Korea JoongAng Daily - Daily News from Korea

U.S. President Donald Trump has threatened to unilaterally reverse the Korea-U.S. tariff agreement concluded in late July last year and reaffirmed by the two leaders in November. Trump posted on social media on Monday that tariffs on Korean products would be raised back to pre-agreement levels. The post said tariffs on automobiles, lumber and pharmaceuticals would increase from 15 percent to 25 percent. Overturning an agreement reached through lengthy negotiations via official government channels without prior explanation, and doing so on social media, raises serious ethical and diplomatic concerns. Although no timeline was specified, Korea's stock market was briefly rattled on Tuesday, with auto-related shares leading a sharp intraday drop.

Trump claimed that the Korean National Assembly had failed to complete the legal procedures required to implement the bilateral trade deal, but the move is widely seen as a sudden action aimed at a domestic U.S. audience. With a U.S. Supreme Court ruling on the legality of reciprocal tariffs expected soon, Trump may have sought to pressure Korea into quickly demonstrating visible results in U.S.-bound investment. While there are domestic disagreements over a special law on investment in the United States that remains pending in parliament, the bill serves as the legal basis for that investment. The two countries have already agreed to begin $20 billion in annual Korean investment in the United States this year, making the passage of the bill itself largely a foregone conclusion. Trump's tariff pressure is inappropriate in that it excessively interferes with the lawful domestic legislative process of an ally.

Still, it is difficult to ignore concerns that Trump's abrupt tariff reversal has exposed not only cracks in Korea-U.S. communication but also complacency in the Korean government's response. Prime Minister Kim Min-seok, who recently visited Washington and met Vice President JD Vance, highlighted the establishment of a "hotline" with the United States as a diplomatic achievement. Did Kim fail to grasp the seriousness of dissatisfaction within the Trump administration over Korea's implementation of the tariff agreement? Two weeks earlier, the United States reportedly sent Seoul a letter urging compliance with a provision in the agreement on nondiscrimination against U.S. Big Tech companies. Although the letter, sent by the acting U.S. ambassador to Korea, did not address the special investment law, it was a clear formal expression of U.S. grievances. Seoul should have recognized the warning signs and responded more proactively.

At a New Year's press conference, President Lee Jae Myung said of U.S. pressure over semiconductor tariffs that reacting emotionally makes it hard to stay centered, and that responses should be guided by established policies and principles. That approach remains valid. Yet as the latest tariff turmoil shows, Korea must avoid a downward spiral of mistrust and misunderstanding with the United States. Frictions are also emerging over issues such as the Coupang case and digital regulation. The government must first accurately assess U.S. intentions and respond with careful, well-calibrated measures grounded in national interest. The National Assembly, too, should halt partisan conflict and cooperate actively with the government.

This article was originally written in Korean and translated by a bilingual reporter with the help of generative AI tools. It was then edited by a native English-speaking editor. All AI-assisted translations are reviewed and refined by our newsroom.

This article is by Sarah Chea and read by an artificial voice.

The move, announced Tuesday morning on Trump's social media account, came at a perilous time as Hyundai is already grappling with slowing EV sales and intensifying pressure from the Canadian government to build a factory.

The U.S. president said he will increase Korea's "autos, lumber, pharma and all other reciprocal tariffs, from 15 percent to 25 percent," claiming that the National Assembly is "not living up to its deal with the United States."

The reference appears to point to Korea's delayed parliamentary approval of a bill required to fulfill $350 billion investment pledges made to Washington, which was first introduced on Nov. 26 last year but has yet to pass.

If the 25 percent tariff is reinstated, it will cost Hyundai and Kia nearly 5 trillion won more annually.

Meritz Securities predicted that every 10 percentage point increase in tariffs would raise operating expenses by roughly 3.1 trillion won for Hyundai Motor and 2.2 trillion won for Kia, while reducing operating profit by 23 percent for Hyundai and 21 percent for Kia.

"In previous periods of high tariffs, automakers were able to absorb some of the shock using inventory," said Lee Hang-gu, a researcher at the Korea Automotive Technology Institute. "This time, inventories have already been depleted, making it more likely that the impact will be felt directly."

"The scale of the tariff increase —10 percentage points — is roughly equivalent to the operating margins of automakers, meaning it could translate directly into a deterioration in profitability."

Following the imposition of a 25 percent tariff in April last year, Hyundai and Kia recorded combined losses of 4.64 trillion won over the second and third quarters alone.

