Korea JoongAng Daily - Daily News from Korea

Differences between South Korea and the United States over the transfer of wartime operational control, or Opcon, are becoming increasingly visible. Seoul's Ministry of National Defense recently denied media reports claiming that U.S. Forces Korea (USFK) had expressed concerns over the creation of a future combined command led by a South Korean general and had even mentioned the possible dissolution of the current Combined Forces Command. The ministry stated that "there has been no proposal to change existing agreements."

Yet regardless of the government's explanation, continued signals from Washington and within USFK suggest that the two allies still hold notable differences in how they view the timing and conditions of the Opcon transfer.

According to recent reports, the U.S. military internally believes the conditions for the transfer may not be fully met until after 2029. Seoul, meanwhile, is moving more quickly and has indicated that it hopes to clarify the timeline beginning with this autumn's Security Consultative Meeting between the allies.

The transfer itself is ultimately a direction South Korea is expected to pursue. South Korea's military capabilities have grown significantly over the years, and few would deny that the armed forces are far stronger than in the past. President Lee Jae Myung's recent remark that "there would be no problem even if Opcon were transferred tomorrow" reflected that confidence.

Still, concerns from the United States continue to emerge. USFK commander Gen. Xavier Brunson said during a U.S. House hearing last month that the allies would continue pursuing a "conditions-based Opcon transition." At the same time, he emphasized that "there is no need to rush" the transfer before those conditions are fully satisfied.

Brunson also warned that "political expediency should not get ahead of the conditions." The comment appeared to reflect concern that Seoul may be placing political objectives ahead of a careful assessment of military readiness, regardless of South Korea's actual operational capabilities.

Any transfer of wartime operational control requires agreement with the United States. That makes mutual trust within the South Korea-U.S. alliance essential. The allies are currently conducting phased evaluations on whether key conditions have been met, including the future combined command's operational capability, South Korea ability to respond to North Korean nuclear and missile threats and the stability of the broader security environment.

Ultimately, the issue comes down to whether South Korea possesses the deterrence and operational capacity needed to conduct an actual war. Security policy directly affects the lives of citizens, making sober judgment more important than political enthusiasm.

The success or failure of the Opcon transfer will depend not on political speed but on calm verification of military capabilities and unwavering trust within the alliance.

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 Jin Eun-soo and read by an artificial voice.

The ministry newly included export figures from lifestyle industries such as K-beauty, K-food and K-fashion, while excluding sales from e-commerce and overlapping sectors.

"There were adjustment that needed to be made in how we define K-culture. The categorization wasn't refined in the previous version," said Culture Minister Chae Hwi-young in a news conference held Thursday, marking the first anniversary of the Lee Jae Myung administration.

"Exports of K-food, beauty and fashion were clearly reflection of overseas demand created because of K-culture. So we included them."

Chae adjusted the goal for export figures as well.

When exports from lifestyle industries are included, K-culture exports would rank third in 2025 among Korea's industries after semiconductors and automobiles, according to Chae. Under the adjusted definition of K-culture, its exports came at $71.8 billion last year while that of semiconductors and autos came at $173.4 billion and $72 billion, respectively.

The ministry raised its export target for 2030 from $35 billion to $110 billion.

Questions remain over how the newly added sectors will be coordinated with other ministries, as K-food and K-beauty are already overseen by different government bodies.

"Whether the newly defined concept of K-culture will be officially recognized or remain a conceptual definition within the ministry requires further discussion with relevant ministries," Chae said.

Chae emphasized that his governing for the past year focused on making site visits.

"The first year was focused on normalizing what was not normal," the minister said.

"The previous administration came to a halt due to an unfortunate incident, and it was urgent to address the mistakes and side effects that followed. We strengthened communication with people in the field, and after becoming minister, I made 270 site visits."

Fanomenom, a large-scale K-pop festival planned by the ministry, will become a major pillar of expanding the K-culture boom.

It will include an award ceremony and is scheduled to launch by December, 2027, the minister said.

