The Civil Servant

An elected mayor's authority over personnel was a monopoly. By convention, apart from the deputy mayor parachuted in from Gyeonggi Province, that authority over the city's civil servants was, quite literally, absolute. Division chiefs were the most vulnerable of all. They held no high office, and they could not lean on the union for protection.

That was probably why every division chief except my father had delivered his briefing to me in a stiff, guarded posture. None of them wanted me picking their work apart.

My father alone was the exception.

"...Chief of the Citizen Cooperation Division, speaking. As the mayor-elect is no doubt aware, our division oversees public-private governance, resident autonomy, the volunteer center, and the subsidy grants and support programs for some fifty civil society organizations across Maesan City. That is the department, sir."

"Yes. Then shall we hear the reports by section?"

"Read the documents that were submitted."

His manner was so insolent I could hardly find the words for it. As the mayor-elect no doubt knows, you need only read the submitted documents. He hadn't needed to go that far with me.

Of course it stung. But by any ordinary standard, in a room watched by seniors, juniors, and superiors alike, the normal thing was to keep it off his face, if only for his own sake.

Even if I didn't care, he ought to care about other people's eyes. Wasn't that the bare minimum?

The bureau chief and division chiefs who worked alongside my father kept glancing around anxiously. A colleague from their own division was sparring with the mayor-elect at an official briefing; of course they were rattled. Every face in the room said the same thing: get me out of here.

"Chief Min, honestly, what's gotten into you?"

"……."

"I'm telling you, you can't do this here."

Even with the bureau chief jabbing him in the side and muttering at him, my father held his ground, jaw set and mouth shut.

Frankly, it left me a little hollow.

My father was a grizzled civil servant with retirement right in front of him. Hired in the last stretch of the appointed-mayor era, he was already in his ninth term under elected ones. Eight mayors had passed over his desk in that time. He had worked in the mayor's secretariat and in the city council's administrative office, so he must have endured his share of ego-bruising moments in front of politicians, biting it back every single time, no doubt, with his livelihood ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in mind.

And yet in front of me alone, the man couldn't restrain himself.

It was hardly a fresh discovery. I simply hadn't expected it even in an official setting.

I skimmed the papers my father had shoved across the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠table, then decided to demand a proper briefing. It was exactly the treatment I had given every other division chief.

"Chief Min Taegi? I'll start with the resident autonomy section."

"The documents cover it."

"If reading documents were enough, why would I hold briefings at all? The reason I take face-to-face reports is to confirm whether this city hall's executives can handle a mayor-elect's off-script questions, and to give every division the chance to disclose its own risks voluntarily."

"……."

"Above all, it's an assessment of whether the person in front of me can absorb my governing philosophy quickly. At your age, with your career, you obviously know that."

My father's face twisted into something even more wretched. It was at this moment that he met my eyes for the first time.

Having spent long years flattering superiors myself, I'd gotten reasonably good at reading faces. What was written across my father's just then was: Must you really go this far?

Did he think I was deliberately humiliating him in front of an audience? It was true I hadn't cut him any slack, and true that I'd needled him indirectly by brandishing his seniority. But I had made no unreasonable demand. I had asked for the bare basics, nothing more.

"Chief Min Taegi."

"……."

"If you'd rather not report, you're free not to. That would be an answer in itself."

An uncomfortable silence stretched on for a while. Then my father exhaled, loud enough for me to hear, and spoke.

"The residents' autonomy councils of Maesan City's twenty districts... are the core institutions through which grassroots democracy has been practiced. It was a long-cherished project of the civic groups in this jurisdiction, and an achievement steeped in the labors of our advisory committee members, every one of them former activists. It is a field where free networks matter more than regulations."

"We can't have the regulations hollowed out in the name of autonomy, now can we."

"……."

"Continue."

It confirmed, once again, just how close my father stood to the civic groups. I'd known that for years, but they seemed even thicker with them than I'd thought. Still, to say our former-activist advisory members, in the middle of an official briefing. That was a verbal tic that could only have been polished by years of cozy fraternizing.

Well, my father had been a student activist from the start. Even after graduation, while he was studying for the civil service exam, he'd been active in the Maesan Democratic Youth Federation. To this day, his friends sat on the executive boards of civic organizations all over Maesan City.

Dig into that, and something interesting was bound to surface.

I hadn't decided anything yet. For now, I simply kept listening.

"Next is the matter of subsidy grants to local civil society organizations. Groups in the environmental, human rights, women's, and local commerce sectors receive subsidies and are currently running dozens of public-interest programs. These organizations, too, are an important pillar of resident autonomy in Maesan City."

"Is 'important' your personal opinion, Chief?"

"No, there's really no need to put it like that."

"Continue."

Eyes squeezed shut as if his pride had been flayed, my father picked the briefing back up. The rest was more of the same: revitalizing the hometown donation program, the state of village communities, the volunteer center's operating status... I listened with half an ear while working through the report he had written, and one passage in it nearly pulled a hollow laugh out of me before I could stop it.

