"When I called his name, he came to me and became a flower."
This line is from Kim Chun-su's poem "Flower." A name gives meaning to existence. In the Book of Genesis, Adam became the vice-regent of the created world through his authority to name living creatures. Naming is not merely labeling. It is the act of understanding an object and imposing order upon it. Policymaking is no different. Only it is harsher. Depending on how something is called, a recipient of support can become a target of surveillance. An industry can be transformed into a hazard.
The direction of policy is not determined in the text of the law. It is determined earlier, in words. Most policies begin with an incident. They move under the pressure of public opinion. But the moment an issue solidifies into an agenda is when it acquires a name. Once named, a frame emerges. Once a frame emerges, the direction of responsibility is set. The legislation follows afterward.
The policy arena is a battlefield of naming. Forces with differing interests work to attach names favorable to themselves. Some use the language of industry. Others use the language of rights. Some speak of safety, others of harm. On the surface, it looks like a choice of words. In reality, it is a competition over framing. The term that wins this competition enters the title of the bill. It defines the issue. It becomes the sentence in government press releases and the headline in news articles. It eventually becomes the common sense of society.
Many companies still begin their policy response by reviewing a bill once it has been introduced and searching for problematic clauses. They then submit opinions to lawmakers' offices and ministries. This is necessary work. But it is too late. Bills do not appear out of nowhere. Before them come media coverage, National Assembly seminars, and the involvement of civic groups. Through that process, internal review documents from ministries emerge, and a name is attached. Once a name is attached, half the battle is over.
The most contentious recent example is the debate over "platform workers" (jongsaja) versus "platform laborers" (nodongja). They look similar. But they open different doors. "Platform jongsaja" is a relatively neutral, administrative expression. It broadly encompasses people who are difficult to explain through existing employment relationships, such as delivery riders, designated drivers, freelancers, and content creators. When this term is used, the discussion moves toward safety nets, contractual fairness, standard contracts, insurance, and dispute mediation. The approach is to view platforms as a new industrial order and to design protective measures within it.
Actual legislative discussions stand on this term. The "Platform Jongsaja Protection Bill" introduced and discarded in the 21st National Assembly, and the related discussions continuing into the 22nd National Assembly, illustrate this. The core question is how to institutionally manage the gray zone between existing wage workers and the self-employed. The word "jongsaja" is the language of administration that seeks to encompass this gray zone.
By contrast, the expression "platform nodongja" immediately opens the world of labor law. It asks whether platform companies are mere intermediaries or de facto employers. It examines whether algorithmic dispatching is closer to the supervisory authority of an employer, and whether commissions and compensation constitute wages.
Calling the same person a "jongsaja" turns the matter into one of protection and support. Calling them a "nodongja" turns it into one of rights and responsibilities. The atmosphere in a debate hall differs depending on whether a National Assembly seminar is titled "Protection of Platform Jongsaja" or "Guaranteeing the Rights of Platform Nodongja." Only one term has changed, but the responsible ministry shifts, the participating organizations shift, the questions from the press shift, and the response logic of companies shifts.
For policy professionals, this is not wordplay. It is a shift in the regulatory landscape. Depending on which term gains greater social persuasive power, the direction of future legislation will also change. There are few non-market risks greater than this for platform companies.
The same dynamic operated in the debate over radioactive waste disposal sites. In the early stages of the debate, the term "nuclear waste" (haek pyegimul) carried more weight. It was the language of fear and distrust. That power exploded in the 2003 Buan incident. No matter how much the government and the implementing agency explained safety, residents understood it as a "nuclear dump." The language of administration could not defeat the language of emotion. The discussion changed afterward. Low- and intermediate-level waste was separated from high-level waste. Disposal methods and management responsibilities were distinguished. Local referendums were combined with regional support.
The institutional framework was rebuilt around the legal and technical term "radioactive waste" (bangsaseong pyegimul). The selection of the Gyeongju site in 2005 was the result of this shift. Had the terminology remained at "nuclear dump," compensation and procedure alone would not have sufficed.
The key was not the change of name. Nor was it the concealment of risk. What was needed was a language for classifying and managing risk. Only when that language was combined with procedure, compensation, and a structure of responsibility did the policy begin to work.
Here, the role of non-market strategy becomes clear. Non-market strategy is not about forcing through the words a company wants. It is about presenting, within a competition of frames, terms that are more socially persuasive and institutionally more sustainable.
A company's policy professional must do four things.
First, they must build a terminology map. They need to organize how the government, the National Assembly, the media, civic groups, academia, and industry refer to the same issue. They must distinguish whose language each term represents: "platform jongsaja" versus "platform nodongja," "nuclear waste" versus "radioactive waste," "nuclear power" (haekbaljeon) versus "atomic energy" (wonjaryeok). Only then can one see which frame is spreading.
Second, they must prepare the legal definition of terms preemptively. If a company has a desired direction, it must translate that not into slogans but into legal sentences. "What is a platform jongsaja?" "How far does the responsibility of platform operators extend?" "When does the duty to explain algorithms apply?" Such sentences must be drafted in advance. Designing concepts before a bill emerges is more important than amending clauses after one is introduced.
Third, they must secure the language of public-interest third parties. Terms created by a company are easily suspected of being the language of self-interest. Together with academic societies, research institutions, and experts, the language must be organized into one that stakeholders can use. Reflecting only the company's position is public relations. Becoming the language of third parties is policy.
Finally, terminology must be presented together with a policy package. Good words alone are not enough. Companies must put forward, alongside the term, the protective measures, oversight mechanisms, structures of responsibility, and dispute resolution procedures it can contain. To use the term "platform jongsaja," a company must present a safety net and a fair contract system. Only then does the term become a policy alternative rather than mere packaging.
The competition over naming is not a quarrel over words. It is the prelude to legislation. Depending on which words enter policy documents and bill titles, the fate of an industry and the legitimacy of the National Assembly's case shift. Depending on which definitions enter the clauses, corporate obligations shift.
The future of an industry is opened by technology. But the door to institutions is opened by language. The first battlefield of non-market strategy is not the corridors of the National Assembly. It is the word. To lead policy, one must win the naming battle.
