Prosecutors, judges and the future of justice in Korea

Park Jin-seok

The author is in the investigative reporting bureau at the JoongAng Ilbo.

In July 1998, a convicted draft-dodging broker walked into the office of a senior military prosecutor. The man, just out of prison, was well-known in Korea’s military service evasion networks. Though his superior was wary, the prosecutor pushed to use him, and the deal was allowed. The gamble paid off. Together, they uncovered hundreds of draft-dodging cases.

But that same man — Kim Dae-eop — would later drag both his prosecutor partner and the Korean justice system into political controversy. During the 2002 presidential election, Kim alleged that the son of Lee Hoi-chang, the Grand National Party’s candidate, had dodged military service. He claimed to have reported this to senior officials, only to see it buried. The prosecutor at his side throughout the ordeal was Lee Myung-hyun — now the special prosecutor assigned to the ongoing investigation into the death of Corporal Chae.

Lee’s image today is that of a principled soldier who stood up to superiors. His ties to Kim Dae-eop, however, have largely been forgotten. Even after courts later acknowledged that Kim’s concealment claims were partly untrue, Lee never issued a public apology or statement of regret to those affected by the scandal.

The other prominent figure in the current landscape is Special Counsel Min Jung-ki, a former judge now heading the investigation into former first lady Kim Keon Hee. Korea has witnessed the limitations of judges leading investigative teams before. The first and second heads of the Corruption Investigation Office for High-ranking Officials (CIO) — both former judges — struggled to command public trust. Of the four special prosecution teams that earned widespread respect — Lee Yong-ho Gate, the North Korea remittances case, the Druking scandal and the Park Geun-hye corruption trial — three were led by former prosecutors. The only exception was the North Korea remittances case.

Min is not a criminal law expert. His background lies in labor law and the progressive judges' group, Woori Law Research Association. That both Lee and Min were chosen to lead high-profile probes under a government that has pledged to abolish the prosecution and exclude prosecutors from key roles raises questions about political balance and impartiality.

Consider also the Democratic Party’s push for four bills aimed at dismantling the prosecution. Article 7 of the proposed Serious Crimes Investigation Agency Act stands out. It stipulates that the agency head — replacing the current prosecutor general — be recommended by a seven-member committee including the vice minister of the interior, the heads of the CIO and the National Police Agency, two members nominated by the ruling party, and two by other parties. If the CIO head is replaced with someone favorable to the government, five of the seven would be effectively aligned with the president. With a two-thirds vote required, the ruling bloc would be assured of control — effectively allowing the government to install a “maid of power” rather than an independent watchdog.

The idea of separating investigative and prosecutorial functions by creating a new Prosecution Office also warrants scrutiny. Prosecutors have long believed that those who conduct the investigation are best equipped to lead the trial, as they understand the case in depth. If the separation of investigation and prosecution were such an urgent reform, why do the recently passed special prosecution laws still assign both functions to the special counsel teams? The excuse that the new office does not yet exist seems unconvincing, given the many available trial prosecutors.

Still, it is difficult to confront the Democratic Party’s prosecutorial abolition agenda with complete confidence — because the prosecution itself has lost credibility. For much of the previous administration, it submitted to political power and compromised its principles. Had prosecutors pursued President Yoon Suk Yeol with equal determination, as they did figures from past administrations, public opinion might have rallied behind the institution. Instead, the prosecution wasted a rare opportunity to rebuild trust, squandering its “golden hour” in loyal service to the current regime.

Does this mean the prosecution must now wait passively for its demise? Paradoxically, the only hope may lie in prosecutors themselves — specifically, the 120 who will be seconded to the three special counsel teams. Two decades ago, a similar team investigating the Lee Yong-ho scandal brought down a prosecutor general, a senior prosecutor, and even the president’s son. Today’s prosecutors must be equally fearless, whether investigating former presidents or their own superiors. Only by doing so can they start to restore public belief in the need for an independent prosecution.

If, by some chance, the institution survives, its younger members must learn from their elders’ failures. In Korea, the only path to redemption for the prosecution is to stand firmly against power — especially when that power is still in office.

Translated from the JoongAng Ilbo using generative AI and edited by Korea JoongAng Daily staff.