Everyone knows that this world is not inhabited solely by good people. We must live alongside those who act selfishly, exploit others and abuse their power. That’s the unfortunate reality of human society. But knowing this doesn’t make it any easier to accept. We feel uneasy whenever we see such individuals thrive — living comfortably with money, influence and status despite their misdeeds.

We may grow irritated, angry or even disheartened. They seem to operate with impunity, harassing innocent people without facing any meaningful consequences. In such moments, we’re left asking: Where is justice? Why are the wicked rewarded while the honest suffer? And if there is a moral order in this world, why doesn’t it intervene?

But there is reason to be hopeful. We need not despair. Even when it appears unjust on the surface, human society still operates under a subtle but solid rule: Evildoers inevitably destroy themselves.

By “evil deed,” I mean a deliberate act that causes harm to others, undermines fairness and corrodes the ethical foundation of leadership. Evil deeds don’t merely break laws, they betray trust. And trust is the cornerstone of any lasting authority. When it is broken, resentment begins to build — not only in the victims but everyone who witnesses the betrayal. That resentment may not be visible right away. It might simmer quietly. But over time, it grows. Eventually, it erupts.

This isn’t just a theoretical idea. It’s a truth that history has repeatedly demonstrated. Many leaders, intoxicated by power and arrogance, forget that public trust is not infinite. When they abuse that trust, they set in motion their decline. A recent and vivid example is the downfall of former South Korean President Yoon Suk Yeol.

Yoon became president three years ago. The South Korean presidency grants sweeping power — far more than in many other democracies. The president holds command over the military, vast budgetary discretion, significant legal authority, and influence on the media and judiciary. This concentration of power exists because the Korean people, facing unique security and geopolitical challenges, believe the president must be strong enough to lead decisively.

But this power is conditional. It rests on a foundational belief that the president will act in good faith and serve the people. Once that belief is broken, the system itself begins to crack. Yoon betrayed that foundational trust. One of the earliest warning signs was his refusal to communicate with the public, the media, advisers and political opposition. He ended regular press briefings just six months into his presidency. He actively suppressed media outlets critical of his administration and dismissed voices offering constructive criticism.

Insiders even called him the "59-minute man," referring to how he would spend nearly an hour talking at meetings without listening. Leadership requires dialogue, but Yoon chose monologue. Even more damaging was his failure to engage with the opposition. In 2 1/2 years, he met only once with Democratic Party leader Lee Jae-myung, despite the party holding a legislative majority. In a functioning democracy, opposition parties are not enemies — they are essential partners in governance. Ignoring them is not just impolite; it is undemocratic.

Yoon treated the opposition as criminals, aligning himself with a prosecutorial campaign that pursued Lee with multiple charges. However, the nature of these charges raised serious concerns.

About 400 search and seizure operations were conducted on facilities linked to Lee, yet the results remain unclear. Many observers saw this as a politically motivated witch hunt rather than a legitimate legal process. Meanwhile, Yoon vetoed more than 20 bills passed by the National Assembly — laws that represented the will of the people. His constant use of veto power revealed a disturbing detachment from the legislative branch and a growing authoritarian tendency.

Then came the breaking point. In December, Yoon attempted what many saw as a self-coup. He mobilized military forces under the pretext of an emergency, claiming the opposition had paralyzed the country and accusing them of being pro-North Korea. He also accused the National Election Committee of engaging in election fraud. These were serious accusations — yet devoid of credible evidence.

Even if one accepts that a president has the right to declare martial law, strict legal conditions and processes must be observed. Yoon bypassed them almost entirely. He lied repeatedly, manipulated public sentiment and acted as though he were above the Constitution. The backlash was swift. The public was outraged. The parliament impeached him. The Constitutional Court unanimously confirmed his removal from office. His fall was not the work of enemies. It was self-inflicted.

In the United States, a similar story unfolds with President Donald Trump. Like Yoon, Trump has shown a deep aversion to dissent. He often treats the media as enemies and ignores expert advice on key issues. He embraces a populist, divisive style that alienates allies and weakens institutions. Consider his trade policies. Economists and business leaders have repeatedly warned that his tariff-based approach harms both global partners and American industries and consumers. In a globalized economy, isolationism creates more losers than winners. Nevertheless, Trump presses forward — prioritizing image over substance.

While communities suffer from the economic fallout, Trump remains fixated on bluffing, such as golfing or boasting about poll numbers. This is not leadership; it is avoidance disguised as bravado. Considering the common sense that evildoers inevitably destroy themselves, Trump's trajectory looks increasingly precarious. However, he retains one quality that may offer him a way out: adaptability.

He has sometimes shown a willingness to shift course when it suits him. If he genuinely listens to the people, there may still be a path to redemption. But if he continues to cling to outdated slogans, grievance-driven politics and contempt for institutions, he may find himself walking the same road that Yoon walked — one paved with arrogance, denial and, ultimately, downfall. History is clear: In the end, those who indulge in evil deeds become the architects of their own ruin.

Wang Son-taek

Wang Son-taek is an adjunct professor at Sogang University. He is a former diplomatic correspondent at YTN and a former research associate at Yeosijae. The views expressed here are the writer’s own. — Ed.