Visible Space, Invisible Issues: A Report on Spatial Imbalance at SNU
In a campus this big, no student should ever feel like there’s nowhere to go.
Recent Articles
Too Little, Too Late? How Government Inaction Fueled the Cambodian Scam Crisis
On August 8, the body of a 22-year-old South Korean university student was discovered in the back of a car in the Bokor Mountain region of Cambodia. Found with his hands bound, an autopsy of the lacerations and bruises on the body suggested that torture—including extreme beatings and electric shocks—was the cause of death. Since the outbreak of COVID-19, pig butchering scams have emerged and grown in scale within Southeast Asian countries. According to a report by the Korean Intelligence Committee on October 22, out of the 20,000 people believed to be involved in operating these networks, an estimated 1000 to 2000 are South Korean. Lured by the promise of high pay, fully funded flights, and five-star accommodations, Koreans have flown to Cambodia, only to be kidnapped to high-security operation facilities where they were forced to participate in defrauding and money laundering activities. Statements from those who escaped revealed that refusing to take part meant being subjected to violence, where they would be hung from the ceiling, electrocuted, or sold to other criminal syndicates. Reacting to the death of the university student, the Korean government swiftly began talks with the Cambodian government, urging cooperation in prosecuting scam-related crime and imposing a travel ban to parts of the country. The Korean government’s response to its citizens’ involvement in scam-related activities, however, is far from immediate. The SBS documentary series Unanswered Questions spent an entire episode covering this phenomenon on May 7. Yet it was only after there was widespread public attention that the government decided to formally investigate the scam-complexes and address them head-on. This three-month delay reveals a bigger structural issue underlying the Korean government’s response to issues across society: they turn a blind eye and don’t act until a newsworthy incident occurs. This is indeed not the first time the government has shown alarming negligence. The response to the mass hacking of E-SIMS serviced by SK Telecom was subpar; refusing to speak about the invasion to national security and sovereignty in cyberspace is concerning, especially when so much of Korea’s security infrastructure is online. The fire at the National Information Service Center in late September could have been prevented if the government had conducted regular assessments on old batteries, safety training on handling them, and finished back-up server operations. Yet their procrastination ultimately caused nationwide service congestion, bringing daily life to a halt as key institutions such as banks and public administrative offices were unable to function as usual. Even with the situation in Cambodia, there are multiple layers of lax management. Although news of the death first broke out on September 25, stronger measures to protect Korean escapees by the Korean embassy were not implemented till as late as mid-October. A report by KBS News on October 18 revealed that one escapee was able to return to Korea only with the help of the news agency. When the escapee had requested help from the embassy, the institution failed to protect him with the shelter or support he needed, leaving him vulnerable to being captured again. Not only that, but talks of a “Korean desk” in Cambodia, in which Korean police officers stay in Cambodia to help investigations and protect Korean citizens against scam-related crimes, began as early as June this year. Yet even now, this hotline has not materialized, and the government is acting as if it is a new proposal that they have only just started pursuing. Such attitudes undermine the credibility of the government and its capacity to protect the population. It feels absurd to trust government institutions when real progress often seems contingent on tragedy. And this erosion of trust will ultimately culminate in a never-ending cycle of mismanagement. Waning trust fuels political instability and polarization, worsening bureaucratic inefficiency as parties point fingers and exploit crises to blame one another. In the meantime, more citizens will continue to be exposed to harm, as solutions are not proactively discussed or implemented. For a healthier and safer society, the government needs to overcome its inability to act pre-emptively. As of now, the countermeasures launched by the Korean government to curb its citizens’ involvement in scam complexes attempt to tackle the multi-dimensional nature of the problem. The government’s proposal for operation “Breaking Chains” at ASEANPOL—calling for cooperation between the police forces of ASEAN countries and Korea to crack down on the mega-scam complexes in the region—has received particular praise. Nonetheless, much work remains to be done. Most importantly, the root cause of the issue has not yet been addressed: rising living costs and unemployment in Korea. Of course, tackling youth unemployment and cut-throat competition in the job market requires intensive attention and time. Still, it is disappointing that the government has shown little progress in addressing these underlying drivers, despite clear indicators that they fuel the allure of scam industries. Spreading awareness may help Koreans exercise greater caution. But without fundamental reforms to the labor market, these syndicates will continue to entice vulnerable citizens into the future.
