Korea JoongAng Daily - Daily News from Korea

The author is a writer and senior fellow at the Institute for Social and Economic Research. By 1945, Nazi Germany was in retreat. On the Eastern Front, Soviet forces advanced steadily westward, pushing back German lines. On Jan. 27, Soviet troops reached the vicinity of the Polish town of Oswiecim. There stood Auschwitz, the largest Nazi concentration and extermination camp. It was the moment when the greatest and most horrific war crime in human history was exposed to the world. Auschwitz was too vast to conceal. Even as the front collapsed and defeat loomed, the Nazis could not bring themselves to abandon the machinery of mass murder. They transferred most prisoners elsewhere, leaving behind roughly 7,000 people. They attempted to destroy the camp to erase evidence, but what remained defied imagination. Investigators found 48,820 men's suits, 836,255 women's coats, hundreds of thousands of pairs of shoes and more than 6,350 kilograms of human hair. The number of victims is estimated at 1.1 million, of whom about 1 million were Jews. The history of genocide is as old as human history itself. Yet Auschwitz occupies a singular place in that grim record. It demonstrated how the most primitive impulses of racial hatred and exclusion could be fused with the most advanced science, technology and administrative systems of the era to produce industrialized mass murder. It revealed with brutal clarity that rational thinking and efficiency, when reduced to purely instrumental tools divorced from moral judgment, can generate outcomes far more terrifying than unreasoning violence. In this sense, Auschwitz became a defining negative lesson for the postwar international order. The establishment of the United Nations in 1945 and the adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights at the third UN General Assembly in 1948 were inseparable from the shock Auschwitz inflicted on humanity. A shared conviction emerged that states must never incite racial discrimination or hatred and that they bear an absolute responsibility to protect the lives and safety of all people under their authority. Looking at news from around the world today, it is difficult to escape the unease that these lessons are fading. Rhetoric that stigmatizes minorities, policies that treat certain lives as expendable and political movements that draw strength from fear and resentment are again gaining ground. This article was originally written in Korean and translated by a bilingual reporter with the help of generative AI tools. It was then edited by a native English-speaking editor. All AI-assisted translations are reviewed and refined by our newsroom.

Yoo Jee-hye The author is the head of the diplomatic and security news department at the JoongAng Ilbo. The reception Korea extended to Elbridge Colby, the U.S. under secretary of war for policy and widely regarded as a key power broker at the Pentagon, was notably generous. On Monday, his visit began with a breakfast meeting with Foreign Minister Cho Hyun, followed by separate meetings with National Security Office Director Wi Sung-lac and Defense Minister Ahn Gyu-back. Colby also had dinner with Ahn, meeting him twice in a single day. In effect, three ministers were mobilized to receive one vice minister-level official. Strictly speaking, Colby's counterpart would be Lee Doo-hee, Korea's vice defense minister. Defense Minister Ahn is the counterpart of Pete Hegseth, the U.S. secretary of war and Colby's superior. As suggested by the fact that Ahn's meeting with Colby was officially described as a "courtesy call" rather than formal talks, the encounter did not align neatly with protocol. That Ahn nonetheless took the lead likely reflected the significance of the new U.S. National Defense Strategy, released on Friday. As the strategy's chief architect, Colby was someone Korean officials very much wanted to hear from and someone to whom they had much to convey. What Korea likely wanted to hear was: reassurance that the U.S. defense commitment to Korea remains unchanged; confirmation of smooth follow-up on the introduction of nuclear-powered submarines and revisions to the bilateral nuclear cooperation agreement as outlined in the joint fact sheet agreed by the two presidents; and support for accelerating the transfer of wartime operational control within President Lee Jae Myung's term. What Korea likely wanted to emphasize was its status as a model ally. At the summit level, Seoul has already pledged to adopt the "Trump-style standard" of raising defense spending to 5 percent of GDP and to faithfully implement that commitment. When senior U.S. officials tour Korea and Japan, logistic considerations usually lead them to visit Japan first. Colby's decision to come to Korea before Japan may also reflect his view of Korea as a model ally. Yet the newly-released National Defense Strategy suggests that the weight carried by that label is heavier than it appears. The country the strategy explicitly and repeatedly describes as a model ally is Israel. It notes that Israel repelled attacks by the Palestinian militant group Hamas largely on its own, without direct U.S. military involvement, and defended its territory through self-reliance. Applying the Israeli model of alliance behavior to a contingency on the Korean Peninsula leads to a stark conclusion. The strategy's statement that Korea bears "primary responsibility for deterring North Korea with critical but limited U.S. support" could be read as meaning that, in the event of a conventional attack by North Korea, Korea would largely be expected to handle the situation on its own. Many experts see this as also implying that Korea should not expect significant U.S. reinforcement forces in a crisis. The strategy states that the U.S. military will focus on defending its homeland and deterring China, and adds that "a shift in the balance of responsibility" aligns with U.S. interests in modernizing the posture of U.S. Forces Korea (USFK). This effectively signals potential changes to the role or scale of U.S. forces stationed in Korea. Particularly noteworthy is the phrase "shift in the balance," which contrasts with the language used for Europe. Regarding Europe, the strategy says the United States is "calibrating" the posture and role of U.S. forces in the European theater. With the results of the Global Posture Review expected to be released soon, this amounts to an advance notice of reductions in U.S. forces in Europe. Put differently, the strategy could be interpreted as maintaining troop levels on the Korean Peninsula while shifting their mission from deterring North Korea to co...

The author is the chief editor of digital content at the JoongAng Ilbo. During a recent business trip to Tokyo, the political atmosphere felt unusually charged ahead of Japan's House of Representatives election set for Feb. 8. The contest was triggered by Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi's decision to dissolve the lower house, a gamble intended to shore up the Liberal Democratic Party's (LDP) fragile grip on power by seeking a renewed mandate. The opposition's counterstroke to the sudden dissolution has been the launch of an election-focused new party. The Constitutional Democratic Party, the largest opposition force, joined with Komeito, which ended its 26-year coalition with the LDP, to form the Centrist Reform Alliance, known simply as the Centrists. That the party chose "centrist" both as its banner and its core pledge is striking. Its goal is to push the LDP out of what it frames as hard-line or right-wing conservatism. Takaichi's long-run wager has been met by a new party created by two centrist conservative forces, producing an intriguing contest in the political middle. In a political system crowded with hereditary elites, the clash between leaders marketed as ordinary also draws attention. Takaichi, the daughter of an office worker and a police officer, and Yoshihiko Noda, leader of the Constitutional Democratic Party and son of a Self-Defense Forces officer, are alumni of the Matsushita Institute of Government and Management, often described as a training ground for politicians of modest backgrounds. While Japan's conservative camp appears dynamic, Korea's conservatives face a period of darkness and dread. Legal judgments are steadily emerging over former President Yoon Suk Yeol's delusional declaration of martial law. His irresponsibility, finger-pointing and brazen demeanor in court, after pushing the entire conservative bloc toward the brink, will weigh heavily on its future for years. By contrast, President Lee Jae Myung's eastward advance looks formidable, a term long used in Korea to describe efforts by a traditionally liberal camp rooted in the southwestern Gwangju-Jeolla regions to break into the conservative strongholds of the southeastern Gyeongsang region. During the presidential campaign, he declared that the Democratic Party was a centrist conservative party. Now, with a posture of pragmatic governance beyond ideology, faction or perpetual confrontation, he appears poised to absorb the space left by a historically weak opposition. If Kim Dae-jung's eastward strategy once focused on recruiting individuals, Lee's version is an ideological and strategic expansion anchored in pragmatism. Korea's conservatives risk being pushed not only out of the center but even out of their own moderate conservative ground, confined to the margins of the far right. At the heart of this existential crisis stand three figures: Jang Dong-hyeok, Han Dong-hoon and Lee Jun-seok. Through the June local elections and perhaps well beyond, conservatives may have little choice but to entrust their fate to them. As in Japan, where politics is being reshaped by personalities, the present and future of Korea's enfeebled conservative camp rest squarely on their shoulders. Yet their conduct has been deeply disappointing. Ambition is visible, but strategy and sacrifice are not. Jang, leader of the People Power Party, launched a hunger strike in a burst of overreach during the push to expel former leader Han. Despite claims of conservative mobilization, the impact on party approval ratings was minimal. His decision to end the strike immediately after former President Park Geun-hye called for restraint, while hesitating to break decisively with Yoon, was politically telling. Caught between two impeached former presidents, it is unclear whether his stalled political orientation can attract the centrist voters who hold the key to Korean politics. Han fares little better. His half-hearted apology over an internal party message board controver...