Including fourth quarter results yet to be announced, full-year operating profit for 2025 is projected at 21.5 trillion won, down 20.1 percent from a year earlier.

The tariff hike would also deal a blow to GM Korea, which exports about 90 percent of its production to the United States, risking pushing the automaker to close down its Korean plants.

Still, some analysts view Trump's remarks as a pressure tactic aimed at accelerating legislative action in Seoul rather than a definitive policy shift, which could ultimately be changed again once the required approvals are secured.

"If Korea fulfills its investment commitments to the United States through legislative approval or other means, tariffs are likely to revert to the agreed 15 percent," said Song Sun-jae, an analyst at Hana Securities, adding that the firm has not revised earnings estimates to reflect higher tariff costs.

That sentiment appeared to be reflected in the stock market, as Hyundai shares recovered most of their losses shown in the early morning to close down just 0.81 percent at 488,500 won.

Kia shares ended the session down 1.1 percent at 153,500 won.

This article is by Lee Jae-lim, Park Eun-jee, Cho Yong-jun and read by an artificial voice.

U.S. President Donald Trump's threat to hike auto tariffs on Korea to 25 percent blindsided the Korean government, prompting swift legislative efforts related to the trade pact as officials try to gauge Washington's true intentions.

Trump, who signed a trade pact in October hinging on Korea investing $350 billion in exchange for lowering auto tariffs to 15 percent, pointed to the delayed passage of a related bill pending in the National Assembly's Strategy and Finance Committee.

"Because the Korean Legislature hasn't enacted our Historic Trade Agreement, which is their prerogative, I am hereby increasing South Korean TARIFFS on Autos, Lumber, Pharma, and all other Reciprocal TARIFFS, from 15% to 25%," Trump wrote on Truth Social.

Still, experts and industry insiders see that Trump's remarks aim to give the United States the upper hand on a range of thorny issues, including proposed revisions to digital regulations and the ongoing investigation into Coupang.

Industry Minister Kim Jung-kwan, who is currently in Canada, and Trade Minister Yeo Han-koo plan to visit the United States as soon as possible to discuss the issue with U.S. Secretary of Commerce Howard Lutnick.

Legislation in question

The trade bill, dubbed the Special Act on Investment in the United States, outlines legal mechanisms for implementing U.S.-bound investments, including the creation of a Korea-U.S. strategic investment fund.

It was submitted on Nov. 26 last year but has been in limbo since the ruling Democratic Party and the opposition People Power Party clashed over whether the bill should require ratification or be treated as a special act that does not require ratification.

"A meeting between the Deputy Prime Minister and Finance Minister Koo Yun-cheol and the head of the Strategy and Finance Committee had been scheduled for this afternoon, during which the government intended to request parliamentary cooperation on the special legislation," said the Finance Ministry in a statement on Tuesday.

However, the committee's head indicated that the discord persists.

"The People Power Party (PPP) has consistently made clear its position that the overall fiscal burden, industrial hollowing-out and employment impact must be thoroughly reviewed," said Rep. Lim Lee-ja, chair of the committee and a member of the PPP. "But amid the Democratic Party's insistence on pushing ahead with the special bill while sidestepping a validation process, discussions in the National Assembly have effectively ground to a halt, and the government has also failed to present a concrete implementation plan," Lim said.

Others see the U.S. president's remarks as pressure on Korea to expedite investment in the United States after Finance Minister Koo and other senior officials suggested that investments could be delayed past the first half of this year.

A complaint letter, or a prelude?

It was learned later on Tuesday that about two weeks before Trump's tariff threat, the U.S. embassy in Seoul had sent a letter to the Korean government, raising concerns that the country's push to implement digital regulations could, in the U.S. government's view, harm American companies operating in Korea.

"The letter primarily concerns Korea's digital-related issues," the Ministry of Industry, Trade and Resources confirmed on Tuesday, emphasizing that the content did not have a "direct connection" to the bilateral $200 billion investment deal that the two countries signed in November last year, as outlined in a joint fact sheet.

While it remains unclear whether the letter served as a prelude to President Trump's reversal from the previously agreed 15 percent auto tariff, experts suspect that Korea's digital regulations, cited in the diplomatic note, may have fueled his discontent.

The letter, sent in the name of James Heller, chargé d'affaires at the U.S. Embassy in Seoul, was delivered to Minister of Science an...

