. Some families sell small goods at the marketplace to buy ingredients, while others reduce their own portions and struggle through their assigned day.
The hardest part is the psychological pressure to meet expectations. Food delivered to the unit is informally compared among officers. If one household prepares plentiful side dishes, the next feels compelled to provide even more.
“During winter training, I would wake up at dawn to cook rice, prepare kimchi, and sometimes carry the food directly to the unit,” one woman I knew from an officer’s family said. “Meanwhile, my own children’s meals became simpler, but the food for the soldiers had to be complete. I’ll never forget that irony.”
For soldiers, this period is at least a time when they can eat. As their strength is drained by training, the food prepared by officers’ families becomes a great comfort. Soaked uniforms from the cold, aching legs from long marches, strict drills, all are momentarily eased by a warm meal that reminds them of home.
But behind that warmth lies that sacrifice of the families who prepared it. Even within the military, cynical remarks circulate: “We’re dumping what we should provide onto civilians.” Yet no one dares to challenge the practice. Raising supply issues would expose systemic flaws, which could be interpreted as discontent with the regime.
Ultimately, the rotating supply by officers’ families is the product of North Korea’s structural limitations. Responsibilities the state cannot bear are shifted onto its people. Their sacrifice is used to sustain the strength of the military.
Still, families say, “We suffer too, but the soldiers in training suffer even more. Someone has to do it.”
Kim Yumi, a North Korean defector, was born and raised in Haeju, South Hwanghae Province, a coastal military area. Growing up near a naval base, she was able to secretly watch South Korean news programs and TV shows, thereby uncovering the vibrant, democratic society of South Korea. Yumi and her husband made the brave decision to escape North Korea and seek a better future. Now in Seoul, she is actively involved in raising awareness about the realities of life in North Korea, especially on her YouTube channel, “@KimYumiTV.”
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