The project, conceived as a Korean version of Coachella, is being promoted by the Presidential Committee on Popular Culture Exchange, co-chaired by Chae and Park Jin-young from JYP Entertainment. All four major K-pop agencies in Korea are expected to participate.

Beginning in spring 2028, a global K-pop tour is also scheduled to launch with stops planned in major cities worldwide.

"There will be more details at around summer this year," Chae said.

This article is by Cho Jung-woo and read by an artificial voice.

As Korea grapples with changing demographics and a post-pandemic tourism boom, public libraries and municipal spaces are aggressively expanding their multilingual book collections.

Driven in part by the country's ongoing "text-hip" trend — where reading is embraced as a fashionable lifestyle — the broader policy shift aims to foster a more inclusive environment for international students, expatriates and tourists by ensuring access to publications in their native languages.

For Seven, a 21-year-old from the United States, who asked to be named only by her first name, libraries are a mandatory stop whenever she travels. Having previously worked at a library back home, she views these public spaces as a unique lens for experiencing local culture while also seeking a comforting sense of familiarity.

"I always try to look at the library when visiting a city in a new area," Seven said while walking around the newly opened Yeouido Brighten Library in Yeongdeungpo District, western Seoul, on Friday afternoon.

"I looked through the [English] books here, and there were far more than I expected."

Local authorities are steadily increasing foreign-language acquisitions in traditional brick-and-mortar facilities, while municipal flagship programs, such as the Seoul Outdoor Library initiatives, are intentionally placing multilingual texts into the hands of international visitors.

According to data from the National Library Statistics System, Korea's public libraries have aggressively scaled up their overseas collections over the past decade — from 3.3 million in 2015 to 6.9 million in 2025 — to meet shifting demands, with nationwide visitors per public library averaging 173,593 last year, a significant recovery from 115,016 in 2021.

English-friendly hub in Yeouido

Despite having opened its doors less than a month ago on April 28, the pristine, sunlit halls of the Yeouido Brighten Library were packed on Friday afternoon. The crowd spanned generations, from energetic kindergartners to financial professionals taking a break from the surrounding corporate buildings.

Located in an underground space covering approximately 3,305 square meters (35,583 square feet) in the heart of Seoul's financial hub, the library features a distinct layout. Rather than isolating foreign books to a distant corner, English titles are integrated directly alongside Korean volumes. There was also a dedicated zone for English fiction and nonfiction curated with literary quotes and photographs.

"When we first opened, we started with around 5,400 English books out of a total collection of some 27,000," a Yeongdeungpo District Office official told the Korea JoongAng Daily. "That number is continually growing as we purchase more volumes."

According to library data, roughly 3,000 of these English titles are targeted at adults, while the remainder are aimed at younger readers in a specialized children's zone called the English Kids' Cafe.

While books in languages other than English are not currently displayed on the shelves, the district office noted that visitors can request specific international titles via an online procurement system on its website.

Between its opening day and the third week of May, the library drew around 70,000 visitors. While primarily serving residents, it has become a popular midday destination for office workers and weekend crowds filtering in from nearby landmarks like The Hyundai Seoul and Yeouido Hangang Park.

An 'accidental encounter' for tourists

For short-term tourists and international residents looking for an outdoor experience, the Seoul Metropolitan Government's Seoul Outdoor Library project has become a major seasonal fixture.

This year, city organizers boosted the proportion of foreign-language books across the outdoor venues to 20 percent of the total display, doubling last year's 10 percent allocation. Notably, the selection extends well beyond English to include Ja...

This article is by Cho Jung-woo and read by an artificial voice.

As Korea grapples with changing demographics and a post-pandemic tourism boom, public libraries and municipal spaces are aggressively expanding their multilingual book collections.

Driven in part by the country's ongoing "text-hip" trend — where reading is embraced as a fashionable lifestyle — the broader policy shift aims to foster a more inclusive environment for international students, expatriates and tourists by ensuring access to publications in their native languages.

For Seven, a 21-year-old from the United States, who asked to be named only by her first name, libraries are a mandatory stop whenever she travels. Having previously worked at a library back home, she views these public spaces as a unique lens for experiencing local culture while also seeking a comforting sense of familiarity.