This article is by Kim Ji-ye and read by an artificial voice.

One of Korea's most oft-told historical tragedies is that of King Danjong (r. 1452-1455), who ascended the throne of Joseon (1392-1910) at just 10, only to be dethroned by his uncle, exiled and killed six years later. The story has been covered countless times across film, television and even musical theater — often portraying the fallen king as a frail, helpless figure.

In his latest film, "The King's Warden," director Chang Hang-jun breaks from that tradition, reimagining King Danjong as a strong-willed ruler.

"It was something I kept in mind from the very first stage of writing the script," said director Chang during a roundtable interview at a cafe in central Seoul on Friday.

"I thought if we were going to portray King Danjong as nothing more than a weak figure, there was simply no need to reproduce the story again."

Chang stressed that the widely held perception of King Danjong as weak and powerless was "largely shaped by political outcomes" — his young age, dethronement, exile and tragic death — rather than by the king's true character.

"When I looked into historical records about him, I found descriptions of him as remarkably bright, intelligent and perceptive," director Chang said. "He was greatly cherished by his grandfather, King Sejong [r. 1418-1450], and dearly loved by his father as well. Court officials at the time also believed he had the potential to become a great king in the future."

Building on this perspective, the historical period film "The King's Warden" is set in 1457 — the year King Dangjong dies — and follows Eom Heung-do, the chief of a poverty-stricken rural village, who voluntarily invites a high-ranking exile in hopes of reviving his community. When he later discovers that the exile is in fact the dethroned king, the film centers on the evolving relationship and mutual growth between Eom Heung-do and the exiled monarch.

The film stars veteran actor Yoo Hai-jin as Heung-do, and former boy band Wanna One's Park Ji-hoon as King Danjong, alongside seasoned actors Yoo Ji-tae and Jeon Mi-do.

King Danjong is not the only figure the director reimagined. Historically, little is known about Eom Heung-do beyond the fact that he recovered King Danjong's body after it was discarded into the Dong River in Gangwon — disobeying the royal order that threatened execution of anyone who retrieved the body, along with three generations of their family.

Chang said he approached these "gaps in history" with imagination to make Heung-do interesting, but also with caution, given that Heung-do was a real historical figure.

"No matter how remarkable a historical figure may be, they mean nothing to us if we don't truly know them […] That's why the character had to be compelling," he said. "[We tried to create] someone who had a certain humanity we can relate to. Simply put, a character that is grounded, with their feet firmly on the ground."

Chang also mentioned being unaware of Park's background at the time of casting, namely that he was part of an internationally popular K-pop band, adding that knowing it beforehand might have influenced his decision.

"I actually think it helped that I didn't know Park from his Wanna One days," the director said, adding that he first noticed Park in the series "Weak Hero" (2022–25). "I never watched 'Produce 101' (2019), so I didn't have that idol image in mind. If I had, I might perhaps not have been as drawn to him."

As filming progressed, Chang admitted he gradually became aware of Park's global fandom — particularly when coffee and snack trucks sent by fans frequently arrived on set. And known for his humor, the director joked that he kept an eye on Park's Instagram follower count.

"The things I paid the most attention to with Ji-hoon were his acting, his character and his Instagram follower count," he said, while also praising Park's performance as something that "speaks for itself."

Wary of jinxing the film's box-off...

This article is by Kim Ji-ye and read by an artificial voice.

One of Korea's most oft-told historical tragedies is that of King Danjong (r. 1452-1455), who ascended the throne of Joseon (1392-1910) at just 10, only to be dethroned by his uncle, exiled and killed six years later. The story has been covered countless times across film, television and even musical theater — often portraying the fallen king as a frail, helpless figure.

In his latest film, "The King's Warden," director Chang Hang-jun breaks from that tradition, reimagining King Danjong as a strong-willed ruler.

"It was something I kept in mind from the very first stage of writing the script," said director Chang during a roundtable interview at a cafe in central Seoul on Friday.

"I thought if we were going to portray King Danjong as nothing more than a weak figure, there was simply no need to reproduce the story again."

Chang stressed that the widely held perception of King Danjong as weak and powerless was "largely shaped by political outcomes" — his young age, dethronement, exile and tragic death — rather than by the king's true character.

"When I looked into historical records about him, I found descriptions of him as remarkably bright, intelligent and perceptive," director Chang said. "He was greatly cherished by his grandfather, King Sejong [r. 1418-1450], and dearly loved by his father as well. Court officials at the time also believed he had the potential to become a great king in the future."