Koh Hyun-kohn The author is the chief editorial writer at the JoongAng Ilbo. The withdrawal of Lee Hye-hoon as the nominee for minister of budget invites uncomfortable reflection. At the most basic level, it raises questions about the dignity and moral standards expected of society's leadership. Lee may be intelligent and well connected, but judging by the allegations that surfaced, she did not live uprightly. There is little evidence of the ethical awareness or sense of responsibility expected of a public figure. It is difficult to understand how someone could serve three terms as a lawmaker, move fluidly between Seoul's Dongdaemun and Jung-Seongdong constituencies and North Chungcheong and pursue power without hesitation. That such a figure was not filtered out earlier points to a serious gap in Korea's vetting system. How should the public interpret the decision to offer her a cabinet post despite the obvious risk of her liabilities being exposed during confirmation hearings? Was it political nerve honed over years of experience, or was it arrogance rooted in the belief that these issues did not matter? Lee is hardly alone. Recent controversies involving lawmakers Kweon Seong-dong, Kim Byung-kee, Kang Sun-woo and Chun Jae-soo echo the pattern, as do scandals from past administrations. There are likely many members of the elite who still wield power simply because they managed to conceal their wrongdoing. When allegations poured out years ago against Cho Kuk, the leader of the Rebuilding Korea Party, progressives defended him by saying that anyone would have something turn up if scrutinized closely enough. In shielding one of their own, they dramatically lowered the legal and moral standards society should uphold, even as they claimed the mantle of fairness and justice. Corruption has spread across entrenched interests, regardless of ideology. Bribery, real estate speculation, tax evasion, admissions fraud involving children, plagiarism and abuse of power have become all too familiar. But those implicated show little remorse. Instead, they raise their voices to protect their privilege and cling to hope that they can weather the storm; even if they fall, they quietly re-emerge once memories of their actions fade. The people who repeatedly pay the price are citizens who take at face value politicians' hollow pledges to "serve only the public." The People Power Party branded Lee a traitor and escalated its attacks, but that amounts to spitting in its own face. Until recently, she chaired the party's district committee in Seoul's Jung-Seongdong area. She received the party's nomination five times, including three runs in the coveted Seocho A District. It is fair to ask whether conservatives should be throwing stones at someone they helped bring to that position. More troubling is the government's vetting capacity. Lee's reputation, by many accounts, was no great secret in political circles. Journalists had little difficulty uncovering a string of allegations. President Lee Jae Myung rhetorically asked how the government could know whether she had mistreated aides. But was the government truly unaware? The poorly handled appointment has dulled the original intent of inclusive governance, which was meant to transcend factions and draw broadly from the talent pool. In practice, few administrations have genuinely embraced this ideal. The often cited Kim Dae-jung–Kim Jong-pil alliance was less an exercise in inclusion than a division of spoils within a joint government, and even that unraveled midterm. Subsequent presidents were similarly reluctant. Moon Jae-in pledged at his inauguration to recruit capable figures regardless of political loyalty but governed narrowly. Yoon Suk Yeol's preference for prosecutors and alumni of specific schools hardly merits discussion. Eight months into the Lee Jae Myung administration, nine presidential contemporaries from the judicial examination or training institute have been appointed to hea...

This article is by Shin Ha-nee and read by an artificial voice. Seoul is a city of duality, where the old and the new coexist: the tranquillity of centuries-old palaces and soaring mountains set against the restless energy of a megacity and its fast-paced culture. 82Major, a K-pop act named after Korea's calling code, has positioned itself as a standout in the cutthroat industry by building its identity on this dichotomy. At its two-and-a-half-hour concert, "Bebeom: Be the Tiger," taking place in the heart of the city, the six-piece boy band opened with distinctly Seoul-like spectacles — tradition and trend seamlessly woven together into contemporary pop — powered by the members' strong live performances. By the finale, however, it was its fandom that filled the venue to its fullest, their roof-raising chants creating the sense of collective unity that defines K-pop culture. The two-day Seoul kickoff of 82Major's latest tour, which marks its fifth concert series, took place at Blue Square SOL Travel Hall in Yongsan District, central Seoul, on Saturday and Sunday. The concert's title, "Bebeom: Be the Tiger," is witty wordplay: bibeom in Korean means "extraordinary," and beom means "tiger," an animal of cultural significance in Korea's national identity. "Since today's title is 'Bebeom,' I'll go with a roar instead of a meow," declared member Park Seok-joon at the beginning of the night. 82Major debuted in 2023 under Great M Entertainment and consists of six members: Park, Cho Seong-il, Kim Do-gyun, Nam Seong-mo, Hwang Seong-bin and Yoon Ye-chan. The group has consistently incorporated traditional Korean elements into its visuals, such as taekwondo uniforms, as seen in the critically acclaimed "Stuck" (2024) music video. True to the title, the Sunday show opened with a stage design filled with traditional motifs. At the beginning of the evening, six vertical light-emitting diode (LED) panels on stage served as wooden-and-paper doors of a traditional Korean structure. As the "doors" lifted, bamboo groves swayed against a deep red backdrop, accompanied by a fashion-show-like bass line, fusing heritage with modernity. Black ink then spilled and spread across the screen like an ink wash painting in progress, followed by members emerging between the vertical center LED panel, dressed in outfits inspired by traditional Korean clothing, or hanbok, before launching into "Heroes" (2025). The motif continued with "Passport" (2025), during which a solitary pine tree stood framed within the outline of a traditional palace door. The set list continued into "Thorns" (2024) and then "Stuck" and "Choke" (2025). The intense run took a brief turn toward a romantic, slower mood with "Say More" (2025) and "Face Time" (2024), before the tempo surged again with "Takeover" (2025) and "Trophy" (2025). 82Major's musical identity centers on hip-hop, with the members actively involved in production and rap-writing. As with other self-producing groups, those strengths came sharply into focus in a live setting. Starting with Yoon's DJing session, the energy further escalated with the unreleased track "Muri," as the six members gathered around a white pin light, stepping into it one by one to deliver fierce rap verses in a charismatic performance. The first highlight of the night came with "Need That Bass" (2025), where the crowd and the performers traded the chorus line, "I need that bass," truly turning the audience into part of the act. The track was followed by Nam's solo track "Pinterest Luv" (2025), which features singer Moon Su-jin in its original version. While Moon appeared as a guest on Saturday, Kim took her place on Sunday with a wig and cap, singing the female verse in its original key — an unexpected, playful surprise that drew cheers for commitment. During the encore, 82Major kept its words to go into full-acceleration mode, launching into unreleased tracks "Fire" and "Overheating," alongside unit performances. At fans' enthusiastic re...

