Home > Opinion > Columns

'A dog fears its master, but…'

Published: 02 Feb. 2026, 00:01

Cho Gab-je

The author is a journalist and the head of Cho Gab-je TV.

At an Air Force radar site on South Korea’s east coast in the spring of 1970, I, Cho Gab-je, then a senior sergeant three months away from being discharged, found myself struggling with a moral dilemma. I watched as a military police sergeant began beating an entire formation because one conscript had been late. The dull thud of fists grew closer until he stopped in front of me.

190 members of the National Assembly vote to overturn President Yoon Suk Yeol's martial law declaration at the National Assembly building in Yeouido, western Seoul, in the early hours of Dec. 4, 2024. [NEWS1]

“Wait. I won’t take this. My service number is senior to yours,” I said.

A punch flew toward my face. I struck first, knocking him backward. Within moments, the commander of the military police unit rushed out and dragged me into an interrogation room.

“Why did you hit him?” he asked.

“I can’t be beaten by a subordinate,” I answered.

He pointed out that I had completed training with class 163 while the other man had done the same with class 162. I explained that I had entered boot camp with class 161, but I had been hospitalized for two months after developing pleurisy and finished my training later. My service number, consequently, was senior to his. The other man, I added, was only a sergeant wearing borrowed chevrons because he was in the military police.

The commander fell silent for a long moment, then waved me away. Had I chosen to endure the beating, I am convinced my spirit would have been broken. That punch preserved my dignity and inner peace.

Protesters gather outside the National Assembly in Yeouido, western Seoul, in the early hours of Dec. 4, 2024. [YONHAP]

That instinct for immediate resistance resurfaced decades later. On the night of Dec. 3, 2024, when emergency martial law was declared, then-People Power Party leader Han Dong-hoon reacted at once. Seeing Han, whose name reportedly topped an arrest list, urge civil servants to disobey and rush to the National Assembly, I uploaded a video predicting the attempt would fail before dawn.

When presiding Judge Lee Jin-kwan sentenced former Prime Minister Han Duck-soo to 23 years in prison for participating in an insurrection, the court’s core reasoning was striking: Why had he not acted immediately as Han Dong-hoon had? Among three senior figures positioned to stop the attempted power grab, only Han responded as if defending the constitution was a reflex. The others hesitated and were prosecuted or imprisoned. Inaction itself became a crime.

South Korean history records similar moments when leaders acted with decisive emotion. After receiving reports of a North Korean invasion on June 25, 1950, President Syngman Rhee summoned U.S. Ambassador to South Korea John Muccio and declared that South Koreans would fight with clubs and stones if necessary. There was no U.S. troop presence or formal alliance, and South Korea faced a coalition of North Korea’s Kim Il Sung, China’s Mao Zedong and the Soviet Union’s Josef Stalin. The next day, U.S. President Harry S. Truman told his Secretary of State Dean Acheson that the United States had to stop “those bastards” by any means. U.S. intervention followed immediately, including the deployment of troops and the dispatch of the Seventh Fleet to the Taiwan Strait.

The consequences reshaped world history. Japan revived its economy, West Germany rearmed, NATO became more powerful and the United States quadrupled its defense spending. Forty years later, the Soviet Union collapsed. That instantaneous expression of resolve by Rhee and Truman became a driving force behind the free world’s Cold War victory.

An even older lesson appears in South Korean records. In 660, Su Dingfang of the Tang Dynasty (618 to 907) led 130,000 troops to help Silla (57 B.C. to A.D. 935) defeat Baekje (18 B.C. to A.D. 660), then turned his army against Silla itself. According to “Samguk sagi” (1145), compiled by Kim Busik during the Goryeo Dynasty (918 to 1392), General Kim Yu-shin told King Taejong Muyeol, “A dog fears its master, but if the master steps on its leg, it will bite.” Alarmed by Silla’s determination, Su withdrew.

Under King Taejong Muyeol, also known as Kim Chun-chu, General Kim Yu-shin and later King Munmu, Silla expelled Tang forces after seven years of war, eliminating Baekje, Goguryeo (37 B.C. to A.D. 668) and Japanese intervention to form the first unified Korean state. With the peninsula stabilized, Tang China, Silla and Japan shared Buddhist culture and enjoyed roughly three centuries of regional peace. It was a civilizational turning point.

A statue of General Kim Yu-shin in Gyeongju, North Gyeongsang [JOONGANG ILBO]

The Republic of Korea Armed Forces have since served as the foundation of statehood, guardians of security, engines of modernization and bulwarks of democracy, preserving peace for 73 years since the armistice. All South Korean men are required to serve on active duty, a reminder of how deeply national survival is embedded in civic obligation.

Former President Yoon Suk Yeol, now a defendant, plunged this professional officer corps into crisis with a reckless martial law gambit. But the Constitution’s mandate of peaceful unification promises lasting peace in Northeast Asia. History teaches a consistent lesson: The struggles to defend freedom and autonomy are ultimately rewarded with peace.

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.