A pastor’s fraud case illustrates how prosecutorial reforms have made criminal justice harder to access for victims without money, lawyers or connections.
Jung Chung-rae, third from left, a candidate for the Democratic Party leadership and former party chair, delivers opening remarks at a forum on proposed amendments to the Criminal Procedure Act titled “Examining Criminal Procedure Act Revisions Through Cases of Prosecutorial Abuse of Power” at the National Assembly Members' Office Building on July 16.YONHAP
Ko Jung-ae
The author is the editor-in-chief at the JoongAng Sunday.
Pastor A wanted to expand his church, so he attended a court auction. There he met a self-styled auction expert, identified here as Dr. Ahn, who claimed he could acquire a 100 billion won ($6.8 mllion) building for just 400 million won. The only requirement, he said, was proof of a 10 billion won bank balance, which his associates would arrange.
Most people would immediately recognize such a proposal as a scam. Pastor A did not. Persuasive explanations and seemingly trustworthy intermediaries gradually won his confidence. Over the next seven years, he handed over not only the initial payment but additional sums as well. When a church member who had lent him money later filed a criminal complaint, Pastor A found himself having to prove that the borrowed money had been swindled from him rather than spent by him.
In the past, victims simply filed a complaint and the police and prosecutors investigated. Today, after prosecutorial reforms under the Moon Jae-in and Lee Jae Myung administrations, victims face a maze of procedures in which every step requires time, lawyers and, ultimately, money.
Pastor A's first question is whether the police will investigate properly. Should he hire a lawyer experienced in criminal cases just to prepare the complaint? What if police decide not to refer the case for prosecution? Will it simply disappear?
He has found little comfort except that, at 65, he qualifies as an elderly victim. Had he been a year younger, he wonders whether prosecutors would ever have seen his case. If the police fail to investigate thoroughly, who will correct their mistakes?
The uncertainty continues. One person introduced by Dr. Ahn had been a senior National Intelligence Service official. Another was a well-known private money lender in Seoul's Myeongdong district. If there are additional victims and losses exceed 500 million won, should the Serious Crimes Investigation Office handle the case? How would he even find the other victims?
This, the author argues, is the bewildering system created by the Democratic Party's prosecutorial reforms, from stripping prosecutors of investigative powers to abolishing the Prosecutors' Office and replacing it with separate prosecution and investigative agencies.
After deciding to abolish prosecutors' supplementary investigative authority, the party softened its proposal when public opinion turned against the plan. It designated seven categories of offenses — including sexual crimes, child abuse, domestic violence, stalking and abuse of older adults — as crimes against socially vulnerable victims, requiring all such cases to be forwarded to prosecutors. Yet questions remain. Are disabled fraud victims or abducted children not equally vulnerable? Why should protection depend on the category of crime?
Former prosecutor and lawmaker Kim Woong warned in his book “The Prosecutor's War” (translated) (2018) that criminal investigations could become an endless sequence of procedures, each demanding another lawyer and another legal bill. Those without money or influential connections, he argued, would simply give up. That assessment seems increasingly persuasive.
Services once provided by the state are becoming something victims must purchase themselves. A fellow journalist described the trend as “the privatization of prosecution.” The phrase is ironic given the Democratic Party's longstanding opposition to privatization in other sectors.
While serving as a correspondent in Britain, I was surprised that many theft victims never reported crimes. The explanation was simple: Police solved murders but rarely caught thieves. Korea may be moving in the same direction. Justice and compensation increasingly depend on whether victims have the resources to navigate an increasingly complicated system. Many people will simply absorb their losses. Those least able to do so will suffer the most.
Pastor A's story comes from “The Prosecutor's War.” According to the book, the Myeongdong money lender behind the scheme had been implicated in 75 fraud cases, yet 68 ended without indictment. Even when the case first reached prosecutor Kim, police had concluded there was no crime. Only after prosecutors reconstructed the broader pattern did the full scheme emerge. By then, Pastor A had lost all his assets, gotten divorced and suffered a stroke that left him unable to walk, hear or speak. The fraudsters were eventually punished. The author suggests such an outcome may belong to a bygone era.
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.
