Korea JoongAng Daily - Daily News from Korea

Controversies over mockery and hate have resurfaced in May, a month that symbolizes Korea's democratization. After Starbucks Korea's "Tank Day" promotion hurt the families of victims of the May 18 Gwangju Democratization Movement and many citizens, President Lee Jae Myung said on Sunday that a person linked to Ilbe, a far-right online community, appeared to have mocked the late former President Roh Moo-hyun.

Lee said Korea may need to review punishment, punitive damages or even the closure of Ilbe. He also criticized Starbucks Korea's marketing as "the inhumane behavior of lowlife profiteers." Many people can understand his anger toward acts that demean history marked by national pain. Even so, there is reason to worry that repeated presidential interventions on social media could become excessive.

First, a boycott of Starbucks Korea that appears to be unfolding under government direction risks distorting both the market and common sense. After Lee's criticism, the Ministry of Justice reviewed budgets involving Starbucks products, while the Ministry of National Defense temporarily suspended a program with the company to improve welfare for service members. The Ministry of SMEs and Startups even considered revoking a prime ministerial commendation for the company.

A musical actor who shared a photo taken at Starbucks faced criticism and later left a production. The spectacle of an entire state seeming to publicly shame one company has unsettled even some consumers who were angered by the company's marketing. Excessive government intervention has intruded into the realm of civil society, where public judgment and market principles should function without presidential pressure or administrative overreach.

Seeking punitive damages or other penalties for Ilbe's offensive behavior may be a natural policy option. But if the president appears to lead such efforts directly, it can create the impression that the government is restricting freedom of expression and thought.

The more the controversy over mockery and hate becomes an issue in the June 3 local elections, the greater the risk that Lee's concerns will backfire. The People Power Party is already accusing the president's social media posts of becoming another form of "state violence."

The original purpose — respecting the history and spirit of democracy — is being blurred, while progressives and conservatives use the issue to rally their supporters. To block hatred and ridicule that undermine the spirit of May, Korea needs a careful approach that turns this controversy into mature public deliberation rather than political agitation, not another cycle of partisan mobilization. That distinction matters as public anger continues to spread beyond the original incidents.

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 Seo Ji-eun and read by an artificial voice.

A coffee shop, by most definitions, is a place where people talk.

Not here.

Climb one flight above the entrance of a Hollys Coffee branch near Cheonggyecheon stream in central Seoul on a weekday afternoon, and the air changes into an abrupt, studious silence.

Downstairs, the palette is warm, the music is audible and customers are doing what customers traditionally do in cafes: gossiping over lattes.

Up here, the walls are grey, the playlist has dropped to a murmur and nobody is talking to anybody. The only sounds are the erratic clatter of keyboards, the occasional drag of a chair and the soft snick of a bag zipper. Without quite deciding to, you find yourself walking on tiptoe.

A sign on the stairwell, stamped with a small book icon, marks the floor as being for "working and studying."

Meet the 'cagongjok'

Korea has a word for these laptop-wielding patrons — cagongjok, a portmanteau of the Korean words for cafe, studying (gongbu) and tribe (jok).

The term first appeared in print on April 21, 2015, in a piece about high school students cramming for exams near tutoring academies in western Seoul. Early coverage treated it as a curiosity. Within a year, it became a complaint.

The numbers tell part of the story.

'The noise actually helps'

Seo Jae-won, a university student in Seoul, describes coffee shops as a choice to find an environment where it is easier to focus.

"At home, it is too easy to slack off or end up doing other things," Seo said. "The school library is too quiet, which feels suffocating. A cafe offers the right amount of ambient noise with fewer personal distractions."

Korea's hyper-dense urban housing — where young adults routinely live in apartments, shared dorms or remain with their parents well into their twenties — has created a chronic deficit of private space.

Psychologists note that such a preference is grounded in behavioral science, particularly the social facilitation theory."

"The presence of other people itself has an effect of improving individual performance," said Kwak Geum-joo, an emeritus professor of psychology at Seoul National University. "Because other people are around, you can't just slack off due to their gaze. Seeing others work hard gets you pumped up as well."

A little background noise, she adds, can sharpen focus, with the brain working harder to filter it out.

