Investigating Coupang

Coupang delivery vehicles are seen in front of a logistics center in Seoul on Dec. 8, 2025. Yonhap

For the most part, things seem to have died down for Coupang since its massive data breach last year and the messy aftermath. Bigger news stories have pushed it out of our minds. The issue is unresolved, though, and I’m sure in a few weeks when we can all concentrate properly and the news cycle returns to Coupang’s problems, everyone will again remember to feel properly outraged.

Certainly the company’s image will take a long time to recover, thanks mainly to its own actions. The offer of 50,000 won in vouchers to everyone affected was a mockery, and the refusal of Coupang’s founder Bom Kim to attend an ear-bashing at the National Assembly met with predictable anger. Now the company’s interim CEO Harold Rogers — who had suffered the politicians’ wrath instead — has apparently fled the country to avoid investigations into his testimony at the hearings.

To be fair to Kim, the National Assembly hearings seem more focused on shouting at Coupang executives than actually getting to the bottom of the issue, as many have already pointed out. Yet the thing that causes the most long-term damage may turn out to be Kim’s excuse that he couldn’t come to Korea because he was too busy being the head of a global company. Wherever its headquarters are located, Coupang is in every meaningful sense a Korean company. It seems like a terrible business strategy to suggest otherwise.

In fact, until this recent fiasco, Coupang’s delivery service was a source of quiet Korean pride: order anything and it will be waiting outside your door the next morning. See how efficient we are, how organized.

What was ignored were the more sinister aspects of the company — worker exploitation, motorbikes zooming along pavements or through red lights to deliver fast food. Now it turns out that we can add to that list not only poor data security but also discriminatory hiring practices of delivery drivers, as the National Human Rights Commission recently revealed.

In light of such a mess, the authorities are making a show of responding with force. This week the Fair Trade Commission has been hinting at suspending Coupang’s business; the National Spy Agency requested the National Assembly to take legal action against Rogers for perjury, which apparently prompted his departure from the country. And at the beginning of the year, amongst all the recriminations from politicians, the police announced they were setting up an 86-member task force to investigate not just the data breach, but various other unrelated accusations.

I don’t want to stick up for Coupang at all: they’ve behaved terribly. But the sudden police interest in their affairs follows a worrying pattern, and it’s not the first time a politically unpopular entity finds itself under criminal investigation.

The investigations into the data leak and alleged perjury are direct and appropriate responses to recent events, and even the threat of suspension seems a reasonable if unworkable reaction to the company’s actions. Yet the wider criminal inquiry seems to be little more than retaliation for its poor response to the hack, and especially for its perceived disrespect of the National Assembly. Coupang has been reckless, disrespectful, irresponsible; but the response is not to set the police on them.

Let me be clear: I am not suggesting that they shouldn’t be investigated for these other suspected crimes; rather, they should already have been under investigation before they suddenly became the country’s most hated company. If, as reports have suggested, Coupang’s former head was suspected of improper conduct, this should have been investigated before the breach, when Coupang was still the country’s favourite delivery service. And if the opposite is true — that there were no suspicions until now — how did the police suddenly stumble on so much evidence that they need a whole army of investigators to get through it all? Why were they so lax before?

If the government investigates powerful groups or companies only for political reasons, justice is undermined. Rather than deterring and punishing crime, the police and prosecution become tools for pressuring companies and institutions to bow to politicians’ will: do what we say and we’ll look over your crimes; defy us and we will arrest you for them.

This isn’t just unfair, it openly encourages corruption. If a company knows it is safe from investigation so long as it stays in politicians’ good books, where is the incentive to follow the law? Why spend so much on safety equipment? Why not just use substandard building materials, pay a kickback or two, skip over those pesky fire safety regulations?

Korea has, in general, fairly good laws – not perfect, certainly, but nothing is. The problem isn’t the laws themselves but the selective enforcement of them. And to add to this selective prosecution, presidents from both major parties consistently grant pardons to the rich and powerful. To put it mildly, this is a misapplication of governmental power.

Indeed, it is exactly the kind of abuse Yoon consistently performed during his time as president: when he was trying to reform private education, for example, the police and tax authorities announced investigations into the big tutoring companies. And let’s not forget the police investigations into his political enemies, including both his predecessor and his successor as president.

On the topic of Yoon, we all know that any high-level politician or executive convicted of serious crimes spends a fraction of the sentence before wrangling a pardon. This is the pattern we’ve seen with countless business leaders and politicians, not to mention four former presidents. If Yoon is convicted, my guess is that he’ll be out before the end of the next presidency.

Similarly, whatever the results of the investigations into Coupang, do we really expect anyone at the top of the company to serve a full term in prison? Maybe some mid-level scapegoats, sure, but no-one who really has access to power.

In light of recent events – not least Trump’s unabashed imperialism – it feels almost escapist to be writing about the comparatively benign topic of problems with Korea’s justice system. But at the heart of both issues is the same willingness (albeit here on a much smaller scale) to exert government power inappropriately or self-servingly.

There must be a much clearer distinction between politicians and criminal investigations. Presidential pardons should be a tool for mercy, just as police investigations should serve the purpose of justice without political considerations. The powers of justice are not instruments for politicians to wield for their own selfish purposes. President Lee would do well to remember this. And imagine how much hassle it would have saved Yoon.