Building on this perspective, the historical period film "The King's Warden" is set in 1457 — the year King Dangjong dies — and follows Eom Heung-do, the chief of a poverty-stricken rural village, who voluntarily invites a high-ranking exile in hopes of reviving his community. When he later discovers that the exile is in fact the dethroned king, the film centers on the evolving relationship and mutual growth between Eom Heung-do and the exiled monarch.

The film stars veteran actor Yoo Hai-jin as Heung-do, and former boy band Wanna One's Park Ji-hoon as King Danjong, alongside seasoned actors Yoo Ji-tae and Jeon Mi-do.

King Danjong is not the only figure the director reimagined. Historically, little is known about Eom Heung-do beyond the fact that he recovered King Danjong's body after it was discarded into the Dong River in Gangwon — disobeying the royal order that threatened execution of anyone who retrieved the body, along with three generations of their family.

Chang said he approached these "gaps in history" with imagination to make Heung-do interesting, but also with caution, given that Heung-do was a real historical figure.

"No matter how remarkable a historical figure may be, they mean nothing to us if we don't truly know them […] That's why the character had to be compelling," he said. "[We tried to create] someone who had a certain humanity we can relate to. Simply put, a character that is grounded, with their feet firmly on the ground."

Chang also mentioned being unaware of Park's background at the time of casting, namely that he was part of an internationally popular K-pop band, adding that knowing it beforehand might have influenced his decision.

"I actually think it helped that I didn't know Park from his Wanna One days," the director said, adding that he first noticed Park in the series "Weak Hero" (2022–25). "I never watched 'Produce 101' [2016–17], so I didn't have that idol image in mind. If I had, I might perhaps not have been as drawn to him."

As filming progressed, Chang admitted he gradually became aware of Park's global fandom — particularly when coffee and snack trucks sent by fans frequently arrived on set. And known for his humor, the director joked that he kept an eye on Park's Instagram follower count.

"The things I paid the most attention to with Ji-hoon were his acting, his character and his Instagram follower count," he said, while also praising Park's performance as something that "speaks for itself."

Wary of jinxing the film's box-...

This article is by Woo Ji-won and read by an artificial voice.

[INTERVIEW]

For nearly 20 years, something felt incomplete for chef Ko Hyo-il, who appeared as one of the "Black Spoon" chefs on Netflix's recently wrapped second season of "Culinary Class Wars" (2024-). He was introduced under the nickname "Annyeong Bonjour."

"Something was missing in my life," he said during an interview with the Korea JoongAng Daily at his restaurant, Chez Nous Private Kitchen, in Yongsan District, central Seoul, on Jan. 16. Ko's nickname was derived from his background: He was adopted to France when he was just 6 years old — still a child, but old enough to understand what was happening around him.

"When you are 6 years old, you know what's going on. You understand that you have to move on to your new life."

He grew up in France under the name Mathieu Moles, where he trained at the Grégoire Ferrandi Paris culinary school and built his career in Michelin-starred kitchens. Yet despite years abroad and professional success, the feeling that something was missing never quite faded.

"And then I thought it was time for me to go home," he said.

So after two decades in Paris, the chef in his 40s returned to his birth country in the mid-2000s. Twenty years later, he found himself competing on one of Korea's most-watched cooking shows — a decision he didn't make himself.

"My wife applied for the show," Ko said, "saying it could be a good experience for me." And it was. Not only was it an opportunity to show off his culinary expertise; his restaurant is now fully booked through February.

In the show's first round, Ko presented a lobster kimchi bisque — a carefully cooked lobster paired with a creamy sauce infused with a hint of kimchi — as his signature dish.

"I wanted to show my French identity, but also Korean," he said. "A French guy, with something Korean."

Judge Anh Sung-jae advanced Ko to the next round, putting him in the top 40 out of 100 chefs. The nod came with rare praise from Anh for the dish's doneness and balance. Ko surprisingly revealed that he had cooked it only once before preparing it in front of a hundred competitors.

The second round raised the stakes. Ko was assigned an unfamiliar ingredient: gobchang gim, a type of seaweed he had barely eaten, let alone cooked with.

"It was a little bit challenging, to be honest," he said. "I practiced many times. When you use other gim, it's easy to fry, but with that gim, it was so difficult."

To make matters worse, his opponent was already well-known in the United States for seaweed-based dishes.

