Bursting the Parasites (1)
Then my eyes met one of the people who had thrown a raw egg at me. It was Park Chung-geon, the union chairman I had seen in the office before coming out. I wondered what my smile meant to him. Park Chung-geon's eyes trembled as if he had seen a ghost, and he quickly looked away, avoiding my gaze.
What the hell? You threw an egg at my face, but you don't even have the guts to meet my eyes? My right cheekbone where the egg had hit throbbed. It seemed a proper bruise had formed. It wasn't just Park Chung-geon who was intimidated by my demeanor—neither retreating nor getting angry after being hit by an egg. Dozens of people sitting in front of me remained silent, even though anyone who threw an egg should have followed up with a slogan or two.
Chomp, chomp. Most people, caught in the suddenly cooled atmosphere after the egg incident had dampened the earlier excitement, focused on their meals as if they didn't want to get involved. Blank stares. Even those who had thrown the eggs and ruined the mood were looking elsewhere, trying to save face somehow. Amidst it all, someone cheerfully tapped the person next to them and offered their lunchbox.
"Hey, if you've got any eggs left, give me one. I want to mix it into my rice." Sure enough, an egg came out of a vest pocket, and the recipient cracked it into their rice and mixed it in thoroughly.
As the protest site atmosphere shifted from serious drama to comedy, I spoke again.
"It seems some of you are upset that I brought up a serious topic while you were eating. As I mentioned, I came here with the intention of accommodating your proposals as much as possible."
Clap, clap, clap. Applause from the corner stopped under Park Chung-geon's glare. I looked at the employee who had just clapped and continued my closing remarks.
"A document detailing specific improvements will be ready for you to review once you've finished eating. After reading it, if you believe QS Delivery is now a company worth working for, please go home today, rest well, and return to work starting tomorrow. Thank you."
Not long after I returned to the office, President Seong Yun-hwan personally distributed the document outlining the labor-management agreements.
* * *
After about two hours, the events I had planned were falling into place one after another. Reporters at the protest site had published articles featuring photos of me being hit by raw eggs.
- QS Delivery management expresses willingness to fully accept strike demands; what about funding measures?
- Workers' right to collective action does not justify violence against management
- QS Group third son, lawyer Kwon Ho-gyun, personally steps in at strike site to resolve situation
The headlines were exactly what I wanted. Damn, that bruise on my cheek really came out strong. My handsome face is ruined. I wonder if my fan club comments won't show up this time because of it?
Since articles favorable to the union had been coming out until now, these new pieces must have felt like a proper blow to the back of their heads. Glancing out the window at the protest site, the number of people had already dropped to less than half. Once they saw the negotiation terms I offered, they had no justification to continue the strike, and with crossfire from the media they thought were on their side, they probably realized staying would only brand them as violent protesters. The clause I had Seong Yun-hwan include in the agreement—that employees who continued striking would be excluded from the new working conditions—had likely played its part as well.
More and more people were leaving the protest site when, just as I thought the QS Delivery strike I had agreed to resolve was wrapped up, something seemed to be happening. Park Chung-geon and the people who had thrown eggs at me appeared to be holding a meeting, after which they made phone calls somewhere. I could see them through the window but couldn't hear the conversations, so I watched curiously, wondering who they were calling.
About thirty minutes later, something I hadn't anticipated unfolded in front of the QS Delivery office building. Several large, rough-looking cars arrived, and people wearing red headbands poured out. Squinting, I read the words on the headbands: "Solidarity," "Struggle," and even "Death"—words that sent a chill down my spine. It wasn't just people who got out of the cars. Each carried a bottle, which they lined up conspicuously in front of the protest site. Through the wide-open car doors, I could clearly see wooden clubs and numerous picket signs. Huh? Was that an LPG gas canister?
Just then, Seong Yun-hwan entered the executive office where I was, still holding his lunchbox.
"Young master, you haven't eaten yet, have you?"
"Ah, President. Perfect timing. Let's eat slowly. Could you take a look over there?"
Seong Yun-hwan looked out the window where I pointed and clicked his tongue.
"Aigoo, those people are here again."
"Do you know them? They're not QS Delivery employees, right?"
"No. I've seen them a few times. When Park Chung-geon's strikes aren't going well, he calls them in. I have no idea what kind of people they are. Look over there—they're already getting ready to shout with that red megaphone."
"I said I'd accept all the union's demands, so why are they doing this?"