This article is by Woo Ji-won and read by an artificial voice. Several online travel booking platforms on Monday showed lodging prices in Jongno and Jung districts climbing to as much as five times their usual weekend rates for the night before and the day of the performance, March 21. Four-star Koreana Hotel near Gwanghwamun Station, which charges an average of 225,000 won ($156) for a Saturday-night room in Feburary, listed the same rooms at 1.35 million won for March 21. President Hotel listed rooms for March 21 at 443,000 won, double this Saturday's price of 205,000 won. Some hotels, including the five-star Four Seasons hotel, have already sold out, despite some listing prices more than double compared to regular weekends. "We are gradually seeing more reservations after the news broke out that BTS will perform at Gwanghwamun Square," said an official from Nine Tree By Parnas Seoul Insadong. Motels nearby are seeing similar trends. A motel in Jongno saw its standard Saturday rate rise from around 130,000 won to 480,000 won on the night of the performance, while another motel increased its usual 210,000 won room to 630,000 won. The surge comes as the Gwanghwamun performance will mark BTS's first appearance as a full group in three years and nine months. The free event will also serve as the launch stage for the group's fifth full-length album, "Arirang." To what is described as so-called "rip-off pricing," the city government has been working to counter the price gouging problem. "Starting today, we are conducting inspections of accommodation facilities in Jongno and Jung districts, jointly with our tourism division and district offices," a Seoul city official told Korea JoongAng Daily. The inspections cover approximately 280 accommodation facilities in Jongno and 411 in Jung, both located near the performance venue. On-site inspections focus on whether businesses have properly listed their room rates within their posted rates and whether prices have risen excessively. Under the Public Health Control Act, accommodation providers such as hotels and motels are required to publicly post their official prices. Charging more than the posted rate can result in administrative penalties, beginning with corrective orders and escalating to eventual closure for repeated violations. However, the effectiveness of such measures is limited, as accommodation providers are legally allowed to revise their posted prices. And with no legal cap on room rates, as long as businesses charge within their self-posted price categories, even if prices surge by three or five times their usual level, it remains difficult to impose penalties, according to government officials. "The purpose of these inspections is to encourage voluntary restraint," the Seoul official said. "It is also meant to signal that authorities are monitoring the situation and that accommodation providers should refrain from charging excessively high rates." A Jung District official said the district is also monitoring online travel agency platforms and sending official notices to accommodation providers in an effort to ease the problem. A similar price-gouging pattern has also emerged in Busan, after the news broke that BTS World Tour concerts will take place in the port city on June 12 and 13. According to industry sources, some accommodation providers there have raised prices by as much as tenfold. At one property in Dongnae District, a room priced at 68,000 won on June 10 jumped to 769,000 won on June 12 and 13. Another accommodation in Gijang County raised its rate from 99,000 won on June 10 to 790,000 won on June 12 and June 13. With the Busan concert venue yet to be finalized, accommodation prices across the city have risen overall. In response to price spikes, Busan city authorities are seeking to expand incentives for "Good Price" establishments — a program run by the Ministry of the Interior and Safety and local governments that rewards accommodation providers and res...

This article is by Shin Ha-nee and read by an artificial voice. What's your New Year's wish? It's okay to be a little "delulu" — for Gen Z K-pop girlies KiiiKiii, manifesting wildly unrealistic dreams is the whole point. "As we mark the beginning of the year with a new album, we prepared this EP as if we were making a wish," said member Sui during a press showcase held at Yes24 Live Hall in eastern Seoul on Monday, ahead of the release of the quintet's second EP, "Delulu Pack." "The core concept of the album starts with us dreaming of making our unique and fun wishes come true," she added. KiiiKiii's second EP, "Delulu Pack," comes about five months after the digital single "Dancing Alone" (2025) and 10 months after the group's debut EP. The six-track album, which draws its name from online slang "delulu" meaning delusional, features the lead track "404 (New Era)," along with B-sides "Delulu," "Underdogs," "Mungnyang," Dizzy" and "To Me From Me," a song produced by Epik High's Tablo. The music video for the song continues to build KiiiKiii's distinct musical narrative of unapologetic self-confidence, after the group's music video for "I Do Me" (2025) was named Music Video of the Year at the 2025 Melon Music Awards. Opening with casual footage of the members hanging out in a practice room while waiting for the New Year's countdown, the video slips into a montage of their childhood memories, transitioning into wish-fulfillment fantasies where the members jump between personas — from a Miley Cyrus-style 2000s pop star to a Jazz Age vintage singer to a charismatic rock frontwoman. KiiiKiii — consisting of Jiyu, Leesol, Sui, Haum and Kya — debuted in March of last year with its first EP, "Uncut Gem," as Starship Entertainment's first new girl group in three years since IVE. Its debut track "I Do Me" gained significant traction, topping MBC's weekly music program "Show! Music Core" (2005-) and winning multiple accolades such as rookie awards at the 2025 Seoul Music Awards and 2025 Asia Artist Awards. KiiiKiii has been billed by Starship Entertainment as the "Gen Z-core" girl group, highlighting a musical narrative centering on paving one's own path with confidence and individuality. "It might seem like our concepts have been changing constantly from our debut album, but the essence of our message has remained unchanged: believing in ourselves and continuing to move forward with confidence," said Kya. "I hope that message can be delivered to listeners through our music." After a strong first year in the industry, KiiiKiii is setting its sights on larger stages. "One of our big goals is to perform on more diverse stages, such as at global festivals," said Sui. "Just like how IVE performed at Lollapalooza and Summer Sonic, we would love the opportunity to perform at major festivals overseas."

This article is by Cho Mun-gyu and read by an artificial voice. Singer and actor Cha Eun-woo, who is currently facing allegations of dodging more than 20 billion won ($14 million) in taxes through a company registered under his mother's name, could be referred to prosecutors if intent is proven, according to a tax law expert. Advertisers, as always, have been quick to react. Attorney and accountant Kim Myung-gyu offered a detailed breakdown of the case on Sunday in a social media post with a title that translates roughly to "A Friendly Guide for Non-Experts." He explained that the 20 billion won figure cited in media reports likely includes not just unpaid taxes but also penalties for underreporting and interest. "From the public's perspective, people might think, 'How much money did he make if his taxes reach 20 billion won?'" Kim said. "But this figure isn't all original taxes owed. It likely consists of around 10 billion to 14 billion won in principal taxes, with the rest made up of a 40 percent underreporting penalty and interest." Kim noted that Korea's National Tax Service (NTS) imposes additional fines when it determines that taxpayers intentionally concealed income. "If the tax office decides you lied, they can add 40 percent of the principal as a penalty," Kim said. "The NTS also adds interest for late payment, meaning Cha may be paying between 6 billion and 10 billion won as a penalty for alleged misreporting." Investigation Bureau 4 of the NTS Seoul Regional Office is handling the case — a unit that typically investigates suspected criminal tax evasion rather than conducting routine audits. "Investigation Bureaus 1 and 2 are more like the ones saying, 'Please revise this,'" Kim said. "But Bureaus 4 handles cases that the NTS treats as potential crimes — it's like saying, 'You've been caught. This is a crime.'" Not a unique play in the entertainment industry Kim said the core of the case appears to involve a tax-saving structure used by many entertainers: establishing a one-person corporation to pay the lower corporate tax rate of 10 to 20 percent instead of the personal income tax rate, which can reach up to 45 percent. "Actors often do this to reduce their tax burden," Kim wrote. "But for the structure to be valid, the corporation must have substance. That means it needs staff, a real office and actual operations. If the company is under a family member's name and its office is registered to a parent's restaurant or to a residence, the NTS may conclude that it lacks substantive business activity. The NTS can then revoke the tax benefits and treat the income as personal." He described such a case as "a desire to receive benefits without the burden of actual costs," which he said had now "returned as a massive boomerang in the form of 20 billion won." Kim, however, noted that the involvement of Investigation Bureau 4 does not automatically mean wrongdoing. "If investigators fail to prove intent in Cha Eun-woo's case, the matter could end with a simple reassessment," he said. "This is still at the stage of allegations." Not a simple mistake, most likely Still, Kim said the case appeared to contain clear signs of careful planning. "The evidence is too clear," he said. "The structure is too intentional to be explained away as a mistake." He pointed to signs of intentional structuring: converting the corporation into a limited liability company to avoid external audits and registering the company's address to a grilled eel restaurant in Ganghwa Island instead of a location in Gangnam District to avoid higher property taxes. "This doesn't look like a simple mistake," Kim said. "It looks like a setup involving professionals — organized and deliberate." He emphasized that the most critical issue is not the tax amount. "The key question isn't how much additional tax he will pay," Kim said. "It's whether authorities can prove he intended to conceal income. If they conclude the scheme was designed to evade taxes, Cha cou...

