My Korean go mun (advisor), a scholar and elder in the Korean American community and I were discussing ethics. Specifically, we were looking at how Americans and Koreans viewed wrong-doing and then taking responsible for one’s actions. For example, in Korea, public apologies for those breaching the law goes far , whereas in American the Law requires more substantial punishment. In brief, Koreans see justice or injustice, based on a substantive model—Americans use a procedural concept.
This article in Hanguk Ilbo gives some insights
Do Koreans, Americans See Justice Differently?
Thankfully the Korean-American relationship today is somewhat calmer following the harrowing mad-cow protests of last year.
In spite of the surface calmness, however, I wager that the next storm could be just around the corner. The issue that will trigger another upheaval would surely involve the issue of justice.
In short, the clash is almost always over how Koreans perceive justice or injustice, which is diametrically opposed to the way the United States defines justice. Korea has what we would call the “substantive” model of justice; the United States uses a concept known as the “procedural” justice administration.
In a simplified sense, the United States assumes that justice is achieved when procedures are strictly followed to the smallest detail. Lacking in tradition or subconscious experience that binds its nation, American society finds it necessary to set up clear rules that are agreed on and enforce them without exception. Social order and domestic peace depend on adhering to this principle of law and procedure.
In Korea, the assumption for justice is “substantive,” which considers results more important than procedure. Following the rules and procedures take a back seat to achieving just results. Judges often ignore narrow, legalistic interpretations in order to achieve human and social justice in substance.
For years, Korea allowed, although illegal, the practice of the use of someone else’s name to hide one’s property or money. Procedurally, X is on the account; but we all know Y is the real owner. The court, following this “substantive” understanding of reality, has closed its eyes to make life in Korean society possible. Just now, the high court in Korea ruled, as a legal precedent, that the name on the bank account is the owner of the account.
In the United States, the name that appears on the paper is the name that owns it and this is something it followed from the very beginning.
Sociologists call the United States a “rational society,” where public institutions and systems are clearly defined so that everyone understands how the game of society is played, with very little ambiguity or confusion.
At its best, the American model produces fairness and predictability. At its worst, it is considered a heartless and inhumane system that only respects procedures.
I have elsewhere described Korea as a “tribal society,” where its humanity is bound together by the idea of one nation and one history, and by the subconscious inner being of all Koreans.
Here the concept serves us well: As a tribal society, Koreans do not analyze ― they feel. Koreans do not weigh pros and cons on the basis of some rational criteria, as most Americans do for decision-making _ they call on the heart’s responses. The blood ties, regional closeness, senior-junior deference, and many other such tribal elements, weigh very heavily on Korea’s actions and decisions.
Consider most traffic cases in Korea, a quite common form of involvement for foreigners with Korean justice. The main issue here is not who is legally in the right or wrong. The real issue is: What is being done, and what can be done, to minimize or avenge the damage? This changes the whole complexion of justice administration and outcome.
Once I attended a traffic accident investigation that involved a SOFA American. My friend, who, on a scooter, had hit a very drunk Korean citizen close to midnight on a dark street, was very sure of himself because all the legal “rights” were on his side. After all, the victim was drunk, was crossing the street illegally, and the street was dark, which was the city’s responsibility to keep illuminated. To our surprise, all such legal points had no effect whatsoever. The court eventually told him that he was the “cause” of the accident since he had the machine that hit the man and had to pay the damage. Substance takes precedent over procedure.
The United States sees a traffic accident, even if tragic, more as “accident,” and less “tragic.” Tragedy implies a great deal of pain and sorrow, which justifies endless lamenting and grieving. Americans, by and large, do not know much about tragedies that cause pain and sorrow. Authentic emotions have to be felt to be true. But in America, emotions must be scripted, manufactured, and sustained on a daily basis. Otherwise, they tend to be crowded out by other things that better stimulate them.
For Korea, accidents are more “tragic” and less “accident.” It is all about pain and sorrow, not legal wrongdoing or court procedure. The paramount fact is that victims suffer and the culprit must be punished. In their minds, the issue of guilt or innocence is not by any legalistic reasoning, but by the simple reckoning of their hearts. It matters very little whether it was accidental or intended.
