North Koreans' cry

If North-Koreans' cry is not forged, then it is the cry of the slave, which can only give way to its sorrow along with with his master's sorrow. Simone Weil explains that in her essay about the Iliad.

"And what does it take to make the slave weep? The misfortune of his master, his opressor, despoiler, pillager, of the man who laid waste his town and killed his dear ones under his very eyes. This man suffers or dies; then the slave's tears comes. And really why not? This is for him the only occasion on which tears are permitted, are, indeed, required. A slave will always cry whenever he can do so with impunity - his situation keeps tears on tap for him.

She spoke, weeping, and the women groaned,

Using the pretext of Patroclus to bewail their own torments.

Since the slave has no licence to express anything except what is pleasing to his master, it follows that the only emotion that can touch or enliven him a little, that can reach him in the desolation of his life, is the emotion of love for his master. There is no place else to send the gift of love; all other outlets are barred, just as, with the horse in harness, bits, shafts, reins bar every way but one. And if, by some miracle, in the slave's breast a hope is born, the hope of becoming, some day, through somebody's influence, someone once again, how far won't these captives go to show love and thankfulness, even though these emotions are adressed to very mand who should, considering the very recent past, still reek with horror for them:

My husband, to whom my father and respected mother gave me,

I saw before the city transfixed by the sharp bronze.

My three brothers, cildren, with me, of a single mother,

So dear to me! They all met their fatal day.

But you did not allow me to weep, when swift Achilles

Slaughtered my husband and laid waste the city of Mines.

You promised me that I would be taken by divine Achilles,

For his legitimate wife, that he would carry me away in his ships,

To Pythia, where our marriage would be celebrated among the Myrmidons,

So without respite I mourn for you, you who have always been gentle.

To lose more than the slave does is impossible, for he loses his whole inner life. A fragment of it he may get back if he sees the possibility of changing his fate, but this is only his hope. Such is the empire of force (...)."