The law is a sword. However, depending on whose hand wields it, it can represent justice or violence. The prosecutor is the one who holds that sword. Therefore, the essence of a prosecutor's role is not to serve power but to control it. When the tip of that sword points at the people, the state becomes ill; when it points at power, the rule of law is revived.
The recent argument presented by Prosecutor Jeong Jae-in and the recommendation of a 20-year prison sentence for former Minister Park Sung-jae is not merely a matter of sentencing. It raises questions about the very existence of the Korean prosecution and serves as a litmus test for the direction of the rule of law. This is not an attempt to predict the outcome of the trial.
Rather, through the special prosecutor's recommendation and the circumstances revealed in court, as well as the trajectory of the Korean prosecution, we seek to re-examine the essence of a prosecutor's role.
The special prosecutor charged former Minister Park with failing to fulfill his constitutional oversight role during a state of emergency and for preparing related measures through the Ministry of Justice, recommending a 20-year prison sentence. At a moment when the extreme exercise of state power, such as martial law, was being discussed, what is required of legal professionals is not mere technicality but conscience. Those who know the law best must uphold its boundaries. However, if legal knowledge is used as a tool to refine the execution of power, then at that moment, the law retains only its form while its spirit disappears.
The essence of martial law is not a military measure. It is the last safeguard of constitutional order. Therefore, all processes dealing with it must be subject to strict constitutional control. If the special prosecutor's claims are true, such as the review of dispatching prosecutors to a joint investigation headquarters, preparations for travel bans, and assessments of correctional facility capacity, these actions could be interpreted not as mere administrative responses but as preemptive arrangements for the exercise of power. The issue is the possibility that the law functions not as a mechanism to check power but as a tool to execute it.
During the era of military dictatorship, soldiers took the forefront while legal professionals played a supporting role. However, today’s power structure may differ. Legal professionals are no longer mere supporting actors; they sometimes occupy positions that design the structure of power. The moment they rationalize illegality with the language of law, violence is disguised as order, and oppression is masked as administration. This is when the so-called 'legal technicians' emerge—those who rely on technique rather than the spirit of the law, who design outcomes rather than justice.
Prosecutor Jeong Jae-in's argument resonated because it targeted this very point. His argument calls for self-reflection not just from individuals but from the entire community of legal professionals. He defined abuse of power as the exercise of public authority for private gain and elevated the issue of complicity in insurrection from passive to active responsibility. In particular, his warning against “the act of destroying the law in the name of the law” is not mere rhetoric but a wake-up call for the Korean legal community.
Here, we cannot help but recall the archetype of the legal profession. The term 'legal triumvirate' refers not merely to the professions of prosecutor, judge, and lawyer but to three great figures who guided Korean law after liberation: Kim Byeong-ro, Choi Jae-kyu, and Kim Hong-seob. Kim Byeong-ro was a figure who embodied the independence of judicial power, Choi Jae-kyu upheld the principle that the prosecution should not become a servant of power, and Kim Hong-seob is remembered for his rulings that protected human dignity in the courtroom.
Their commonality is clear. They did not view the law as a technique. Their belief that the law is for humanity and not for power was at the core of their principles. For them, the law was not a means to success but a form of conscience.
However, today’s reality is far from this. The prosecution has gained immense power, but the temptations surrounding that power have also increased. The intertwining with political power, connections with capital through former officials, and viewing cases as tools for career management have all undermined the essence of the prosecutor's role.
Actual cases illustrate this. The case of former chief prosecutor Kim Kwang-jun, who was charged with receiving money and valuables from individuals related to an investigation, revealed ethical issues within the prosecution. The so-called 'sponsor prosecutor' case involving former chief prosecutor Kim Hyung-jun also caused controversy, exposing the network of connections and solicitations within the prosecutorial community. The case of former prosecutor Jin Kyung-jun demonstrated how the combination of capital and power can cloud the judgment of legal elites, resulting in a deep wound to societal trust, even though some charges were acquitted while others led to confirmed prison sentences for different crimes.
The essence of these cases is not individual deviation but a structural problem. When the profession of prosecutor stands at the intersection of power and capital, failing to maintain its center causes the law to waver. When the law wavers, the people lose faith in justice, and a society that does not believe in justice is ultimately ruled by the logic of power.
Thus, we recall lawyer Han Seung-heon. He lived a full life as a prosecutor, lawyer, law school professor, and defendant. He stood with humanity rather than power and sought to uphold the spirit of the law rather than its technique. His life speaks volumes: legal professionals are not tools of power but the last line of defense for human dignity.
For whom do prosecutors exist? For power or for the people? For money or for conscience?
Prosecutors, return to the basics. Return to the spirit left by the legal triumvirate. We must return to the courage of Kim Byeong-ro, who did not bow before power; the restraint of Choi Jae-kyu, who upheld the conscience of the prosecution; the warmth of Kim Hong-seob, who protected human dignity; and the human rights spirit of Han Seung-heon.
The law is not a technique. The law is conscience. Prosecutors are not the sword bearers of power but the public servants of the people. A prosecutor who loses this fundamental principle, no matter how high they rise, is not a legal professional. A prosecutor who upholds this principle, even in an unnamed position, is already at the center of the law.
