Eighteen years ago, the author visited an apartment model house with dreams of owning his own home. The blueprint presented by the developer was dazzling. An ecological park would be created within the complex, and a nearby interchange was scheduled for installation. The plans even included an English village affiliated with Johns Hopkins University. Although the sale price was higher than the surrounding market rate at the time, he signed the contract believing it was worth the cost given the "premium complex" offered transportation, education, and a natural environment all in one. That choice would shake his entire life thereafter.
"5,475 Days, the Long Road Home" is a record of an ordinary middle-class family man's 15-year fight against housing fraud. The author was an ordinary office worker in the information technology (IT) industry. But after signing a contract for the Ilsan Shindongah Pamilier apartment, he found himself at the center of a residents' struggle. After posting about the damages on online communities, he soon became chairman of the residents' council, leading lawsuits and rallies.
The fraud was exposed just months after the contract. The English village plan had been impossible from the start under the Private Teaching Institutes Act, and the Deokyi Interchange, which had been promoted as scheduled to open, had already had its project canceled two years earlier. The developer had hung maps produced before the cancellation in the model house and proceeded with sales. Various amenities and development plans were also significantly reduced or eliminated.
Through the struggle, the author came to keenly realize that Korea's pre-sale apartment system is structured around developers, construction firms, and the financial sector rather than consumers. Residents pay large down payments based solely on the company's explanations about apartments that have not even broken ground, but even when false or exaggerated advertising is later revealed, holding anyone accountable or canceling the contract is no easy task. The construction company stands aside, passing all problems to the developer, while the developer claims "unavoidable plan changes." Government offices also responded passively, citing insufficient legal grounds. While consumers bear enormous risks, the protections in place were woefully inadequate.
The 15-year-long battle was not in vain. After numerous lawsuits, the 380 households belonging to the residents' council secured ownership registration of their apartments in April 2024 through court mediation, without paying more than 100 billion won in remaining balance. It was a rare complete victory for residents in the history of Korea's housing sales disputes.
However, the author does not package the struggle as a heroic tale. By the time the long lawsuit ended, he, who had been at what should have been the most active period of his social life, had aged with hair turned gray, and he even contracted lung cancer during the struggle. Even so, he says, "What we protected was not a concrete chunk of an apartment, but our pride in our rightful claims."
The book reads like a "reportage" that doggedly traces the process of an ordinary citizen who dreamed of owning a home suddenly colliding head-on with the wall of massive capital and institutions. The author raises questions about Korea's apartment pre-sale system itself. Is the pre-sale structure, which transfers excessive risk onto consumers in the name of rapid housing supply, truly justified? Rather than offering solutions like a policy expert, the author vividly exposes institutional loopholes and structural problems through his firsthand experience as a consumer in the field. 20,000 won.