"I told you. These people strike for the sake of striking. Their demands are just for show. Since you accepted all the conditions and the strikers started leaving, they're probably even more determined now."
I could roughly guess how the situation was unfolding. Ironically, in our country, there exist "strike specialists." This is a profession that doesn't even exist in Europe, where discussions about labor rights began earliest in the world—let alone in France, the strike capital. They aren't legal experts like me who negotiate conditions and reach settlements within the bounds of current law. They are the type who feel satisfied only when they bring management to its knees by any means necessary, whether through violence or behind-the-scenes scheming.
As the representative with full authority from management and a legal expert, I knew exactly how to crush them.
"President Seong Yun-hwan?"
The QS Delivery president, standing beside me, answered promptly.
"Yes, young master."
"Those new arrivals aren't even our company union members, and even though I said I'd accept all the strike conditions, they're threatening to use violent methods, right?"
"Pardon?"
"Those newcomers—1. They're not our company employees, 2. Even after management said we'd fully accept the return-to-work conditions, they're still striking, and 3. Those lined-up bottles are implying violence against us, correct?"
Seong Yun-hwan adjusted his glasses for a moment, glanced out the window once more, then replied.
"Everything you just said seems correct, but this level of thing has happened countless times during our company's strikes. Aigoo, I'm sorry. As president, I couldn't even handle this one thing."
I smiled at Seong Yun-hwan, who had suddenly bowed his head deeply.
"It's fine. I can imagine how much trouble you've had to deal with all this time."
"Pardon?"
"I'll take care of that myself."
"Young master, what if you get hit with a Molotov cocktail instead of an egg this time?"
Seong Yun-hwan's gaze was fixed on my right cheek. Damn, I still hadn't looked in a mirror, but getting hit with one egg had apparently left a massive bruise.
"I'm a lawyer."
"Pardon?"
"I'm a legal professional who upholds this country's laws, and I'm not naive enough to stand by and watch an illegal strike like that. What I just asked you were the conditions that determine whether a strike is legal or not."
"Ah, is that so?"
"Yes. As a legal professional, I believe workers' rights should be fully protected, but as you've been saying, the law doesn't protect people who strike just for the sake of striking."
"Then what do you plan to do?"
I touched my bruised right cheek with my fingertips as I answered. Damn, it hurts this much just from a light touch?
"First, please call the police. Tell them there are people with Molotov cocktails and clubs prepared, and ask them to come here immediately. If they give a lukewarm response, say it's a call from lawyer Kwon Ho-gyun acting as representative. If they ask for the charges, say it's obstruction of business by force."
"But there are still reporters camped out there. Will that be okay?"
"That's exactly why it's better. We've already had favorable articles published about us. Yet they're still preparing a violent response. It seems like these people are the reason the QS Delivery strike keeps flaring up even after it ends. Let's put an end to it for good this time."
"Understood, young master."
"If the police say they can't come or try to push back legally, put me on the line immediately. That happens sometimes, but this is clearly an illegal strike no matter how you look at it."
* * *
That evening, the external protesters were dispersed by the arriving police forces, leaving only a few QS Delivery employees loyal to union chairman Park Chung-geon to guard the site alone. After dinner, as I watched the protest site through the window, my phone rang. A quick glance at the screen showed an unknown number. Seeing Park Chung-geon outside the window with his phone pressed to his ear, pacing with a complicated expression, it wasn't hard to figure out who was calling me.
"Yes, this is Kwon Ho-gyun."
Park Chung-geon below glanced up and met my eyes.
"Yes, I'm calling from downstairs. This is Park Chung-geon, chairman of the QS Delivery union."
"I personally stated both verbally and in writing that I would accept all the strike negotiation terms proposed by the union side during the day. Yet you're continuing the strike, and I don't know how you got my personal number, but what's the reason for calling me like this?"
"Well, I... I'd like to meet with you briefly."
A striking union chairman calling the management representative with full authority from the group level to request a private meeting? Even after we publicly announced we'd accept all the union's proposed conditions?
In that moment, I had a hunch. This was the opportunity to finally end the endless cycle of QS Delivery strikes and completely wrap up the task I had confidently taken on for the Central Management Headquarters and Chairman Kwon Byung-do.
"Very well. Where would you like to meet?"
"There's a Chinese restaurant called Hwalin-gak about thirty minutes away by car from the company. Do you know it?"
"I don't know the location, but I'll find it. I'll see you in about two hours."
"Yes. I'll see you soon."