From Russia with love – Russia in global affairs

As you know, we are in trouble with “soft power,” that is, the conscious formation of a positive image of Russia abroad. Almost any product in this category causes Spanish shame or, in today’s jargon, cringe. As in any bad advertising, the audience is not calculated, the wrong buttons are pressed, signals are sent that are either too rude or too sluggish, the most profitable news feeds are missed and insignificant details are inflated. There are many reasons for this problem, I will only mention those that lie on the surface.

How not to

Firstly, our cultural institutions most often do not have a clearly recognized task of forming a positive image of the country abroad. Most of the films, books, and songs that represent Russia at international festivals and competitions, in strict accordance with the national archetype, castigate the “leaden abominations” of our reality and create an exaggerated black image of the country. Of course, these works can be done with talent and raise topical issues that are worthy of cultural understanding and discussion in the narrow family circle of their country. However, they are completely unsuitable for representative purposes – which, apparently, we simply do not set.

Secondly, even when the task of promoting the country seems to have been set, there is no clear understanding of what, exactly, to advertise. Russia and its culture are huge and multifaceted. However, advertising more often follows the well-trodden path of “bathhouse – vodka – accordion – and – salmon,” closely connecting the image of the country with a beautiful, but still past. Girls in painted scarves, round dances, ballet, Red Square are, of course, good in themselves, but with countless repetitions they add unnecessary exoticism to the image of Russia. Even worse: within the framework of the concept of multinational Russia, Russian round dances are complemented either by Caucasian saklyas or shamanic dances, so that the country often looks like it is two or three hundred years removed from the modern world.

On the other hand, advertisers often go to the opposite extreme, furiously arguing that we can rap, twerk, electric scooters and the Internet. This message humiliates Russia: a developed modern country does not need to prove that it knows how to use a water closet.

Third, when calculating the target audience, our advertiser focuses, at best, on the average European, convinced that this is the only worthy judge. Propaganda ignores the fact that the view of Russia from Latin America, Asia or Africa may differ; different peoples may value and perceive different things about us.

The list of these sad problems goes on, but I want to talk about the good.

I have been studying North Korean culture and media for many years and, as part of my job, I try to regularly watch local television. Russia is often mentioned there in both political and cultural contexts.

Until recently, our culture, with rare exceptions, was represented by standard folklore dance ensembles, ballet and monumental choral singing.

Until the 2010s, such a cultural presentation of Russia could be justified by the strict closedness of the Juche country and its immunity to new cultural trends. However, under Kim Jong-un, the DPRK’s own culture began to slowly modernize, looking towards South Korean keypop. Russia, on the North Korean screens, leads the same constant round dances.

Fortunately, there are exceptions to this trend, as I said. Thus, on April 17, 2024, on the central television of the DPRK, as part of the spring international cultural festival of the year, a Russian concert by Oleg Gazmanov was broadcast. In my opinion, this concert can be considered an example of advertising of modern Russia for North Koreans as the target audience.

Let’s figure out why this is so.

How to

Gazmanov, 73, represents the conservative side of show business. There are younger, more spectacular, more vocal singers who perform more technologically advanced shows. Therefore, this concert, of course, would not be suitable for showing anywhere in Europe. However, the DPRK is a country with different cultural and ideological characteristics. Here Gazmanov’s show perfectly walked the line between comfortable/familiar and exotic/innovative.

Firstly, the type of singer himself is well suited to the tasks of advertising. Gazmanov is a man of good charm, with a warm, inviting smile. Koreans are generally afraid of Western people, and the arrogance, bitchiness, and vulgarity of Western stars usually repulse them. There’s nothing like it here.

In the popular culture of the DPRK there is no cult of youth characteristic of the Western world, and the singer’s advanced age is not a problem. Koreans themselves enjoy listening not only to the young girls from the Moranbong ensemble, but also to veterans of the stage, such as Jung Hye-yeon, the star of the 1990s, performer of the hit “Whistle”. People still love her.

Gazmanov is in excellent physical shape, holds the audience well, moves dynamically but not vulgarly on stage, and is dressed in an informal style. All this should interest the Korean audience – in the DPRK, even young singers on stage are still static and conservatively dressed, and this rule applies not only to the girls from the Moranbong ensemble.

Gazmanov’s musicians, many of whom are much younger than himself, set the right level of Western eccentricity that is curious for Koreans, without slipping into the swagger that is unacceptable in the country of Juche. They play excellently, which has always been highly valued in the DPRK.

Secondly, the selection of the repertoire is successful, where a balance is maintained between patriotic and lyrical songs. The songs are melodic, memorable, and accompanied by clear, illustrative videos. Some hits, for example “Russia, Forward”, are already known in the DPRK from the performance of a local ensemble. Something unusual, but educational for the DPRK, is that despite the abundance of patriotic themes, there are no songs about leaders – neither yesterday nor today (in the DPRK, by the way, there is a song about Vladimir Putin).

