You’ve seen the picture. It’s been floating around the internet for years, usually shared by some "mind-blowing facts" account on social media. It shows the Korean Peninsula from space after the sun goes down. To the south, a vibrant, glowing web of white and yellow lights defines every city, highway, and port. To the north, a massive, jagged hole of ink-black darkness. Pyongyang sits in the middle of that void like a tiny, flickering candle in a dark warehouse.
It looks fake. Honestly, when I first saw it, I figured it was a heavy-handed Photoshop job meant to make a political point.
But it’s not. It’s a real photograph taken from the International Space Station (ISS). NASA released the most famous version back in 2014, and subsequent shots from 2023 and 2024 show that despite all the talk of "modernization" in the North, the light gap hasn't closed. It has actually widened in some ways. Comparing North Korea and South Korea at night is probably the single most visceral way to understand the economic chasm between the two nations without looking at a single spreadsheet.
The Science of the Void
The darkness isn't just about people turning off their lights to save a few bucks. It’s structural.
In South Korea, light is a byproduct of life. You have 24-hour convenience stores (PC Bangs), neon signs in Gangnam, and the massive manufacturing hubs in Ulsan that never sleep. The country is a top-10 global economy. When you look at Seoul from a plane at 2:00 AM, it’s blinding.
Switch over to the North. The lack of light is a direct result of a crumbling power grid that relies on ancient Soviet-era hydroelectric plants and coal-fired stations that are constantly breaking down. According to data from the Korea Institute for National Unification (KINU), North Korea’s electricity generation capacity hasn't significantly increased in decades. In fact, most rural areas only get power for a few hours a day—if they’re lucky.
Why Pyongyang Glows (A Little)
Pyongyang is the exception. If you look closely at those satellite images, there is one bright spot. That’s the capital. It’s where the elite live. Even there, the "glow" is pathetic compared to a mid-sized South Korean city like Daegu or Gwangju.
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I’ve talked to defectors who lived in Pyongyang. They describe a city where the streetlights are often decorative. They don't actually turn on. If they do, they’re dim. The most illuminated parts of the city are usually the monuments—the bronze statues of Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il are always bathed in floodlights, even when the apartment blocks right behind them are pitch black. Priority matters. The regime ensures the symbols of power stay lit while the people navigate their living rooms by flashlight or candles.
Life in the Dark vs. Life in the Neon
What does this actually feel like on the ground?
In South Korea, night is when the culture peaks. "Night culture" (Goyang-i) is a whole thing. You finish work, you go for chimaek (chicken and beer), then maybe karaoke. The streets are safer than almost anywhere else in the world because every inch of the sidewalk is illuminated and covered by CCTV.
North Korea is the opposite. Total silence.
When the sun goes down in a North Korean village, the day is over. People use battery-powered LED lamps imported from China to eat dinner. Because there is so little light pollution, the stars are reportedly incredible. It’s a weird, poetic side effect of a humanitarian crisis. You can see the Milky Way with startling clarity because there isn't a single streetlamp for fifty miles.
But that darkness has a sinister side. It’s the perfect cover for the "informal economy."
Since the famine of the 1990s, North Koreans have survived on Jangmadang—private markets. A lot of the movement of goods happens at night to avoid the gaze of the Inminban (neighborhood watch). Smuggling goods across the Tumen River from China? That happens in the dark. Moving grain from a collective farm to a private home? Dark. In the North, the night belongs to the survivalists.
The Great Energy Divide
Let's look at some actual numbers, because the scale of this is wild. South Korea consumes roughly 10,000 kilowatt-hours (kWh) of electricity per person, per year. North Korea? It’s estimated at less than 500 kWh.
- South Korea: Consistently ranks in the top tier of the World Bank's "Ease of Getting Electricity" index.
- North Korea: Faces a "chronic power deficit" that the UN says hampers everything from hospital surgeries to clean water pumping.
The disparity is so great that South Korean soldiers at the DMZ have described looking across the border at night and feeling like they are looking into a literal black hole. The only lights they see are the searchlights of the North Korean guard towers. It’s a jarring psychological wall.
Watching the Peninsula from Above
Satellite imagery technology has evolved. We don't just rely on NASA's occasional ISS snaps anymore. We have VIIRS (Visible Infrared Imaging Radiometer Suite) data.
Researchers like those at the 38 North project use this data to track North Korea’s economy. They’ve noticed something interesting lately: the "night light" footprint in North Korea has actually shrunk in certain provinces over the last three years. This likely correlates with the extreme border closures during the COVID-19 pandemic, which strangled the supply of spare parts for power plants.
Meanwhile, South Korea is actually trying to reduce its light at night, but for a totally different reason: "light pollution" laws. They have too much of it.
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Nighttime Tensions
The darkness also plays a role in military strategy. South Korea and the U.S. maintain a massive technological edge because of their "night vision" capabilities. They own the night. North Korea knows this. Their response? A massive network of underground tunnels and facilities. If you can’t hide under the cover of darkness because of thermal imaging, you hide under a mountain.
Is the Gap Closing?
Not really. While Kim Jong Un has pushed for "showcase" projects like the Mirae Scientists Street in Pyongyang—which looks bright and modern in state media photos—the reality is that the country's energy infrastructure is rotting.
There’s a small rise in solar panel usage among North Korean citizens. Look at high-res daytime satellite photos of North Korean apartments and you’ll see thousands of small, Chinese-made solar panels hanging off balconies. This is "bottom-up" electrification. People aren't waiting for the government to fix the grid; they’re harvesting their own light.
But these panels only provide enough juice to charge a phone or run a small TV. They aren't enough to power a factory or light up a city street. So, the satellite view of North Korea and South Korea at night remains a tale of two different centuries living on the same piece of land.
Practical Insights for Travelers and Observers
If you’re someone interested in the geopolitics of the region or planning a trip to the South (or eventually the North, if it ever reopens to Westerners), keep these things in mind.
- The DMZ Experience: If you visit the DMZ from the South, try to book a tour that stays late or visit the Odusan Unification Observatory. Looking across the river at dusk is the only way to truly "feel" the darkness settling over the North. It’s haunting.
- Seoul’s Night Views: To see the sheer power of the South's grid, head to Namsan Tower or Lotte World Tower. The sea of lights stretches to the horizon in every direction except North.
- Satellite Tracking: You can actually look at real-time light data. Use tools like NASA’s "Worldview" or "Light Pollution Map." You can toggle between years and see how the borders of light shift—or don't.
- Support for Information: Many NGOs use the "darkness" as a metric for where to send aid. Organizations like Liberty in North Korea (LiNK) focus on the human side of this divide.
- Understand the Bias: Remember that a lack of light doesn't mean a lack of people. Millions are living, working, and dreaming in that "black hole." Don't let the satellite image dehumanize the population living in the dark.
The contrast between the two Koreas at night is more than just a cool photo. It’s a real-time map of human development, political choices, and the sheer resilience of people living in a world where the sun going down means the world literally disappears. Until the North can fix its foundational energy issues, that satellite photo will continue to be the most accurate "state of the union" for the Korean Peninsula.