The Price of Peace
Anyone else hearing Jeon Myeong-heon speak so casually about regime change would have brushed off his remark about ending the war. But not Yoo Jae-won. Ending the war meant a declaration of the end of hostilities. It meant finally closing the book on the Korean War—the greatest tragedy in Korean history and the root of so many evils.
“So… you agreed to do it?”
“How could I decide something like that on my own?”
Yoo Jae-won had asked the question half in disbelief, and the answer brought him a small measure of relief. The Korean War had been fought between democratic South Korea and communist North Korea, with the United States and the Soviet Union fighting a proxy war behind them. The belligerents were Koreans. Yet, tragically, South Korea had no authority to declare an end to the war. President Syngman Rhee had transferred operational control to the U.S. military during the war, and that arrangement had persisted ever since. While peacetime operational control had been returned during the civilian government era, wartime operational control remained with the Americans. Technically it belonged to the combined ROK-U.S. forces command, but the commander was always a U.S. Army general.
“A declaration ending the war is really just an extension of the armistice agreement,” Jeon Myeong-heon continued. “But since South Korea never signed the armistice, I can’t unilaterally make that decision either.”
“Have you mentioned this to anyone else?”
“Prime Minister Kim told me about it.”
Yoo Jae-won, who had been worried about security, felt somewhat reassured at the mention of Kim Dae-jung. Of course the prime minister would know—he was the one who had brought the proposal from North Korea in the first place. With his political acumen, Kim Dae-jung would have already mapped out both the procedural steps and the political implications of an end-of-war declaration.
As Kim had explained, the declaration was ultimately a matter between the United States and North Korea. China had signed the armistice, but Beijing still insisted it had never dispatched regular troops to the Korean War. Then what were those Chinese forces that had crossed the Yalu River and pushed UN troops back to the 38th parallel? Volunteers who had spontaneously gathered to defend North Korea, apparently. It was absurd, but China stubbornly maintained the fiction. The claim had originally been a shameless attempt to avoid international condemnation for intervening. Ironically, that same claim later became a self-inflicted obstacle when it came time to declare an end to the war.
“If you already understand all this so well, I don’t really have anything to add,” Yoo Jae-won said.
“No. You do.”
Jeon Myeong-heon shook his head. “There’s that young fellow, Kim Jong-il. I need you to tell me whether he’s being sincere or whether he’s trying to deceive us.”
The request caught Yoo Jae-won off guard. Seeing the surprise on his face, Jeon Myeong-heon continued.
“Your abilities are extraordinary. Calling them a national treasure wouldn’t be an exaggeration.”
“Come on, you’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not. You’re an anomaly. When I look at statistics as president, adding just you to the data breaks every single metric. Whether we’re counting the number of world-class products this country produces, average national income, or the earnings of people in their twenties—everything goes haywire.”
Yoo Jae-won could only nod. Including him made South Korea look like it had nothing to envy from any advanced nation. The number of globally leading products would jump by dozens, and per-capita income would rise by thousands of dollars.
“But that’s not the ability I value most in you,” Jeon Myeong-heon said.
“Pardon? Then what is it?”
Yoo Jae-won had poured his entire previous life into building his master plan. He had executed it step by step and achieved results that even he found impressive. Yet Jeon Myeong-heon claimed there was something even more valuable.
“Your eye for people. I started with the money from selling my father’s cow and eventually built Mirae Group. I’ve had plenty of failures along the way, but the worst ones were always personnel failures.”
Ah. Listening quietly, Yoo Jae-won finally understood where the conversation was headed.
“When someone you trusted steals your money and you find out too late, it hurts.”
“You mean former Mirae Construction president Lee Myung-bak?”
“Haha, yes, that one too. Thanks to you, we even recovered the land he siphoned off. But he wasn’t the only one. Somehow there were always people ready to take advantage the moment they saw an opening. I suppose they learned by watching me.”
Jeon Myeong-heon spoke with a mixture of self-reflection and resignation.
“Your ID Group is different.”
Yoo Jae-won nodded with pride. There had been occasional embezzlement cases at ID Group, but nothing on the scale of Lee Myung-bak stealing major corporate assets. That was less because Yoo Jae-won was an excellent judge of character and more because of the triple-layered accounting system he had implemented. His personal audit team operated like grim reapers, rooting out corruption wherever it appeared. Just as the Android system never fully trusted its users, Yoo Jae-won had built multiple layers of verification. He was even planning to attach an AI-based accounting verification module to the ERP system currently being piloted.
Still, when it came to the executive team, Jeon Myeong-heon wasn’t wrong. People like Choi Kang-wook, Remington, and Ellen had proven far more capable and trustworthy than expected. That was why he could entrust Choi Kang-wook with the multi-trillion-won White Tiger Fund and hand Remington the chairmanship of the hundreds-of-billions-of-dollars Time Warner Nextcom.
“Jae-won, the ability I value most in you is your eye for people. So use that good eye and take a look at this fellow Kim Jong-il for me.”
Yoo Jae-won nodded. That much, he could certainly do. Thanks to the knowledge from his previous life, he could claim to understand Kim Jong-il better than almost anyone in the world—perhaps even better than Kim Jong-il understood himself. That was also why he had readily agreed when Jeon Myeong-heon suggested they visit North Korea together. He wanted to see Kim Jong-il with his own eyes.
“And if I give a positive assessment?”
“Then we’ll arrange an end-of-war agreement with the United States. You’re visiting America soon, aren’t you? I’ll bring it up then. Originally there was talk of Clinton meeting Kim Il-sung, wasn’t there? We can pick up where that left off.”