The focus has a ceiling, however, on tasks that require highly precise or high-level concentration. When deadlines approach or tasks become too complex, the noise ceases to be a catalyst and becomes a barrier, according to Kwak.

For Seo, the cost of a drink is a "space utilization fee."

"Three hours feels like the line," he said. "If I'm going to study longer, I order another drink or add a dessert."

The macroeconomics of that courtesy, however, are brutal for the people paying the commercial leases.

The Korea Food Industry Research Institute calculated that for an eight-table cafe selling a 4,100-won ($2.7) Americano to break even, a customer must vacate their seat within one hour and 42 minutes.

Recalculated against today's soaring labor costs and inflation, that window has shrunk to roughly one hour and 31 minutes. Seo's self-imposed three-hour limit already blows past that time frame by double.

Some cafe owners shared stories online of customers arriving with dual external monitors and multiport power strips.

In one case that circulated widely enough to become something of an urban legend, a customer plugged an electric scooter into a wall outlet. "Next it'll be electric cars," the owner wrote.

Lee Si-won, who works at a cafe in Incheon, estimates that 70 to 80 percent of her daily customers arrive with something to study or work on.

"Groups stay under an hour, but the cagongjok stay for two to three hours minimum," Lee said. "Most order a single 4,700-won Americano and stay for hours."

To disrupt the studious atmosphere, she once swapped their usual low-f...

This article is by Shin Sung-sik, Kim Nam-young and read by an artificial voice.

The Kospi's surge has fueled optimism that the depletion date of the pension fund could be delayed by 20 to 30 years. But some experts caution against excessive optimism.

While there is an estimate of how far back the depletion date may have been pushed back, it isn't a formal reassessment. NPS recalculates the depletion forecast for its pension fund every five years, and there hasn't been a case when the figure was reassessed mid-cycle.

"The pension fund was expected to be depleted in 2071, according to the previous projection, but we estimate the depletion date to be tentatively delayed by around seven years due to improved returns," said First Vice Health Minister Hyun Soo-yeob during a Cabinet meeting on Wednesday.

The National Pension Service posted a record annual return of 18.82 percent last year.

President Lee Jae Myung questioned the estimate, saying, "It seems the fund increased by around 300 trillion won [$198 billion] due to stock price gains last year and this year, but it only extends the timeline by seven years?"

"I heard in reports that it had been extended by around 20 to 30 years, and we should look into it later," President Lee added.

Even Hyun's estimate of a seven-year extension isn't considered precise.

The seven-year estimate is based on a simple calculation that uses projected annual expenditures and additional income. However, projections for the pension fund also need to factor in demographic changes and income growth rates.

The Health Ministry calculated the estimate under the assumption that the fund will have a consistent investment return of 5.5 percent, but returns can change depending on market conditions.

The sharp rise in the Kospi has also created a dilemma for the NPS.

Higher returns help delay the fund's depletion, but the NPS's domestic stock holdings are now too high compared to its initial asset allocation plans.

NPS aims to diversify its portfolio to prevent excessive concentration in a single asset. The pension fund manages investments according to target allocations across different assets such as stocks, bonds and real estate, as well as between domestic and overseas investments.

But the Kospi's rally has sharply increased the value of NPS's domestic stock holdings in a short period of time. NPS's domestic stock holdings rose from 264 trillion won last year to 395 trillion won as of the end of February. The figure rose 49.6 percent during the period, or by 131 trillion won.

Domestic stocks accounted for 24.5 percent of the NPS portfolio as of February, and are believed to have since exceeded 25 percent. That is far above the domestic stock target ratio of 14.9 percent and the cap of 19.9 percent.

Under the fund's asset allocation rules, NPS should reduce holdings that exceed target allocations. But if NPS sells off a large volume of domestic stocks, it could inevitably put downward pressure on the market.

Caught in a dilemma, NPS's fund management committee is scheduled to meet on Thursday to finalize its midterm strategic asset allocation plan.

Many expect the cap on domestic stock holdings to be lifted, though a sharp increase is unlikely. The fund faces a difficult choice between maintaining the principle of risk diversification and avoiding market disruption.

The Kospi rally has nevertheless delayed the projected depletion date of the pension fund.

However, experts caution that an optimistic outlook is only possible in current market conditions. Much of the gains remain unrealized book profits, and returns could decline at any time depending on the market.

