Shadows of the Past
Regime change. “It’s possible about twice. So we can use it once for the Gongsucheo and once for the constitutional amendment.” Jeon Myeong-heon’s confident declaration followed, and Yoo Jae-won’s mouth fell open.
Opposition parties’ resistance to the Gongsucheo bill was enormous. Their reactions went far beyond mere irritation; they behaved as though their very lives would end if it passed. That was understandable. The bill’s primary target was the prosecution, its secondary target the judiciary. The tacit practices those two institutions had long tolerated existed solely to protect the privileged. Naturally, that circle of privilege included members of the National Assembly. The Gongsucheo bill aimed to uproot those privileges entirely, so the current National Assembly was bound to oppose it unconditionally.
Still, with the combined charisma of the two party leaders, Jeon Myeong-heon and Kim Dae-jung, it might be possible to whip the lawmakers into line and force the bill through. A constitutional amendment would obviously be even more difficult than the Gongsucheo bill. That was why Yoo Jae-won intended to make maximum use of public sentiment. He would whip up such intense public anger that any lawmaker who refused to support the amendment would find citizens storming their district offices and turning them into chaos. It would not be easy, but it was far more realistic than hoping the amendment would sail through without obstacles.
Yet Jeon Myeong-heon spoke as though the matter was already settled. “Hm? You already know about this, don’t you?”
Instead of being surprised, Jeon Myeong-heon tilted his head, looking puzzled by Yoo Jae-won’s reaction. “You know about it?”
Yoo Jae-won’s mind raced. No matter how deeply he thought, nothing came to mind. It made sense; as someone who had poured enormous sums into Korea, he received constant briefings on the political situation. He already knew the ideological leanings of every lawmaker, and his intelligence team kept him updated on everything from local issues to petty scandals. Those briefings allowed him to simulate vote counts that rarely diverged from actual results.
“I don’t know. Please tell me.”
“Hmm. You might be disappointed.”
Jeon Myeong-heon wore a slightly troubled expression. It was clearly not something he could boast about proudly.
“It’s fine. I promise I won’t be disappointed.”
“Well, if you insist… We’re going to use Roh Tae-woo and Kim Young-sam.”
Roh Tae-woo? Kim Young-sam? Hearing the names of the two former presidents, Yoo Jae-won still could not resolve the question in his mind, though he felt a vague sense of understanding.
“Ah! A pardon? You’re planning to trade a pardon for former President Roh to make a deal with the Minjeong faction?”
The New Korea Party had split in two ahead of the local elections. The larger faction loyal to President Kim Young-sam became the Grand National Party, while the old military faction planted by President Roh Tae-woo registered as the Democratic Korea Party. Once a giant that had commanded an absolute majority in the National Assembly, it had now fractured: the Grand National Party held 66 seats, the Democratic Korea Party 33. Thirty-three seats were enough to form a separate negotiating bloc and secure at least one, possibly two, standing committee chairmanships. But that was all. Passing legislation in the plenary session still required cooperation from other parties.
“As expected, you go soft at the critical moment, Jae-won. Do you really think a deal would work with those ruthless people? If we offer a transaction, they’ll only grow arrogant. It would be better to make them beg us to save them.”
Yoo Jae-won’s mouth fell open again at Jeon Myeong-heon’s words. In other words, Jeon Myeong-heon intended to create an atmosphere in which even former President Roh Tae-woo could be sent to the gallows. If the Minjeong faction wanted to save him, they would have to support Jeon Myeong-heon’s reform legislation.
“Kim Young-sam will be even simpler.”
“Really?”
“There’s the election-funds scandal and the Chowon Bokguk incident, isn’t there?”
