We Will Review It
When Division Chief Noh Chae-eun finished her report, I gave a nod.
"Don't worry. I know the basic structure well enough. And to be honest, I put more stock in private investment than public. I know all too well how many projects do nothing but devour government budgets. Of course, keeping the city's own finances in order matters too."
A brief silence followed. Instead of an emotional reaction to the budget structure, I had offered a cool, practical judgment — which, from their perspective, must have come as something of a surprise.
The department-by-department briefings came next. Each department outlined its core duties in brief, then added its thoughts on the policy agenda I had laid out.
The reports, which had begun that morning, rolled on and on in the same pattern. I offered no particular commentary, concentrating instead on taking the measure of the room. If I tried to 'point out' or 'direct' anything on the spot, few of them could fully digest materials dumped in their laps out of nowhere and respond accordingly.
As the meeting wore on, the officials' reactions settled into three broad types.
The first type: the cautious. The classic civil-servant response of rationing one's words.
"Mr. Mayor, the materials reached us hastily this morning, and we haven't had time to review them properly. We'll study the contents in detail and report back to you."
This was the most common reaction. Simply put, the textbook answer of 'we'll look into it first.' An attitude built to dodge a firm commitment and buy time.
Reading it as mere 'work avoidance' would be a mistake. Far more likely, it was a careful wait-and-see strategy — a reluctance to move rashly until they'd figured out what sort of mayor they were dealing with.
Some mayors toss out a new policy, then lose interest the moment the response turns lukewarm. Anyone who has served that kind of mayor knows it pays to hold your tongue at first.
The second type: the evasive. They unfurled defensive logic built on budgets and precedent.
"With the current budget, it would be difficult to move forward."
"There's no comparable precedent, so I don't see how we could carry it out."
The most typical 'excuse' answers in the book. Budgets are always short. But 'there's no budget' is, in most cases, a polite refusal that really means 'I don't want to do anything new.'
The other argument they reached for most often was 'no precedent.' In a bureaucracy, 'there is no precedent' is a euphemism for 'we are not doing this.' Until you break through that wall, no policy ever becomes reality.
The third type: the cautiously positive. The hands-on officials who could see possibility.
"We'll review it. The policy direction itself seems something we can assess favorably."
This crowd was careful too, but at least they showed a willingness to understand where the mayor was headed. The interesting part was that most of the people reacting this way were section-chief-level managers on the verge of promotion.
Standing at the stage of their careers where they needed results, they instinctively understood that a new policy could be an opportunity. In a bureaucratic organization, 'results' mean 'promotion,' and often that is the only motivation there is.
So they chose exploration over evasion — cautiously, granted, but still.
I listened on, calmly sorting them into those three camps. This was not the occasion to wring answers out of anyone; it was time to learn who would move, who would dig in, and who would sit on the fence.
That is the first condition for setting an administration in motion: reading the people.
Of course, every now and then someone would go and invite trouble for no reason.
"We're already running this policy."
He said it without an ounce of tact, so I asked him, point by point, exactly what we were doing and how — and in the end the words dried up in his mouth. One look at his face said he knew he'd slipped.
From the look of things, he had skimmed nothing but the title, slapped a plausible heading on material copied from who knows where, and tried to pass it off as a policy already in motion.
In the end, I added just one quiet remark: flesh out the content based on our conversation and report back again. There was no need to make the man blush over it.
Watching their reactions unfold one by one, I laughed to myself.
So my policies and my intentions are finally starting to feel real to them.
And judging by the expressions of the officials filing out of the mayor's office, they were rattled, exactly as predicted.
At first they must have taken me for nothing more than a National Assemblyman's son who had lucked into the mayor's seat. No political experience to speak of — surely a man planning to coast through his term and be done with it.
But once they actually stepped into the mayor's office and began their briefings, a situation utterly unlike their expectations unfolded before them. The policies did offer little more than broad directions, yet parts of them were not easy to grasp. This was beyond what City Hall could easily have produced on its own.
And the first to sense this was none other than Kang Seol-heon. When her report was done, she came over to me.
"Mr. Mayor, a few of the bureau directors have been approaching me with questions. Privately."
"What kind of questions?"
"Whether you have a separate organization preparing your policies for you."
I had to work to keep a straight face.
"Why would they ask that?"
"They say the materials only lay out the direction of things... and that there's a great deal they're struggling to understand."
Ordinarily, when questions arise, you simply ask the expert who drew up the proposal. But when the mayor himself has written the policy or the plan, there is no one you can comfortably turn to, however little of it you understand.
Even thrashing it out inside their own units, they would find no clear answers — no wonder they were flustered. I could see it plainly: only now were they beginning to feel the first tremors of confusion.
A congressman's son who stumbled into the mayor's office? We thought a little flattery would carry us through... What is this?
Their inner thoughts were written all over them. I tapped a finger on the desk and smiled.
They had slogged through a long day of being made to report and work without pause. But my mood was excellent. I had become mayor more or less by accident — yet it looked as though I would get to do, with my own hands, the work I had only ever dreamed of.
I was sitting at the mayor's desk, letting my mind wander, when Chief of Staff Kang Seol-heon quietly opened the door and came in. In her hands was the policy report.
"Mr. Mayor, I've been through the policy draft."
Turning a page of the documents, she went on.