"I always try to look at the library when visiting a city in a new area," Seven said while walking around the newly opened Yeouido Brighten Library in Yeongdeungpo District, western Seoul, on Friday afternoon.

"I looked through the [English] books here, and there were far more than I expected."

Local authorities are steadily increasing foreign-language acquisitions in traditional brick-and-mortar facilities, while municipal flagship programs, such as the Seoul Outdoor Library initiatives, are intentionally placing multilingual texts into the hands of international visitors.

According to data from the National Library Statistics System, Korea's public libraries have aggressively scaled up their overseas collections over the past decade — from 3.3 million in 2015 to 6.9 million in 2025 — to meet shifting demands, with nationwide visitors per public library averaging 173,593 last year, a significant recovery from 115,016 in 2021.

English-friendly hub in Yeouido

Despite having opened its doors less than a month ago on April 28, the pristine, sunlit halls of the Yeouido Brighten Library were packed on Friday afternoon. The crowd spanned generations, from energetic kindergartners to financial professionals taking a break from the surrounding corporate buildings.

Located in an underground space covering approximately 3,305 square meters (35,583 square feet) in the heart of Seoul's financial hub, the library features a distinct layout. Rather than isolating foreign books to a distant corner, English titles are integrated directly alongside Korean volumes. There was also a dedicated zone for English fiction and nonfiction curated with literary quotes and photographs.

"When we first opened, we started with around 5,400 English books out of a total collection of some 27,000," a Yeongdeungpo District Office official told the Korea JoongAng Daily. "That number is continually growing as we purchase more volumes."

According to library data, roughly 3,000 of these English titles are targeted at adults, while the remainder are aimed at younger readers in a specialized children's zone called the English Kids' Cafe.

While books in languages other than English are not currently displayed on the shelves, the district office noted that visitors can request specific international titles via an online procurement system on its website.

Between its opening day and the third week of May, the library drew around 70,000 visitors. While primarily serving residents, it has become a popular midday destination for office workers and weekend crowds filtering in from nearby landmarks like The Hyundai Seoul and Yeouido Hangang Park.

An 'accidental encounter' for tourists

For short-term tourists and international residents looking for an outdoor experience, the Seoul Metropolitan Government's Seoul Outdoor Library project has become a major seasonal fixture.

This year, city organizers boosted the proportion of foreign-language books across the outdoor venues to 20 percent of the total display, doubling last year's 10 percent allocation. Notably, the selection extends well beyond English to include Ja...

This article is by Cho Jung-woo and read by an artificial voice.

[KOREAN CRIME FILES #19]

Behind the glitz and glamour seen in pop culture, Korea's grimmest and most harrowing crime stories, some more well-known than others, continue to haunt society today. The Korea JoongAng Daily takes a deep dive into some of these stories, sharing a glimpse into the darker side of society as well as the most up-to-date known facts. — Ed.

On the night of Dec. 9, 2009, Coast Guard officials boarded a fishing boat returning to port in Taean County, South Chungcheong, and surrounded a man on deck.

"Freeze! Put your hands up!" one officer shouted.

The officials stormed onto the vessel and began searching, expecting to uncover bags of cash or drugs. Instead, they found a passport left behind.

When they opened it, they saw a name that stunned them.

It belonged to Cho Hee-pal, the mastermind behind what remains Korea's largest Ponzi scheme.

But the discovery came too late. Cho had already fled to China.

How the scheme worked

Cho's fraud operation, which preyed on ordinary people seeking financial security, stole an estimated 5 trillion won ($3.4 billion) from 70,000 victims.

Cho launched his business empire in 2004, opening multiple companies across the country, starting in Daegu.

On the surface, the business seemed legitimate. Investors were told they were leasing health devices, such as massage chairs, to be installed in places like hair salons and motels, where customers would pay to use them. Cho's company promised to manage the machines and distribute profits to investors.

The targets were often vulnerable: retirees, unemployed workers and people still struggling in the aftermath of the 1997 Asian financial crisis.