Chowon Bokguk! An old memory Yoo Jae-won had nearly forgotten surfaced instantly. During the previous presidential election, the mayor of Busan, the Busan Metropolitan Police Agency chief, the chief prosecutor, and others had gathered at a blowfish restaurant called Chowon Bokguk in Busan to plot illegal election interference. Not only had they planned to deploy state power in the election, they had also resolved to inflame regional sentiment—an extremely subversive meeting. Yoo Jae-won, who had known every detail of the incident, had even secured witnesses, but the National Intelligence Service had intercepted the information and the exposure had fallen through. That incident was also the reason Jeon Jae-jun had been forced into several years of exile on Jeju Island. Thanks to Yoo Jae-won’s tip, Jeon Jae-jun had managed to secure the witnesses’ safety before the NIS could seize them. But his own greed had made him miss the opportunity, which in turn had delayed Jeon Myeong-heon’s presidential dream by five years.
“Wow.”
In truth, even if Yoo Jae-won had exposed the Chowon Bokguk incident back then, he could not have guaranteed Jeon Myeong-heon’s victory. The same held true now. Supporters tended to rally rather than scatter in times of crisis; repeated elections had proven that. The probability of winning the presidency would rise, but it would not reach 100 percent.
Among former presidents, Kim Young-sam’s favorability rating was the worst—lower even than Chun Doo-hwan or Roh Tae-woo. If the Chowon Bokguk scandal were revealed under these circumstances, it would shatter the very legitimacy of President Kim Young-sam’s administration. His sole remaining source of pride was being the first democratically elected president with a background in the democratization movement. Although the IMF crisis had toppled the tower he had built, that pride had endured. The Chowon Bokguk incident would destroy even that last vestige of legitimacy.
Moreover, Jeon Myeong-heon’s position now was on an entirely different level from before. As a mere candidate, the impact would have been limited, but as president the ripple effect would be enormous.
“He’s already finished anyway. I have no intention of committing character assassination. But he should at least contribute to creating a new history.”
Yoo Jae-won nodded at Jeon Myeong-heon’s words. He agreed that leveraging the incident this way was far better than simply detonating it. Still, his concerns were not entirely resolved. The man currently elected as leader of the Grand National Party, Lee Hoi-chang, had kept his distance from previous elections. He himself was free of the Chowon Bokguk and election-funds scandals. But the Grand National Party’s most senior lawmakers and its prominent multi-term legislators were all entangled in the incident. Even without the Gongsucheo, if the scandal broke they would all become targets of investigation. In the current climate, with the prosecution watching Yeouido like hawks to block the Gongsucheo, dropping such a massive bombshell—especially through a presidentially ordered investigation—would be fatal for them.
“A bit old-fashioned, isn’t it?”
Jeon Myeong-heon asked with a slightly embarrassed expression as Yoo Jae-won’s mouth fell open once more.
“No. Politics is reality. You can’t survive on ideals alone.”
Yoo Jae-won spoke firmly. Among the politicians he remembered from long ago, there had been a few hopeless idealists. Of course, that was still in the near future. People who believed that personal cleanliness was enough. They stood alone like white herons among crows in the political arena. Their contrast gave them great presence and popularity, but it also led to serious mistakes. In moments that demanded bold, timely action, they had simply let their hands fall.
“I didn’t expect you to say something like that, Jae-won.”
“Of course.”
Jeon Myeong-heon, by contrast, was the kind of man who could throw such a bold move to reverse an unfavorable situation. The stone he cast might trigger unforeseen backlash, but he never hesitated when it came to achieving the right goal. If asked which was better, Yoo Jae-won would naturally choose Jeon Myeong-heon. No matter how noble the intention, if it was not reflected in reality it remained nothing more than an empty echo. Even if the method was somewhat unconventional and outdated, if that was the only path available, the willingness to walk it deserved praise.
“Hearing you say that puts me at ease. Then let’s begin right away. We’ll finish the Gongsucheo before we go to the North.”
“That quickly?”
“It’s not quick at all. It was a campaign promise.”
