Political Philosophy
Yun-hyeok's press conference was held on Friday evening at seven o'clock, after working hours, in the main lecture hall on the second floor of Mir City Hall.
However, none of Yun-hyeok's close aides, such as Kim Min-cheol or Jo Hyeon-seo, were present.
Yun-hyeok had forbidden them from coming. This was because he was not holding this event as the Mayor of Mir City, but as Lee Yun-hyeok, the individual politician.
Thus, even the rental of the hall was paid for using his political fund account, following the exact same procedures any ordinary citizen would.
Mayor...
Jo Hyeon-seo had not gone home. He remained at his desk in the mayoral secretariat, watching the live broadcast on his phone.
His heart was in his throat.
You can do this!
Yun-hyeok was embarking on a grueling battle.
Han Gi-jeong, Choi Gwang-seop, Seol Jung-ho, Seo I-gyeong.
Those political rivals were not the real issue.
The issue was the founding of a new party.
This event would send massive shockwaves through society.
Down on the first floor of the main building, Kim Min-cheol sat with the department directors. Many city hall employees had not yet left for the day. If the atmosphere grew chaotic, Kim Min-cheol planned to soothe the staff.
To tell them not to worry.
To ask them if they didn't know what their mayor was capable of.
When he first mentioned founding a party, I thought it was absurd.
Kim Min-cheol had strongly opposed it back then. A third-party option was highly likely to end up as a mere satellite of the two major parties, or a lukewarm, non-committal faction.
But now, he genuinely believed they could split the political landscape into three.
Yun-hyeok's personal branding was exceptional, the timing was perfect, and the new party's motto and system were revolutionary.
A truly member-centric party.
Over at the City Council, Chairman Jeong Hyeong-seok watched the live press conference on his monitor, his body tense with anticipation.
Yun-hyeok had declared he would build that party.
Jeong Hyeong-seok had agreed.
This society desperately needed something like that.
While it was somewhat awkward for a local government head to engage in radical political activities like founding a party, the same did not apply to a city councilman.
Thus, Jeong Hyeong-seok had been quietly preparing the groundwork for the party's creation on Yun-hyeok's behalf.
Things like securing local provincial and municipal party offices, for instance.
Outside of city hall and the council, there was one more person rooting for—no, praying for—Yun-hyeok.
"Please!"
Ji Hye-min was not religious, but at this moment, she was willing to pray to anyone.
"Please let this crazy party not get torn to shreds..."
She believed Yun-hyeok's philosophy was correct.
But an overly revolutionary system was bound to invite public backlash.
—Except in very special circumstances, the party I intend to create...
On the screen, Yun-hyeok flipped the switch on the bomb.
—...will establish it as a fundamental rule that all internal party votes are made public.
In his third life, Lee Yun-hyeok had been a philosophy professor.
After running rampant through the political and financial worlds in his first and second lives, he had chosen to live in seclusion like a scholar in a back room.
He had started a family, earned just enough to get by, and dedicated himself to deep contemplation.
What is democracy?
What must democracy become?
Where does the power to heal this sick nation come from?
Sometimes he communicated via email with the world's leading philosophers, sometimes he attended academic conferences via video link, and other times he visited them in person to exchange ideas.
Though Yun-hyeok had delved into various branches of philosophy, the core of his thesis was this:
We must abolish the secret ballot.
It sounded unrealistic, but it was entirely feasible at the political party level. Internal party voting followed the party's own bylaws and was not bound by constitutional principles of secret elections.
We are educated to believe that the secret ballot is an indispensable requirement of democracy, but that is not historically accurate.
In ancient Athens and Rome, open voting was the fundamental form of democracy.
The very idea that the secrecy of a vote is linked to the protection of rights is a modern concept.
It arose alongside the expansion of universal suffrage, combined with the logic of preventing corruption (such as vote-buying or coercion) and protecting voters' rights.
For example, in the mid-to-late 19th century in Britain, France, and the United States, under open viva voce voting systems, it was commonplace for wealthy landowners and employers to coerce or bribe laborers and tenants into voting a certain way.
At that point in history, the secret ballot was undoubtedly effective in protecting the genuine will of the voters.
He acknowledged that.
But had no one ever thought of it this way?