"Some chefs told me they were worried because he is special for gim," Ko said. Ko prepared Fried Chi-Gim, gim rolled into a cylindrical shape and filled with chicken, served with a yellow wine-based sauce, which won the judges over for its culinary skill. "I was surprised that I won. But I also came up with some good ideas. Of course, I didn't know I was going to win — but I expected to win."

The pressure of the show is intense: dozens of chefs watching and cameras everywhere. But for Ko, the hardest part wasn't the cooking. "I speak Korean like a kid," he said, chuckling. "My vocabulary is poor."

Despite his limited communication skills, his confidence in the kitchen shone through — built on 25 years of culinary experience, including a stint early on at the one-Michelin-starred L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon in Paris, an establishment of the man often referred to as the "godfather of French cuisine."

"It was really intense. But I learned so much." He later moved to Le Jules Verne, a two-Michelin-starred restaurant on the second floor of the Eiffel Tower.

"It was wonderful," Ko said. "The view was really iconic. I had never been to the Eiffel Tower until I worked there."

Michelin kitchens, however, demand discipline and stamina, he said.

"It's a lot of discipline, hard work and long hours. If you are not passionate, you cannot work in that kind of restaurant."

When he finally decided to take his culin...

The author is a writer and senior fellow at the Institute for Social and Economic Research.

By 1945, Nazi Germany was in retreat. On the Eastern Front, Soviet forces advanced steadily westward, pushing back German lines. On Jan. 27, Soviet troops reached the vicinity of the Polish town of Oswiecim. There stood Auschwitz, the largest Nazi concentration and extermination camp. It was the moment when the greatest and most horrific war crime in human history was exposed to the world.

Auschwitz was too vast to conceal. Even as the front collapsed and defeat loomed, the Nazis could not bring themselves to abandon the machinery of mass murder. They transferred most prisoners elsewhere, leaving behind roughly 7,000 people. They attempted to destroy the camp to erase evidence, but what remained defied imagination. Investigators found 48,820 men's suits, 836,255 women's coats, hundreds of thousands of pairs of shoes and more than 6,350 kilograms of human hair. The number of victims is estimated at 1.1 million, of whom about 1 million were Jews.

The history of genocide is as old as human history itself. Yet Auschwitz occupies a singular place in that grim record. It demonstrated how the most primitive impulses of racial hatred and exclusion could be fused with the most advanced science, technology and administrative systems of the era to produce industrialized mass murder. It revealed with brutal clarity that rational thinking and efficiency, when reduced to purely instrumental tools divorced from moral judgment, can generate outcomes far more terrifying than unreasoning violence.

In this sense, Auschwitz became a defining negative lesson for the postwar international order. The establishment of the United Nations in 1945 and the adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights at the third UN General Assembly in 1948 were inseparable from the shock Auschwitz inflicted on humanity. A shared conviction emerged that states must never incite racial discrimination or hatred and that they bear an absolute responsibility to protect the lives and safety of all people under their authority.

Looking at news from around the world today, it is difficult to escape the unease that these lessons are fading. Rhetoric that stigmatizes minorities, policies that treat certain lives as expendable and political movements that draw strength from fear and resentment are again gaining ground.

This article was originally written in Korean and translated by a bilingual reporter with the help of generative AI tools. It was then edited by a native English-speaking editor. All AI-assisted translations are reviewed and refined by our newsroom.

Yoo Jee-hye

The author is the head of the diplomatic and security news department at the JoongAng Ilbo.

The reception Korea extended to Elbridge Colby, the U.S. under secretary of war for policy and widely regarded as a key power broker at the Pentagon, was notably generous. On Monday, his visit began with a breakfast meeting with Foreign Minister Cho Hyun, followed by separate meetings with National Security Office Director Wi Sung-lac and Defense Minister Ahn Gyu-back. Colby also had dinner with Ahn, meeting him twice in a single day. In effect, three ministers were mobilized to receive one vice minister-level official.

Strictly speaking, Colby's counterpart would be Lee Doo-hee, Korea's vice defense minister. Defense Minister Ahn is the counterpart of Pete Hegseth, the U.S. secretary of war and Colby's superior. As suggested by the fact that Ahn's meeting with Colby was officially described as a "courtesy call" rather than formal talks, the encounter did not align neatly with protocol. That Ahn nonetheless took the lead likely reflected the significance of the new U.S. National Defense Strategy, released on Friday. As the strategy's chief architect, Colby was someone Korean officials very much wanted to hear from and someone to whom they had much to convey.