Once again, Grandfather Jeon Myeong-heon was right. The Gongsucheo discussion had first appeared in his campaign pledges. Since then it had been debated continuously, and the bill itself had been drafted long ago. The only reason it had dragged on was because the opposition kept inflating the controversy. Jeon Myeong-heon had apparently thought of using Roh Tae-woo’s and Kim Young-sam’s weaknesses some time ago but had held back because he did not know Yoo Jae-won’s thoughts. Now that Yoo Jae-won had given his approval, he seemed determined to push forward without restraint.
“Once we return from the North, the constitutional amendment debate will begin. It would be best to wrap up the Gongsucheo before we leave.”
“Yes, I agree. If you need anything, please let me know. I’ll do my best to help.”
“Haha. There’s no need for you to step into this muddy water. Just focus on reviving the economy. The economy is my approval rating, after all.”
If that was all, there was no problem. Reviving the economy was exactly what Yoo Jae-won did best.
A few days later.
“Incredible.”
Yoo Jae-won marveled at the front-page headlines displayed on his monitor. They were the lead stories from major newspapers that had poured out immediately after his visit to the Blue House. Less than a week had passed. In that short time, Grandfather Jeon Myeong-heon had kept his word. He had quickly contacted the Democratic Korea Party lawmakers who had been dispatched to Daegu and North Gyeongsang to support the local elections. After reaching some kind of agreement, they had returned to Seoul at once. Lawmakers from the Tongil National Party and the Democratic Party had done the same. With that, the paralyzed National Assembly was immediately normalized.
The Grand National Party had been blindsided. In truth, the National Assembly had remained open even during the local election period. It had only appeared closed because lawmakers were busy tending to their districts and had left the capital. When news of their return reached Seoul, opposition lawmakers arrived first and tried to lock the plenary chamber doors and stage a sit-in. But they were overwhelmed by the sheer number of ruling-party lawmakers who arrived afterward. It was a lightning-fast snap vote.
The interesting part was that the lawmakers who fought at the front lines against the Grand National Party members were not from the Tongil National Party or the Democratic Party, but from the Democratic Korea Party. Only weeks earlier they had belonged to the same party; now they had become bitter enemies in an instant.
Once the Gongsucheo bill passed, President Jeon Myeong-heon announced a pardon for former President Roh Tae-woo after a short interval. Only then did Yeouido begin to roughly guess at the deal that had taken place between President Jeon Myeong-heon and the Democratic Korea Party. Naturally, there was backlash—accusations of collusion and judicial bargaining—and some even traveled to Gwangju to stir up regional sentiment. None of it worked. The May 18 Truth Investigation Committee, activated by former President Kim Young-sam, was steadily restoring the honor that had been distorted for so long. Moreover, the deep-seated resentment had largely been eased by former President Kim Young-sam’s bold decision to execute Chun Doo-hwan.
President Jeon Myeong-heon’s announcement had not declared a pardon for Roh Tae-woo but merely stated that he was considering one, with the prerequisite of public consent. Furthermore, the pardon was named the May 18 Special Pardon, giving it an unimpeachable justification.
Thus, several months after the Gongsucheo establishment bill had been mired in controversy in the National Assembly, a few more days passed. On May 3, when spring was in full bloom, President Jeon Myeong-heon, Yoo Jae-won, and a delegation of domestic chaebol owners departed for North Korea. They would cross the DMZ by car through Panmunjom on the way in, then return by plane via the West Sea route on the way back.
“Hmm?”
Looking out the window, Yoo Jae-won felt an oddly familiar sensation. Panmunjom was a place frequently shown on television because of its historical significance. He even remembered seeing the road that ran past the northern Panmun Pavilion toward Pyongyang. Seeing the location in person triggered a powerful sense of déjà vu. Even the road conditions felt similar; despite the luxury car, the ride was far from comfortable. This was clearly an important tactical route, yet it was maintained so poorly that North Korea’s situation was obvious.
As Pyongyang drew closer, Yoo Jae-won’s mind grew complicated with thoughts of how to handle this North Korea.