An employer forcing a worker to vote for a specific candidate is a form of workplace harassment; buying votes with money is a violation of election law; and discrimination is an issue that must be resolved directly—just like discrimination against the disabled or racial discrimination—not something to be swept under the rug of anonymity.
A stopgap measure used to address a complex, difficult problem has, after two hundred years, reached a point where its harms far outweigh its benefits.
The representative harm was this:
"As you, the citizens, have witnessed, elite politicians no longer listen to the opinions of party members, citizens, or the public. The political sphere and the people have become severely disconnected."
Is 'representative democracy' truly the most evolved form of democracy?
The philosopher Rousseau launched a scathing critique, arguing that sovereignty cannot be alienated, and that expressing the will of the people through representatives is a fundamental contradiction.
He pointed out that the English people believe themselves to be free, but they are only free during the election of members of parliament; as soon as they are elected, they are slaves, they are nothing.
"And our society is currently facing a grave crisis. We have become a nation with the highest suicide rate in the world and the lowest birth rate. Many hold the political establishment responsible. But, ladies and gentlemen..."
Yun-hyeok said,
"The ultimate responsibility lies with the citizens."
It was a painful, uncomfortable truth.
People who vote solely based on party affiliation without researching or verifying the candidates.
People who blindly believe photos or videos of dubious origin floating around the internet.
Or people who skip voting to go on trips, treating election day merely as a holiday.
People who, even when Baek Hyeong-guk embezzled over ten billion won, absolved themselves of blame by claiming they were just 'duped victims' for voting for him.
They do not take responsibility.
Anonymity dilutes accountability.
"Democracy is a system where the citizens hold the sovereignty of the state. Therefore, the ultimate responsibility must also be borne by the citizens."
Some might say:
If the country is ruined by poorly chosen politicians, the citizens are the ones who ultimately suffer the consequences, and that is how they bear responsibility.
Yun-hyeok disagreed.
Accepting life in a dystopia is despair, not a deep sense of responsibility.
"As responsible sovereigns, please step forward actively to resolve this national crisis."
Yun-hyeok declared,
"Sovereignty cannot be anonymous."
The camera shutters clicked in rapid succession.
"Please summon your burning passion and great courage to resolve the crisis gripping this nation, and to protect our neighbors and our future."
Yun-hyeok cried out,
"Do that, and I will birth a truly member-centric political party. It will be a model unprecedented not just in this country, but anywhere in the world."
The party's system would adopt representation, but it would compensate for its limitations.
"We will create a portal on the party's website to view the status of all votes. Accessible only through member authentication, this portal will allow members to withdraw their votes at any time."
This would transform hollow approval ratings into a tangible, active force.
"If a party leader fires friendly shots at their own party's candidate, or if a supreme council member leaks a scandal to the opposition, and the members find such behavior unforgivable, we will allow them to withdraw the votes they cast for that individual."
Yun-hyeok said,
"Furthermore, we will implement a system where if the party leader or supreme council members lose half of the votes they received during their election, they will automatically be stripped of their positions."
Representative democracy remained a useful system that could fully utilize the expertise of elite politicians.
However, the time had come to adjust the balance so that the political sphere and the citizens did not drift too far apart.
It was time to tighten the loose screws.
"If opinions arise suggesting a primary candidate needs to be replaced, instead of the party leadership engaging in backroom power struggles, we will establish a system to ask the members directly. Instead of the leadership handpicking candidates through strategic nominations to suit their tastes, we will leave the voting for all candidates entirely to the members."
Yun-hyeok continued,
"Instead of spending astronomical sums to rent out gymnasiums and set up physical voting booths for voting members, we will utilize online voting. Leveraging its convenience and economic efficiency, we will reflect the opinions of our members far more in the party's major decision-making processes."
In truth, online voting for voting members already existed in established parties.
But it was plagued by controversy.
This was because those votes were conducted via secret ballot, managed by the party's internal election commission—which was not a constitutional body like the National Election Commission, but merely an affiliated organization set up by the party itself.
Consequently, it was easily influenced by the leadership's whims, breeding distrust. Indeed, it had frequently been embroiled in manipulation scandals.
"A party where members relinquish anonymity, stand tall as sovereigns, and shoulder responsibility, thereby holding the ultimate power. A truly member-centric party. A party of courageous citizens uniting to save this nation from crisis."
