The North Korea Watcher ego trap: Flaunting credentials from failed policies

The North Korea Watcher “expert” ecosystem is a tight-knit, often self-congratulatory circle...

In the peculiar realm of the North Korea Watcher, a curious phenomenon unfolds: a seemingly insatiable desire among watchers, commentators, and analysts to remind us, repeatedly, of their former positions in government, think tanks, and academia. It's as if proximity to power—even when that power produced failure—is a badge of honor. This ostentatious display of credentials is not just unseemly; it’s counterproductive, undermining the credibility of the very insights they purport to offer.

The North Korea Watcher “expert” ecosystem is a tight-knit, often self-congratulatory circle (most would add another word to this). On social media platforms and in think-tank panel discussions, résumés are wielded like cudgels. The message is clear: "I was in the room where it happened." They flaunt their attendance at high-level meetings, advisory roles during summits, or contributions to sanctions strategies. The classic line comes in big wig conferences at plush hotels in Seoul.

The older, nearly retired hunchback with a free flow of dandruff around the neck leans forward and says “when I met with the Secretary of State on our return to Washington from Pyongyang…” It doesn’t inspire confidence. This chest-thumping raises a critical question: If you were so deeply embedded in shaping policy, why are we still talking about the same problems decades later?

The credentials paradox

At its core, the North Korea issue is one of repeated failure. Since the collapse of the Agreed Framework in the early 2000s, successive administrations—whether in Washington, Seoul, or Tokyo—have failed to halt Pyongyang’s march toward becoming a bona fide nuclear weapons state. North Korea Watcher “experts”, often recruited into these policymaking circles, have presided over a legacy of misjudgments, miscalculations, and missed opportunities.

And yet, they emerge from these chapters not chastened but emboldened, touting their proximity to the gears of power. "I was in the XXXX administration during the XXXX talks," they’ll declare, as if this proximity lends them unique insight. It does not. What it demonstrates is their complicity in a long arc of ineffectual policies. Instead of viewing their past roles as a liability—a grim reminder that even experts can get it catastrophically wrong—they spin their CVs as proof of credibility.

This is not unique to North Korea Watchers, of course. Former officials across many policy spheres like to leverage their past titles. But in the case of North Korea, the stakes are higher, the failures starker, and the self-aggrandizement more grating.

Connection as a substitute for competence

This credential-waving often obscures the absence of substantive solutions. Analysts with a rolodex of "key contacts" in government and academia are often elevated over those offering fresh perspectives. The allure of connections—of insider knowledge—becomes the currency of credibility.

Yet, what have these connections achieved? Did they prevent North Korea from building its nuclear arsenal? Did they ensure human rights were meaningfully addressed? Did they facilitate peace on the Korean Peninsula? No. North Korea’s nuclear capability has expanded, its missile tests have grown bolder, and the regime remains as entrenched as ever.

The dirty secret of the North Korea watcher world is that their connections often serve more as a performative flourish than a functional tool. Knowing who’s who in Pyongyang’s opaque hierarchy or having attended a Track II dialogue doesn’t necessarily translate into actionable insight. It’s theater—a way to maintain relevance in a competitive field where outcomes rarely change.

What’s worse, these obscenities are repeated at lower levels as well. It’s as if we all think real life is a LinkedIn metasphere where everything you do is about showing what you’ve done and who you know. You’ll see it at most conferences nowadays - young people swarming about to secure photos with recognized public officials for that LinkedIn fan shot “I met XXXX XXXX!!!”. Then five or so years later the same shot will appear again on their LinkedIn page with more gravity “I’d like to congratulate XXXX XXXX on their promotion to Deputy Secretary of State” or some such guff. It makes me wanna puke.

A leisure lounge in the echo chamber

The North Korea Watcher community thrives on insularity. Its members publish op-eds in the same outlets, speak on the same panels, and praise each other’s books. This mutual back-patting reinforces their collective narratives, making it easier to ignore their shared culpability in repeated policy failures.

Challengers to the orthodoxy are often dismissed as outsiders, unserious, or lacking the necessary connections to "understand" the problem. This exclusionary culture stifles innovation and perpetuates a cycle of stale ideas.

Worse, it rewards those who toe the line. Analysts who once advocated hardline policies (like "strategic patience") now seamlessly pivot to softer stances without acknowledging their previous positions’ futility. The field thus becomes less about accountability and more about branding.

If the past 30 years of North Korea policy have taught us anything, it’s that no one has the answers. Engagement strategies, sanctions regimes, and military deterrence have all fallen short. Analysts who cling to their credentials as proof of their expertise should be met with skepticism. Their records suggest not omniscience but fallibility.

Instead of acknowledging this reality, many double down on their insider status. They repackage old ideas with new buzzwords, oblivious to the warning their résumés should present.

For instance, the same individuals who championed sanctions as a cornerstone of policy are now arguing for their relaxation, claiming a newfound enlightenment about humanitarian impacts. Conveniently, they omit their role in crafting the original sanctions architecture. These abrupt shifts betray an opportunism more concerned with career longevity than intellectual honesty.

Intellectual humility

The obsession with credentials and connections reflects a deeper insecurity within the North Korea Watcher community. Faced with a track record of ineffectiveness, they grasp at their résumés to shield themselves from criticism. But the public—and policymakers—should demand more.

True expertise requires not just experience but the willingness to learn from failure. It demands humility, a readiness to question assumptions, and an openness to new ideas—even from those outside the insular expert class. It requires the ability to say “I don’t know”.

Instead of celebrating their former roles, North Korea Watchers should approach them as cautionary tales. They should grapple publicly with the implications of failures and interrogate why their strategies fell short. Only then can they build credibility and contribute meaningfully to one of the most intractable geopolitical challenges of our time.

Until that reckoning occurs, we would do well to treat the boastful proclamations of former positions with the skepticism they deserve. For in a field defined by failure, being connected to power is not a qualification—it’s a red flag.