The pressroom at Seoul City Hall is usually quiet. That does not make it a light place. It is not where power is proclaimed, but where it is tested. Policies pass through here before they become public debate, and those who seek authority must pass through here before they can stand before citizens. That steady atmosphere is part of the order that holds the city together.
A small ripple crossed that order a few days ago, on a Friday afternoon. Several people connected to the Democratic Party’s Jung Won-oh campaign suddenly came into the pressroom. Reporters were not there at the time. There was a leader, and some appeared focused on looking over the space. A brief, formal greeting was exchanged with one person, but what stood out more was the direction of their steps. They seemed to treat the room less as a place for conversation than as a space they would soon be passing through. The difference may look subtle, but it is decisive.
Power often shows its face first in such details. Politics moves on assumptions about the future. Anyone can imagine victory and prepare to govern. But there is a difference between preparing for the future and acting as if the future is already secured. The first is tension; the second is another name for arrogance. That arrogance tends to surface first in small scenes — how someone knocks on a door, how they treat a space, how they look at people. It reveals how they understand power.
The scene brought back an old memory from the Seoul mayoral race between Oh Se-hoon and Han Myeong-sook. It was the atmosphere among Han’s supporters on the night they were confident of victory even before the vote count ended. In central Seoul, at Seoul Plaza, they beat drums and sang. As the caption “certain to win” ran, they chanted, “Oh Se-hoon, move out — move out now.” The cheering seemed to go beyond the results themselves. The heat of that night was intense, but it did not last. The count was still underway, and the result flipped at the last moment. Seoul made its choice — not the side intoxicated with certainty, but the side that kept its tension to the end.
Seoul is often like that. It can look as if it is swayed by emotion, but at decisive moments it steps back and judges. It is not a city driven only by factional logic. It watches not who shouts louder, but who keeps balance. Parties, too, must stand on that balance — especially those that dream of governing. Winning power may be possible with the passion of supporters, but holding it is shaped by one’s attitude toward all voters. Elections can create power, but its dignity is visible even before Election Day.
What language is used, what posture is taken, what is treated as “obvious” — all of it signals the level of power. The same questions apply to Jung Won-oh and his campaign. What is needed now is not stronger certainty of victory, but humility in attitude.
Seoul is not a city to be “taken over.” Interests are tightly intertwined, many ways of life coexist, and even a single policy can set countless interests against one another. Seoul cannot be anyone’s possession. Administration is a public system that works on behalf of citizens. The moment anyone steps onto that system, they should become more modest. That is a basic order of democracy.
* This article has been translated by AI.
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