In most legal cases, Americans would call for fair “compensation,” which is quite easily equated with the concept of justice. Koreans call for “retribution,” and unless a pound of flesh is exacted, their collective soul cannot rest. Hence the inevitable misunderstanding whenever the Korean-American models of justice clash on one issue or another.
The United States has its faith in “fair trial” or “due process” and accepts its outcome as long as the procedure is correctly followed. A few cases are thus decided on technicality, such as the Miranda warning. Korea is bent on accomplishing justice and cares little about procedural niceties. Often, this results in the rather casual attitudes toward torture and mistreatment of the suspect. Rather, Korea sets great store in the contrition of the heart, as witnessed by the frequent mass releases of prisoners on national holidays. As a tribal society, it celebrates the union of blood and hearts among its people in this soul-cleansing act of mercy. This inconsistency ― sternness and leniency coexisting ― both fascinates and aggravates foreigners in Korea. It fascinates them for its infinite capacity for mercy and sacrifice and aggravates them for its utter lack of rational consistency.
In tribal and, in many ways, still feudal Korea, good and evil are absolute, codified in its blood and subconscious. It accomplishes things by pleading to these elements, such as tribal nationalism and often jingoism, and primarily to the heart. Its NGOs are often emotion-venting protest outlets, rather than rationally operating civic organizations for specific goals.
When the U.S. military is involved, the simple rational explanation does not appease the grieving and angry Korean heart. The average American mind cannot comprehend the average Korean mind, and vice versa. They are two worlds, perhaps two universes, apart.
Interestingly, the European model of criminal justice strikes a balance between the two extremes. Perhaps the United States should learn to have heart in its procedure, and Korea procedure in its heart.
Thanks to Jon Huer
Korea Times Columnist
Tags: criminal punishment Korea, Don Southerton expert witness, Justice, Korean crime, Korean ethics, Korean justice
This entry was posted
on Friday, April 3rd, 2009 at 6:53 am and is filed under Commentary.
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You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
Justice: Korean and American
My Korean go mun (advisor), a scholar and elder in the Korean American community and I were discussing ethics. Specifically, we were looking at how Americans and Koreans viewed wrong-doing and then taking responsible for one’s actions. For example, in Korea, public apologies for those breaching the law goes far , whereas in American the Law requires more substantial punishment. In brief, Koreans see justice or injustice, based on a substantive model—Americans use a procedural concept.
This article in Hanguk Ilbo gives some insights
Do Koreans, Americans See Justice Differently?
Thankfully the Korean-American relationship today is somewhat calmer following the harrowing mad-cow protests of last year.
In spite of the surface calmness, however, I wager that the next storm could be just around the corner. The issue that will trigger another upheaval would surely involve the issue of justice.
In short, the clash is almost always over how Koreans perceive justice or injustice, which is diametrically opposed to the way the United States defines justice. Korea has what we would call the “substantive” model of justice; the United States uses a concept known as the “procedural” justice administration.
In a simplified sense, the United States assumes that justice is achieved when procedures are strictly followed to the smallest detail. Lacking in tradition or subconscious experience that binds its nation, American society finds it necessary to set up clear rules that are agreed on and enforce them without exception. Social order and domestic peace depend on adhering to this principle of law and procedure.
In Korea, the assumption for justice is “substantive,” which considers results more important than procedure. Following the rules and procedures take a back seat to achieving just results. Judges often ignore narrow, legalistic interpretations in order to achieve human and social justice in substance.
For years, Korea allowed, although illegal, the practice of the use of someone else’s name to hide one’s property or money. Procedurally, X is on the account; but we all know Y is the real owner. The court, following this “substantive” understanding of reality, has closed its eyes to make life in Korean society possible. Just now, the high court in Korea ruled, as a legal precedent, that the name on the bank account is the owner of the account.
In the United States, the name that appears on the paper is the name that owns it and this is something it followed from the very beginning.
Sociologists call the United States a “rational society,” where public institutions and systems are clearly defined so that everyone understands how the game of society is played, with very little ambiguity or confusion.