Reckoning with the Itaewon Tragedy, Three Years Later
It’s October 29th, 2025. People in purple jackets are solemnly gathered in Gwanghwamun Square. The digits on their phones turn to 10:29 AM. For one minute, sirens whine throughout Seoul in remembrance of the fateful disaster that happened in the heart of the city three years ago. As President Lee Jaemyung described it, “a place for joy and celebration was turned, in an instant, into a scene of horror and despair.” The 2022 Itaewon tragedy, with its 159 casualties, remains the most devastating crowd crush in Korean history. Three years have passed, yet the question remains: Has Korea become a safer nation today? The answer is far from simple, shaped by a slow and often painful push for justice, incremental safety reforms, and a chorus of divided voices across society. Admittedly, the path towards accountability has been slow. The Special Act on Protection of Rights of Sufferers, Truth-finding, and Prevention of Recurrence of October 29 Itaewon Disaster (the Itaewon Act for short) was designated as an urgent agenda item in June 2023 and passed by the National Assembly in January 2024. However, the Yoon administration vetoed the bill, postponing its ultimate approval until May of that year, when the Democratic Party reintroduced the motion. By its effect, the National Commission for the Investigation of the Itaewon Disaster (the Itaewon Commission) was formed in September. However, due to the delayed appointment of its members by the government, the commission did not begin its investigation until June 17, 2025. Even with such delays, progress has begun. As of November, the commission is working on 271 cases related to the incident. Chairman Song Gichoon has announced that the inquiry will inspect all related personnel, including ex-president Yoon Sukyeol, Minister of the Interior and Safety Lee Sangmin, and Mayor Oh Sehoon. The Chief of the Yongsan Police Station Lee Imjae has been convicted due to his occupational negligence. Yet many high-ranking officials have escaped prosecution, such as the Commissioner General of the Seoul Police and the Yongsan District Mayor. Their appeal trials are still ongoing. Critics have also pointed out that the Itaewon disaster could have been prevented. Though hundreds of thousands of people were already expected to gather in the district, crowd control was inadequate due to misplaced police forces and insufficient guidelines on large gatherings in confined spaces. Even though multiple distress calls were received, the response was slow and completely negligent. Officials who should have been at the scene coordinating rescue efforts were absent, appearing hours late. In response to these failures, the government has since implemented measures to prevent such a disaster from happening again. Inter-agency communication manuals have been established, and safety protocols specific to crowd control have been updated. Authorities now designate a “concentrated safety management period” for large events like Halloween festivities, enabling enhanced monitoring, additional personnel deployment, and stricter safety enforcement during high-risk gatherings. Such measures have played a role in averting repetition of catastrophes, though many have expressed regret that such systems were not implemented prior to the loss of life. Structural reforms, however, tell only part of the story. The Itaewon tragedy has led to collective acts of solidarity among citizens. Every year has seen memorial services being held across the nation, and this year’s service marks the first in which the government officially participated. Bereaved families have formed support networks, advocating for systemic safety reforms and justice while keeping victims’ memories alive. Their continuous efforts have led to legislation such as the Itaewon Act and the opening of the “House of Stars” memorial in Seoul as a place of remembrance for the victims. Even with the respect paid, deep divisions remain. There have been those who blame the victims for going to the Halloween event and accuse the bereaved of using the tragedy for political gain, ultimately questioning whether the deaths even deserve to be grieved. Some victims have faced sexual harassment and mockery online. Even prominent politicians such as ex-Prime Minister Han Ducksoo were criticized for judging a survivor who decided to take his own life due to secondary victimization as being “weak of heart,” demonstrating insensitive attitudes even at the highest levels of government. So, is Korea truly a safer society three years after this defining tragedy? The government’s response has been delayed mostly due to political disputes. The formation of the Itaewon Commission and new safety protocols are steps towards security, but a cultural change is still necessary. As Professor Lee Haesoo of Korea University’s Center for Media and Communication has commented, for a society to be truly safe, we must acknowledge “anyone can be grieved, no matter their background or the story of their lives.” Ultimately, safety is not only secured by policy reforms but by the collective values of a people. Remembering the Itaewon tragedy is not merely an obligation towards the bereaved, but rather a commitment towards a better society: one in which grief is respected rather than mocked, and where solidarity in the pursuit of justice and truth brings about change. The purple stars are foundations towards building a safer, more compassionate Korea for all.
