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In a 2014 book, I characterized Korea as a "Land of Extremes." Currently, we are witnessing an ironic spectacle that is extreme even by Korean standards. A single, intensely private individual ― the president ― is barricaded behind closed doors, defying the will of millions of her public who have flooded the streets.
According to one of her ex-teachers, Park Geun-hye was always a loner. According to an ex-political subordinate, Park was always difficult to reach. Now, we learn that after taking power, she shut herself off even from her own cabinet and advisors.
Quite why such an intensely private person sought the most public office in the land ― an office which demands high visibility, public engagement and constant communication ― is a mystery.
Yet Park's lonely leadership style is hardly unique in Korea. She is the second-generation president from her family. Beyond the DMZ, second-generation North Korean leader Kim Jong-il was infamously hermit-like. Second-generation Samsung head Lee Keun-hee shared a similar trait.
Moreover, the recent grilling of chaebol heads in the National Assembly demonstrated that the current crop of corporate leaders is neither eloquent in speech, nor impressive in presentation. Clearly, the opaque corporations they head do not require them to be charismatic or effective communicators.
Making behind-closed-doors leadership doubly odd is Korea's national character: For historical and socio-cultural reasons, Koreans are among the most communal, group-centric peoples on earth.
North Korea constantly reinforces mass solidarity via mass games, mass ceremonies and mass parades. South Korea's experience of mass gathering is more positive: Democracy was first delivered via this vehicle in 1987, and in 2002, Korea's image was burnished when millions of "Red Devils" hit the streets in a spontaneous and euphoric display of support for the national football team.
Today, the "Candlelit Revolution" protesters provide the world with a benchmark for massive social mobilization and for civic disobedience. Amid this, the conventional wisdom is that demonstrators represent the public will, expressed via the direct democratic medium of protest. And opinion polls find that Park is the most unpopular president since Korean democratization in 1987.
The resultant demand is that Park should bow to the "public will" and forfeit office immediately. Should she? I respectfully say "no." (Or at least: "Not yet.")
Democracy delivers majority rule. But as Benjamin Franklin is alleged to have warned: "Democracy is two wolves and a lamb arguing about what is for dinner." For this reason, democracies incorporate checks and balances to ensure that majority rule does not become dictatorship of the proletariat. One key check, that is (or should be) firewalled from politics, is rule of law. The law is a safeguard ensuring that the individual or the minority is protected.
Korea's appropriate legal institution ― to be precise, the Constitutional Court ― is in on the case. In fact, despite public distrust, most of Korea's institutions have reacted appropriately during this crisis.
The media have reported freely and aggressively. The National Assembly has reached a cross-party consensus ― no mean feat in Korea ― and voted to impeach. Prosecutors have investigated. And the Constitutional Court is in session.
This must all be allowed to continue ― but some argue against this principle and urge practicality. "But with Park impeached, disrespected and disempowered, the nation is rudderless!" they say. "For the national good, she must go at once!"
Why the impatience? Korea is not a one-man ship of state ― just as no chaebol is (or should be) reliant upon a single leader. Letting Korea's institutional wheels turn at their appropriate speed is critical, for the nation is menaced by myriad social ills and economic risks. For these to be handled, institutions must be engaged, entrusted and empowered; mass protests cannot mobilize to deal with every national challenge.
Yet while the Constitutional Court does its work, the Court of Public Opinion thunderously demands Park's immediate resignation.
This is troubling. So far, none of the allegations or leaks have been conclusively proven as grounds for Park's removal. And presidents do not resign simply because their poll numbers are low.
South Korea is comprised of 50 million individuals. Each of these individuals, be he/she high or low, has rights. Every Korean who breaks the law should face trial and lawful sanction. By the same token, every Korean deserves the right to a fair hearing and the chance to clear his/her name.
This makes the aloof president in the Blue House no different from any one of the millions who have protested against her in Gwanghwamun Square.
Is that an irony? Or is it self-evident?
Andrew Salmon is a Seoul-based reporter and author. Reach him at andrewcsalmon@yahoo.co.uk.
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