Too much editorializing. I honestly wondered whether a civil servant had written this report. A public official who would put hands off the civic groups in writing, in an official document... Well, there were evidently plenty of them. The civic groups' reach into City Hall ran that deep.

But my father, it seemed, hadn't considered that I wasn't a product of the Together Democratic Party. It wasn't ignorance. My father was no fool, though depending on where you set the bar, that could be argued. And yet he had scrawled this into a report all the same.

He's still underestimating me.

He seemed to assume I would simply accept the argument, if only because I wouldn't want to poke the hornet's nest and get picketed on my commute, or have the mayor's office occupied out from under me.

"That concludes my report."

Finished, my father clasped his hands behind his back again and withdrew. Compared to how he'd begun, his spirit was noticeably deflated. Still, he had not forgotten to glare at me on his way out. I decided to give that unchanging attitude of his high marks. Whether I was the pushover second son at home or the mayor-elect I was now, my father remained, if nothing else, a remarkably consistent man.

Once the day's briefings were done, the man I had slated for Chief of Staff came over, carefully reading my mood. He was a colleague who had worked with me since the People's Choice Party's headquarters days. I'd thought of us as reasonably close, yet there he was, watching my face for signals, and not without reason. The uncomfortable topic (my father) was raised soon enough.

"Mayor-elect... might I ask your thoughts on Chief Min Taegi?"

It was a fair question. The son was mayor of Maesan City; the father was a division chief at Maesan City Hall. It wasn't illegal. If anything, had I come up through the administrative civil service exam, the Conflict of Interest Prevention Act or the personnel guidelines would have placed my father in a different department. But I was not a career official. I was an elected officeholder who had won with 81 percent of the vote. Legally, there was nothing to find fault with.

"I'm aware. It's an awkward situation."

There would be no favoritism scandal, either, because I had no intention of extending my father a single benefit. Fortunately, what the Chief of Staff proposed was a way to remove him quietly.

"Mayor-elect. How about sending him on secondment to a training institute?"

"The Local Autonomy Talent Development Institute?"

"Yes. Chief Min Taegi is close to retirement in any case. Send him off under the banner of a refresher course before he steps down, and things become easier for everyone."

A dead-end posting, some training, then retirement. If not for the wrongness I'd felt while sitting through his briefing, I might have taken the deal. A clean, total severance from my family was, after all, a rather attractive option in its own right.

"Hm. That one's a bit..."

At my noncommittal answer, the Chief of Staff offered an alternative.

"Then how about reassigning him without a post?"

"Mm."

"A nominal placement at the City Policy Research Institute, or as an expert adviser to the city council. Either way, it's a desk where he writes reports alone, without a single team member under him. No pointless controversy, and he would never once cross paths with you, Mr. Mayor."

In the end, it amounted to shoving him into a dead-end office and throwing away the key. It would be a waste of taxpayer money, too. I wasn't thrilled about arranging things so that my father could sit blankly in an office by himself and draw a salary. He could fume all he liked about being wronged by an unfilial son; in my book, it wouldn't even rank as one.

Then again, he wasn't worth the effort of a careful operation, either.

It was true that I needed a target to make an example of. My father could certainly fill the role. He was already serving his second stint as Citizen Cooperation Division chief, and he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was the sort of man who broke bread with civic group leaders like his own brothers, so there was no way nothing would turn up. Fraternizing was the root of all corruption.

And yet I hesitated, because there was a vanishingly small chance that my father really was an honest public servant. In that case, this would be nothing but private revenge. He wasn't a man worth that.

"Chief Choi, give me a moment to think..."

"Min Seojun."

At that moment, my father reappeared in the transition team's office. He glared at me for a long while, face gone stiff, and what finally came out of his mouth was a cheap little warning.

"Seojun, let me offer you one piece of advice. That post, that mayor's seat, is not something your own ability won you. It's natural to get carried away wearing a hat above your station, but watch yourself, lest you look arrogant in other people's eyes. Power devoid of reflection never lasts long."

"Reflection. Would that be another Habermas quote, by any chance?"

"Don't be sarcastic. Just keep my advice in mind."

Having delivered his solemn warning, my father shut the door behind him and left. The Chief of Staff, who had been recommending a quiet exit, and even the transition committee member seated nearby, a university professor recruited for the sake of appearances, both wore stricken expressions. I'd be lying if I claimed I wasn't embarrassed too. By my father's standards it was a rather restrained parting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shot, but still, in front of all these people...

Thanks to him, my mind was made up.

Found him. My example.

It was the moment the future in which my father coasted comfortably to retirement quietly ceased to exist.

A quiet exit was off the table now. If I was going to send my father out anyway, I needed to get something out of it myself.

Zero tolerance for corruption, even where family was concerned. An incorruptible mayor who put the public good above his own flesh and blood. That was more or less the shape of the reputation-building operation my father would be assisting with.

Whether the party concerned consented to it or not.