What Korea likely wanted to hear was: reassurance that the U.S. defense commitment to Korea remains unchanged; confirmation of smooth follow-up on the introduction of nuclear-powered submarines and revisions to the bilateral nuclear cooperation agreement as outlined in the joint fact sheet agreed by the two presidents; and support for accelerating the transfer of wartime operational control within President Lee Jae Myung's term.

What Korea likely wanted to emphasize was its status as a model ally. At the summit level, Seoul has already pledged to adopt the "Trump-style standard" of raising defense spending to 5 percent of GDP and to faithfully implement that commitment.

When senior U.S. officials tour Korea and Japan, logistic considerations usually lead them to visit Japan first. Colby's decision to come to Korea before Japan may also reflect his view of Korea as a model ally. Yet the newly-released National Defense Strategy suggests that the weight carried by that label is heavier than it appears.

The country the strategy explicitly and repeatedly describes as a model ally is Israel. It notes that Israel repelled attacks by the Palestinian militant group Hamas largely on its own, without direct U.S. military involvement, and defended its territory through self-reliance.

Applying the Israeli model of alliance behavior to a contingency on the Korean Peninsula leads to a stark conclusion. The strategy's statement that Korea bears "primary responsibility for deterring North Korea with critical but limited U.S. support" could be read as meaning that, in the event of a conventional attack by North Korea, Korea would largely be expected to handle the situation on its own.

Many experts see this as also implying that Korea should not expect significant U.S. reinforcement forces in a crisis. The strategy states that the U.S. military will focus on defending its homeland and deterring China, and adds that "a shift in the balance of responsibility" aligns with U.S. interests in modernizing the posture of U.S. Forces Korea (USFK).

This effectively signals potential changes to the role or scale of U.S. forces stationed in Korea. Particularly noteworthy is the phrase "shift in the balance," which contrasts with the language used for Europe. Regarding Europe, the strategy says the United States is "calibrating" the posture and role of U.S. forces in the European theater. With the results of the Global Posture Review expected to be released soon, this amounts to an advance notice of reductions in U.S. forces in Europe.

Put differently, the strategy could be interpreted as maintaining troop levels on the Korean Peninsula while shifting their mission from deterring North Korea to co...

The author is the chief editor of digital content at the JoongAng Ilbo.

During a recent business trip to Tokyo, the political atmosphere felt unusually charged ahead of Japan's House of Representatives election set for Feb. 8. The contest was triggered by Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi's decision to dissolve the lower house, a gamble intended to shore up the Liberal Democratic Party's (LDP) fragile grip on power by seeking a renewed mandate.

The opposition's counterstroke to the sudden dissolution has been the launch of an election-focused new party. The Constitutional Democratic Party, the largest opposition force, joined with Komeito, which ended its 26-year coalition with the LDP, to form the Centrist Reform Alliance, known simply as the Centrists. That the party chose "centrist" both as its banner and its core pledge is striking. Its goal is to push the LDP out of what it frames as hard-line or right-wing conservatism. Takaichi's long-run wager has been met by a new party created by two centrist conservative forces, producing an intriguing contest in the political middle. In a political system crowded with hereditary elites, the clash between leaders marketed as ordinary also draws attention. Takaichi, the daughter of an office worker and a police officer, and Yoshihiko Noda, leader of the Constitutional Democratic Party and son of a Self-Defense Forces officer, are alumni of the Matsushita Institute of Government and Management, often described as a training ground for politicians of modest backgrounds.

While Japan's conservative camp appears dynamic, Korea's conservatives face a period of darkness and dread. Legal judgments are steadily emerging over former President Yoon Suk Yeol's delusional declaration of martial law. His irresponsibility, finger-pointing and brazen demeanor in court, after pushing the entire conservative bloc toward the brink, will weigh heavily on its future for years.

By contrast, President Lee Jae Myung's eastward advance looks formidable, a term long used in Korea to describe efforts by a traditionally liberal camp rooted in the southwestern Gwangju-Jeolla regions to break into the conservative strongholds of the southeastern Gyeongsang region. During the presidential campaign, he declared that the Democratic Party was a centrist conservative party. Now, with a posture of pragmatic governance beyond ideology, faction or perpetual confrontation, he appears poised to absorb the space left by a historically weak opposition. If Kim Dae-jung's eastward strategy once focused on recruiting individuals, Lee's version is an ideological and strategic expansion anchored in pragmatism. Korea's conservatives risk being pushed not only out of the center but even out of their own moderate conservative ground, confined to the margins of the far right.

