A new misinformation law and recent online controversies are raising concerns that Koreans will police their words, symbols and opinions more than ever.
Members of the youth coalition for the defense of freedom of expression hold a news conference to criticize the revised information and communications network act at the National Assembly's communication hall in Yeouido, western Seoul, on July 7.NEWS1
Ahn Hai-ri
The author is an editorial writer at the JoongAng Ilbo.
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“The digital exile begins,” one news headline read on Tuesday.
“Citizens are gripped by paranoia over being branded Ilbe,” announced another, referring to the Ilgan Best, also known as the Ilbe, an extremist far-right online community.
These headlines appeared the day that the revised Act on Promotion of Information and Communications Network Utilization and Information Protection took effect, even after the ruling Democratic Party unilaterally pushed the changes through despite broad public opposition.
The warnings are barely embellished. Critics on several online communities have described the revised act as “a censorship law worthy of an authoritarian state that invites attacks on political opponents.” Because the legal standards for determining intent and misinformation remain vague, the act risks branding legitimate criticism and even ordinary expressions of opinion as false. It may become easy to accuse someone while leaving them with little practical means to clear their name.
Even before the revised law took effect, there were already troubling signs that a culture eager to judge and punish perceived offenders was emerging in Korea. The controversies surrounding Starbucks Korea’s “Tank Day” marketing campaign and the six-month suspension imposed on the Paichai High School baseball team after players chanted “Let’s go to Starbucks” during a game against its opponent illustrate how quickly people can assign motive and demand punishment.
The color of an individual’s clothes, certain numbers and even everyday expressions have become subjects of political interpretation and interrogation. Supporters of the Democratic Party have accused celebrities and ordinary citizens alike of “promoting hate,” which has created an environment in which people with different views feel pressured to be silent. With the revised law now in force, there is reason to worry that satire and casual forms of self-expression, especially by younger people, will give way to constant self-censorship.
Consider this simple question: What color did Karina of girl group aespa wear in a social media post the day before the June 3 local elections? Many people would likely answer red, the color associated with the conservative People Power Party, after recalling that she had received backlash for posting a photo of herself wearing a black jacket with red patterns before last year’s presidential election. But the correct answer is blue, the color identified with the Democratic Party.
Last year, her agency, SM Entertainment, said that the post had no political intent but still deleted it to avoid misunderstandings. Karina herself also apologized, saying that she had not considered such an interpretation. This year, however, her blue outfit attracted virtually no attention.
By contrast, rapper Lee Young-ji posted a photo of herself with newly dyed red hair and wearing red clothing four days before the local elections. After facing criticism, she quickly deleted the post, apologized and even proved that she had rushed to the salon to redye her hair black. The situation was similar to last year’s controversy, in which television personality Hong Jin-kyung felt compelled to issue a handwritten apology after appearing in red clothing on the eve of the presidential election.
Public shaming once threatened careers. Now, people may also fear legal consequences for the wrong choice of color, words or symbols.
Avoiding wearing certain colors during election season will not solve the problem. The recent controversy over the expression “Museopno” — a Gyeongsang dialect pronunciation meaning “It’s scary” or “I’m scared” — demonstrates why. Kim Hyun-ji, the producer of the documentary “A Man Who Heals the City” (2023), criticized Woni of girl group Rescene for using the “Ilbe-style” expression in a video. Former Justice Minister Cho Kuk joined the debate, arguing that attaching the syllable “no” mocked former President Roh Moo-hyun and should therefore be avoided. But many younger Koreans have little interest in such historical associations. Attempting to police their everyday language only widens the gap between generations.
This atmosphere has become suffocating. No one should have to constantly wonder whether the color of their shirt or their use of an everyday phrase or number could provoke outrage. A society that encourages people to monitor themselves before speaking or posting online is not one in which freedom of expression can flourish.
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.
