Judge Ji Gui-yeon and the Bangalore Code: A reminder of judicial ethics
Published: 22 May. 2025, 00:02
Audio report: written by reporters, read by AI
Kim Seung-hyun
The author is an editorial writer at the JoongAng Ilbo.
When allegations surfaced that Judge Ji Gui-yeon was entertained at a high-end bar resembling a room salon, many observers reacted with a simple question: “Why would anyone take photos in a place like that?” It wasn’t the monetary value of the alleged entertainment — reportedly in the millions of won — or the pixelated faces in the image that drew attention. Rather, the setting itself spoke volumes.
In Korean public sentiment, often represented by what media call samgyeopsal (pork belly) and soju sensibilities, the judgment was swift and unforgiving. The assumption was clear: No one would photograph such a scene if they truly believed it was morally acceptable. There was no sympathy for the idea that the judge might simply have been at ease among friends. Instead, there was scorn for someone now cast — rightly or wrongly — as a criminal defendant in the court of public opinion.
![Noh Jong-myun of the Democratic Party holds a press conference at the party headquarters in Yeouido, western Seoul, on Monday, holding up photos of Seoul Central District Court Judge Ji Gui-yeon allegedly visiting an adult entertainment bar. [NEWS1]](https://koreajoongangdaily.joins.com/data/photo/2025/05/22/18d4160d-afda-4edf-91f0-24db5d317e80.jpg)
Though the scrutiny may seem harsh, this is hardly unique to Korea. Around the world, judges are expected to adhere to strict ethical standards. One of the most widely respected frameworks is the Bangalore Principles of Judicial Conduct, which goes far beyond prohibiting bribery or corruption. It outlines how judges should conduct themselves socially, personally and even in leisure time.
Drafted in 2001 in Bengaluru and finalized a year later in The Hague, the principles were developed with support from the United Nations. High-level judges, many from developing countries, spearheaded the effort. The document outlines six core values: independence, impartiality, integrity, propriety, equality and competence with diligence. In 2007, a 221-item commentary was added to provide interpretive guidance.
One section titled “Visits to public bars, etc.” emphasizes that even casual social outings must be navigated with care. While acknowledging that barring judges from such venues is unrealistic, it advises that judges consider the reputation of the place, its clientele, and its legality from the perspective of a “reasonable observer in the community.” By that measure, Ji may have fallen short. The setting, more than any confirmed misconduct, failed to pass that crucial community standard.
The story of how the Bangalore Principles were introduced in Korea reveals its own irony. In 2007, following a bribery scandal involving a senior high court judge, the Korean judiciary began translating the principles with the intent of distributing them to all judges. But the Judicial Policy Office reportedly delayed their release. At the time, nights in the legal district of Seocho-dong were often characterized by whiskey-soju cocktails and cozy gatherings. The ethics code was seen as too strict, and distributing a code that no one would realistically follow seemed likely to invite criticism rather than reform.
Years later, the code was eventually distributed to all Korean judges. Its adoption was not merely symbolic — it marked a shift in the judiciary’s culture toward greater transparency and integrity. It also reflected a new confidence in ethical leadership. In that context, Ji’s claim that “this is not an era of wining and dining” is not without merit. But the photographs taken that night raise legitimate questions about whether his conduct aligns with ethical expectations formalized more than two decades ago.
The Bangalore Principles are not about punishing social lives; they are about safeguarding trust. In one frequently cited speech included in the code’s materials, a former chief justice addressed newly appointed judges with the following warning:
![Judge Ji Gui-yeon, who presides over Seoul Central District Court’s Criminal Agreement Division 25, asks the press to leave ahead of former President Yoon Suk Yeol's hearing on April 21. [JOINT PRESS CORPS]](https://koreajoongangdaily.joins.com/data/photo/2025/05/22/faf06cf4-fe9c-415b-a14c-dc8f148a67e7.jpg)
“Your legal pronouncements, and even your other actions, will be subject to public scrutiny. This includes unjust and unwarranted attacks that may weaken public respect for the judiciary. But if, at the end of each day, you can feel that you have served your community with a fellow judge in pursuit of justice under the law, you will have led a fulfilling life. With a good and honorable heart, all else will follow.”