At the heart of this existential crisis stand three figures: Jang Dong-hyeok, Han Dong-hoon and Lee Jun-seok. Through the June local elections and perhaps well beyond, conservatives may have little choice but to entrust their fate to them. As in Japan, where politics is being reshaped by personalities, the present and future of Korea's enfeebled conservative camp rest squarely on their shoulders.

Yet their conduct has been deeply disappointing. Ambition is visible, but strategy and sacrifice are not. Jang, leader of the People Power Party, launched a hunger strike in a burst of overreach during the push to expel former leader Han. Despite claims of conservative mobilization, the impact on party approval ratings was minimal. His decision to end the strike immediately after former President Park Geun-hye called for restraint, while hesitating to break decisively with Yoon, was politically telling. Caught between two impeached former presidents, it is unclear whether his stalled political orientation can attract the centrist voters who hold the key to Korean politics.

Han fares little better. His half-hearted apology over an internal party message board controver...

Koh Hyun-kohn

The author is the chief editorial writer at the JoongAng Ilbo.

The withdrawal of Lee Hye-hoon as the nominee for minister of budget invites uncomfortable reflection. At the most basic level, it raises questions about the dignity and moral standards expected of society's leadership. Lee may be intelligent and well connected, but judging by the allegations that surfaced, she did not live uprightly. There is little evidence of the ethical awareness or sense of responsibility expected of a public figure. It is difficult to understand how someone could serve three terms as a lawmaker, move fluidly between Seoul's Dongdaemun and Jung-Seongdong constituencies and North Chungcheong and pursue power without hesitation.

That such a figure was not filtered out earlier points to a serious gap in Korea's vetting system. How should the public interpret the decision to offer her a cabinet post despite the obvious risk of her liabilities being exposed during confirmation hearings? Was it political nerve honed over years of experience, or was it arrogance rooted in the belief that these issues did not matter?

Lee is hardly alone. Recent controversies involving lawmakers Kweon Seong-dong, Kim Byung-kee, Kang Sun-woo and Chun Jae-soo echo the pattern, as do scandals from past administrations. There are likely many members of the elite who still wield power simply because they managed to conceal their wrongdoing. When allegations poured out years ago against Cho Kuk, the leader of the Rebuilding Korea Party, progressives defended him by saying that anyone would have something turn up if scrutinized closely enough. In shielding one of their own, they dramatically lowered the legal and moral standards society should uphold, even as they claimed the mantle of fairness and justice.

Corruption has spread across entrenched interests, regardless of ideology. Bribery, real estate speculation, tax evasion, admissions fraud involving children, plagiarism and abuse of power have become all too familiar. But those implicated show little remorse. Instead, they raise their voices to protect their privilege and cling to hope that they can weather the storm; even if they fall, they quietly re-emerge once memories of their actions fade. The people who repeatedly pay the price are citizens who take at face value politicians' hollow pledges to "serve only the public."

The People Power Party branded Lee a traitor and escalated its attacks, but that amounts to spitting in its own face. Until recently, she chaired the party's district committee in Seoul's Jung-Seongdong area. She received the party's nomination five times, including three runs in the coveted Seocho A District. It is fair to ask whether conservatives should be throwing stones at someone they helped bring to that position.

More troubling is the government's vetting capacity. Lee's reputation, by many accounts, was no great secret in political circles. Journalists had little difficulty uncovering a string of allegations. President Lee Jae Myung rhetorically asked how the government could know whether she had mistreated aides. But was the government truly unaware?

The poorly handled appointment has dulled the original intent of inclusive governance, which was meant to transcend factions and draw broadly from the talent pool. In practice, few administrations have genuinely embraced this ideal. The often cited Kim Dae-jung–Kim Jong-pil alliance was less an exercise in inclusion than a division of spoils within a joint government, and even that unraveled midterm. Subsequent presidents were similarly reluctant. Moon Jae-in pledged at his inauguration to recruit capable figures regardless of political loyalty but governed narrowly. Yoon Suk Yeol's preference for prosecutors and alumni of specific schools hardly merits discussion.

Eight months into the Lee Jae Myung administration, nine presidential contemporaries from the judicial examination or training institute have been appointed to hea...