South Korea’s New Draconian Anti-corruption Law

The sight of white-potted orchids filling a South Korean newsroom to praise a promoted editor is now a thing of the past as a new law tackling corruption in the public service sector aims to clean up the cozy relations between government, big business, and media.

Since September 28, the Improper Solicitation and Graft Act has banned public servants, private school teachers, and journalists from giving or receiving gifts worth over $50, or even a $30 meal. Those potted plants, donning congratulatory ribbons, were once sent en masse by big companies in unabashed support for the local journalists covering them, but they have been replaced by simple cards as Koreans steer clear of the law that carries heavy penalties.

Dubbed the Kim Young-ran Act after the former anti-corruption chief who first proposed it, the law aims to reform a long-practiced tradition of bribery, graft, and hand-holding. Gone are the days when, according to media industry sources, business executives used to open drawers full of cash for the interviewer to grab at, or hold raffles at ritzy golf club events for guests, including reporters.

It is a tradition almost unheard of in Western media, whose strict ethics guide their principles and practice of objectivity. But this cozy relationship has been a defining part of the Korean media’s identity, tracing back to its survival mode during Japanese colonial rule and military regimes and compromise with big businesses throughout the last century.

“In Western countries, journalists have developed their own professionalism by creating their own journalistic ethics and by implementing self-regulation. The Kim Young-ran law seems to be a very unnatural way of building journalistic ethics,” says Jihyang Choi, a media professor at Ewha Womans University in Seoul.

Despite its intentions to clean up society, the law has been criticized for its unclear conditions, wide scope, and harsh punishments. Hasty planning and a lack of staff support among the anti-corruption regulators have left thousands of questions over the vaguely worded act unanswered. Koreans are walking on eggshells as they wait to learn what is deemed acceptable.

Parliamentary audits in October revealed that the Anti-Corruption and Civil Rights Commission had only nine personnel to handle the public inquiries submitted to clarify details of the act. Of nearly 7,000 inquiries in the past year and a half, they have only answered 1,250. Despite lawmakers from both main parties aggressively promoting the act, substandards, definitions, and clear exceptions are lacking.

The fact that the law has such a wide scope – applying to 4 million people and their spouses – and came into effect all at once has caused predictable tension in the economy. Credit card spending dropped 9 percent year-on-year shortly after the act kicked in, while lunch spots, floral shops, and after-work hangouts appear emptier than before.

Observers say the bill was rushed after the 2014 Sewol ferry tragedy exposed the ties between regulators and businesses that led to the dangerous conditions aboard the ship, which capsized and killed over 300 passengers. Public anger over the corruption fueled the revival of the bill, which had been on the backburner in parliament for more than eight months.

“It seems that lawmakers were eager to show that they had done something,” says Choi. “If the government and politicians showed any hesitance or delay in passing the bill, they would have been criticized for being pro-corruption.”

The act’s purpose is to weed out “improper” solicitation of public officials to secure public confidence in government agencies. After employees at the state-run broadcasters were added to the list of those subject to the bill, lawmakers sought to add private educators and journalists, considered private-sector servants of the public good, to step up its already sweeping efforts to clean up corruption.

Some of these traditions had been filtered out over time, but the Korean media’s long tradition of promoting national interests means the public eye remains critical of the institution, says Choi.

The sweeping bill is a double-edged sword, as it has, at least for now, shut down even honest journalists from doing their jobs: Restaurant reviewers cannot dine for free, music writers cannot receive concert tickets over 50,000 won, auto reporters cannot take cars out for test drives, and tech journalists cannot borrow devices for review. Overseas press tours and conference trips are largely restricted, and it is unlikely that cash-strapped outlets will foot the bills. Industry observers fear that small-scale events, which already struggle for media attention, will lose their voice.

Journalists and their sources will grapple with a new way of doing business.

“Most of all, it is likely that journalists will have difficulties in accessing sources and doing information gathering activities,” Choi adds. “For journalists, having lunch, dinner, or coffee together with sources is a casual way of interacting and gathering information. This law may have a chilling effect on the regular interactions between journalists and sources thus possibly reinforcing self-censorship.”

Others are concerned with regulators wasting resources on chasing minor offenders rather than the big-fish corruption it was set out to tackle. Ridicule was widespread over the first related court proceeding, which put a small-town man on trial for sending $40 worth of rice cakes to a police officer as thanks for his help.

It will require more than a law to adjust Korea’s culture of corruption. With big businesses and government still the major sponsors of traditional media, their influence is not lost. Rumors swirled that big businesses had been coming up with underground ways to bypass the law.

The law’s short-term pitfalls will take their toll on the economy and media, but with 70 percent of the public supporting the act, it is not expected to lose momentum. With amendments, clarification of ambiguities, reconsideration of its fairness, and effective implementation, the law’s negative effects may pass as growing pains toward a more transparent democracy.