The returns sounded irresistible.

For every machine purchased, investors were promised an average daily dividend of 35,000 won. An initial investment of 4.4 million won would return 5.81 million won after just eight months — an annual yield of roughly 48 percent.

At the time, average bank interest rates hovered around 4 percent.

And remarkably, the dividends arrived exactly on time every single day for four years.

That consistency built trust.

But the machines themselves generated little real profit.

The dividends were being paid using money from new investors.

It was a classic Ponzi scheme.

As more people joined, more money flowed in. And as long as new investments continued, Cho could keep paying old investors.

Until he couldn't.

The runaway

Cho knew the collapse was coming.

Three months before his disappearance, he began preparing for a carefully orchestrated escape.

He announced to investors that dividend payments would no longer be recorded in their bankbooks. Instead, they would receive text message notifications, and anyone wishing to claim their earnings could visit the office in person.

Then he added a curious warning,

"Don't tell other companies. They'll copy us."

Every morning at 8:30 a.m., investors received text messages confirming their dividend payments.

They were all fake.

At the same time, Cho urged people to invest even more, warning that profit rates would soon decline.

Victims poured in everything they had: their dividend earnings, retirement savings, marriage funds and even bank loans.

By then, Cho's network had expanded to around 80 offices nationwide, including shell companies that existed only on paper.

Then, at the height of the scheme, the offices suddenly shut down.

Phones went unanswered.

When police raided Cho's headquarters, they found it empty. Everyone involved had vanished, and all critical records had been removed.

The mysterious whereabouts

Police requested an Interpol Red Notice, but Cho had disappeared.

According to an acquaintance who was unknowingly recruited to help with his escape, Cho boarded the boat carrying nothing but a small pouch.

Investigators suspect it contained records of hidden assets and a list of officials he had bribed.

Those suspicions were not unfounded.

In May 2009, ...

This article is by Woo Ji-won, Jin Eun-soo and read by an artificial voice.

BUSAN — On June 25, 1950, the sound of gunfire from the North shattered the dawn, forcing the South Korean government and civilians away from the battlefront.

Many of those who fled Seoul eventually reached Busan, located at the southern tip of the Korean Peninsula, and the city ultimately became their refuge.

Thus began Busan's 1,023 days as South Korea's provincial capital. Beginning on Aug. 18, 1950, the city transformed into the nation's political, economic and cultural hub and sheltered public officials and intellectuals, as well as many other displaced men, women and children from across the peninsula.

By 1951, the city's population had swelled to more than 840,000, nearly double its prewar population of around 470,000.

"Busan, as a wartime capital, maintained state functions while protecting civilians and communities. It also practiced global cooperation and solidarity," said Ahn Young-shin, the director of the Cultural Heritage Division of the Busan metropolitan government, at the former U.S. Embassy building — now serving as an annex of the Busan Modern & Contemporary History Museum — on Tuesday.

"It also speaks to the present day's humanity, as the world struggles with various conflicts, such as the Russian invasion of Ukraine, military clashes in the Middle East, refugees displaced by environmental problems and so on. In that sense, [...] Busan is not just a war heritage but an example of how a city and a community operated and maintained themselves in the event of war."

The government is now seeking to preserve that legacy by pursuing Unesco World Heritage status for a collection of 11 historic sites tied to Busan's role as the temporary capital during the 1950-53 Korean War.

Together, the sites show how Busan continued to function as a city while embracing global solidarity, even under harsh and dire circumstances. Moreover, they offer a timely reflection on today's world, which is still marked by conflict, hatred and violence.

Pier 1 of Busan Port

Quiet neighborhoods near present-day Seoul suddenly descended into chaos in June 1950, when North Korea launched a surprise invasion across the 38th parallel, forcing civilians and soldiers alike to flee. Some crossed rivers or hopped on carts and freight trains to escape. Others boarded ships or walked for months until they arrived in Busan.

As a result, Pier 1 of Busan Port eventually became a landing point for displaced Koreans, as well as for United Nations soldiers, military supplies and humanitarian aid. The port also served as a key source of employment during the war, providing refugees with much-needed income.

