In the isolated and highly controlled society of North Korea, a quiet but profound transformation has taken place over the past few decades: women have emerged as the primary breadwinners in the majority of households. This shift, driven by economic necessity rather than deliberate policy, has upended traditional gender roles in one of the world’s most patriarchal states.
The catalyst was the catastrophic famine of the mid-1990s, known officially as the “Arduous March.” Following the collapse of the Soviet Union, the loss of aid, natural disasters, and chronic mismanagement, North Korea’s centralized public distribution system (PDS) — which had provided rations to citizens — broke down entirely. Hundreds of thousands, possibly millions, perished from starvation and related illnesses between roughly 1994 and 1998. With the state unable to feed its people, ordinary North Koreans turned to survival strategies outside official channels.
Informal private markets, called jangmadang (장마당, meaning “market grounds”), sprang up spontaneously. What began as small-scale bartering of food, household goods, and smuggled items from China evolved into a widespread informal economy. These markets now supply most household needs, including food, clothing, and even foreign media. Defector testimonies and studies consistently show that the jangmadang generate the bulk of family income for many North Koreans, often far surpassing meager or nonexistent state wages.
Women have come to dominate these markets for practical reasons rooted in the regime’s structure. In North Korea’s state-assigned work units, men are typically required to report daily to factories, offices, or other enterprises — even if those workplaces are non-functional and pay little or nothing — to demonstrate loyalty and avoid punishment. Married women, however, are often exempt from strict attendance requirements. They face fewer mobility restrictions and lower security scrutiny, as the regime historically viewed them as less of a threat than men. This gendered division of labor allowed women to engage more freely in trading, entrepreneurship, and small-scale businesses.
As a result, women became the main earners in most families. Estimates from defectors, South Korean researchers, and organizations like Human Rights Watch suggest that women provide the primary or majority income in 70–90% of households. Market activities enable them to earn significantly more than their husbands’ nominal state salaries. In some accounts, women have even adopted dismissive terms for idle or dependent men, likening husbands to “puppies,” “pets,” or “another mouth to feed” — a stark reversal of Confucian-influenced traditions where men were the unquestioned providers and heads of households.
This economic empowerment has rippled into family dynamics and social norms. Women gain greater influence over household decisions, resource allocation, and even reproductive choices. Some defectors describe a nascent “matriarchy” in the domestic sphere, where women’s earning power challenges patriarchal authority. The “jangmadang generation” — those who grew up amid marketization — shows signs of greater autonomy, including shifts in fashion, beauty standards, and attitudes toward relationships and fertility.
Yet the change remains fragile and contested. The regime has never fully embraced the markets; it tolerates them out of necessity but periodically cracks down through regulations, age restrictions on traders, bribery demands, or outright suppression — especially under Kim Jong Un. Women in the jangmadang face risks: exploitation, gender-based scrutiny, arbitrary arrests, and vulnerability in cross-border trade. Broader society and the state continue to enforce traditional roles alongside socialist rhetoric of gender equality, with women excluded from real political power.
Despite these constraints, North Korean women’s grassroots adaptation represents one of the most significant unintended outcomes of the country’s economic crises. By sustaining families where the state failed, they have quietly eroded pillars of the regime’s control — from absolute dependence on the state to rigid patriarchal norms — fostering subtle but enduring change from the bottom up. This transformation highlights resilience in the face of adversity and the power of everyday survival strategies to reshape even the most tightly controlled societies.
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