High returns generated during exceptional conditions, such as the semiconductor supercycle, are also difficult to sustain in the future.

Experts also point to rapidly rising pension payouts. Korea's ultra-aging population is accelerating the pace of pension benefit payouts. Because payouts accelerate sharply during the fund depletion stage, ...

This article is by Shin Ha-nee and read by an artificial voice.

Le Sserafim arrived four years ago with a name built from the phrase "I'm fearless." Now, the girl group knows the shape of its fear — and with "Boompala," it turns that fear into a chant.

The quintet's latest lead track repeats "Boompala, Boompala, Boompala," over a "Macarena" (1993) rhythm. The hypnotic hook carries the song's message like a mantra — fear, depending on how one looks at it, may be nothing more than an illusion.

"The biggest message of 'Boompala' is that, because there is nothing holding you back, there is no fear," said Huh Yun-jin during a roundtable interview with journalists in eastern Seoul on Monday, ahead of the release of its second full-length album, "Pureflow pt. 1," on Friday.

"The song says that fear may be nothing more than an illusion, depending on how one views it and the attitude one chooses to take," Huh continued. "It transforms the anxiety and stress of modern society into something fun and positive."

Debuting in 2022 under HYBE's Source Music, girl group Le Sserafim consists of Huh, Kim Chae-won, Kazuha, Sakura and Hong Eun-chae. Kim, however, will sit out from the group's latest promotions due to neck pain.

The group's name is an anagram of "I'm fearless," reflecting the core narrative that has run through its discography since its debut EP, "Fearless" (2023) — that the members are ready to take on challenges and aren't afraid of anything.

Four years after its debut, the quintet has weathered both great highs and lows, including the backlash it faced over uneven live vocals during its Coachella set in 2024.

Now standing at the other end of that tunnel, Le Sserafim has declared "Fearless 2.0" — the next chapter in its career. The members no longer insist that they do not know fear. Instead, they acknowledge it, bond over it and emerge more powerful for having faced it together.

"In our early days, everything was new to us, so there was a kind of strength and energy that we could only show at that time," Hong said. "But as we continued our careers, we went through various experiences, met many different people and received a lot of love."

In that process, the perception of the emotion of fear has changed, Hong said.

"We came to understand ourselves better and become more honest," she added. "We wanted to talk about that change again at this point in time."

"Pureflow pt. 1," the girl group's second full-length album, reflects that narrative shift. Its title is an anagram of "powerful," inspired by the line "For I am fearless, and therefore powerful" from Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" (1818). All five members participated in the production, credited for lyrics and songwriting.

The album features 11 songs: the lead track "Boompala," the prereleases "Celebration" and B-sides "Pureflow," "Creatures," "iffy iffy," "Need Your Company," "Sonder," "Saki," "Irony," "Trust Exercise" and "Liminal Space."

"Boompala," the lead single of the girl group's latest album, samples Spanish pop duo Los del Río's 1993 hit "Macarena," weaving its unmistakable rhythm and melody into a Latin house track. Its lyrics, which repeat the made-up word "Boompala," were inspired by the "Heart Sutra," a Buddhist text, turning a moment of enlightenment into a cheery chant.

"To me, 'Boompala' was comforting," Kazuha said. "When you're going through a difficult time, it can feel like that moment is everything and that things will continue that way forever. But I found comfort in realizing that it is all part of the process of broadening your perspective — that it is not everything, and that you need to accept your emotions."

"I think scars are proof of how hard I have worked," Sakura said. "I have been hurt through many experiences, but the fact that I was able to get back up is something I am proud of. I hope that can become a source of courage for others as well."

The strong sisterhood built upon their shared time together is another key theme in the "Fearl...

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

[BUSAN DEEP DIVE]

BUSAN — If exploring alleyways is high on your itinerary while traveling, Busan has plenty to offer.

Instead of the busy, neon-lit alleys you would normally encounter in Seoul, this coastal city hides retro, bookstore-packed backstreets and smoke-filled lanes lined with yang gopchang (beef tripe) joints behind the scenic shoreline.

The alleys feel as if you have been time-warped to an earlier era, and lazy stray cats become your unlikely local guides.

Explore these character-filled corners of Busan slowly and thoroughly, following the storied histories these alleys embody.