Yoo Jae-won was reminded of the long-forgotten North Korea–U.S. summit. One of Kim Il-sung’s requests when he met President Kim Young-sam had been to facilitate dialogue with the United States. Washington had been receptive, but Kim Il-sung’s sudden death had ended the possibility. Kim Jong-il now seemed intent on continuing that effort to strengthen his own legitimacy and reinforce his hereditary rule.
“But, Grandfather…”
Yoo Jae-won hesitated as a thought occurred to him.
“Yes? What is it?”
“If we’re going to broker this, shouldn’t we get something out of it too?”
Having South Korea act as messenger between North Korea and the United States to achieve an end-of-war declaration was fine. But South Korea should receive something in return. Yoo Jae-won already knew what North Korea’s next move would be after obtaining the declaration. The chronicle of the third-generation hereditary dictator Kim Jong-un made the trajectory obvious. They might even spring a surprise nuclear development program, just as history had originally unfolded. Still, that was no reason to avoid the opportunity. Even maintaining a peaceful framework after the declaration would bring enormous changes to South Korea.
“Hmm. There’s the Kaesong Industrial Complex and Mount Kumgang tourism, isn’t there?”
“That’s just the cow money you already sent.”
“What about denuclearization of the Korean Peninsula?”
“They’re already building light-water reactors.”
Jeon Myeong-heon’s expression grew serious. Yoo Jae-won was right. If an end-of-war declaration were achieved, North Korea might even realize its long-cherished goal of establishing diplomatic relations with the United States. That, in turn, could trigger debates about weakening the ROK-U.S. alliance or the continued presence of U.S. forces in Korea. While those concerns might be exaggerated, the fact remained that North Korea stood to gain far more from the declaration than South Korea did. Therefore, even if the value wasn’t identical, South Korea deserved something comparable in return.
“Well, we don’t necessarily have to receive it directly from North Korea. We can secure our own benefits.”
“Secure our own benefits? How?”
“For starters, constitutional amendment.”
Jeon Myeong-heon blinked at the sudden suggestion. It seemed completely out of left field. Yet pursuing constitutional reform under the pretext of an end-of-war declaration wasn’t entirely far-fetched. Declaring an end to the war meant recognizing North Korea as an independent state, which would create problems with the current constitution that did not acknowledge North Korea’s existence.
“Wouldn’t that mean we could never achieve unification?”
“No. On the contrary, the closer North Korea’s economic level gets to ours, the higher the chances of unification become. We’d also significantly reduce the cost of unification.”
The worst-case scenario was a German-style absorption. West Germany had been one of the world’s strongest industrial powers and could afford astronomical unification costs. South Korea’s economic strength was far weaker by comparison, and North Korea’s situation was even worse than East Germany’s had been. If Yoo Jae-won were to write the most realistic scenario for South Korea’s collapse, it wouldn’t be another IMF crisis or a second Korean War—it would be sudden unification triggered by North Korea’s implosion.
“It would be best if North Korea remained North Korea while we each fill in what the other lacks. They have abundant labor and resources; we have technology and capital.”
Some people imagined using cheap North Korean labor and developing resources after unification, but that was impossible. A single country couldn’t set different minimum wages based on birthplace, and freedom of residence couldn’t be restricted. So the better approach was to formally recognize North Korea in the constitution—while still affirming that Koreans were ultimately one people destined for eventual unification.
“On top of that, we change the single five-year presidential term to a four-year two-term system, completely remove the remnants of the Yushin Constitution, and prepare for the twenty-first century. That would also eliminate any constitutional concerns about the Corruption Investigation Office for High-ranking Officials.”
“Ho!”
Jeon Myeong-heon slapped his knee in admiration. Yoo Jae-won’s argument that constitutional reform could be pursued under the banner of an end-of-war declaration was compelling.
“Four-year two-term system? Does that mean I could run again?”
Jeon Myeong-heon was every inch a politician. The moment he heard “four-year two-term,” he immediately asked whether he could serve another term.
“Well, that might be a bit much. It would be easier to convince the public if we start the new system from the next election. Plenty of people still remember the dictatorship era vividly.”
“That’s true.”
Jeon Myeong-heon readily agreed.
“Goodness. Even watching it happen right in front of me, I can hardly believe it. To think of all this in an instant…”
He praised Yoo Jae-won, who scratched his head in embarrassment. After all, constitutional amendment had been a major political issue throughout the twenty-first century. Multiple presidents had raised the topic and even attempted to push it forward, only to fail repeatedly. Success had come much later. Thanks to that experience, Yoo Jae-won’s mind had immediately jumped to constitutional reform the moment he heard the words “end-of-war declaration.”
“Even so, we can’t just push forward recklessly. Drafting the amendment itself will be a major undertaking, and we’ll need to pass it through the National Assembly and hold a national referendum. The biggest hurdle will be the Assembly.”
In Yoo Jae-won’s view, the National Assembly was the greatest obstacle. The current coalition between the Tongil National Party and the Democratic Party barely maintained a majority, yet passing a constitutional amendment required a two-thirds majority. That was precisely why so many amendment attempts in the twenty-first century had failed—there simply wasn’t a political force capable of securing two-thirds of the seats.
“Don’t worry about that. Gathering two-thirds of the seats is simple enough.”
Surprisingly, Jeon Myeong-heon spoke as if securing a two-thirds majority was child’s play. Meanwhile, Yoo Jae-won, who had only just begun thinking about the amendment, still couldn’t see how it could be done. He was intensely curious about what method his grandfather had in mind.