The job of a judge is a lonely one. They are expected to live apart from society while also serving it. In that isolation, two things are essential: public trust to sustain them, and moral discipline to keep them grounded. What Ji’s case reminds us is that both are fragile — and neither should be taken for granted.
Translated from the JoongAng Ilbo using generative AI and edited by Korea JoongAng Daily staff.
The author is an editorial writer at the JoongAng Ilbo.
When allegations surfaced that Judge Ji Gui-yeon was entertained at a high-end bar resembling a room salon, many observers reacted with a simple question: “Why would anyone take photos in a place like that?” It wasn’t the monetary value of the alleged entertainment — reportedly in the millions of won — or the pixelated faces in the image that drew attention. Rather, the setting itself spoke volumes.
In Korean public sentiment, often represented by what media call samgyeopsal (pork belly) and soju sensibilities, the judgment was swift and unforgiving. The assumption was clear: No one would photograph such a scene if they truly believed it was morally acceptable. There was no sympathy for the idea that the judge might simply have been at ease among friends. Instead, there was scorn for someone now cast — rightly or wrongly — as a criminal defendant in the court of public opinion.
Noh Jong-myun of the Democratic Party holds a press conference at the party headquarters in Yeouido, western Seoul, on Monday, holding up photos of Seoul Central District Court Judge Ji Gui-yeon allegedly visiting an adult entertainment bar. [NEWS1]
Drafted in 2001 in Bengaluru and finalized a year later in The Hague, the principles were developed with support from the United Nations. High-level judges, many from developing countries, spearheaded the effort. The document outlines six core values: independence, impartiality, integrity, propriety, equality and competence with diligence. In 2007, a 221-item commentary was added to provide interpretive guidance.
One section titled “Visits to public bars, etc.” emphasizes that even casual social outings must be navigated with care. While acknowledging that barring judges from such venues is unrealistic, it advises that judges consider the reputation of the place, its clientele, and its legality from the perspective of a “reasonable observer in the community.” By that measure, Ji may have fallen short. The setting, more than any confirmed misconduct, failed to pass that crucial community standard.
The story of how the Bangalore Principles were introduced in Korea reveals its own irony. In 2007, following a bribery scandal involving a senior high court judge, the Korean judiciary began translating the principles with the intent of distributing them to all judges. But the Judicial Policy Office reportedly delayed their release. At the time, nights in the legal district of Seocho-dong were often characterized by whiskey-soju cocktails and cozy gatherings. The ethics code was seen as too strict, and distributing a code that no one would realistically follow seemed likely to invite criticism rather than reform.
Years later, the code was eventually distributed to all Korean judges. Its adoption was not merely symbolic — it marked a shift in the judiciary’s culture toward greater transparency and integrity. It also reflected a new confidence in ethical leadership. In that context, Ji’s claim that “this is not an era of wining and dining” is not without merit. But the photographs taken that night raise legitimate questions about whether his conduct aligns with ethical expectations formalized more than two decades ago.
The Bangalore Principles are not about punishing social lives; they are about safeguarding trust. In one frequently cited speech included in the code’s materials, a former chief justice addressed newly appointed judges with the following warning:
Judge Ji Gui-yeon, who presides over Seoul Central District Court’s Criminal Agreement Division 25, asks the press to leave ahead of former President Yoon Suk Yeol's hearing on April 21. [JOINT PRESS CORPS]
The job of a judge is a lonely one. They are expected to live apart from society while also serving it. In that isolation, two things are essential: public trust to sustain them, and moral discipline to keep them grounded. What Ji’s case reminds us is that both are fragile — and neither should be taken for granted.
Translated from the JoongAng Ilbo using generative AI and edited by Korea JoongAng Daily staff.
with the Korea JoongAng Daily
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