This article is by Kim Ji-ye and read by an artificial voice. Warning: This article may contain spoilers. While global viewers fell for the character of Cha Mu-hee, the lovable character at the center of the newly released Netflix rom-com series "Can This Love Be Translated?," actor Go Youn-jung, who played Cha, revealed that she too grew deeply attached to her role, saying the series holds a "special" place for her. "It really felt like I'd lived in a beautiful, heart-fluttering, almost fairy-tale world," said Go during an interview with reporters at a cafe in central Seoul on Friday. "It even made my reality suddenly feel so dull. And I was also so immersed in Cha Mu-hee that I honestly wished I could live as her just a little longer." Go also reached 10 million followers on Instagram on Thursday — mirroring Mu-hee's milestone in the series. The coincidence became a buzz among fans, further fueled after her co-star Kim Seon-ho, who plays romantic interest and multilingual interpreter Joo Ho-jin, commented, "Congratulations, Ms. Cha Mu-hee!" to which Go replied, "Mr. Joo Ho-jin... Is this a dream?" Reflecting on the moment, Go said, "It felt kind of surreal. Of course, if I kept working hard and my following continued to grow, I knew hitting 10 million could happen someday. But reaching that moment through this project, just like Mu-hee, made it hard not to read meaning into it, even though I'm not usually someone who does that." Directed by Yoo Young-eun, the series follows the unexpected romance between Mu-hee, a globally famous actor, and Ho-jin, a multilingual interpreter, whose communication styles, including how they approach love, are completely different. The series was penned by renowned screenwriters Hong Jung-eun and Hong Mi-ran, known as the Hong sisters, who have written numerous hit series, such as "Hotel del Luna" (2019) and "Alchemy of Souls" (2022-23), the latter of which also starred Go. While the first half of the series depicts Mu-hee's rise from unknown actor to fame, the narrative takes a dramatic turn with the emergence of Do Ra-mi, a breakout character that Cha portrays in a hit zombie film. Playing her brings Mu-hee to stardom, but Do Ra-mi also later becomes a figure in her mind, criticizing and haunting her. Go admitted she was unaware of the shift when she first accepted the role, having only received scripts for the first four episodes at the time. "I had no idea the story would take that turn, so when I first read the script, it felt like a really fresh shock," Go said. "It even felt like the genre was shifting. And it made me realize I needed to prepare even more." Portraying two emotionally distinct characters — Mu-hee, who is indirect and unstable, and Do Ra-mi, who is blunt and expressive — required careful balance. Instead of drastic shifts, Go differentiated them subtly through their communication styles, calling Do Ra-mi "an interpreter" for Mu-hee's thoughts and emotions. "Though Mu-hee and Do Ra-mi may appear like completely separate characters, I thought that if the gap between them became too big, it might be hard for viewers to accept and for me to play as well," Go said, explaining that their common ground lies in their shared instinct to protect Mu-hee. "So, I focused on changing just one key point and approached them as the same person while acting." And between the two roles, Go noted that Do Ra-mi felt closer to her own personality. "I'm not very good at speaking indirectly, and I'm also not good at picking up on it when others do either," she said. "So, a lot of Mu-hee's lines were pretty challenging for me, since she tends to talk in such a roundabout way. I spent a lot of time breaking down what she really meant beneath the words. Because of that, Do Ra-mi actually felt easier to play. She's more straightforward, consistent and simple." In a romantic comedy, the chemistry between the two leads is crucial. Prior to the premiere, concerns were raised over the 10-year age ga...

This article is by Kim Ji-ye and read by an artificial voice. Warning: This article may contain spoilers. While global viewers fell for the character of Cha Mu-hee, the lovable character at the center of the newly released Netflix rom-com series "Can This Love Be Translated?," actor Go Youn-jung, who played Cha, revealed that she, too, grew deeply attached to her role, saying the series holds a "special" place for her. "It really felt like I'd lived in a beautiful, heart-fluttering, almost fairy-tale world," said Go during an interview with reporters at a cafe in central Seoul on Friday. "It even made my reality suddenly feel so dull. And I was also so immersed in Cha Mu-hee that I honestly wished I could live as her just a little longer." Go also reached 10 million followers on Instagram on Thursday — mirroring Mu-hee's milestone in the series. The coincidence became a buzz among fans, further fueled after her co-star Kim Seon-ho, who plays romantic interest and multilingual interpreter Joo Ho-jin, commented, "Congratulations, Ms. Cha Mu-hee!" to which Go replied, "Mr. Joo Ho-jin... Is this a dream?" Reflecting on the moment, Go said, "It felt kind of surreal. Of course, if I kept working hard and my following continued to grow, I knew hitting 10 million could happen someday. But reaching that moment through this project, just like Mu-hee, made it hard not to read meaning into it, even though I'm not usually someone who does that." Directed by Yoo Young-eun, the series follows the unexpected romance between Mu-hee, a globally famous actor, and Ho-jin, a multilingual interpreter, whose communication styles, including how they approach love, are completely different. The series was penned by renowned screenwriters Hong Jung-eun and Hong Mi-ran, known as the Hong sisters, who have written numerous hit series, such as "Hotel del Luna" (2019) and "Alchemy of Souls" (2022-23), the latter of which also starred Go. While the first half of the series depicts Mu-hee's rise from unknown actor to fame, the narrative takes a dramatic turn with the emergence of Do Ra-mi, a breakout character that Cha portrays in a hit zombie film. Playing her brings Mu-hee to stardom, but Do Ra-mi also later becomes a figure in her mind, criticizing and haunting her. Go admitted she was unaware of the shift when she first accepted the role, having only received scripts for the first four episodes at the time. "I had no idea the story would take that turn, so when I first read the script, it felt like a really fresh shock," Go said. "It even felt like the genre was shifting. And it made me realize I needed to prepare even more." Portraying two emotionally distinct characters — Mu-hee, who is indirect and unstable, and Do Ra-mi, who is blunt and expressive — required careful balance. Instead of drastic shifts, Go differentiated them subtly through their communication styles, calling Do Ra-mi "an interpreter" for Mu-hee's thoughts and emotions. "Though Mu-hee and Do Ra-mi may appear like completely separate characters, I thought that if the gap between them became too big, it might be hard for viewers to accept and for me to play as well," Go said, explaining that their common ground lies in their shared instinct to protect Mu-hee. "So, I focused on changing just one key point and approached them as the same person while acting." And between the two roles, Go noted that Do Ra-mi felt closer to her own personality. "I'm not very good at speaking indirectly, and I'm also not good at picking up on it when others do either," she said. "So, a lot of Mu-hee's lines were pretty challenging for me, since she tends to talk in such a roundabout way. I spent a lot of time breaking down what she really meant beneath the words. Because of that, Do Ra-mi actually felt easier to play. She's more straightforward, consistent and simple." In a romantic comedy, the chemistry between the two leads is crucial. Prior to the premiere, concerns were raised over the 10-year age ...

