Even so, he’s undeterred by — or oblivious to — Eun-seok’s “do not talk to me” body language. He rambles on about how their district differs from her old one, and then he insists that she join him and the rest of the staff for lunch with the recently released kids under their care. She reluctantly tags along, but she keeps glancing at her watch while Tae-ju plays the role of overly invested guidance counselor.
They’re stopped from leaving the restaurant by a woman claiming one of the reformed juveniles stole her wallet. The woman appears to be prejudiced against the teens, having overheard the conversation at their table and realized they have criminal records. Tae-ju goes to bat for the accused girl, but Eun-seok, who is put off by his naiveté and blind faithfulness, suggests they call the police.
Tae-ju steps on his soap box and lectures her, not realizing Eun-seok witnessed the accused girl steal a wallet from someone’s purse. The reveal is a bit surprising because idealistic characters like Tae-ju are usually the ones who reform cynics like Eun-seok into thinking humans are fallible but innately good. I appreciate the dose of realism, though. If this story is headed in the direction of Eun-seok becoming slightly more tenderhearted, I’m glad neither her beliefs nor her authority were immediately undermined to prove she’s in the wrong for her disenchantment.
Eun-seok has two very different encounters with the mothers of the victim and the accused. Both women appear to be low-income single mothers, but that’s where their similarities end. Ji-hu’s mother sadly approaches Eun-seok in her office, offering a selection of Ji-hu’s favorite foods as she pleads with Eun-seok to find justice for her son. In contrast, Seong-woo’s mother corners Eun-seok in a parking garage. She’s also in hysterics as she pleads for Eun-seok to go easy on Seong-woo.
Even though, by this point, we know her son isn’t the killer, she doesn’t invoke any sympathy because it’s hard to forget her earlier appearance in court. After arriving late, she seemed unconcerned by the importance of her son’s trial. After all, she knows Seong-woo will only receive a slap on the wrist for his crimes. No big deal, right? Except he’s accused of brutally murdering another child, and instead of begging for forgiveness or apologizing to the mother of the victim, she asks Eun-seok to be lenient with her son’s punishment. Gross.
Wow. Just wow. Juvenile Justice has so far exceeded my expectations. For some reason, I assumed this drama would be more humorous, likely because adults who hate children are either portrayed as villains or used as comedic relief. I know I’m a bit jaded from my student teaching experiences, but I appreciated the divergence from the usual inspirational message that all it takes is a loving hand and the right adult to reform a child headed down the wrong path.
What many of the characters see as Eun-seok’s excessive cruelty, I perceive as realism and practicality. She’s not out to punish kids because she hates them; the picture of Ji-hu she keeps on her desk, and her drive to find his real murderer, clearly indicate that she cares about children. Instead, she disagrees with the judicial system’s light-handed approach to punishing minors, and it does bring up an interesting question: should murderers receive a more forgiving punishment simply because of their age? Or should the crime — not the age of the perpetrator — dictate the punishment?