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The Quarterly Changbi 208, Summer 2025

An Earnest Yearning to Usher in a New Order

A winter that felt especially long and dark has finally passed. Like the lingering cold snap that kept us uneasy, ousting a corrupt powerholder proved far more difficult than we had imagined. Even in the long winter cold, though, we managed to welcome spring—through the strength of citizens who endured and protected the square—and now we are approaching summer. However, it is still too precarious to say confidently that these are days worth enjoying. People’s livelihoods are threatened in the aftermath of wildfires that scorched the land and collapsed their lives; other recurring disasters; workers continuing high-altitude protests; those who still lose their lives in industrial accidents, and those who suffer irreversible harm as the medical field is thrown into chaos by rash state intervention and state institutions inciting hatred. In sum, the past few years, in which irrationality has become normalized, have clearly further damaged our lives. Furthermore, no one believes that the problems will disappear simply with the ousting of the Yoon Suk-yeol administration. Still, it is clear that we are now given a chance to begin again.

Looking back, the cry of “Is this even a country?” has a long history. The struggle to build a nation in which the people are the true sovereigns stretches far back—from the Donghak Peasant Revolution and the March 1st Movement to more recent milestones, like the April 19 Revolution, the May 18 Gwangju Uprising, and the June Democratic Uprising of 1987. The most vivid memory is our yearning following the Sewol Ferry disaster. At that time, citizens gathered in the square, holding candles and vowing to build a country worthy of its name, crying out in anguish, “Is this even a country?” Yet that desperate hope was not fully realized in the face of harsh realities. Hopes met a wall of reality and turned into frustration and anger, and the longing for change once again filled the square. But, as past experiences have shown, anger alone cannot change reality.

To bring about real change not just through a change in the government but in the way we live—and to sustain it—we need more than words. We need solidarity in action, the ability to resolve long-standing issues, and the wisdom and perseverance to push forward. Above all, we must reflect on what caused our previous resolutions to collapse and what forces subdued our aspirations. We must also remember that simply removing individuals is not enough. What we need now is not just the replacement of certain people or groups, but a structural transformation of society. What lies before us is another opportunity to come together to truly change our reality.

We must also remember that, in reality, the meaning of an “earnest yearning” can differ from person to person. While everyone may long for democracy, for some, the most urgent issue may be a safe workplace, the struggle to make a living, or proper care in the face of death. For others, it may be a world free from discrimination and hate, or the promise of fair and equal opportunities. Even when we share a yearning for a better world, when it comes to specific issues, like pension reform, labor policy, or housing, conflicting interests among citizens are inevitable. Everyone may dream of a new world, but the vision of that desirable country can vary. Still, these differences and conflicts are precisely what we will confront—and, indeed, must confront—if we are to build a nation worthy of its name.

A true middle way is not about vague compromise or the pursuit of moderation, nor is it simply about gathering numerical majorities. It is about more people walking together toward meaningful change. It is a steady process—one that carries passionate conviction without losing hope, and that avoids impatience while still achieving tangible results. To do this, we must not forget that even in an age of hope, that hope does not reach everyone equally. In fact, a time when hope begins to appear can deepen the sense of exclusion more than a time when despair is universal. That’s why no issue should be judged lightly nor should its solution be postponed. Of course, we need guiding principles—such as holding those responsible for treason accountable, and prioritizing people’s livelihoods and peace—but we must also recognize that what seems less urgent now may hold the key to resolving the whole. Above all, hope grows stronger the more people share in it, does it not? 

Therefore, even after a change in government, the qualities of civic participation must not change, and vigilance and solidarity must not cease. The technocratic elitism of experts who lack a sense of responsibility to the community will never solve our problems. For example, if the restoration of democracy is reduced merely to the strengthening of the rule of law, we risk repeating the current situation in which critical social decisions are dominated by judicial elites. If citizens are to truly be the sovereigns of this nation, we must constantly reflect on and experiment with the systems, practices, and education needed to make that a reality. We must also build a society where falling off the “normal” track of life or losing once in competition does not mean the end, a society where anyone can start again, where opportunity is not a privilege of the few but a right for all.