Bosu-dong Book Street

Bosu-dong Book Street in Jung District is hazardous for anyone who says, "I'll just stop by for a minute." An entire afternoon will disappear before you know, and you'll leave with three dusty old books you never planned to buy.

Books spill out onto the street. Old comics sit beside philosophy books. Harry Potter rests next to faded Korean school textbooks from the 1960s. People flip through worn pages, while bookstore owners casually read novels at their counters.

But the alley's most unusual stop sits near the far end at Hakmoon Bookstore. Instead of sushi, owner Kim Jae-hyeong serves a fairy tale omakase — referring to the form of Japanese dining in which the chef creates personalized dishes on the spot.

Three books are first offered as an "appetizer," along with tea or bingsu (shaved ice) of one's choice for the 5,000 won ($3.30) experience. Kim studies faces, personalities and moods before disappearing into shelves stacked with some 500 books he has collected over 15 years. Minutes later, he returns carrying titles he believes fit the person sitting before him.

"This book's character fits your image well," he said while handing over a recommendation by author An NyeongDal. "She's known for bringing imaginary things to life. You'll enjoy its heartwarming story."

Flipping through the pages, a strange warmth slowly settles in, leaving one wondering how a stranger somehow knew exactly what would comfort their hearts.

The alley itself dates back roughly 75 years, when a couple began selling secondhand magazines from U.S. military bases and used books beneath the eaves of wooden buildings.

After the Korean War (1950-1953), refugees flooded into Busan, and temporary schools sprang up around the slopes behind Boksu-dong near Mount Gudeok. Students desperate for anything to read gathered around secondhand book stalls, gradually transforming the area into what became Busan's famous book alley. At its peak, around 70 bookstores lined the street.

Around 30 bookstores remain today. "Recently, many people have been looking for early editions of Han Kang's books," said the owner of Hyorim Bookstore, who has been running the shop for 12 years after his wife operated it for 20 years. Floor-to-ceiling stacks filled the tiny store, from black-and-white comic books to newer titles.

"It's nice just talking with young people," he added before proudly showing off his collection.

Each bookstore carries its own personality. Donghwa Bookstore specializes in children's books, while Alpha Bookstore focuses more on academic texts and religious works. Older books are often sold at discounts of 50 percent or more, with some costing as little as 1,000 won. Rare editions, however, can fetch far higher prices.

And before heading off to a cafe with your newly purchased books, there's one last stop: Book Street Photo Studio, where bookshelves double as photo backdrops for black-and-white portraits. Printed like an old memory, the photo becomes a small keepsake from Boksu-dong to take home.

Culture Alley

When the streets around Kyungsung University in Nam District start feeling too crowded, Culture Alley appears like a secret green escape.

In 2004, architect Choi Yoon-sik purchased a house near the university. Three years later, he bought four neighboring houses, turning the area ...

This article is by Hwang Jeong-il and read by an artificial voice.

Once battered by a prolonged slump in the aftermath of the Covid-19 pandemic, Myeongdong — long regarded as Seoul's top tourist shopping district — has returned to its prepandemic bustle, with retail vacancy rates also normalizing.

The revival has been fueled by the district's transformation from a duty-free and cosmetics-centered shopping zone into a multifaceted destination spanning fashion, food, culture and beauty. As foreign tourists return, both Korean and global brands are also accelerating their expansion into the area.

At 2 p.m. on Tuesday, Myeongdong's main alleys were crowded with foreign tourists despite it being a weekday. Chinese could be heard throughout the streets alongside English and Japanese. Korea welcomed a record 4.8 million foreign visitors in the first quarter of this year, the highest ever for a first quarter. A large portion of those travelers visited downtown, which, according to the Korea Tourism Organization, was Seoul's most-visited commercial district among foreign tourists in the first half of last year.

The influx of visitors has reinvigorated the neighborhood and driven rents upward. The rental price index for commercial properties in the Myeongdong area rose 2.4 percent from the previous quarter, according to the Korea Real Estate Board, far outpacing Seoul's average increase of 0.5 percent. Real estate consultancy Cushman & Wakefield Korea said Myeongdong's retail vacancy rate had fallen to 5.6 percent as of the end of last year, recovering to prepandemic levels. The vacancy rate had soared to 49.9 percent in 2021.