Yun-hyeok declared,
"A party where its members are the party constitution!"
It was nothing short of a declaration of war against the entire political establishment.
"Build it with me."
Since Plato, countless voices had argued:
That leaving politics to the masses would lead to ochlocracy—mob rule. That politics must be left to the elites.
That the public is foolish.
That direct democracy is doomed to fail.
Yun-hyeok thought otherwise.
It was not that the people were too foolish to practice direct democracy.
Rather, they became foolish because they were kept from practicing it.
I am staking this life on this very gamble.
If he failed, it would be a firing squad.
But if he succeeded, wouldn't it be a revolution?
He's insane.
That was Seol Jung-ho's immediate thought.
"I was actually trying to recruit a complete lunatic..."
He had seen all kinds of weirdos in politics over the years, but this guy was on an entirely different level.
What kind of politician looks the public in the eye during a press conference and tells them, "This is your fault"? It made absolutely no sense.
To tear down the secret ballot—a constitutional principle so ancient, so familiar, and so utterly taken for granted.
Was this even possible?
He was proposing a brand-new model that shook the very foundations of the existing political system.
The backlash would undoubtedly be severe.
"If a system like that is put into place, how can the leadership get anything done? They'll be walking on eggshells around the members constantly," the chief of staff pointed out.
The chief of staff saw that as the fatal flaw.
"That's why he said if you lose half the votes that got you elected as leader, you're automatically ousted," Seol Jung-ho said.
If more than half of your own supporters abandoned you, it meant you had committed a truly catastrophic blunder, and as a politician, you had to face the music.
And if they left even though you did a good job, that was still on you. It meant you were incompetent at explaining your achievements even to your own base.
Slam!
Someone kicked open the door to Assemblyman Seol Jung-ho's office.
It was Seo I-gyeong, her face pale as a ghost.
"Did you just see the broadcast?"
"I saw the whole thing."
"This is no time for us to be fighting among ourselves! Lee Yun-hyeok becoming governor is just losing one metropolitan municipality, but this is a completely different beast!"
"..."
Amidst the inexplicable anxiety and confusion, a strange thought crossed Seol Jung-ho's mind.
Perhaps, from the very moment Lee Yun-hyeok received Choi Gwang-seop's leverage files...
...founding a new party had been his plan all along.
Returning those files to Choi Gwang-seop to sow discord within the Liberty Party, while Han Gi-jeong ran wild trying to reap the benefits of the chaos...
...waiting for the public's disgust with the political establishment to reach its absolute peak.
And when all eyes were focused on him as he willingly stepped into the center of that massive vortex of scandal...
...he had declared this insane party.
Thanks to that, he had successfully captured everyone's undivided attention.
"Many people will be terrified of revealing their political leanings," the chief of staff told Han Gi-jeong at the Gyeonggi Provincial Office, which was now in a state of emergency.
"Honestly, anonymity is comfortable. There's going to be massive pushback."
"That's why he's doing it within his own party. It wouldn't even be possible in a presidential or general election anyway."
Han Gi-jeong took a long drag from his electronic cigarette. But it was empty, and the device blinked dead.
"He's only recruiting people who want to have a direct say in electing the party leadership. If you don't like it, you don't join. Simple as that."
He swapped out the liquid cartridge.
"The Hanmin Party has 1.2 million voting members, and the Liberty Party has 800,000."
To begin with, the membership of the two major parties was a drop in the bucket compared to the nation's total population of 52 million.
"Out of 52 million people, do you really think he can't find a million who would agree with that crazy idea?"
Even if public opinion split fifty-fifty, it was a win.
Having generated such massive buzz, the founding of this party was already a success.
"Look at the chat."
On politician Lee Yun-hyeok's YouTube channel, the real-time comment section was absolutely exploding.
"We're in trouble."
Everyone in Yeouido was likely thinking the exact same thing.
The local elections were right around the corner, so who knew what would happen, but the general election was in two years.
And the sheer, explosive buzz surrounding this crazy party.
Just how much would it grow in two years? At the very least, wouldn't it reach hundreds of thousands of members, posing a direct threat to the Hanmin and Liberty parties?
Perhaps, in an unprecedented turn of events, the National Assembly would truly be split into three.