At its best, the American model produces fairness and predictability. At its worst, it is considered a heartless and inhumane system that only respects procedures.
I have elsewhere described Korea as a “tribal society,” where its humanity is bound together by the idea of one nation and one history, and by the subconscious inner being of all Koreans.
Here the concept serves us well: As a tribal society, Koreans do not analyze ― they feel. Koreans do not weigh pros and cons on the basis of some rational criteria, as most Americans do for decision-making _ they call on the heart’s responses. The blood ties, regional closeness, senior-junior deference, and many other such tribal elements, weigh very heavily on Korea’s actions and decisions.
Consider most traffic cases in Korea, a quite common form of involvement for foreigners with Korean justice. The main issue here is not who is legally in the right or wrong. The real issue is: What is being done, and what can be done, to minimize or avenge the damage? This changes the whole complexion of justice administration and outcome.
Once I attended a traffic accident investigation that involved a SOFA American. My friend, who, on a scooter, had hit a very drunk Korean citizen close to midnight on a dark street, was very sure of himself because all the legal “rights” were on his side. After all, the victim was drunk, was crossing the street illegally, and the street was dark, which was the city’s responsibility to keep illuminated. To our surprise, all such legal points had no effect whatsoever. The court eventually told him that he was the “cause” of the accident since he had the machine that hit the man and had to pay the damage. Substance takes precedent over procedure.
The United States sees a traffic accident, even if tragic, more as “accident,” and less “tragic.” Tragedy implies a great deal of pain and sorrow, which justifies endless lamenting and grieving. Americans, by and large, do not know much about tragedies that cause pain and sorrow. Authentic emotions have to be felt to be true. But in America, emotions must be scripted, manufactured, and sustained on a daily basis. Otherwise, they tend to be crowded out by other things that better stimulate them.
For Korea, accidents are more “tragic” and less “accident.” It is all about pain and sorrow, not legal wrongdoing or court procedure. The paramount fact is that victims suffer and the culprit must be punished. In their minds, the issue of guilt or innocence is not by any legalistic reasoning, but by the simple reckoning of their hearts. It matters very little whether it was accidental or intended.
In most legal cases, Americans would call for fair “compensation,” which is quite easily equated with the concept of justice. Koreans call for “retribution,” and unless a pound of flesh is exacted, their collective soul cannot rest. Hence the inevitable misunderstanding whenever the Korean-American models of justice clash on one issue or another.
The United States has its faith in “fair trial” or “due process” and accepts its outcome as long as the procedure is correctly followed. A few cases are thus decided on technicality, such as the Miranda warning. Korea is bent on accomplishing justice and cares little about procedural niceties. Often, this results in the rather casual attitudes toward torture and mistreatment of the suspect. Rather, Korea sets great store in the contrition of the heart, as witnessed by the frequent mass releases of prisoners on national holidays. As a tribal society, it celebrates the union of blood and hearts among its people in this soul-cleansing act of mercy. This inconsistency ― sternness and leniency coexisting ― both fascinates and aggravates foreigners in Korea. It fascinates them for its infinite capacity for mercy and sacrifice and aggravates them for its utter lack of rational consistency.
In tribal and, in many ways, still feudal Korea, good and evil are absolute, codified in its blood and subconscious. It accomplishes things by pleading to these elements, such as tribal nationalism and often jingoism, and primarily to the heart. Its NGOs are often emotion-venting protest outlets, rather than rationally operating civic organizations for specific goals.
When the U.S. military is involved, the simple rational explanation does not appease the grieving and angry Korean heart. The average American mind cannot comprehend the average Korean mind, and vice versa. They are two worlds, perhaps two universes, apart.
Interestingly, the European model of criminal justice strikes a balance between the two extremes. Perhaps the United States should learn to have heart in its procedure, and Korea procedure in its heart.
Thanks to Jon Huer
Korea Times Columnist
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Tags: criminal punishment Korea, Don Southerton expert witness, Justice, Korean crime, Korean ethics, Korean justice
This entry was posted on Friday, April 3rd, 2009 at 6:53 am and is filed under Commentary. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.