Each song is accompanied by Korean subtitles, and thoughtfully done. Some of the flavor of the Russian 1990s disappeared during translation – for example, the line “Those who survived in Afghanistan without spoiling their honor” was translated into Korean as: “Those who survived the fire of war, preserving their souls.”

What can you understand about the Russian people from Gazmanov’s songs? Russians, like Koreans, love their mothers. This seemingly obvious thing is not so obvious in Korea. There is a persistent misconception among Koreans, both southern and northern, that only Koreans can truly love their mothers. The most popular lyrical songs of the DPRK are about mothers. Gazmanov’s song “Mama,” which is accompanied by a demonstration of photographs of the singer’s mother and footage of crying spectators of both sexes, appeals to feelings understandable to Koreans and appeals to Russians, who—surprise! – It turns out they also love their mothers.

Russians, like Koreans, love their homeland and are ready to defend it. Like the Koreans, Russians want to live their own way and will not allow anyone in the world to tell them which way they should go. Gazmanov’s song on this topic echoes the most popular North Korean hit of the 1990s, “Socialism is Ours” by Ryu Yong Nam.

Songs about paratroopers and officers are accompanied by dynamic videos with handsome young men in military uniform and modern military equipment, with girls waving Russian flags. The audience in the hall actively sings along to these songs. To “Officers,” the informal anthem of the Russian army, the men in the audience stand up and wipe away their tears. Someone sings along, wrapped in the Russian flag. It looks touching and very understandable to the people of the DPRK, with its cult of the army and military.

And finally, about love. Judging by Gazmanov’s songs, love for a woman for Russians, as well as for Koreans, is about fidelity, marriage, children, and not about sexual experiments, betrayals and cooling off. The camera often snatches Gazmanov’s wife, Marina Muravyova, from the audience, who looks at her husband with unfailing tenderness. It is clear that Koreans are unlikely to know who this woman is, but these shots serve as a good illustration of love songs.

The sweetest song of the concert was, of course, “Lucy,” which the singer performed together with his son Rodion. I can imagine the jokes of those who decide to remember that in the DPRK a dog is a food product. However, jokes are out of place here. In modern North Korea, small dogs are being kept at home as pets. So the song about children’s attachment to a yard dog in North Korea will be completely understood.

Third, spectators in the hall. In themselves they are a wonderful advertisement for Russia. Sincere, touched, very humane people of different ages. Everyone looks great, the girls have clean faces and shining eyes, the older women are fit and smart, the mothers are holding beautiful children in their arms, the men and boys are restrained and courageous. I don’t think, of course, that anyone specially selected these people – most likely, this is Gazmanov’s ordinary audience. But he probably made a pleasant impression on the Koreans.

During the concert, the level of interactivity that North Koreans can easily accept is maintained. On the one hand, the audience is actively involved, singing along and dancing, which is unusual for the DPRK. On the other hand, no one throws bras at the singer, roars or fights in hysterics, forcing the poor ideological curators of the DPRK to fuss, cutting out certain parts of the concert that do not correspond to the local norms of public behavior.

In general, it was an ideal fit into the correct image of Russia – a country that is progressive, developed, interesting, moderately exotic, but at the same time sharing moral values ​​that are understandable to Koreans.

Why is it important

The broadcast of Gazmanov’s show in the DPRK is a very right political step in a direction that we once abandoned.

At one time, ties between our countries were strengthened by the powerful cultural influence of the USSR. There was a continuous flow of books, films, and magazines from the USSR to the DPRK. Our writers, poets, singers and artists came to give performances. And in the 1940s and 1950s, Russia became for the DPRK a window into an attractive modernist future. Our girls were style icons, our writers were the models by which the North Korean “soldiers of the cultural front” learned to write. Our songs were sung, our dances imitated.

Despite the fact that various political vicissitudes from time to time suspended the development of cultural ties between the USSR and the DPRK, a positive attitude towards our culture in North Korea remained. When Alla Pugacheva arrived in the DPRK in the 1980s, after a long period of political cooling, her concerts were sold out. In 1985, the Soviet-Korean film “A Second to Deed” was filmed in the DPRK with the participation of Soviet actors. The leading actor Andrei Martynov was literally not allowed to pass on the streets of Pyongyang by fans – they knew him well from his role in the film “The Dawns Here Are Quiet.”

After perestroika, North Korean cinemas continued to show Soviet films, and magazines continued to reprint stories by Soviet classics. In the 2000s, private restaurants in the DPRK played post-Soviet variety music.

Unfortunately, in post-Soviet times little was done to maintain and develop this interest in Russia. For a long time, the DPRK was perceived as an insignificant, marginal direction of our cultural diplomacy – why fascinate it, tea, not France. Life shows, however, that everyone needs to be charmed – you never know who might come in handy when. And in general, as any girl will confirm, it’s nice to have fans.

I would like to hope that the matter will not be limited to Gazmanov alone, and that the DPRK will get acquainted with other Russian cultural figures. And there will also be more examples of successful advertising of Russia abroad.

Author: Tatyana Gabrusenko, professor at Korea University, South Korea