"I haven't had time to examine it closely, but the supertall high-rise construction and the mixed-use shopping complex plans your predecessor was pushing are missing. Did you leave them out on purpose?"
A note of puzzlement ran beneath her voice.
"Everyone sees those projects as the key to saving Yeojin City."
I took a moment to gather my thoughts, then answered evenly.
"I left them out on purpose."
Kang Seol-heon looked at me.
"Why?"
Tapping the papers lightly on the desk, I began to explain.
"For Yeojin City, with barely a hundred thousand people, these projects simply don't fit reality. Large-scale real estate development may look convincing for a season, but in the end it gets batted around by capital, never materializes, and dies with a whimper — the odds of that are high."
I raised my eyes to her.
"Real estate developers only move when the profits are certain. With Yeojin's economy and population, this city has no strength to sustain a project on that scale."
I paused for breath, then added,
"But if I came out and declared 'we will not do these projects,' it would only whip up an unnecessary storm. So there's no need to manufacture that controversy. Once we're flat-out pushing every other project forward, public attention will drift away from these on its own."
Kang Seol-heon's brow creased slightly.
"Mr. Mayor, forgive me — but doesn't that sound like something said without much grasp of the reality here?"
She set the documents down with a sharp tap.
"The people of Yeojin believe large-scale construction is the only solution they have. Tell them we won't pursue it, and naturally they'll be disappointed. You know this as well as anyone, Mr. Mayor. Right now this city is far more in the mood for 'something big and massive' than for change."
I nodded.
"I know. But we're headed in the wrong direction, and I can't simply follow along."
Kang Seol-heon let out a sigh and studied me. Then, shifting the air a little, she spoke again, her face grave.
"Mr. Mayor, I have never once spoken to you about my dream. I think it's time you knew a little of it."
Folding her hands, she continued in a calm voice.
"It's nothing to boast of, but I was the youngest city councilor this city has had, and I came down to the region straight out of university and stepped into politics. And I have no intention of stopping here."
Her eyes gleamed.
"I intend to sharpen my abilities while serving you, and I dream of bigger politics. Your achievements will become my achievements, and making Yeojin City into a finer city is a task and a goal that matter to me as well."
I looked at her. Perhaps the reason she sat in this office was not mere 'administrative judgment' after all.
She was carving out her own future with her own hands, laying a political foundation in this city and reaching toward something larger.
It struck me all at once: today she was my chief of staff, but one day she could be a National Assembly member, a metropolitan mayor, a cabinet minister even... The potential was more than there.
Most people try to begin their political lives in Seoul. Kang Seol-heon had chosen to grow from the region instead. The dream itself was a fine one.
I wanted to cheer her on.
But I knew, too. If this city kept its eyes fixed on nothing but massive construction, Yeojin would sink into the pit in the end.
This was not the age of breakneck growth. Nor was it an age where simply stacking up big buildings brought an economy back to life.
People now spent their money chasing the services they wanted. Under a crude supply-side policy, no city could survive anymore.
Of course, saying all this now would hardly persuade Kang Seol-heon the politician. So I nodded as though in understanding, met her eyes, and said,
"Chief Kang, I have a favor to ask."
Kang Seol-heon lifted her head.
"Sooner or later, the city council or the press is bound to ask about those projects. The construction firms and the real estate investors will be interested too. When they do, say this."
And I added with a smile,
"That we have 'merely presented the most urgent campaign pledges first, and the major projects will be pursued only after careful deliberation.'"
Kang Seol-heon regarded me for a moment, then gave a silent nod.
And so the day passed. The next morning, I met Kim Jun-tae, chairman of the Yeojin City Council. The council had long belonged to my father's political line — my father the National Assemblyman — so there was no great cause for worry there.
But Kim Jun-tae was not a man to underestimate. He was a politician as slippery as a rat snake, the sort who moved only when it suited him.
Race too far ahead and he might become an obstacle; win him over to our side to just the right degree, and he might prove genuinely useful.
The moment Kim Jun-tae saw me, he broke into a beaming smile and offered his hand. Then he came straight to the point.
"Mr. Mayor, I read the policy materials with great care. Quite a wide range of things in there, I must say?"
I smiled, unhurried, and turned the question back on him.
"And what did you make of them?"
"Honestly? Not what I expected. Feelings are running hot among the councilors too. Half expectation, half doubt."
Naturally. During the campaign I had looked like a political rookie with no administrative experience, and everyone had taken me at face value. Then I became mayor and produced concrete policy directions within a single day — of course they were thrown off balance.
"Well, with no political experience to my name, I suppose that's how everyone sees me."
"Haha, just so. But I'd ask you to show the city council some respect as well. Get too far ahead of us, Mr. Mayor, and it may become difficult to work in the direction you want."
There it was — his real meaning laid bare. Ignore the council, and cooperation would dry up; in other words, my policies would go nowhere. I nodded.
"I'm well aware of that. It's equally true that without the council, policy is hard to carry out. I place great value on cooperation."
Then I added, as though it were the most natural thing in the world,
"And if the council were to lend its strength to the mayor's policy direction, wouldn't that earn the citizens' good graces all around?"
Kim Jun-tae's eyes narrowed a fraction, and then he smiled.
"As expected of you, Mr. Mayor. You have a real feel for politics."
That much sent the signal I needed. He would not actively champion my policies — but at the very least, he would not stand in their way.