That Was How Trust Began
In the end, it was settled under the name of the **Monday Community Field Meeting**. It sounded too administrative, too stiff — but the important thing wasn't the name. It was the execution.
Monday evening, I headed straight to the field.
The venue for the first meeting was an old residential neighborhood in the western part of Yeojin City's old town. It had once been a bustling area, but with the commercial district in decline and vacant houses multiplying, it was steadily losing its vitality. By evening the streetlights glowed faintly, and darkness had settled into every corner. I didn't need to hear it from anyone to guess what troubles the residents living here carried with them.
When I arrived at the community center, residents were already gathering in small clusters. The moment I pushed the door open, the murmur of voices swelled.
"The mayor actually came?"
"Is that really the mayor? Younger than he looks on TV."
So far, so good. But the moment I took my seat, the atmosphere shifted in a peculiar way.
"Mr. Mayor, what ordinary people like us want isn't anything grandiose."
A man seated in the front row spoke up. He looked to be in his late fifties and had long been the head of a residents' association active in Yeojin City. His tone was gentle, but his words carried a weight all their own.
"We're truly grateful that you came out here in person like this. But you see..."
He glanced around the room, then let out a deliberate sigh before continuing.
"We've been burned by politicians far too many times."
Instantly, the residents around him nodded in agreement.
"That's right! All flash and promises, and in the end people like us were left in the dust!"
"Mr. Mayor, how is this time any different?"
"Even the last mayor came out here, talked big, and after that nobody could get a glimpse of his face!"
I smiled bitterly to myself.
In my previous life, working as a junior official on the residents' council for an urban regeneration project, I had witnessed scenes like this countless times. Senior representatives dressing down and breaking in young field officers was so common it barely registered.
*'We only acknowledge you so you can work here.'*
That was the attitude — a way of cornering people with seniority. And now, I was the target. Except this time, the target was the mayor.
*'Yes. This is exactly what I expected.'*
"I understand that feeling well."
I spoke up quietly.
"Let's be honest with each other. I've seen plenty of politicians like that myself. The ones who shake hands all over town and pile on the sweet talk during election season, then vanish the moment they're sworn in. Do you think I'll become one of them?"
The residents said nothing.
"Then why would I have come here at all?"
Silence hung in the air. Caught off guard by the response, the association leaders began exchanging glances.
*'Please don't try to break me in.'*
The words climbed all the way up my throat, but I swallowed them and chose my next words carefully.
Everyone held their breath.
"Before I'm a politician, I'm a citizen myself — and I'm the mayor you elected. I don't believe this is about me versus you. It's about solving problems together. Being young doesn't mean I know everything, and it doesn't mean I know nothing either."
Silence again. But for the first time, I could see them wavering, just a little.
"Mayors come and go. But Yeojin City remains. I will listen to your opinions and find a way forward together with you. In exchange, if all you intend to do is go beyond criticism into outright blame, I cannot work with you."
In that moment, the leaders' posture visibly changed. Some unfolded their crossed arms; others gave small, measured nods. I smiled and added:
"The mayor and the citizens are on the same boat. Where that boat sails is up to all of us."
Then, abruptly, I turned back to the residents with a fresh smile.
"I came today because I want to hear your stories directly."
The moment the words left my mouth, grievances erupted from every corner of the room.
"The road's too narrow — cars can barely get through!"
"There isn't a single proper playground in this neighborhood."
"Mr. Mayor, please put up more streetlights. It's way too dark at night — it's dangerous!"
"The bus comes so rarely here. By the time our elderly get to the stop, they're waiting forever."
Just as I'd expected, the residents' stories were full of inconvenience and complaint.
But I found these reactions strangely welcome. If no complaints surfaced at all, that would mean this city had truly become a *place that had given up*.
I pulled out my notebook and jotted everything down, fielding questions and answers as I went. For the record, I had also brought along Section Chief Cho Yeon-woo.
Meetings like resident briefings were ordinarily the jurisdiction of the administrative support section or the mayor's office, but I'd invited him in case the residents' concerns touched on matters of urban planning.
A rank-and-file civil servant wouldn't dream of coming, of course. But a section chief was different. An early promotion like his came, in part, from exactly that kind of uncommon dedication.
I turned to Cho Yeon-woo beside me.
"What would be the best approach here?"
Answering directly myself would have been cleaner and more satisfying, but I could hardly let that show, so I had no choice. Cho Yeon-woo hesitated a moment before answering.
"Widening the road is one option, certainly. But to widen it, you'd ultimately have to shrink the surrounding buildings and sidewalks, and in the process the pedestrian environment could actually get worse. The cars might be more comfortable — but the street could lose even more of its vitality."
The residents looked at one another and fell quiet. I seized the opening.
"This is just my own thinking, but — the times when traffic piles up are fairly predictable. Wouldn't it be more effective to reorganize parking efficiently rather than widen the road? For example, what if we turned one shoulder of the street into on-street parking, and had the residents' self-governing council collect the parking fees itself?"
A buzz instantly rippled through the room.
"On-street parking? Really?"
"Then who would collect the fees?"
I nodded and went on.
"If the city manages it, the money ultimately comes out of taxes. But if the residents' council runs it, they'd secure their own source of funding. And hiring a parking attendant would create a small job besides. If the neighborhood's seniors took turns managing the parking, it could even serve the community in more ways than one."
Gasps of admiration broke out among the residents.
"That way the neighborhood gets its own budget, and the benefits go right back to the residents!"
"That's actually a good idea. More realistic than widening the road."
I smiled and laid it out once more.
