In Korea, a crisis is not a matter of facts. It is a matter of relationships. The American crisis-management textbook teaches three things: tell the truth, tell it fast, and take responsibility. These are not wrong. But few companies in Korea have resolved a crisis by following these principles alone. Some followed the manual to the letter, yet public opinion never turned. Some issued apologies, yet the anger never subsided. There is a reason.
Korean society has an emotion called *jeong* (情). Jeong is an accumulation built over long periods of time. It grows through repeated contact, shared memories, and gestures of care. It is not written in any contract. It cannot be explained by logic. Yet jeong builds up between companies and consumers, and between companies and employees. When that jeong is betrayed, what erupts is *han* (恨). Han is not simple anger. It is compressed energy of unresolved grievance. Once han accumulates, it lasts. It does not dissolve easily. In Korea, crises escalate not because of the scale of an incident in many cases. They escalate because of an attitude that abandoned jeong.
Accidents arrive without warning. Where the leader was at that moment tells everything about the organization. On the night of February 17, 2014, the auditorium roof of Kolon Mauna Ocean Resort collapsed. A freshman orientation for Busan University of Foreign Studies was underway. Ten people died. More than 100 were injured. They had not yet begun their university lives. They had not yet had a chance to pursue their dreams.
The next day at early dawn, Kolon Group Chairman Lee Woong-yeol visited the on-site command post. An apology was issued. The first sentence read: "We prostrate ourselves and offer our deepest apology." It continued: "We feel an immense weight of responsibility, particularly for the young people who passed away before they could even begin to blossom in their university years, and we offer our deepest apology to all those who are stricken with grief over the loss of their precious loved ones." The statement went on to express a keen sense of responsibility for causing public concern, announced the establishment of an accident response task force, and pledged to determine the cause. There was no ornate rhetoric. The company followed the procedures, held its ground, and said what needed to be said.
The minimum condition for crisis management is simple: prevent han from building up in the victims. The bereaved families were not without anger. But the top executive appeared at the scene. He spoke in language directed at the victims. An accident response task force was activated. A pledge to investigate the cause was made. None of this was extraordinary. The company simply did what it was supposed to do. Yet in Korean society, han accumulates most often precisely when those basic things are absent. Fewer companies than one might think hold their ground at the scene in the moment of crisis.
The opposite approach breeds han. In March 2023, a massive fire broke out at the Hankook Tire Daejeon plant. Approximately 87,000 square meters were destroyed. Some 210,000 tires were lost. Hundreds of workers lost their workplace in an instant. Yet the person with ultimate authority was not there. Chairman Cho Hyun-bum was already in detention. An apology from CEO Lee Su-il came only three days after the incident. Workers were shifted to paid leave. Promises on job security remained unclear. The labor union's protest dragged on.
A help desk for local residents was set up. Environmental cleanup work was carried out. The formalities were observed. But the workers did not feel it — the jeong directed at them, the sense that the company was on their side. When jeong is not conveyed, systems ring hollow. Han grows in that hollowness.
In the face of a crisis, jeong is not optional. In Korean society, it is a condition of survival. Western crisis management focuses on minimizing legal risk. That is rational. But in Korea, the first question victims ask is not about legal logic. It is: "Is that person sincere?" "Are they treating us as human beings?" If a company cannot answer those questions, no matter how carefully crafted the apology, it will not turn public opinion. This is why Korean-style crisis response differs from the Anglo-American approach. In Korea, what ultimately ends a crisis is also jeong. Only when no han remains in the victims — only then does the crisis truly end.