This article is by Lee Jian and read by an artificial voice. [INTERVIEW] Tony-winning director Rachel Chavkin candidly stood by her musical "Lempicka" on Thursday, saying that the show — centered on a female artist — received a mixed critical reception on Broadway in part because misogyny shapes audiences' expectations of theater narratives. "There are a number of great male characters in the show, but none of them are centered as either the hero or the antagonist," Chavkin told the Korea JoongAng Daily during a roundtable interview at the Gangdong Arts Center in Gangdong District, eastern Seoul. "There isn't really an antagonist for [the protagonist] Tamara, other than time and the limits of her own appetite. I think a lot of male reviewers — and certainly some female reviewers as well — weren't able to see her story because we're so used to men functioning in particular ways within a woman's narrative. "[The point of the story] was genuinely missed by many people because they didn't know how to watch [the musical]." Now, two years after its short-lived New York run, Chavkin is enthused for "Lempicka" to begin a second life at NOL Theater Coex in Gangnam District for three months starting March 21. This marks the show's first international production. "There are so many artworks that, when they first come out, people don't necessarily know how to receive them," she said. "Over time, as audiences begin to understand what a work is aiming toward, they also learn how to watch it. I'm thrilled that this show, which I believe in deeply, gets to begin its next life." "Lempicka" is a sprawling biographical musical that spans nearly 60 years in the life of Polish bisexual painter Tamara de Lempicka (1898-1980). With her works having been collected by other trailblazing artists, including Madonna and Barbra Streisand, Lempicka was a formidable modernist who turned to painting as a means of survival after fleeing the Russian Revolution with her husband and child and settling in Paris. While her work was rediscovered amid a renewed interest in Art Deco in the late 20th century, Lempicka's work may still be unfamiliar to many, as she fell into relative obscurity following World War II. But at the height of her popularity, Lempicka was best known for her commissioned portraits — particularly of women — and for a signature style shaped by cubism and neoclassicism. Her works' geometric forms, bold colors and sleek modern aesthetic celebrate the Machine Age (roughly 1880-1945), a period defined by rapid industrialization, mass production and electrification. Her sharply contoured figures and lacquered surfaces reveal not only formidable technical control but also the psychological tensions simmering beneath a meticulously constructed facade. The musical, much like the artist who inspired it, has proven resistant to easy categorization. Though "Lempicka" earned three Tony nominations — for Lead Actress in a Musical, Featured Actress in a Musical and Scenic Design — it received mixed reviews from both critics and audiences, ultimately closing after just 41 performances in May 2024. The question, then, is whether the show might fare differently in Korea. And, is a Broadway success the final verdict on a musical's worth? When a production is translated and restaged with a new cast in another country, the material can resonate very differently with viewers. Korea, while broadly conservative as a society, is more permissive inside its theaters. Musical audiences here tend to be younger and predominantly female, with a demonstrable appetite for female-centered historical narratives, as seen in the sustained popularity of works such as "Mata Hari" and "Frida Kahlo." Chavkin's earlier productions have already been successful in Korea. Both "Hadestown" and "Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812" have had two runs, which suggest familiarity with and receptiveness to her sleek theatrical language. Chavkin won the Tony Award for Best Director ...

This article is by Shin Ha-nee and read by an artificial voice. It's a cycle where one form of art fuels another. Singer G-Dragon's JusPeace Foundation, best known for its antidrug advocacy, has extended its vision into the visual arts, partnering with a local gallery in Seoul to stage an exhibition that places environmental consciousness at its core. On a frigid Thursday afternoon in Yongsan District, central Seoul, Conte B art gallery felt almost airless as artists, influencers and visitors packed into the underground space for the opening of "S.O.P." The exhibition marked the inaugural chapter of the latest collaborative project between Conte B and the JusPeace Foundation. Despite the bitterly cold winter air on the streets, the atmosphere in and around the venue was lively, as guests from the art and entertainment industries filled the tight space to exchange greetings and take in works on view. The "S.O.P" project, which stands for "Sounds of Peace," is based on a memorandum of understanding signed between Conte B and the JusPeace Foundation for a collaborative art project framed around the idea of art as a vehicle for social value. The project will unfold in two themes. The first installment, which runs through March 2, centers on the environment and contemporary lifestyle — as well as the relationship between the two — interpreted through the works of three artists: Lee Sang-won, Kim Sun-woo and Yoo Na-ul, who is also known as singer Naul of the R&B trio Brown Eyed Soul. The second installment, which will take place from March 5 to April 5, will shed light on up-and-coming artists, prioritizing artistic potential over established careers. Revenues from both exhibitions will be used to support young and emerging artists, according to Conte B. The gallery space invites close looking rather than grand spectacle. Upon entering, visitors are confronted by Lee's large-scale oil painting "Floating People" (2025), which draws eyes with its vivid cyan tones. The work depicts figures drifting through what appears to be pristine ocean waters, viewed from above. Thick, heavily layered oil paint — a signature of Lee's works — protrudes across the canvas like ripples, evoking the gentle movement of waves and giving the surface a tactile depth. Lee's works explore the symbiotic rhythm between humans and the natural environment through moments of leisure, such as skiers gliding down snowy mountains or figures lying on sandy beaches. "While people are talking about K-arts a lot these days, it feels like the art scene remains much more stagnant compared to other fields of arts," Lee told the Korea JoongAng Daily on Thursday. "The visual art scene often moves in tandem with other cultural forms of the same era, such as films and music, driven together as part of the broader cultural industry," he added. "G-Dragon has taken part in other collaborative projects in the past, and I believe such initiatives give a boost to the art scene by increasing visibility for art to the general public."

