After interviewing 42 death row inmates, researcher believes capital punishment should end

Every weekday before 1997, death row inmates in Korea braced themselves between 6 and 9 a.m. — the hours when executions could happen. If 9 a.m. passed uneventfully, they felt relief. Then they went to sleep wondering if the next morning would be their last.

No one has been executed since Dec. 30, 1997, but 56 people remain on death row — 52 in Ministry of Justice correctional facilities and four in military prisons. Kim Dae-keun, a research fellow at the Korean Institute of Criminology and Justice, interviewed 42 of them.

"Most of them were ashamed, distressed or regretful about what they did," Kim said in an interview with The Korea Times. "I imagine they were brutal and frightening when they committed their crimes. But many I met in prison now were older, frail men."

Oct. 10 marks World Day Against the Death Penalty, an annual international observance calling for the abolition of executions as judicial punishment. In Korea, the day arrives with the death penalty still on the books but widely regarded as unenforceable. Most inmates now believe executions will not resume — a belief that has fundamentally reshaped how they live.

Life in limbo

Before 1997, most death row prisoners were executed within six months to three years of their final ruling. The constant uncertainty made many act recklessly in prison.

Now, with no execution carried out in nearly three decades, that calculus has changed. Disciplinary cases dropped sharply once inmates recognized that even a slim chance at parole depends on good behavior, Kim said.

"In the past, death row inmates never knew when they would be executed, which left their days uncertain and gave them no reason to make long-term plans. Now they think about building a life inside prison, such as studying for a high school equivalency exam or saving money for their families outside."

Hope for parole can turn to fear when a conservative government — often more favorable to the death penalty — takes office. Many inmates feared they could actually be executed during moments such as the 2024 martial law declaration.

Even under that ever-present fear of death, the will to live persists.

Nearly all of them hope to experience life outside prison again before they die. That hope fades for some over time, but lingers for most. It helps them lead a stable life behind bars, and it also serves the state's interest in managing them.

"Quite a few said things like, 'I'd rather die than keep living this meaningless life.' But that doesn't mean they wanted to die right away. Those are two different attitudes," Kim said, adding that many inmates seemed to agonize over the meaninglessness of a life spent neither executed nor returned to society.

Families fractured

Becoming a death row inmate tends to reshape family relationships: Parents often stay until the end, wives typically leave and ties with children can grow complicated.

Of all family bonds, the one with parents tends to run deepest. Many parents pass away while the convicts are behind bars. Losing contact with them brings deep fear and news of a parent's death often leaves inmates overcome with grief, Kim said.

Relationships with children vary. Some know their father is on death row, while others do not. Some inmates are torn over whether to reveal their sentence to a child's partner when the child hopes to marry.

Nearly all marriages between death row convicts and their spouses end in divorce.

After meeting with the 42 inmates, Kim's belief that the death penalty should be abolished has deepened. He says the punishment has little to no deterrent effect on crime.

"When I asked inmates whether they knew the death penalty existed and whether that affected their actions, most said they knew but committed the crime anyway. Others said they simply don't remember because they were under the influence of alcohol or drugs at the time."

The single biggest deterrent to crime, Kim said, is the likelihood of getting caught. When he asked inmates what scared them most at the time of their crime, most said they feared arrest.

"When a brutal crime occurs and the public grows fearful, executing or appearing ready to execute someone has no effect on preventing crime."

Kim agreed that executions will likely remain impossible in Korea, citing international treaties and the government's reluctance to resume them.

"Take extradition treaties, for example. Some countries wouldn't accept them if we resumed executions. It could also strain ties with European countries that have abolished the death penalty. And what government today would be willing to carry that burden? I don't think there is one."

Neither good nor evil

His time with the inmates also led Kim to reflect on a more fundamental question: Are humans inherently good, inherently evil, or a blank slate shaped by their environment? He said the truth is probably some combination of all three.

"Some are deeply good from the start, while others are selfish, violent and lack empathy. Most people learn, through education and social life, to hide or suppress those traits for their own benefit. That can change when someone has no money, is threatened or has something to gain."

Circumstances were harsh for most of the inmates Kim met. Roughly four out of five, he said, came from difficult family backgrounds, marked by childhood abuse or other hardships.

"In criminology, there's a hypothesis that many people simply never had the opportunity to commit a crime. Some inmates I met made me wonder whether they would have committed a crime at all if they had grown up in a stable home, received a proper education and never faced a desperate situation."

Several offenders Kim met turned to crime during the 1997 Asian financial crisis, robbing or murdering after losing their jobs. "It's not easy to say all of them are simply evil incarnate."

To Kim, death row inmates are far more complex than that: "A few Protestants and Catholics among them said they could repent, be saved and go to heaven. But most said, 'How could someone like me possibly go to heaven?' They said they pray for their victims instead."