What stands out most is the district's evolution from a low-cost cosmetics and duty-free shopping hub into a broader lifestyle retail destination. Pharmacies — once relatively uncommon in the area — have proliferated and become must-visit stops for foreign tourists.

"Before Covid-19, Myeongdong largely revolved around cosmetics and duty-free stores, but it is now transforming into a comprehensive shopping district encompassing fashion, beauty, food and pharmaceuticals," an industry source said. "As the range of content expands, the area is attracting tourists far more quickly than before."

The transformation is also reshaping the visitor demographic. The share of tourists in their 20s visiting Myeongdong has been rising by roughly 50 percent annually. While the district was once heavily dependent on groups of Chinese tourists, its visitor base has recently diversified to include travelers from North America, Europe and Southeast Asia.

As Myeongdong stages a dramatic comeback, domestic and global brands are moving quickly to establish a presence there. Fashion retailer Musinsa opened a three-story store in January, while Olive Young launched an outlet in March, its second largest in Korea.

Against the bustling backdrop, Uniqlo finally returned to the area for the first time in five years. The company, which withdrew from the district in 2021 amid the pandemic, opened a three-story, 3,254-square-meter (35,026-square-foot) global flagship store on Friday. The outlet — the largest Uniqlo store in Korea with 42 checkout counters — houses the brand's full lineup for men, women, kids and babies under one roof. Uniqlo operates global flagship stores in only 16 locations worldwide, including New York, London, Shanghai and Tokyo.

With Uniqlo's return, Myeongdong is expected to emerge as a battleground for major fast fashion brands. Competitors include SPAO, Top Ten and Musinsa.

"This is not simply a large-format store," said Lim Jung-eun, head store manager of Uniqlo Myeongdong. "It is a flagship store designed around experiences unique to Myeongdong, including exclusive products and a layout tailored for foreign tourists, such as dedicated duty-free zones. We aim to broaden customer engagement through experiences that only Uniqlo can offer."

This article was originally written in Korean and translated by a bilingual ...

This article is by Ko Suk-hyun and read by an artificial voice.

Defense is becoming the auto industry's newest battleground — and Hyundai Motor is entering with hydrogen in hand.

Automakers facing a slowdown in their traditional businesses are increasingly eyeing the defense sector, where they can readily leverage their existing manufacturing infrastructure.

Hyundai Motor Group is also broadening its military vehicle lineup through its smaller affiliate Kia.

At the recent defense exhibition — Black Sea Defense & Aerospace 2026 — in Romania, Kia unveiled a military command vehicle based on its midsize pickup truck, the Tasman. The Korean auto group is attempting to develop a hydrogen fuel cell-powered all-terrain vehicle by combining the corporate hydrogen technology with defense applications.

CEO of Mercedes-Benz, Ola Källenius, said the German automaker would be willing to expand its defense profile and production as long as it makes "business sense" in his recent interview with the Wall Street Journal.

"What car companies do extraordinarily well — and we're good at it — is to build high-quality precision machines in higher volumes," Källenius said.

While noting that defense-related business would account for "a minor share" of the automaker's entire portfolio, Källenius said it "could be a growing niche" that could contribute to business results.

The remarks from Källenius appear to signal the possibility of expanding the company's business portfolio beyond automobiles into broader defense production.

Germany's Volkswagen is reportedly in talks with Israeli defense contractor Rafael Advanced Defense Systems about producing components for missile defense systems, including Iron Dome.

Detroit-based General Motors and Japanese automakers Toyota Motor Corporation and Mitsubishi Motors Corporation are likewise expanding the development of military vehicle platforms.

Automakers are aiming to apply decades of accumulated automotive technology to the defense sector while supplying standardized components such as platforms, vehicle bodies, power systems and wiring systems. The growing adoption of EV technology, hydrogen fuel cells and autonomous driving systems in military equipment also presents a new opportunity, as it blurs the traditional boundary between the automotive and defense industries.

"The automotive industry can relatively easily convert its manufacturing base for arms production, as seen during World War I (1914-1918) and World War II (1939-45)," said Kim Pil-soo, a professor of automotive engineering at Daelim University.

"It is a desperate measure for survival among automakers as the manufacturing industry weakens," Kim said.

The defense industry also presents an opportunity, as it remains largely untouched by the influx of Chinese automakers.