This article is by Park Young-woo and read by an artificial voice. Luck alone didn't make Samsung Electronics the world's No. 1 TV producer. The company and its employees poured nearly four decades of effort into experiments as small as adding a single inch to the screen, then into innovations that fused design and technology. Since 2007, Samsung TVs have held the top spot for more than 18 years in both revenue and shipments. Now, the business is facing its first management audit in a decade. Samsung Electronics' Visual Display (VD) Business began a management diagnosis in October 2025, the first such review since 2015, according to the electronics industry on Monday. The division leads the company's TV operations. The management diagnosis is a form of internal audit aimed at revamping weakened business competitiveness. The review is said to have examined the TV business's structure and costs, organizational operations and overall new-business efforts, and even considered a possible portfolio reshuffle. But even three months after the diagnosis began, no clear breakthrough has emerged that has won internal consensus. Many credit Samsung TV's rise to product innovation built during the management era of the late former Samsung Chairman Lee Kun-hee. By expanding the screen ratio from 4:3 to 12.8:9 at the time, it shifted the yardstick of TV competition toward size and overall completeness. The "Bordeaux LCD TV," introduced in 2006, is widely seen as a turning point in Samsung's TV history. With a wine glass-inspired design and strong technical performance, the product helped reposition TVs from mere broadcast receivers to objects in the living space, analysts say. It also became a decisive moment behind Samsung's climb to No. 1 in the global TV market. But the formula behind past successes is increasingly seen as no longer working. Behind the management diagnosis is the fast-closing gap by Chinese TV makers. Their push has moved beyond the midrange market into premium territory, including mini-LED and ultra-large TVs, raising questions about the limits of Samsung's existing strategy. A slowdown in global TV demand is also adding pressure on profitability. Samsung Electronics' global TV shipment share fell to 17.9 percent in the third quarter of 2025 from 19.8 percent in 2021, according to market researcher Omdia. Over the same period, China's TCL rose to 14.3 percent from 11.5 percent, and China's Hisense climbed to 12.4 percent from 8.7 percent. "The volume offensive by Chinese makers is directly pressuring Samsung's premium-centered strategy," industry watchers said. In its 2024 executive reshuffle, Samsung appointed Yong to spearhead innovation through a generational shift, naming him the youngest chief among Samsung's core affiliates to date. But amid weakening demand for home appliances, intensifying competition and policy variables, the business has struggled to gain momentum. The difficulties are showing up clearly in the results. Samsung reports TV and home appliances together under the VD and Digital Appliances (DA) segment, and revenue fell steadily from 14.5 trillion won ($9.82 billion) in the first quarter of 2025 to 14.1 trillion won in the second quarter and 13.9 trillion won in the third quarter. Operating profit also dropped from 300 billion won to 200 billion won over the same period, then slipped into a loss of around 100 billion won in the third quarter. The securities industry estimates that Samsung also likely posted an operating loss of between 100 billion won and 300 billion won in the fourth quarter of 2025. The outlook is not particularly bright, either. Analysts expect operating profit for Samsung's VD and DA segment in 2026 to fall by more than 20 percent from 2025. Revenue may edge up, but defending margins will be difficult amid falling average selling prices and intensifying competition, they say. "Given the intensifying competition, weakness in the VD and home appliance business is likely to ...

This article is by Michael Lee and read by an artificial voice. By the time North Korean defector Park Eun-hee decided to write her life story, she had already risked death once. She had done so by crossing the Yalu River into China, driven by what she later called "the courage to die," which became the title of her self-published memoir. For her, nothing in her repressive homeland — not even the threat of imprisonment or execution — could hold her back from pursuing a better life. At first glance, little suggests that Park, who bears almost no trace of her native northern accent, might be different from other young women in South Korea struggling to balance personal aspirations with the pressures of work and social expectations. But behind her decision to release an autobiography in English was a conviction that her countrymen on both sides of the peninsula, and the wider world, should draw lessons about freedom and personal agency from her escape and resettlement. Released last year, "The Courage to Die: A North Korean Woman's Escape and Rebirth in Freedom" traces Park's rocky childhood and early adulthood in the North, her defection in September 2012, and the long, uneven process of rebuilding her life in South Korea and abroad. Park, who has worked as a public orator and advocate for defectors, wants not only to claim ownership of her narrative but also to challenge the tendency to view North Koreans solely through the lens of victimhood. "I wanted to show my life as a defector who overcomes, who gets back on her feet time and time again, and who is the main driving force of her own life," she said in an interview with the Korea JoongAng Daily on Wednesday. 'Freedom is not free' Park's story broadly follows the familiar arc of suffering, escape and post-defection struggle that characterizes other defector narratives. At the same time, her autobiography does not shy away from the pain of family separation and discrimination by South Koreans. In particular, she returns repeatedly to the idea that freedom represents neither a clean break from the past nor a final resolution of hardship. That realization deepened as she traveled beyond South Korea. "In Washington, I saw the phrase 'Freedom is not free' inscribed on the Korean War Memorial," she said. "It made me understand that even after gaining freedom, I would have to endure immense pain and effort to protect it." Reminders of the cost of her freedom are constant for Park, who left behind her entire family in the North. "Even simple pleasures, like eating a good meal, weigh heavily on me when I think about how much I want to share them with my loved ones," she said. She described her time on a working holiday visa from September 2017 to April 2018 in Australia — which had just legalized same-sex marriage — as another shock to her evolving worldview. "When I first saw a lesbian couple kissing in a park, and no one reacted at all, I was shocked," she recalled, noting that she "saw people wearing whatever they wanted with no judgment from others." What shook her over time, she said, was not Australia itself, but how much of North Korea still lived inside her. "I realized how much conservatism I still carried inside me," she said. "Even in South Korea, people are so attached to the idea that they have to go to university, get a job, marry and have children by a certain age. After living in Australia, I started asking what externally imposed burdens I and other people are carrying inside." Overturning the defector archetype Some of the most painful ordeals of Park's life, including rape and sexual violence, are described in "Courage to Die" with restraint — a choice she said reflected both internalized shame and a determination not to be pigeonholed as a victim. "When a broker raped me during my escape, I thought it was something I had to endure to gain freedom," she said. When she was sexually assaulted while working part-time in South Korea, she likewise believed she was ...

This article is by Park Eun-jee and read by an artificial voice. [MONEY MOVER] Capital moves in and out of Korea, driven by a range of economic and geopoltiical forces. In our "Money Mover" series, we explore key market developments that could shape investment decisions and influence the flow of global funds. — ED. Korea has long been considered an isolated market in the world of digital assets, with an absence of a legal framework effectively blocking tokenized securities, crypto-based investment products and stablecoin transactions. That environment pushed local asset managers and brokerages to hunker down while their counterparts in the United States, Japan, and Australia raced to roll out new products. But in Korea's conservative financial world, there was one maverick: Mirae Asset. Under the leadership of billionaire businessman Park Hyeon-joo, the financial group built a reputation for bold plays in overseas expansion and product development. With 510 trillion won ($348 billion) in assets under management — nearly half of which comes from abroad — Mirae Asset Global Investments opted to operate crypto-based products like Bitcoin ETFs abroad in the face of regulatory constraints at home. Mirae Asset Securities, a brokerage affiliate, has established a blockchain-based system for trading tokenized securities and developed an integrated digital wallet that can cover both tokenized and legacy equity and fund assets. The two financial firms' crypto-related activities date back to 2021 with the establishment of a dedicated task force. More recently, the Mirae group has explored the acquisition of Korbit, the country's fourth-largest crypto exchange. Now that the Korean government aims to enact a comprehensive regulatory framework, tentatively dubbed the Digital Asset Basic Act, within the first quarter, and with legal amendments to authorize the issuance of tokenized securities already passed this month, the group is set to leverage its expertise and considerable influence in the domestic market. The Korea JoongAng Daily sat down with Park Goobin, head of the Investment & Product Division at Mirae Asset Global Investments, and Lee Yong-jae, head of the Digital Asset Business Department at Mirae Asset Securities, to discuss the group's strategy for digital assets and their takeaways on the shifting regulatory environment. Below are edited excerpts from the interview, edited for length and clarity. Q. The government plans to pass the Digital Asset Basic Act in the first quarter. How does the regulatory timeline affect Mirae Asset's decision to release products? A. Park: The government is prioritizing the passage of the Digital Asset Basic Act ahead of the June local elections. The bill is expected to pass as early as the first quarter, or by the second quarter at the latest. Even if the act passes in the first quarter, however, it will likely take some time to revise related laws such as Capital Markets Act and Income Tax Act. As a result, the actual rollout of digital asset products [from Mirae Asset Global Investments] could take place in the second half of 2026 at the earliest. Major asset management firms, including Mirae Asset Global Investments, have already set sail with preparatory work for product designs based on that scenario. With the groundwork already in place, the market is likely to see digital asset products launched in Korea as soon as the legal infrastructure is finalized. Lee: We are building a digital wallet designed to work both in Korea and globally and hold both traditional and digital assets. But due to regulatory limitations, we can't release the full-fledged version right away. The initial rollout, scheduled for June, will only include features that meet existing domestic regulatory requirements, with additional functionality to follow in later phases. The end goal is a future where users can manage various types of assets, including tokenized stocks, funds and digital currencies, all in one wal...