We have repeatedly experienced moments that made us ashamed of thinking, “Surely this must be the end of it.” Perhaps we underestimated the depth and seriousness of the problems. Now, we must begin the careful work of building hope, here and now, so that we do not have to cry again, “Is this even a country?” We must lay a strong foundation so that hope can endure. And we must work together to protect each other’s hearts, so that someone’s desperate yearning does not once again turn into anger. The true restoration of democracy means creating a society in which anyone, under any circumstances, can raise their voice—and where that voice is respected. To achieve this, what we need most is the participation of everyone, cultivating change from the ground up in the realities of everyday life.

In this issue’s special feature, “Democratic Sentiment and New Literature,” we explore how “democratic sentiment”—which has become even more significant since the December 3rd Self-Coup Incident—intersects with literature and gives rise to new forms, and we analyze the narrative structures of such sentiment. Hwang Jung-a offers a rich discussion on the role and meaning of an emotion, interpreting the historical depth of citizens’ awakening to their responsibility in the present moment and their sense of “taking their turns.” Arguing how the process of restoring and repairing human emotions and history is compellingly portrayed in Kim Keum Hee’s novel The Great Greenhouse Repair Report, she discusses the potential for a new kind of coming-of-age narrative. 

Jeon Gi-hwa shows how the narrative of mourning in recent Korean literary works goes beyond simply consoling loss, instead actively calling readers into the space of mourning. The literary practice of reflecting on loss from the perspective of those left behind is persuasively conveyed. Capturing the communal sentiments in the poetry of Kim Hae-ja, Hwang Gyu-gwan illustrates how her poems revive our lost connections with others and the world. Borrowing the poetic address of 'ni' (you) in Kim Haeja’s poems, he suggests the possibility of forming new relationships beyond the destructive subjectivity of modernity.

“Special Dialogue” between Paik Nak-chung and Lee Nam-ju, “The 2025 System—How to Build It?” vividly and profoundly conveys the thoughts and practical directions for constructing a new system. As awareness grows that the 1987 system has reached its end amid the chaos caused by the Yoon Suk-yeol regime’s unconstitutional self-coup, this piece will continue to serve as a reference in opening discourses about the path toward a new politics and nation. From the perspective of a “transformative middle way,” the dialogue focuses on a new government’s tasks, practical strategies, effective constitutional reform, and the creation of the 2025 system.

The “Dialogue” section also takes a historical view of the situation on the Korean Peninsula, as Korea celebrates the 80th anniversary of its liberation. Four contemporary historians—Kim Do-min, Moon Mi-ra, Heo Eun, and Hong Seuk-ryule—reflect on the history around the division of the Korean Peninsula and assess its significance, offering intellectually engaging reading. They provide important clues about how to materialize the long-held aspiration of building a nation, a hope that was not fulfilled immediately after liberation.

The “Articles” section introduces other essential writings that contribute to the vision of building a new nation. Opening with a critique of the judiciary’s response to the recent self-coup-related incident and major trials, Han Sang-hie systematically examines long-standing issues within the judiciary. The article not only points out problems, such as the authoritarian nature of the Chief Justice system and the concentration of power in the Court Administration Office, but also proposes concrete measures to ensure a democratic judiciary—making a compelling case for the urgency of judicial reform.

Our ambitious project, “Searching for K-Discourse,” which aims to rewrite the genealogy of practical reform discourse, rooted in the realities of the Korean Peninsula, has reached its sixth installment. Lee Il-young offers an in-depth reexamination of the life and thought of Park Hyun-chae, a singular economist who proposed a theory of national economy in opposition to the Park Chung-hee regime’s development-first model. Tracing his journey from experience as a partisan fighter, through the People's Revolutionary Party Incident, to his later work as a dissident economist, the article explores how Park’s intense life became the prototype for a uniquely Korean alternative economic philosophy. Going beyond mere retrospection, it investigates the contemporary relevance and new possibilities of his national economy theory in today’s Korean economic context, offering a horizon for present-day practice.

