Strange scenes in the administration's second year
A columnist argues that unresolved legal controversies are undermining President Lee Jae Myung’s authority, reform agenda and ability to govern decisively.
Chief Justice Jo Hee-de delivers opening remarks during a parliamentary audit of the Supreme Court, the Judicial Research and Training Institute and other judicial institutions by the National Assembly's Legislation and Judiciary Committee on Oct. 6.LIM HYUN-DONG
Lee Hyun-sang
The author is a columnist at the JoongAng Ilbo.
Former Gyeonggi Vice Governor Lee Hwa-young, serving a seven-year, eight-month prison sentence over illegal remittances to North Korea by Ssangbangwool, has demanded parole. His lawyer said Lee had conveyed his wishes to President Lee Jae Myung through several channels but received no response, leaving him furious.
The former vice governor was implicated alongside the president in the remittance case. He initially told prosecutors that he had reported the payments to Lee, then Gyeonggi governor. After his wife publicly rebuked him, he reversed his account and alleged prosecutorial pressure and inducement.
His lawyer subsequently said the remarks did not reflect his client's intentions. Yet questions remain. Could the demand imply that he possesses damaging information about the president? It is an extraordinary spectacle: A convicted offender apparently pressuring the head of state.
Another confrontation concerns Kim Ji-yong, nominated to lead the new Serious Crimes Investigation Agency. Resistance from ruling-party hard-liners has persisted, involving lawmaker Kim Yong-min, Gyeonggi Governor Choo Mi-ae and Gwangju agency chief Lim Eun-jung.
Even after abolishing the Prosecutors' Office and separating investigation from indictment, they insist reform remains insufficient. The president, initially conciliatory, has begun expressing frustration. He warned against using prosecutorial reform as a pretext to manipulate appointments for personal interests and criticized those demanding senior positions without sufficient ability while attacking their colleagues in the name of radical reform.
Nevertheless, the protests continue. A president identified with reform now finds his commitment to it being judged by his own party.
At the Supreme Court's parliamentary audit, Democratic Party lawmakers failed to break Chief Justice Jo Hee-de's defense of his refusal to resubmit a judicial nomination. Jo argued that the reasons for requesting another recommendation were unclear and that he had no constitutional obligation to comply. Indeed, the presidential office's letter identified no disqualifying factor concerning nominee Son Bong-kie.
Rather than countering his legal argument, lawmakers turned to politics. Judiciary Committee Chair Seo Young-kyo declared that the president appoints the chief justice and that the latter should not presume to stand as his equal.
Such a hierarchical conception of power is startlingly archaic. Does that mean Constitutional Court justices appointed by presidents acted improperly when they removed two presidents from office? This spectacle came from a party with democracy in its name.
All three episodes share a root: the president's legal vulnerabilities. The remittance investigation shadows Lee Hwa-young's demands. His longstanding confrontation with prosecutors underlies the agency appointment dispute. Attacks on Jo recall the Supreme Court ruling that overturned and remanded Lee's election-law case shortly before the presidential election.
These disputes are not simply clashes of personalities or disagreements over institutional design. Each revives unresolved questions about whether the machinery of government can operate independently of the president’s pending legal controversies. That perception persists even when individual decisions may have legitimate policy or administrative explanations. Without a clear separation, ordinary appointments and policy reversals become further evidence in competing political narratives.
Continual arguments over allegedly fabricated indictments and withdrawing charges mean almost every presidential decision is now interpreted through his legal troubles. Centrists worry that personal cases could destabilize governance. Party hard-liners fear he might compromise reform to resolve those cases. One side distrusts government; the other distrusts reform.
This mistrust also weakens decision-making. Facing farmers' opposition, the government abandoned plans to apply this year to join the Comprehensive and Progressive Agreement for Trans-Pacific Partnership. It retreated on a comprehensive farmland survey and property tax reform. Even its own priorities yield to approval-rating concerns.
Legal vulnerabilities erode political authority, which in turn produces hesitation in governing. That is their real cost.
Only the president can break this cycle. He should leave his cases to the courts and reject legislation that appears designed for his personal benefit. Asking lawmakers not to grant a special counsel investigating allegedly fabricated prosecutions the power to withdraw charges was insufficient. He must consistently uphold that principle.
What Lee needs is not greater mobilization of loyal supporters but the resolve to prevent his past from holding his administration hostage. With another three years and seven months ahead, delay will only produce more strange scenes.
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.