Kim Bong-ryeol The author is an architect and a former president of the Korea National University of Arts. I encountered the ancient city of Palmyra in the heart of the Syrian desert. A wadi once flowed here and springs sustained oasis agriculture, earning it the name "the city of palms." During the first century Pax Romana, Palmyra flourished as a hub of inland trade, and in the third century Queen Zenobia even proclaimed the Palmyrene Empire. When the ruins of the city center were rediscovered, they reshaped paradigms of European urban planning in the seventeenth century. From before the Common Era, Palmyra developed as a distinctive city rooted in local religious traditions and caravan trade, and it was rebuilt on a grand scale in the third century. At its core lay a monumental colonnaded avenue stretching 1.1 kilometers. Along an 11-meter-wide road rose more than 500 columns, each about nine meters high, forming an imposing processional way. Beginning at a triumphal arch, the avenue bent slightly at a point marked by four tetrapylons and ended at the funerary temple. In front of the arch stood the vast Temple of Bel, dedicated to the city's protective deity. The boulevard was lined with public buildings such as a theater and great baths, as well as temples to Nebo, Baalshamin, Baal-Hammon and Allat. These were all local Middle Eastern gods, and after conversion to Christianity in the fourth century, small Byzantine churches were also built. A large portion of the city center was occupied by the agora. Despite the familiar name, it was not an open Greek-style market but more akin to a caravansary for merchants. Sculptures of prominent citizens were placed on some 200 columns, making it a civic hall of memory. Outside the city walls, more than 50 tower tombs were scattered over a kilometer, forming a valley of the dead. Together, these remains attest to a self-governing city that existed under Roman rule. Although Roman construction techniques were used, the functions and decorative methods of the buildings were thoroughly local. The Temple of Bel, with its Mesopotamian-style enclosure walls and Roman colonnades, exemplified this fusion. Palmyra stood at the crossroads of Mesopotamian, Roman, Persian and Byzantine civilizations. In 2015, Islamic State destroyed major monuments, including the Temple of Bel, under the pretext of iconoclasm. Scholars worldwide are pursuing digital reconstruction, but many irreplaceable ruins remain unrestored. The loss underscores how fragile cultural heritage becomes amid prolonged conflict and political paralysis, leaving future generations with fragments, images and questions rather than a living landscape of history and memory. This article was originally written in Korean and translated by a bilingual reporter with the help of generative AI tools. It was then edited by a native English-speaking editor. All AI-assisted translations are reviewed and refined by our newsroom.

The author is a professor at the Graduate School of International and Area Studies at Hankuk University of Foreign Studies and a member of the Japan-Korea Relations Division at Reset Korea. China's recent move to tighten export controls on dual-use items with both civilian and military applications, clearly targeting Japan, is a warning shot aimed at the global supply chain. The analysis that Beijing has begun to turn the "rare earths valve" in response to the rightward tilt of the Sanae Takaichi-led political camp and Japan's involvement in the Taiwan issue is a source of deep anxiety for Korea's industrial sector as well. Rare earth dependence on China is often attributed to environmental regulations, but behind that explanation lies a meticulously engineered supply chain design that the West cannot replicate in the short term. The first barrier most often cited is environmental pollution. The refining and smelting of rare earths inevitably generates radioactive elements such as thorium and uranium. Processing them requires large quantities of highly acidic chemicals, and managing the resulting radioactive waste in line with legal standards entails astronomical costs. The environmental controversy surrounding the refining plant operated in Malaysia by the Australian company Lynas showed that, regardless of technical safety, social acceptance and regulatory risk can determine the fate of a project. In this context, building rare earth refining facilities in advanced economies is blocked by the high threshold of ESG standards. China has spent decades bearing these environmental burdens while positioning itself as the world's outsourced rare earths factory, securing a monopolistic position that no competitor can challenge on price. More formidable than environmental issues, however, is China's technological dominance. Rare earths consist of 17 elements with extremely similar chemical properties, making high-purity separation extraordinarily difficult. This is where the "serial extraction theory" developed by Professor Xu Guangxian, often called the father of China's rare earth industry, comes into play. By modeling complex separation processes with mathematical precision, he laid the theoretical foundation for industrial-scale mass separation. While the United States and Europe can achieve high-purity extraction in laboratory settings, experts widely agree that there remains a substantial gap in the processing know-how required to realize low-cost, high-efficiency separation at industrial scale. Securing mines alone is not enough. The accumulated process recipes refined through tens of thousands of trials are effectively held in China's hands. The most decisive difference lies in vertically integrated manufacturing. Because all 17 rare earth elements are produced together, selecting only high-demand materials such as neodymium or dysprosium and discarding the rest drives overall production costs sharply higher. This is where China's economies of scale come into their own. Refining facilities sit alongside magnet plants, battery factories and petrochemical complexes. Lower-value elements such as lanthanum and cerium are absorbed in large volumes as glass polishing agents or materials for fine dust reduction systems. Even thorium, a problematic radioactive by-product, is being tested for potential use through experiments related to next-generation thorium molten salt reactors. By creating a circular structure that turns waste into energy assets, China has achieved price competitiveness that no other country can match. That China accounts for 90 percent of global production of rare earth permanent magnets is no coincidence. Japan plans to begin exploratory drilling for rare earths this year in the seabed around Minami-Torishima, but economic feasibility remains questionable given the costs of dredging mud from depths of 6,000 meters. Even if Japan succeeds in securing raw materials, it would face a paradox. Without an ecosy...