"As Chinese automakers flood into global markets, established manufacturers are becoming increasingly interested in high-value-added businesses," said Lee Ho-geun, automotive engineering professor at Daeduk University.

"One advantage of the defense sector is that technological superiority tends to command much greater added value," Lee added.

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.

Kwack Min-soo

The author is the director of the Korea Institute of Egyptology.

The names of pharaohs in ancient Egypt were displayed in two main formats. The better-known cartouche was an oval frame shaped like a looped rope that first appeared around 2600 B.C. during the late Third Dynasty of the Old Kingdom. Even after ancient Egyptian civilization had effectively come to an end, the cartouche continued to be used to inscribe the names of Roman emperors. It demonstrates how symbolic systems often survive long after the political order that created them has collapsed.

Before the cartouche, pharaohs' names were written inside a rectangular frame known as the serekh, which had been used since the Early Dynastic Period. The appearance of the cartouche did not eliminate the serekh. Instead, it remained in use as the special format for the "Horus name," one of the five official names of a pharaoh. It was a case in which a new tradition absorbed and redefined an older symbolic system rather than discarding it entirely.

The serekh functioned as a condensed ideological symbol of royal authority. At its center stood the pharaoh's name, beneath which appeared a distinctive pattern of repeated vertical grooves. The design abstracted the recessed architectural decoration of an actual royal palace. At the top, a falcon representing the god Horus was usually depicted. Because the pharaoh was regarded as the earthly manifestation of Horus, the falcon symbolized the divine legitimacy of kingship itself and reinforced the connection between religion and political authority.

But there was one moment in ancient Egyptian history when this rule was overturned. Peribsen, a pharaoh of the Second Dynasty, placed above his serekh not the falcon of Horus but a four-legged animal representing the god Seth. In Egyptian mythology, Seth was the greatest rival and adversary of Horus. Peribsen's decision, therefore, amounted to a challenge to the symbolic order underpinning royal authority.

The situation became even more intriguing during the reign of the next king, Khasekhemwy. His serekh displayed both the Horus falcon and the animal symbolizing Seth together. Khasekhemwy ruled around 2700 B.C., roughly 400 years after Egypt had emerged as a unified kingdom.

The symbolism suggests that tensions and conflicts persisted within the unified state. Rather than erasing competing traditions, Khasekhemwy appeared to incorporate them into a single framework of authority. His serekh thus reveals an attempt to reconcile rival forces through symbolism itself.

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.

The author is the deputy editor of Content Division Three and the head of corporate research at the JoongAng Ilbo.

Compared with the political heat surrounding Seoul, Daegu and Busan ahead of the June 3 local elections, the race for governor of Gyeonggi — Korea's largest provincial government — has generated surprisingly little attention. Multiple opinion polls show Democratic Party candidate Choo Mi-ae maintaining a comfortable lead outside the margin of error. With the main opposition struggling to gain traction, the frontrunner has had little reason to campaign aggressively.

Yet beneath the quiet campaign lies a revealing political contradiction.

Until recently, Choo, then a lawmaker representing Hanam Gap, Gyeonggi, strongly opposed the expansion of the Dong Seoul substation converter facility in Hanam. Today, as a candidate for Gyeonggi governor, she is pledging to protect and expand the province's semiconductor belt. The conflict between those two positions has become one of the election's most overlooked issues.

Choo, who previously won five terms in Seoul's Gwangjin District, entered Gyeonggi politics during the 2024 general election and secured a sixth term representing Hanam Gap. During her two years there, she left a significant mark by leading opposition to the final stage of a key national power grid project that would connect the East Coast to the Seoul metropolitan area.

The 280-kilometer East Coast–capital region transmission network is considered one of Korea's highest-priority infrastructure projects. The plan involved converting alternating current electricity generated at East Coast power plants into direct current, transmitting it through a high-voltage direct current, or HVDC, system to the Dong Seoul substation and converting it back into alternating current for households and industrial complexes in the capital region.

The primary beneficiaries were expected to be semiconductor clusters and residents concentrated in southern Gyeonggi. Korea Electric Power Corporation spent years persuading residents in dozens of villages across Gangwon and other regions to allow transmission lines to pass through their communities. Yet because the converter station at the endpoint could not be completed, the entire project has effectively been stalled for more than two years.

