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Courtesy of Jeanne Menjoulet |
By David A. Tizzard
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She holds in one had a set of scales, in the other, a sword. The former representing impartiality and the necessity of a fair and balanced trial that considers all evidence and possibilities; the latter symbolizes the enforcement of the law, respect, and, importantly, the ability to protect and defend those who require it.
And this is how a functioning legal system is meant to work. Of course there are differences between civil law and common law countries, as well as a whole host of historical and cultural factors, but the basic principles of justice remain fairly consistent.
We also know that regardless of how perfect any institution might sound in theory, it becomes corrupted by the human world. Thus, through a series of checks, balances, and organizations, we do what we can to ensure institutions run as smoothly as possible, aware that there will be occasional mistakes, but nevertheless working hard to minimize them how and where we can.
Thus when there are legal disputes or charges brought against someone, everyone should receive a fair trial without discrimination and the ultimate decision of the court will be respected and upheld. People will be considered innocent until proven guilty and all participants will be protected from undue harm and violence.
So why do I read in the paper that there are voices demanding Lee Jae-young be pardoned because of how he might help the country financially? Or, as seen in a joint report last week, that more than 60 percent of South Koreans apparently favor pardoning the Samsung Chairman and that this is reason enough to shorten his sentence.
Surely if Lee has been adjudged to have committed a crime, shouldn't he serve his sentence before the blindfolded Lady Justice despite how people feel about it? To his seeming credit, Lee has not personally appealed his sentence or court ruling which will currently see him jailed until July 2022.
But why would he need to when the country's leader is considering doing it for him. On the fourth anniversary of his inauguration, President Moon Jae-in said that he would make a decision about pardoning Lee Jae-young "after listening to enough public opinion."
It doesn't stop with the Samsung Chairman. In April, reports out of the Blue House said that President Moon had "stressed the need to consider public consensus on the matter" as to whether to pardon ex-presidents Park Geun-hye and Lee Myung-bak.
Why does public opinion and a president get to decide the fate of members of society? These are not the manifestation of a blindfolded Lady Justice. In fact, they are the very opposite.
Whatever your opinions on President Moon, he is in a political position and battling to save his party in the run-up to the next election after seeing his team trounced in the recent Seoul and Busan mayoral races. His statements about pardoning the ex-presidents came when confronted on the subject by members of the main opposition. But it should not matter whether pardoning any of the aforementioned characters is advantageous or disadvantageous to his party's chances at the voting booth or his own personal legacy. That's not law, that's mere political expediency.
And the public (of which I consider myself a member with all my own personal faults, flaws, and emotions) is easily swayed by the media, headlines, social media, gossip, advertising, clickbait, algorithms, and our own personal interests. As groups we are susceptible to witch hunts and seeking scapegoats. Blind perhaps, but not blindfolded. And with a sword that is too used to cutting. There is good reason why we don't normally let the public make decisions in such cases.
This doesn't even begin to address what happens to members of society that haven't had the good fortune to have been born into the ruling class or chaebols like the aforementioned characters. Why doesn't anybody write columns and fill air time discussing whether other citizens who have committed crimes in a supermarket, a subway, a chicken restaurant, or at a traffic light should be pardoned? What distinguishes "us" from "them" other than wealth, power, and prestige ― the very things to which the law should be blind.
Either people are guilty of their crimes, or they are not.
There are countless other examples that could be listed here, but rather than a whole barrage of cases and statistics, it's probably more worthwhile asking a simple question: Do you think we should all remain equal before a blindfolded law or should there be exceptions made according to the whim of the public and the president's decisions for people who wield considerable influence?
Maybe I am not understanding enough of Korea's unique situation and my attitudes towards the law are being seen through Eurocentric eyes and without proper reverence for the country's own historical and cultural idiosyncrasies. Moreover, justice and the law should be seen as a verb rather than a noun: It is an active process of becoming rather than a mere static entity.
But these decisions being discussed again recently set precedents and tell us much about our rulers: Either they are the same as us and equal before the law, or they are different from us and thus deserving of better treatment.
Which is it?
Dr. David A. Tizzard (datizzard@swu.ac.kr) has a Ph.D. in Korean Studies. He is a social/cultural commentator and musician who has lived in Korea for nearly two decades. The views expressed in the article are the author's own and do not reflect the editorial direction of The Korea Times.