The author is an editorial writer at the JoongAng Ilbo. Which role is harder and more consequential: that of a ruler like Taizong, the second emperor of China's Tang Dynasty (618–907), who listened to uncomfortable truths, or that of a court official like Wei Zheng, who served Taizong and became renowned for repeatedly offering blunt and often perilous remonstrations at the risk of his own life? The question resurfaced while watching the shocking courtroom scene in which former Prime Minister Han Duck-soo, appointed twice under both progressive and conservative administrations, was sentenced to 23 years in prison and taken into custody. Han's resume was impeccable. He graduated at the top of his class from Seoul National University's College of Economics, earned master's and doctoral degrees from Harvard University, passed the civil service exam at 21 and spent more than five decades climbing the ranks of public office. By reputation, he was capable and seasoned. Yet, on the night of Dec. 3, 2024, he failed to stop President Yoon Suk Yeol from declaring martial law. Even if he could not risk his life, why did he not at least slam on the brakes with the resolve to resign as prime minister? A senior figure who knew Han well offered a bleak assessment, saying that under Korea's imperial presidency, "a truly courageous official would never make it that far in the first place." During conservative administrations, Han rarely emphasized his Honam roots and advanced steadily on the strength of his competence. When the Kim Dae-jung government ushered in the first transfer of power between the Yeongnam and Honam political camps, he openly acknowledged his regional background and became the subject of gossip. From there, his career under progressive governments moved smoothly, taking him to posts such as trade minister, deputy prime minister for the economy and eventually prime minister. Han has argued that he had no prior knowledge of the martial law plan. Still, he was detained on allegations as grave as being a "key participant in an insurrection supporting a praetorian coup." With that, political fortune that once seemed endless came to a halt. There were several moments when he could have avoided this fate. Had he declined the prime minister role when it was offered by the Yoon administration, or resigned decisively after the ruling People Power Party's crushing defeat in the April 10, 2024, general election, he would not have been swept into the Dec. 3 crisis. At the very least, had he said "this must not be done" during or around the Cabinet meeting on the night martial law was declared, his situation today would likely be different. Watching the downfall of a man once known as a master of survival underscores again how heavy and precarious the prime minister's seat is under Korea's presidential system. It also raises questions about how different the role of prime minister may be now and in the years ahead. Figures in the ruling camp who have observed Kim Min-seok, the first prime minister under President Lee Jae Myung and the self-styled "prime minister who opens the dawn," offer near-uniform praise. Compliments circulate that Kim "handles himself well in front of the president," meaning that he lowers his profile as the No. 2 figure at Cabinet meetings and deftly supports Lee. Kim has frequently spoken in glowing terms about the president. At a policy briefing in Muan, South Jeolla, last December, he said that before the election, people complained that "five years of the Yoon administration felt too long," whereas now some say "five years of the Lee administration feels too short and wish it would last longer." He even described the president's livestreamed policy briefings as "more entertaining than Netflix," dubbing them "Jamflix." What remains unclear is how candid Kim is behind the scenes when advising the president on difficult realities such as housing and exchange rates. It is also an open question whether he acc...

The author is a senior columnist at the JoongAng Ilbo. The prosecution's demand for the death penalty for former president Yoon Suk Yeol and the 23-year prison sentence handed to former prime minister Han Duck-soo amount to a call for a sweeping overhaul of conservative politics in Korea. Yet the level of reflection shown by the leader of the People Power Party (PPP), who has said only that "the declaration of martial law was an inappropriate measure for the situation," falls far short of what would be needed to revive a political tradition that has effectively been pronounced dead. It is a grim spectacle. There is little sign of searing repentance or firm resolve. The most incisive critique of conservative politics has instead come from within conservative thought itself, notably from former professor Park Hyo-jong. He once identified five cardinal sins of conservatism: the sin of failing to foresee the future, the sin of merely preserving without cultivating, the sin of indulging in self-fulfillment without achieving self-transcendence, the sin of failing to give and the sin of abusing privilege. The culmination of all these failings was the collapse of generational renewal. Reduced to a party without even a credible presidential candidate of its own, conservatives installed the largely unfamiliar mercenary Yoon Suk Yeol and have paid a heavy price. Their frantic maneuvers, flirting with figures such as Kim Moon-soo outside the party and even attempting to draft Han Duck-soo in a mirage of regaining power, ended in abject failure. It was retribution. Without people, how can any ideology or party hope to survive? Ironically, the period of most vigorous generational turnover came a generation earlier, during the era of the so-called three Kims. President Kim Young-sam, in his sixties, recruited reform-minded figures in their thirties and forties such as Lee In-je, Kim Moon-soo, Sohn Hak-kyu, Hong Joon-pyo and Oh Se-hoon, sustaining the conservative lineage to this day. President Kim Dae-Jung likewise began, while still in opposition, to cultivate younger politicians in their twenties and thirties, including Kim Min-seok, Lee In-young, Woo Sang-ho and Im Jong-seok, who later became central figures of progressive politics, with Kim Min-seok serving as prime minister and Woo as senior secretary for political affairs. The famous call for leadership in one's forties was rooted in the lived insight of these two Kims. When Kim Young-sam and Kim Dae-Jung declared their presidential bids in 1969 at ages 41 and 45, they argued that power transfer had failed because aging opposition leaders could not match a youthful military regime, urging a dynamic younger generation to step forward. Though party leader Yu Jin-san dismissed them as political minors, they drew explosive support from a public frustrated by constitutional manipulation. At the time, only 22.62 percent of Koreans were over 50, compared to 45.67 percent today. Targeting even President Park Chung Hee, then 54, their wager was generational change. Since then, generational renewal has consistently separated success from failure in Korean politics. Progressives succeeded by continuously nurturing younger cohorts through the Roh Moo-hyun and Moon Jae-in administrations, guiding them from aideships and local councils to provincial posts and the National Assembly. It was European-style politics rooted in the field. Even after setbacks, politicians remained engaged, accumulating experience. President Lee Jae Myung is a prime example. Conservatives, by contrast, relied on top-down selection of older elites from the legal profession and bureaucracy, protecting vested interests and creating a generational chasm. The result is stark. In the Democratic Party, there are 81 lawmakers born in the 1970s, 23 from the 1980s and even two from the 1990s, a sweeping generational turnover accounting for 64 percent of party seats. In the People Power Party, however, only 38 lawmakers total, o...

The Trump administration's second-term National Defense Strategy (NDS), titled the "2026 Defense Strategy," was released on Friday. The document stresses a sharper focus on defending the U.S. homeland and calls on allies to shoulder greater security responsibilities. It even states that the United States will not fill security gaps caused by what it describes as irresponsible choices by allied leaders. The message reflects an expanded "America First" approach in defense policy. For allies such as Korea, this shift is likely to increase strategic and financial burdens, making careful preparation essential. For Korea, one omission in the new strategy is particularly concerning. While it acknowledges that North Korea's nuclear capabilities continue to advance, the document makes no mention of denuclearization. This follows a similar omission in the National Security Strategy (NSS) released late last year. The absence of denuclearization language in both documents suggests more than a change in wording, and raises questions about whether Washington's policy stance is evolving. U.S. President Donald Trump's own remarks have fueled such concerns. Since taking office last January, he has repeatedly referred to North Korea as a nuclear power, language that appears to recognize Pyongyang's nuclear status. During his visit to Korea in October, he proposed another meeting with Kim Jong-un and hinted at the possibility of easing sanctions. Against this backdrop, doubts have grown, as noted recently in a Washington Post editorial, that denuclearization of the Korean Peninsula may no longer be a priority for Washington and that the United States could be moving toward tacit acceptance of North Korea's nuclear arsenal. This uncertainty is compounded by the interaction between the new U.S. defense strategy and the Lee Jae Myung government's approach to the North Korean nuclear issue. President Lee has emphasized pragmatic realism and proposed a three-stage framework of freeze, arms reduction and eventual denuclearization. While denuclearization remains the stated final goal, the inclusion of arms reduction talks as an intermediate step could provide Pyongyang with leverage to press its longstanding claim that it should be treated as a nuclear weapons state. North Korea has argued that arms control talks should be conducted only among nuclear powers, a framework that would marginalize nonnuclear Korea. The issue gains urgency with the visit to Korea by Elbridge Colby, the U.S. undersecretary of war for policy and a key architect of both the NSS and NDS. He is expected to stress U.S. priorities such as homeland defense and countering China, issues linked to debates over the role of U.S. Forces Korea and the transfer of wartime operational control. The government should seek clarity on what a defense strategy without denuclearization implies and press Washington to maintain coordination on the principle of North Korea's denuclearization. It should also use the opportunity to secure stronger U.S. support for bolstering Korea's own defense capabilities. This article was originally written in Korean and translated by a bilingual reporter with the help of generative AI tools. It was then edited by a native English-speaking editor. All AI-assisted translations are reviewed and refined by our newsroom.