Since the launch of the Lee Jae Myung administration, the government has taken a larger role under the Special Act on Expanding the National Power Grid. The minister of Climate, Energy and Environment has even held meetings with residents. But finding an alternative site remains difficult given the physical requirements of transmission infrastructure.

Few residents welcome ultra-high-voltage transmission towers or lines near their homes. That reality makes the role of politicians and administrators especially important. They must persuade communities to accept infrastructure projects that serve broader national interests. Simply insisting "not in my neighborhood" makes it difficult to speak credibly about the larger community.

That is why Choo's current position raises difficult questions. If a politician who once stood at the forefront of resistance to power infrastructure now seeks to lead Gyeonggi as a semiconductor hub, voters may reasonably ask how she reconciles the contradiction.

Across Gyeonggi, many communities are already opposing new HVDC transmission routes, wearing banners that declare their determination to protect local livelihoods. Yet supplying electricity to the province's growing semiconductor fabs and industrial complexes will require importing power not only from the East Coast but also from western and southern coastal regions. If those transmission routes are blocked, Korea could face a situation in which electricity is generated but cannot be delivered, or semiconductor facilities are completed without sufficient power to operate.

Some may dismiss such reversals as ordinary politics. Politicians often shift positions de...

The author is a principal of the Saemal Saemomjit School.

Since the emergence of artificial intelligence, many people have warned that it will "destroy humanity" or "threaten human nature." Whenever a new technology appears, those trapped in old frameworks speak of humanity's collapse while attempting to delay the future and remain in the past. Even before AI, they tended to view technological civilization itself as corrosive to humanity. In reality, they are simply confined within an outdated understanding of what humanity is.

Human nature is not a biologically fixed constant. It is a history of revelation and expansion shaped by the direction of civilization. Humanity always exists, but its form and substance change across eras as its territory widens. The evolution of humanity resembles the gradual discovery of previously unread shelves within a vast library. What had once been obscured by instrumental instincts, divine authority or rigid rationalism later emerged as newly recognized aspects of human identity. Traits once dismissed as flaws in one era often become central expressions of humanity in another.

Seen this way, the current technological transition is not the destruction of humanity but the unveiling of dimensions that previous systems concealed. Throughout history, technological progress has not erased humanity. Instead, it has repeatedly pushed societies to reconsider what it means to be human.

The Industrial Revolution revealed this dynamic clearly. At the time, machines appeared to many people as monsters that threatened skilled craftsmanship and human survival itself. As portrayed in Charlie Chaplin's "Modern Times" (1936), workers tightening bolts in rhythm with machines no longer seemed like thinking beings but mechanical components. Cries that "humanity has been destroyed" emerged from this anxiety.

Yet the arrival of machines paradoxically uncovered truths about humanity that earlier eras rarely considered. Machines liberated people from some forms of repetitive physical labor, revealing the value of free time, creativity and intellectual exploration. Before industrialization, labor for survival had been regarded as inseparable from human existence. Mechanization allowed people to imagine identities beyond work itself.

Likewise, in a world where everything became standardized through industrial production, individuality emerged more clearly as a defining human trait. Human uniqueness became more visible precisely because machines made everything else uniform.

The fear surrounding AI today follows a similar pattern. AI increasingly appears capable of mechanizing thought itself, pressuring humans with flawless logic and immense computational power. Critics insist that the difference between industrial machines and AI is fundamental. In one sense, they are correct. Every major technology represents a new dimension of progress. Machines during the Industrial Revolution also transformed society in ways people could scarcely imagine beforehand.

What is now becoming clear is that humanity cannot be defined merely by knowledge accumulation or computational speed. Instead, qualities long hidden beneath the shadow of information are coming into sharper focus: the courage to ask questions, the recklessness to propose hypotheses, the irrational willingness to immerse oneself in myths, empathy toward the suffering of others and even hesitation itself.

Machines did not destroy humanity. They stripped away outdated shells of humanity and exposed more essential aspects hidden within. Industrial machines replaced human muscles and elevated the importance of intellect. If AI now begins replacing portions of human intellect, society must ask what new human value will emerge most brightly in response.

People struggling on the margins to answer that question may ultimately establish the new center of civilization. The important thing is not to fall behind during this transition.

Those trapped within fixed definitions of...