OPINION: The weight of a death sentence, the lightness of martial law

The prosecution’s request for the death penalty against former President Yoon Suk Yeol is not merely about the punishment of one individual. It is a question the Republic of Korea is asking of itself: What kind of country are we? How far have we come? And what lines must never be crossed? 

That a state of martial law could even be contemplated for political reasons in a mature democratic republic with per-capita income exceeding $30,000 already signals a breach of basic principles and common sense. The significance of the death penalty request lies less in its severity than in its attempt to redraw a boundary that should never have been blurred. 

For responsible journalism, the first and most fundamental standard is adherence to basic principles and common sense. Martial law is an extraordinary measure, permissible only in times of war, national emergency, or threats equivalent to the survival of the state. Routine political conflict, power struggles, or declining approval ratings can never justify it. The Constitution grants authority, but it also clearly defines its limits. Once those limits are crossed, power ceases to be governance and becomes recklessness. 

Allegations that military and police forces were to be mobilized for political ends are, regardless of their ultimate legal determination, already difficult to accept in the language of common sense. Common sense asks a simple question: Why emergency powers instead of dialogue and due process? 

From the perspective of journalism committed to truth, justice and freedom, this prosecution is a test of democracy’s capacity for self-defense. Freedom is not absolute, and justice must stand on procedure. Emergency powers exist to protect liberty temporarily, not to extend political authority by shortcut. The symbolic weight of the death penalty request lies in how democracy confronts threats from within. Punishment should not be revenge; it must be a warning — a warning to all public officials that the constitutional order is not private property. 

International precedents sharpen this point. Chile’s Augusto Pinochet, who seized power through a military coup, ultimately faced accountability under domestic and international law. In Spain, the 1981 coup attempt was neutralized when the king publicly declared loyalty to the Constitution, drawing a firm line against military intervention in politics. In the United States, responsibility for the January 6 Capitol riot extended even to former President Donald Trump. Institutional maturity reveals itself in moments of crisis. Democratic states, without exception, have defended the political neutrality of the military and the supremacy of constitutional order. 

From a perspective that values human dignity, culture and the natural foundations of society, the shadow of martial law stretches far beyond politics. Military neutrality erodes, citizens’ daily lives are shaken by fear, and trust in the economy and culture collapses almost overnight. Investment and exchange recoil from uncertainty. The soil for free debate and creative expression withers, and its recovery, like nature’s, takes time. Such damage cannot be fully measured in numbers — which is precisely why the standard of common sense must be uncompromising. 

What must not be lost in the debate surrounding this prosecution is the question of morality and conscience. Legal reasoning must be cool-headed, but those who wield the law must do so with a heated sense of responsibility. When a single decision by those in power can place an entire community at risk, democracy becomes most vulnerable. Power without reflection and authority without accountability invite repetition of the same error. 

To be sure, society must continue a separate and serious discussion about the death penalty itself. But the core issue here is not execution — it is standards. Where is the line between what is permissible and what is not? How should the judiciary respond when politics betrays procedure? In the court of common sense and constitutional principle, this prosecution seeks to make that line unmistakably clear. 

South Korea is now judged not by the speed of its growth but by the depth of its maturity. The moment martial law becomes imaginable as a political tool, the republic regresses from democracy to a system governed by convenience of power. Truth, justice and freedom are not preserved by declarations alone. The conditions of human life, culture and even nature are the first to be damaged when constitutional restraint collapses. 

That is why emergency power must always be placed first before the court of common sense — not left to the discretion of those who wield authority. The message of this prosecution is clear: No office, no justification, grants immunity when constitutional order is shaken. Democracy survives through tolerance, but when fundamental principles are breached, it must defend itself with firmness. This is the minimum level of maturity the Republic of Korea must now demand of itself.

*The author is the President of Global Economic and Financial Research Institute (GEFRI) and an AJP columnist.