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A Small Victory for Justice

Is it justifiable to make custodial workers take a “basic common-knowledge test,” factor it into performance reviews, and even use it as grounds for dismissal? This is the subject of Episodes 5–6 of the drama Labor Attorney Noh Moo-jin. The storyline is based on a real incident: in 2021, a custodial worker at Seoul National University dormitories—Ms. Lee—was forced to take written tests in English and Chinese characters, and the combined stress of the exams and excessive workload contributed to her death from acute myocardial infarction.

In June 2021, Ms. Lee (59), who worked as a dormitory custodian at Seoul National University, died with excessive physical labor and stress identified as primary causes. The Ministry of Employment and Labor recognized the situation as workplace harassment, and the university’s Human Rights Center interpreted it as a human rights violation. The Korea Workers’ Compensation & Welfare Service recognized the death as an industrial accident, and in 2024 the bereaved family won approximately 86 million KRW in damages through a civil lawsuit. What the drama portrayed did happen in reality, and it was legally interpreted as a problematic situation.

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Does Justice Come From Enlightenment?

Let’s return to the drama. In the story, the labor attorney’s mother works as a custodian, and his team becomes involved after hearing what is happening. Because the test could be framed as an internal performance-evaluation policy, the attorney struggles to find a clear legal countermeasure. Eventually, he decides to lead an anti-test campaign.

He gathers the custodial workers, treats them to a meal, and asks them to join the movement. But many push back.

“This is the best job I can get.”
“I think it helps prevent dementia.”
“It’s a top university—what’s wrong with studying a little?”
“Where else hires us directly?”

Some even express pride: “This job paid my kids’ tuition.” They find meaning in their work and feel a sense of accomplishment. But the attorney is frustrated that they don’t seem to realize their rights. These are people being evaluated—and potentially dismissed—through a test unrelated to their actual duties. Even meals aren’t properly provided; buying a meal ticket at the student cafeteria feels burdensome. The attorney sees their lack of knowledge about labor law and human rights as part of the problem.

Then his mother stands up and speaks.
“Has any student ever greeted you while you worked?”
“Even if we clean, don’t we deserve to be treated like human beings?”

Those emotional words sway the room. The workers join the movement. At the protest site, the people who once voiced pride and satisfaction are gone. What remains are people overwhelmed by frustration, sadness, resentment, and despair. And in the end, through collective action, the problem is resolved.

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Is Enlightenment Always Right?

Many social reforms begin with the discomfort of a few, and later the broader public recognizes the benefit. The French Revolution is a classic example: the bourgeoisie’s attempt to strengthen their own power contributed to the birth of “human rights,” reshaping the world. In a society where access to information, ability to express oneself, and capacity for understanding are uneven, the majority can end up mistaking injustice for fate—or even for virtue and diligence.

But can we really guarantee that unconditional enlightenment leads people to happiness?

In the drama, the labor attorney and his mother may have forced their worldview onto everyone. It’s possible that, rather than liberating people, they disrupted the peaceful lives of those who had been making autonomous choices—those who lived with pride and quiet stability. Yes, a test can become a lethal stressor for someone. But for others, it might have functioned as motivation, even as a source of meaning.

If that’s the case, did their “enlightenment” make these workers happier—or less happy?

A happy life without enlightenment, or an unhappy life with enlightenment—
which is more desirable? And who has the right to decide?

By what authority did the attorney and his mother restructure other people’s lives? Is it right not only to support those who raised concerns, but also to push even the satisfied into internalizing the idea that they are trapped in an unfair, unhappy system? Why must those who once took pride in paying their children’s tuition through honest work come to see themselves as victims of unreasonable exploitation?

Is truth always right?
Is speaking truth always right?
Is knowing liberation—or a new form of captivity?

Is knowledge power? Or is ignorance bliss?

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After My CPTSD Diagnosis

I used to live with chronic depression and lethargy. Even when I made close friends and spent time with people, I couldn’t erase the emptiness that lingered in one corner of my heart. I used to call myself a “firefly”—a dim little thing—and joke that I had no friends. I lived like that for so long it didn’t even feel strange.

Then, out of curiosity, I took a simple test and realized I was in a depressive state that required urgent counseling. I visited hospitals and community health centers a few times, but either the evaluations weren’t completed or everything ended after a single visit. I still didn’t know what was truly going on.

Only after obsessive symptoms caused severe toothaches and headaches—so intense that daily life became impossible—did I begin treatment in earnest. And only three years later did I finally receive a CPTSD diagnosis.

I realized how distorted my life had been from childhood to adolescence to adulthood. I realized, at last, that my life was not the same as other people’s. And I internalized myself as a patient, a victim, a survivor.

Then my symptoms intensified.

My social avoidance grew worse. I couldn’t sleep without medication. Even a simple walk outside quickly made my neck and shoulders tighten; headaches and dizziness became constant companions. Under severe stress, I lose control of my body. I experience dissociation—like my soul separates from my body—and intense nausea follows. Sometimes, even sitting still or lying down, I feel so motion-sick I can’t breathe properly.

And sometimes—maybe often—I think this:

What if I hadn’t known my symptoms so clearly?
What if I had just lived as a chronically depressed, chronically lethargic person and carried on? Maybe I would have cracked a tooth or two from compulsions. But perhaps I wouldn’t have ended up scratching myself until I bled, or becoming so incapacitated that daily life itself collapses.

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Enlightenment Without Responsibility

I’m told this feeling is common early in treatment: you finally understand your condition, and that very clarity triggers negative emotions. As treatment continues and symptoms begin to ease, people often change more than they expect.

But mental illness is also an area where there is only so much a doctor can do. Medication and therapy are supportive tools; fundamentally, the patient must restructure their environment and change the inertia of their behaviors and thoughts. The doctor gives a diagnosis—an enlightenment—but the shock that follows is mine to endure.

And some doctors do little more than repeat:
“You can do it.”
“You know you can—so why aren’t you?”
“You can.”

But not being able to is the symptom. I came because I can’t. Repeating “you can” feels like going to an ENT doctor for uncontrollable coughing and hearing, again and again, “You can just stop coughing.”

So I decided to call it “enlightenment without responsibility.” And in the chaos of early recovery, cases of people making extreme choices are not rare.

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The Aftercare of Enlightenment

My recovery—and social issues—share the same structure. People often use their expertise, sometimes becoming intoxicated by it, to “enlighten” others. Enlightenment is treated as something inherently noble. Those who enlighten are praised as pioneers.

But no one takes responsibility for the identity crisis that can follow. Enlightenment requires ethical responsibility and philosophical caution—yet few “enlighteners” seem to fear the consequences.

Healing does not come from truth itself.

Truth gains meaning only when there is a safe relationship in which it can be spoken, inner readiness to receive it, and a support structure that allows life to continue after the truth is revealed.

Any attempt to enlighten someone must first ask:
Will this lead their life toward rebuilding—or toward ruin?

#Thought_No_20250616

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