Pier 1 is preparing for another transformation: The site of its old warehouses is set to become "Global Startup Hub Busan," an innovation center for startups, investors and research institutions, scheduled to open sometime next year.

Temporary government complex

Following the fall of Seoul, the temporary government complex in Busan, originally the government office of Seo District in South Gyeongsang, became the government's final refuge after brief stops in Daejeon and Daegu. It was here that the country began to regroup and rebuild itself. Ministries and government agencies made key political and economic decisions inside this building, which served as the heart of a machine that would bring the nation back to life. Today, the building is used as a museum operated by Dong-A University.

Temporary presidential residence

Until the Korean War Armistice Agreement was signed in July 1953, then-South Korean President Syngman Rhee stayed and worked at a two-story redbrick building, originally the residence of the governor of South Gyeongsang. Diplomatic, policy and UN meetings took place at this temporary presidential residence, and Rhee also made decisions here that would alter the fate of the country at a time when the nation was as fragile as a candle flame.

After opening its ...

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

Across the coastal city, around 190 traditional markets remain. For some of them, the 1950-53 Korean War marked a major turning point, profoundly shaping the markets into centers of survival, commerce and everyday life.

Among them is today's tourist-favorite Gukje Market, which emerged as one of Busan's most important wartime marketplaces during the war. Originally formed after Korea's liberation in 1945, the market served as a trading ground where Japanese residents returning home sold off their belongings. It was initially known as "Dottegi Market," derived from the Japanese word meaning "to grab."

Crowds were especially dense around home decor shops, where tourists browsed blankets and souvenir stores adorned with Korean flag-themed shirts and BTS photo cards.

It was during and after the Korean War that the market slowly built its identity. Refugees poured into Busan with little more than desperation to survive, lining the streets with makeshift stalls and fiercely competing with local merchants. What had once been a market of around 1,000 merchants reportedly swelled to tens of thousands after early 1951.

By the 1950s, there was virtually nothing unavailable at Gukje Market. U.S. military goods, foreign relief supplies and smuggled products from Japan, Hong Kong and Macau flowed through the Busan Port into the market before spreading nationwide, earning it the name Gukje, meaning international.

The market and its surrounding neighborhoods also became crowded with refugees living in makehift shacks. Many locals still remember Gukje Market for the massive fire that broke out in January 1953. What began as a small blaze at a restaurant spread rapidly through the shantytowns, destroying more than 1,600 structures and displacing some 22,500 people.

Nearby Kkangtong Market was also deeply tied to wartime Busan. Though the market dates back to 1910 as the first public market supplying everyday necessities, it earned its current name, meaning "Tin Can Market," during the Korean War, when refugees sold canned foods and goods from U.S. military bases there.

On a recent nighttime visit, it was difficult to move through the crowds as vendors and stalls lined the main road selling a wide range of street foods, from classic seed hotteok (pancakes with sweet filling) and spicy chicken feet to international fare such as Turkish kebabs and Chinese grilled cold noodles, each drawing long lines of customers. Most of the offerings don't have direct ties to Busan, but the vibe is what attracts the younger tourists.

Another market partly shaped by the war is Jagalchi Market. First formed in the early 1920s, the market continued to grow through street vendors selling fresh seafood from Busan Port, a tradition that still defines the market today. It is probably the only market that is maintaining the characteristics of its origin.

Today, as one of Busan's representative tourist landmarks, Jagalchi Market continues to draw crowds eager to witness the unique sight of rows of seafood laid out across the market and sample fresh dishes prepared on-site.

The author is a business administration professor at Furman University and the author of "The Story of Tariffs" (2025).

The Netherlands, located at the mouth of the Rhine, built a strong shipbuilding and maritime industry on the strength of its geographic advantages. Its refining sector also flourished around Royal Dutch Shell, once among the world's largest oil companies. Manufacturing was equally competitive, symbolized by Philips Electronics and Unilever consumer goods. By the 1970s, the Netherlands ranked among Europe's top five industrial economies.

