ED Severe punishment is inevitable for abuse of presidential power

Former President Yoon Suk Yeol delivers his final statement during closing arguments at the Seoul Central District Court in southern Seoul's Seocho District, Friday, in this photo provided by the court. He is on trial for abuse of power and obstructing official duties. Yonhap

The prosecution’s request for a 10-year prison sentence for former President Yoon Suk Yeol marks a defining moment for the country’s constitutional order. This is not merely the first sentencing demand to emerge from the multiple trials linked to the Dec. 3 martial law crisis; it is a test of whether the rule of law can hold even the most powerful to account. The gravity of the charges and the defendant’s conduct in the aftermath leave little room for leniency. A heavy sentence, potentially including the maximum punishment allowed by law, is not only justified but unavoidable.

At the sentencing hearing, the special prosecutors described Yoon’s actions as a fundamental betrayal of constitutional duty. As president, Yoon was entrusted with safeguarding the Constitution and the legal order. Prosecutors argued that he abused state power to obstruct a lawful arrest, mobilized security forces as if they were a private militia and sought to conceal and rationalize his actions rather than confront their illegality. Even at the final hearing, Yoon offered neither an apology nor reflection, insisting that he was the victim of political persecution and denying responsibility outright.

Such defiance would be troubling in any defendant. From a former head of state, it is intolerable. Among the most serious charges is the obstruction of a court-issued arrest warrant by deploying heavily armed presidential security personnel. This act directly attacked the authority of the courts. Even a single miscalculation could have escalated the confrontation into violent conflict between state institutions. For citizens already shaken by the martial law declaration, the spectacle of a sitting president resisting judicial process through force revived fears of domestic turmoil and a return to authoritarianism.

The indictment extends far beyond this single episode. Prosecutors detailed a pattern of conduct that systematically undermined democratic governance: the fabrication and destruction of a false martial law proclamation after the fact; the convening of a perfunctory, two-minute cabinet meeting that stripped ministers of their constitutional right to deliberate; attempts to destroy evidence, including secure communication devices used in the alleged crimes; and the dissemination of false information to foreign media to legitimize unconstitutional actions. Each offense, taken individually, is grave. Together, they reveal a systematic assault on the state’s legal and institutional foundations.

What makes these crimes especially serious is Yoon’s continued refusal to accept responsibility. Throughout the investigation and trial, he has shifted blame onto subordinates, advanced legalistic maneuvers to delay proceedings and offered elaborate justifications for conduct that plainly violated constitutional norms. Even at the final hearing, where a minimum acknowledgment of wrongdoing might have been expected, there was no expression of remorse. This absence matters. In democratic systems, accountability is not only about punishment but about reaffirming shared norms. Yoon has shown no interest in doing so.

Some may argue that prosecutorial sentencing requests do not determine outcomes and that courts must proceed cautiously. That is true. But the broader context cannot be ignored. The Dec. 3 crisis was not an abstract constitutional debate; it was a lived national trauma. Millions watched as baseless conspiracy theories and the personalization of power threatened to reverse decades of democratic progress. The damage was not hypothetical. Trust in institutions was shaken, and the legitimacy of governance itself was put at risk.

This first sentencing decision carries implications far beyond one defendant. It will shape the trajectory of the remaining trials and signal whether Korea’s legal system is capable of restraining executive overreach. History offers little mercy to systems that excuse abuses of power in the name of stability or political convenience. Democracies survive precisely because they enforce limits, especially when doing so is uncomfortable.

The court must therefore rule not with deference to past office but with fidelity to constitutional principles. No individual, regardless of former rank, stands above the law. A severe sentence would not be an act of vengeance but a reaffirmation of democratic order. It would serve as a warning to future leaders that reckless defiance of the Constitution carries real consequences.

Korea now stands at a crossroads. A firm and principled judgment can help restore confidence, close a painful chapter and ensure that such abuses are never repeated. Anything less would risk normalizing the very conduct that endangered the republic and its people.