Community vs. 'Epstein class'

Over the course of a week, I speak with many people from different walks of life. Our discussions about social changes have become heated, especially after the last elections — or rather failures tied to them and whether public institutions still understand responsibility. From my observations, a new trend is emerging to describe this change in the society. I would like to borrow one phrase now circulating in American political language to explain the mood: “Epstein class.”

The concept can be used in two ways. The first way refers to the super-rich, who act as if ordinary rules do not apply to them. The second one, I use as a description of elite impunity. This class penetrates state bureaucracy, public agencies, party structures, an invisible nepotistic elite with connections extending to media and universities.

The second type is quieter and therefore harder to confront. It is insulated and less visible, and the extent of it is much deeper. It reproduces itself across generations, not always through open corruption, but through access, protection and silence. It has become more apparent during the recent elections — just take a closer look at the parties, the National Elections Commission or even the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Citizens are now asking whether accountability applies equally to those at the top.

Postcolonial processes have led to the creation of a class that overrides traditional attitudes. Since liberation, Korea has built several layers of hierarchy: colonial inheritance, developmental-state bureaucracy, family-owned corporations, school networks and party machines. Now, however, several processes put pressure on these hierarchies, including the shock of 2024's failed coup that damaged public trust in the political order and undermined the status quo of the establishment.

At the same time, income polarization has widened the distance between institutional insiders and ordinary citizens.

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For many young people, the social ladder now looks broken. They cannot see the top from the bottom. And they are not happy, especially when their voices are being unheard. That helps explain why they are at the major rallies in Seocho and Jamsil.

They do not necessarily associate themselves with anyone or any party — they are primarily driven by the cause and support what they think is just. Their belief is that public life should serve the whole community and meet their moral expectations. Often, they are patriotic and they believe the republic should be better than this.

They are certainly not naïve. They won't let others hijack their voices and they don't subscribe to any divisive rhetoric. They may not have determined the outcome of the most recent election, but they are shaping the aftermath. And they are the ones who are now upset. They were promised a change and now they want to see it. They can’t stand lies.

What angers them most is the absence of shame when someone, especially a leader, does something wrong and yet does not apologize for it. The loss of shame among the "Epstein class” is not a small defect but the core of the issue. It creates emotional detachment and indifference to what is happening to the others.

The idea of shame comes from childhood and nurturing. It is instilled by family, speech, stories, manners and local traditions intricately weaved into the culture. That moral education is often missing, crowded out by the modern preoccupation with material values and status, disregarding ethics. Most importantly, these are embedded into our speech.

This is where the vulgarity of the “Epstein class” becomes visible. They do not know how to apologize, how to explain or how to speak to citizens as equals. A person raised with only status in mind learns how to command, evade and excuse. A person raised inside the community learns that public life begins with respect.

When leaders cannot articulate humility, they reveal that something deeper has gone wrong. The younger generation, driven by a genuine feeling of community, knows this. They do not need elaborate rhetoric to understand and recognize shamelessness. They see the indifference, they hear the excuses and they are no longer willing to accept it.

The choice is now clear: Will Korea's establishment finally reclaim the ethics that have defined the culture for centuries, or will it keep losing authority before those who still believe that shame, community and justice matter? The rallies in Seocho and Jamsil are voices that must be heard. They are not just protests. They are warnings. For the establishment, they are a reckoning.

Eugene Lee (mreulee@gmail.com) is a lecturing professor at the Graduate School of Governance at Sungkyunkwan University in Seoul. Specializing in international relations and governance, his research and teaching focus is on national and regional security, international development, government policies and Northeast and Central Asia. The views expressed in this article are his own.