Then came an unexpected windfall. In 1959, one of the world's largest natural gas fields was discovered in Groningen. The Netherlands connected European countries through pipelines and became a major supplier of gas. After the 1973 oil shock sent natural gas prices soaring, the country accumulated enormous current account surpluses. The government used rising tax revenues to expand welfare programs. Disability insurance and unemployment benefits grew dramatically, and public spending eventually accounted for 57 percent of GDP, far above the 30 to 40 percent typical of other advanced economies.

Prosperity, however, carried a cost. The current account surplus sharply increased the value of the Dutch guilder. The exchange rate rose from 3.62 guilders per dollar in 1970 to below 2 guilders by 1978. As the currency appreciated by nearly 50 percent, exporters lost price competitiveness. Annual wage increases exceeding 10 percent pushed labor costs to among the highest in the world, eroding the foundations of manufacturing. Companies reduced domestic production and relocated overseas. By the early 1980s, the economy had entered a recession, and effective unemployment exceeded 20 percent.

When gas prices later fell, fiscal deficits surged into double digits as a share of GDP. Households, businesses and government finances all approached crisis. Only in 1982 did labor, management and government seek a broad compromise. Under the Wassenaar Accord, unions accepted wage restraint. Businesses guaranteed regular employment while expanding part-time hiring, and the government pledged fiscal discipline. The agreement proved successful. A decade later, unemployment had fallen near full-employment levels and women's labor force participation had risen sharply.

Korea now faces a similar debate as semiconductor exports and tax revenues surge. Large bonuses at semiconductor companies are widening income gaps across industries and social classes. Discussions are also growing over how to use higher tax revenues, including support for vulnerable groups.

The Dutch experience offers a clear warning. Temporary windfalls should not be consumed immediately. Just as gas prices eventually fell, semiconductor cycles will also end. Korea needs a national compromise focused on education, infrastructure and sovereign wealth investment to strengthen long-term competitiveness and future income sources.

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.

Moon Jung-hoon

The author is a professor of agricultural economics and rural development at Seoul National University and director of the Food Business Lab.

Thomas Malthus's "An Essay on the Principle of Population" (1798), published in Britain, presented humanity with an apocalyptic vision during the upheaval of the Industrial Revolution. Malthus argued that while food production would increase only arithmetically, population would grow geometrically, leaving humanity trapped under the constant pressure of poverty and famine. At the time, rapidly industrializing cities across Europe were witnessing a soaring rate of urban poverty, making Malthus's grim prediction appear plausible.

But agriculture soon produced a technological breakthrough that fundamentally overturned Malthus's theory. In 1909, German chemist Fritz Haber developed a method for synthesizing nitrogen fertilizer, and Carl Bosch later made mass production possible through high-pressure industrial processing. Once nitrogen fertilizer was applied to crops, yields per unit of land rose beyond anything previously imaginable. Agriculture was no longer strictly constrained by natural soil fertility or the area of arable land available. The "arithmetic limits" of food production envisioned by Malthus began to collapse under the force of technological innovation.

The innovation spread rapidly around the world. Germany established the first commercial nitrogen fertilizer plant in 1913. On the Korean Peninsula, a fertilizer plant was built in what is now North Korea's South Hamgyong Province in 1927, and nitrogen fertilizer began to be distributed nationwide in 1932. At the time, a sack of fertilizer from the Heungnam factory cost roughly the equivalent of five mal of rice (2.5 bushels), making it expensive by contemporary standards. Even so, farmers eagerly purchased it because applying fertilizer to rice paddies could double harvest yields.

The technological shift dramatically altered the structure of agricultural production. Compared to 1920, cultivated land had increased by only 1.9 percent by 1938. Labor input rose by 8.8 percent, and capital investment by 31.2 percent. Variable costs, however, surged by 658.8 percent, largely due to fertilizer purchases and other agricultural inputs. Nitrogen fertilizer reduced the relative importance of labor in farming and transformed the traditional structure of agricultural production itself.