In the “On the Scene” section, Hong Suk-hwan points out incisively the structural problems in forest policy that underlie the recent spate of large-scale wildfires across the southeastern region and other parts of the country. He delivers a shocking diagnosis: that decades-long “forest cultivation projects” have actually made our forests more vulnerable to fire, and he illustrates how post-disaster “recovery” efforts have marginalized residents affected by the fire. 

Park Seok-jin introduces an innovative attempt to expand citizen participation in defense policy. In the wake of the December 3 Self-Coup Incident, as the role and responsibility of the military become increasingly key topics, he documents the process and significance of publishing the first Civic National Defense White Book, created through direct public involvement.

The essay series “What Took Care of My Life” returns with its second installment, offering warm and hopeful reflections on what helps us continue to live and what we live for. Poet Ahn Hee-yeon writes with characteristic warmth about the meaning of care, as realized through her time with her mother and grandmother. Through the symbolic continuity of gardens—from her grandmother’s rural yard to her mother’s apartment balcony, to the poet’s own “garden of poetry”—she thoughtfully conveys how care circulates and sustains life.

In the creative writing section, twelve poets each celebrate life’s small and large realizations, as well as the wounds and hopes of our times. New short stories, by Kim Hye-Jin, Moon Soi, Moon Jin-young, Park Min-gyu, and Choi Eun-mi, also welcome our readers. 

In the “Focus on Author” section, critic Kim Na-young meets writer Baek Su-linne, who recently published the short-story collection All Things of a Spring Night. Kim’s essay finely traces how the emotional nuances that Baek captures become forces repairing and continuing life in her fiction. It also sheds light on her literary efforts to bridge the gap between self and others, between generations, and between body and mind.

In “Literary Criticism,” Ha Hyeok-jin brings fresh meaning to the relatively under-explored theme of father-daughter narratives. Through the works of Lee Mi-sang, Sung Hye-ryoung, and Ye So-yeon, he highlights the emerging subjectivity of daughters and explores new interpretive possibilities around the concepts of generation and gender. In Literary Focus, featuring commentary on notable new works, Kim Tae-seon discusses the poetry collections of Ko Seon-gyeong and Park Joon through the key concepts of “turbulence” and “silence.” Min Seon-hae analyzes the fiction of Sung Haena and Park Seon-woo using the metaphor of “seams emerging at the site of rupture and connection.” Oh Youn-kyung reflects on the writings of Han Ki-wook and Yoo Hui-sok, and revisits the role of criticism as an “act of inheritance” in Korean literature. 

The “Reviews” section introduces a wide range of books—from humanities texts that explore the potential for civilizational transformation through the philosophy of gaebyeok, to biographies and world literature. These reviews thoughtfully examine the virtues of each book and highlight issues to reflect on collectively.

With the challenges before us grave, we should not dwell on what Quarterly Changbi has done so far, but focus on the role it can play going forward. Still, we hope our readers recognize that we have contributed to advancing the cause of a nation deserving its name—and that we have consistently expressed the belief that a government out of step with the people’s will cannot complete its term, and that a day of transition must be hastened. It is our mission to continue this work with renewed commitment. 

Quarterly Changbi aspires to be a space in which earnest voices gather in dialogue—a place where people with differing views and positions can debate, appreciate each other’s sincerity, and seek a shared direction. As we closely examine the realities of the world and Korean Peninsula, and envision a 2025 system, we will continue to ask questions, communicate, and take action in pursuit of a better future.

Let us begin again with new hope. This time, let us build a future together, where that hope is realized, for hope does not arrive on its own—it is something we must carefully construct, here and now.

Paik Young-gyung