The recent argument presented by Prosecutor Jeong Jae-in and the recommendation of a 20-year prison sentence for former Minister Park Sung-jae is not merely a matter of sentencing. It raises questions about the very existence of the Korean prosecution and serves as a litmus test for the direction of the rule of law. This is not an attempt to predict the outcome of the trial.
Rather, through the special prosecutor's recommendation and the circumstances revealed in court, as well as the trajectory of the Korean prosecution, we seek to re-examine the essence of a prosecutor's role.
The special prosecutor charged former Minister Park with failing to fulfill his constitutional oversight role during a state of emergency and for preparing related measures through the Ministry of Justice, recommending a 20-year prison sentence. At a moment when the extreme exercise of state power, such as martial law, was being discussed, what is required of legal professionals is not mere technicality but conscience. Those who know the law best must uphold its boundaries. However, if legal knowledge is used as a tool to refine the execution of power, then at that moment, the law retains only its form while its spirit disappears.
The essence of martial law is not a military measure. It is the last safeguard of constitutional order. Therefore, all processes dealing with it must be subject to strict constitutional control. If the special prosecutor's claims are true, such as the review of dispatching prosecutors to a joint investigation headquarters, preparations for travel bans, and assessments of correctional facility capacity, these actions could be interpreted not as mere administrative responses but as preemptive arrangements for the exercise of power. The issue is the possibility that the law functions not as a mechanism to check power but as a tool to execute it.
During the era of military dictatorship, soldiers took the forefront while legal professionals played a supporting role. However, today’s power structure may differ. Legal professionals are no longer mere supporting actors; they sometimes occupy positions that design the structure of power. The moment they rationalize illegality with the language of law, violence is disguised as order, and oppression is masked as administration. This is when the so-called 'legal technicians' emerge—those who rely on technique rather than the spirit of the law, who design outcomes rather than justice.
Prosecutor Jeong Jae-in's argument resonated because it targeted this very point. His argument calls for self-reflection not just from individuals but from the entire community of legal professionals. He defined abuse of power as the exercise of public authority for private gain and elevated the issue of complicity in insurrection from passive to active responsibility. In particular, his warning against “the act of destroying the law in the name of the law” is not mere rhetoric but a wake-up call for the Korean legal community.
Here, we cannot help but recall the archetype of the legal profession. The term 'legal triumvirate' refers not merely to the professions of prosecutor, judge, and lawyer but to three great figures who guided Korean law after liberation: Kim Byeong-ro, Choi Jae-kyu, and Kim Hong-seob. Kim Byeong-ro was a figure who embodied the independence of judicial power, Choi Jae-kyu upheld the principle that the prosecution should not become a servant of power, and Kim Hong-seob is remembered for his rulings that protected human dignity in the courtroom.
Their commonality is clear. They did not view the law as a technique. Their belief that the law is for humanity and not for power was at the core of their principles. For them, the law was not a means to success but a form of conscience.
However, today’s reality is far from this. The prosecution has gained immense power, but the temptations surrounding that power have also increased. The intertwining with political power, connections with capital through former officials, and viewing cases as tools for career management have all undermined the essence of the prosecutor's role.
Actual cases illustrate this. The case of former chief prosecutor Kim Kwang-jun, who was charged with receiving money and valuables from individuals related to an investigation, revealed ethical issues within the prosecution. The so-called 'sponsor prosecutor' case involving former chief prosecutor Kim Hyung-jun also caused controversy, exposing the network of connections and solicitations within the prosecutorial community. The case of former prosecutor Jin Kyung-jun demonstrated how the combination of capital and power can cloud the judgment of legal elites, resulting in a deep wound to societal trust, even though some charges were acquitted while others led to confirmed prison sentences for different crimes.
The essence of these cases is not individual deviation but a structural problem. When the profession of prosecutor stands at the intersection of power and capital, failing to maintain its center causes the law to waver. When the law wavers, the people lose faith in justice, and a society that does not believe in justice is ultimately ruled by the logic of power.
Thus, we recall lawyer Han Seung-heon. He lived a full life as a prosecutor, lawyer, law school professor, and defendant. He stood with humanity rather than power and sought to uphold the spirit of the law rather than its technique. His life speaks volumes: legal professionals are not tools of power but the last line of defense for human dignity.
For whom do prosecutors exist? For power or for the people? For money or for conscience?
Prosecutors, return to the basics. Return to the spirit left by the legal triumvirate. We must return to the courage of Kim Byeong-ro, who did not bow before power; the restraint of Choi Jae-kyu, who upheld the conscience of the prosecution; the warmth of Kim Hong-seob, who protected human dignity; and the human rights spirit of Han Seung-heon.
The law is not a technique. The law is conscience. Prosecutors are not the sword bearers of power but the public servants of the people. A prosecutor who loses this fundamental principle, no matter how high they rise, is not a legal professional. A prosecutor who upholds this principle, even in an unnamed position, is already at the center of the law.
* This article has been translated by AI.
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