The spread of this innovation also reshaped Korean eating habits. Per capita rice consumption increased sharply, and white rice gradually replaced mixed-grain meals on ordinary dinner tables. Both the quantity and quality of food improved. Around this same period, a new variety of cabbage introduced from China became the dominant ingredient for kimchi production in Korea.

Another major agricultural breakthrough emerged four decades later through plant breeding. In 1971, Seoul National University Prof. Heo Mun-hui developed and expanded the cultivation of Tongil rice, allowing South Korea to achieve complete self-sufficiency in rice production and effectively render Malthus's theory obsolete in the South Korean context. The success of Tongil rice also transformed industrial structures. Agricultural production shifted away from the reliance on farmers' individual experiences toward a state-led technological system. At the same time, industries producing fertilizers, pesticides and other agricultural materials expanded rapidly to support higher crop productivity.

Now, more than 50 years later, South Korea is hoping that smart farming technologies will produce another major leap forward. But so far, the results remain limited.

One reason is that smart farms are not yet closely tied to staple food production or livestock. Most are used to cultivate leafy vegetables and other secondary crops, limiting their overall impact. Smart farms can overcome the seasonal limitations of traditional agriculture, but high installation and energy costs con...

The author is the head of the editorial board at the JoongAng Ilbo.

President Lee Jae Myung is the first among Korea's 14 presidents to have served as both a mayor and a provincial governor before entering the Blue House. Over his 11 years in local administration, he accumulated experience and practical knowledge across nearly every policy field except diplomacy and defense. Those experiences have become one of his defining strengths as president.

Over the past year, Lee has reinforced that image through televised Cabinet meetings, ministry briefings and town hall meetings. He is widely seen as a leader who is deeply familiar with administrative details and unusually strong with numbers. That perception likely explains why his approval ratings have often exceeded support for his party. A veteran president with broad expertise naturally keeps not only close aides but also rank-and-file bureaucrats on edge.

Lee is also known for working relentlessly. One presidential aide said that while staff members usually try to rest briefly when traveling between events, the president instead uses those moments to send text messages asking whether this or that matter has been addressed. Another aide said messages from the president frequently arrive late at night. Both described him as astonishingly knowledgeable.

As a result, the phrase most often attached to Lee since taking office has been mangi chinram, a traditional term referring to a ruler personally overseeing countless state affairs. One of the clearest features of the Lee administration has been the president's habit of directly raising agendas in highly specific policy areas and seeing them implemented at remarkable speed.

Many of those agendas first appear in late-night social media posts. Lee occasionally asks, "What do you think?" Yet before public opinion has even formed, bureaucracies often begin drafting and implementing policy responses. As far as one can recall, the only major presidential idea that has not yet advanced into policy has been a proposed sugar tax. More recently, a review of whether to pursue an arrest warrant for Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu was added to that list.

There is nothing unusual about a president presenting policy agendas. The issue is whether those agendas emerge from sufficient deliberation or from impulsive remarks made before careful review. In some cases, presidential comments likely reflected discussions already underway among aides. Debate over ending tax relief for owners of multiple homes or reducing long-term capital gains deductions appears to have followed that pattern.

In many other cases, however, ministries seem to have rushed to implement ideas first raised by the president himself. During the recent controversy involving Starbucks Korea, for example, Lee floated the idea of shutting down Ilbe, a far-right online community. Relevant ministries are expected to formalize that proposal into policy soon. Yet policy decisions always carry the possibility of unintended consequences, especially when preliminary review is insufficient.

One example involved allegations of outside pressure in a narcotics investigation. Lee personally instructed that Senior Superintendent Baek Hae-ryong be assigned to the investigative team, only for all suspects later to be cleared. Had the president first received detailed briefings from police familiar with the case, such instructions may never have been issued.

The deeper problem is that presidents cannot always be right. During televised Cabinet meetings, ministers and aides often appear overwhelmed as Lee cites statistics and operational details. To the public, such scenes can feel refreshing. Yet restraint from subordinates does not necessarily mean the president's claims are always accurate.

Last week, for instance, Lee said that "almost all European countries" had announced they would arrest Netanyahu if he entered their territory. In reality, most major European countries are not...