"So let's say we resolve the parking issue along these lines. And there's one more thing I'd like to propose. Look at this road — there's a yellow centerline running down the middle. Because it blocks lane changes, there are a lot of stretches where cars can't easily pass each other, right?"
A few residents nodded.
"Yes, that's why cars end up crossing the line out of necessity — and since that's illegal, it becomes a whole problem."
"And I've heard people say they've been fined when the crackdowns came through."
I pressed on.
"In that case, how about changing the centerline to a white dashed line? With a dashed line, cars can change lanes safely when they need to. Instead of forcing the road apart the way it is now, we let vehicles yield and weave flexibly according to actual conditions."
Everyone had always taken it as self-evident that a yellow line was the centerline — cross it and you'd broken the law. And now someone was suddenly proposing to erase it. Naturally, unease would follow.
I glanced over at Cho Yeon-woo beside me. Looking slightly abashed, he explained at once.
"Anyone who's been to London or Paris might know this. The roads there are narrow, so they either make them one-way or simply do away with the yellow divider down the middle. Drivers have no choice but to drive carefully — because watching out for each other is the best option."
This time, the residents' reaction was even more enthusiastic.
"Now that's a good one! With a dashed line, cars can move around sensibly without breaking any rules."
"And even with narrow roads, if cars slow down it might actually be safer. Right now the streets are narrow anyway, but cars speed through them — that's what makes it dangerous."
I was a little surprised myself. Partly because Cho Yeon-woo and I were clicking better than I'd expected.
*'How does he know about that case? He's done nothing but civil service work his whole life — when did he ever go to Europe? I'll have to ask him sometime.'*
The thought crossed my mind and stayed there.
I nodded and offered a final summary.
"Exactly. And this area in particular is a residential district a little removed from the city center, so speeding here can be even more dangerous. Widen a road too much and cars are that much more likely to go faster — which can lead to far more serious accidents. Creating an environment that encourages slower driving may well be the better solution."
"But can the city change the centerline on its own?"
One resident asked.
"No. The city designs and maintains the roads, but traffic regulations and vehicle flow adjustments fall under the police station's jurisdiction. This part absolutely requires consultation with them. I'll discuss it with the relevant departments and look for a workable direction."
It wasn't a look of total conviction — more the expression of someone startled by a proposal they'd never heard before.
Partway through the meeting, one resident raised a hand.
"Mr. Mayor, our neighborhood playground is far too old. The facilities are inadequate, and there are dangerous spots all over. We're worried the children will get hurt playing there."
I nodded and asked.
"Do you happen to know when the playground equipment was installed?"
The residents looked at one another, trading answers.
"Hmm, it's been quite a while. I'd say more than twenty years, at least?"
"They used to maintain it regularly, but these days it's basically been left to rot."
"There aren't many kids around, but the ones who are here deserve somewhere safe to play, don't they?"
I opened my notebook, took careful notes, and asked again.
"Then — when are the children using it most?"
Answers came from around the room.
"After school, most likely. Between three and six in the afternoon, probably the busiest."
"That's right. With so many academies these days, kids don't spend all day at the playground like they used to, but there are still some who come out and play until evening."
I nodded.
"Good. First, I'll confirm when the playground was built and when it was last repaired. Then I'll draw up concrete improvement proposals and pass them to the relevant department. If there are parts that need structural reinforcement, we'll move quickly to address them."
A small round of applause rose from the residents. At that, Section Chief Cho, sitting right beside me, cautiously raised his hand.
"May I add something as well?"
I was startled inwardly.
*'How far will this one go today?'*
"And there's one more thing that stands out to me. The fact that there's a senior citizens' center right next to this playground."
The residents tilted their heads at his words.
"What does a senior center have to do with a playground?"
"A very good relationship, actually."
Section Chief Cho smiled and continued.
"The seniors sometimes bring their chairs outside and sit watching the children play, don't they?"
"Oh, they do. When the weather's nice, plenty of them come out to sit in the sun."
"Then what does that tell us?"
The residents faltered for a moment. Then one of them answered quietly.
"Seen that way... the seniors are naturally keeping an eye on the children, aren't they?"
"Exactly."
Cho Yeon-woo nodded and explained.
"The most important thing about a playground isn't simply upgrading the equipment. What really matters is *creating a safe environment*. And here, there are already seniors present who naturally watch over the children. An environment has taken shape in which the local community as a whole can look after them."
"Come to think of it... I never looked at it that way."
"What if we made more active use of that? Rather than just fixing the facilities, we design this playground as a space where seniors and children share time together. For instance, we reinforce the resting areas for the elderly, and shape the layout so that children running around naturally exchange greetings with them as they play."
"Then the whole place would be safer, too."
I decided to add my own spoonful to the table Cho Yeon-woo had set. I picked up right where he'd left off.
"That's right. The safest space for children isn't the one with the most CCTV cameras — it's the one where adults can naturally keep watch. I want to design this playground not as a mere play area, but as a *central space for a safe village*, built together by the community itself."
Positive reactions spread among the residents.
"Mr. Mayor, that's a fine idea!"
"The whole neighborhood would feel warmer that way."
I nodded with a smile.
"I'll discuss this with the responsible department and work out the specifics. Also, the councilor representing this district is Pyo Do-yeon. I'll consult with the city council about whether budget support is possible at the legislative level. If we combine our efforts, we'll get better results."
The residents looked satisfied. I added one final remark.
"A playground is not just a facility. This place can become a space where children and the elderly come together, and where the village community grows stronger. I'll design it well along these lines, and together with all of you, we will build a *safe village*."
The residents applauded.