In the world of international youth sports, one nation has carved out a formidable and controversial niche: North Korea. The secret to their success in girls' football lies not in abundant resources, but in a system of relentless, militaristic training that few other countries would impose on children. This approach has turned their youth women's teams into global champions and valuable propaganda tools for the isolated regime of Kim Jong Un.
The Unbeatable Machine: Victories Built on Sacrifice
The sheer dominance of North Korea's young female footballers was on full display in November 2025, when their under-17 squad soundly defeated the Netherlands 3-0 in a youth World Cup final. The Dutch coach's dejected admission—"I don't think we could have beaten them"—echoed a sentiment felt by rivals worldwide. Alongside weightlifting and table tennis, youth women's soccer represents a calculated athletic strategy for the sanctioned nation. The regime banks on the fact that other countries will not subject preteen girls to such an arduous and all-consuming training regimen.
Opponents consistently describe the North Korean players as possessing unmatched stamina, mental toughness, and physical aggression. Irune Dorado, a Spanish midfielder who faced them in 2024, summed it up: "They don't let you breathe." Former South Korean women's national team manager Yoon Duk-yeo recalled the terrifying tenacity in their eyes, noting a complete disregard for personal safety. "You instinctively pull back or yield when you’re about to collide with someone, right? But I didn't see any of that," he said. "Their obsession with winning was on another level."
More Than a Game: Football as Political Warfare
For Supreme Leader Kim Jong Un, these sporting triumphs are a critical platform. They demonstrate national resilience against international sanctions and fuel nationalism, particularly among younger citizens. The results are undeniable: North Korean girls hold a record four under-17 FIFA World Cup titles and are the current champions in the under-20 category.
The propaganda machine swings into action with every victory. The triumphant U-17 squad returning from Morocco in November 2025 was greeted at Pyongyang airport by saluting soldiers and waving mothers. In televised interviews, star player Yu Jong Hyang—who scored eight goals in seven matches—deflected personal praise, stating the goals belonged to the whole team. According to Lee Jung Woo, a scholar at the University of Edinburgh, this is not humility but a deliberate framing. "The regime is trying to turn these girls into role models," he explains, portraying each win as a victory for North Korean socialism and Kim himself.
The training philosophy leaves no room for ambiguity. Jeong Haneul, a former North Korean youth men's player who defected in 2012, recalls coaches equating the pitch to a battlefield. A shot on goal was a "bullet from the enemy," and a defensive breach was an incursion into Pyongyang, the home of the "General." "As an athlete you are always told you are engaging in a war of speed, skill and grit," said the 31-year-old.
The High Stakes and Harsh Realities
The rewards for success are life-changing in a country where nearly half the population is undernourished. Winning players and their families receive extra rations, coveted apartments in the modern capital Pyongyang, and the ultimate prize: a meeting with Kim Jong Un. Austrian filmmaker Brigitte Weich, who has documented the women's team, confirms, "What’s most important is when they win a gold medal they get to meet the leader." In a recent meeting, Kim praised the teenage champions as "persons of merit," moving them to tears.
However, this dominance has a limited shelf life and faces significant hurdles. The physical advantage wanes as senior teams elsewhere fill with professionals training year-round. North Korea's senior women's team hasn't qualified for a World Cup since 2011, and their men's teams are not competitive. Sanctions also prevent stars from moving to foreign leagues.
The system's intensity is captured by Kim Kyung-sung, who facilitates overseas training for North Koreans. He recalls nine-year-old girls at a Chinese sports compound waking at 5 a.m. daily to complete 300 jump ropes. "Most kids just want to have fun or take a nap, right?" he said. "The stakes for winning are just so much higher for the North Koreans." For these girls, football is not a game—it's a high-stakes mission to secure their family's future and serve the state, making them a uniquely formidable force on the global youth stage.