The Government Wants to Kill Me
Some lives are harder to live than others. When your body is constantly on the verge of giving out on you like a broken lightbulb going on and off, it becomes much easier to entertain the idea of death. Those who experience the worst kinds of physical pain are increasingly deciding to make that idea of death a reality. It’s called assisted dying, and it’s been catching on fast: it has been accessible in parts of Europe for years, and just this October, Uruguay became the first in Latin America to legalize it. In Korea, progress on assisted dying has been much slower. The closest Korean law that approaches legal euthanasia is the Act on Decisions on Life-Sustaining Treatment, passed in 2018. Unlike Switzerland and the like, where applicants can directly ask their doctors for life-ending medication, Korea only allows patients the choice to turn off their life support. The 2018 Act is a step forward, but compared to other nations, Korea still grants ill and disabled people less autonomy over their death. While discussions are lagging on a government level, the demand is persistently there. According to a poll conducted by the Korean Society for Hospice and Palliative Care, 40% of respondents were in favor of being euthanized if they were diagnosed with late-stage cancer. 10 Koreans so far have gone to Switzerland to be euthanized. Yet despite the demand, no new laws have been passed since 2018. Those without the ability to travel overseas are stranded on the peninsula with no end in sight for their pain. One may reasonably say that this is an injustice. The increasing prominence of the “my body, my choice” philosophy has enabled revolutionary progress for abortion laws in recent years. The movement for the “right to die” is a natural extension of this sentiment—to deny people experiencing extreme pain a way out is to deny their bodily autonomy. Legalizing assisted dying, however, comes with several debilitating pitfalls that exist outside of that purely theoretical vacuum: namely, handing the government even more tools to kill you. Note how I said “even more.” The government already wants to kill you—more precisely, it wants to kill certain people over others. Cameroonian political theorist Achille Mbembe argues in his essay Necropolitics that the government can “cheapen” the lives of select populations to determine who should live or die. Those who should die—the insane, sick, and undesirable—are condemned to a state of “Slow Death” where they are suspended between life and death. The disabled are seen as useless and economically unproductive. While their physical bodies are kept alive by the healthcare system, they progress through a slow process of social death. Their existence is socially convicted as burdensome: in effect, cheapened. They are deemed expendable and disposable. The legalization of assisted dying accelerates this Slow Death into an Immediate Death. According to a survey in Canada by the Angus Reid Institute, 6% of those surveyed knew someone who was offered Canada’s Medical Assistance in Dying (MAiD) unsolicited. 3 out of 5 respondents were concerned that patients receiving inadequate treatment, or otherwise in a mentally vulnerable state, could be easily coerced to accept MAiD. What MAiD offers to disabled Canadians undergoing Slow Death is an “easy way out”—not just from the pain, but also from the judgment, the horrific realization of the dispensability of their own life (Procknow). In Korea, where Confucian ideals hold society in a chokehold, the risk of this Slow Social Death to Immediate Literal Death pipeline is even higher. A poll conducted by Hankook Research revealed that 20% of respondents supported assisted dying over concerns of “pain and burden inflicted on the family.” What this reveals is that for many Koreans, more so than any other country, the choice to die will heavily rest upon what others would think of their family. Under the pressure of social death, assisted dying is not an autonomous choice, but an illusion of it. And as long as the government does not discourage the ostracization of disabled people, it will remain a tool that accelerates the tacit removal of “burdensome undesirables.” For assisted dying to stand as a true means of achieving bodily autonomy, the government should stop wanting to kill me. Korea as a whole would have to work on destigmatizing the existence of disabled people. Granting disabled people equality in basic everyday processes, such as mobility rights, would be a start; stopping the constant demonization of disabled protesters would be the bare minimum. Even after that, assisted dying should be granted cautiously, and only to individuals who clearly express that they want it. Some lives are harder to live than others. An understandable portion of them should be allowed a dignified death. Yet, the remaining portion is not selfish to want to live on regardless.
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