The consequences of the amended Information and Communications Network Act, which takes effect on July 7, 2026—the so-called "July 7 Law" and "Muzzle Law"—will be devastating.

While those in power have used the pretext of "eradicating false and fabricated information," the blade of this law is aimed at shackling the hands of citizens who criticize the government and plundering their assets.

Media outlets are tightening their own self-censorship, and platform companies with over one million users must now delete and block posts to suit the government’s preferences. Is this truly a communication law for a democratic nation, or is it a set of guidelines for an "information-controlling state"?

The most fatal poison in this law lies in the "ambiguity" of the standards for what constitutes "false or fabricated" content, and the fact that the authorities act as the ultimate judge. What is false? What is fabricated? If investigative reports that uncover truths uncomfortable for the regime or sharp allegations that expose the corruption of power are dismissed as "false," then all critical journalism will inevitably be stifled.

Must media outlets survive this dark age by churning out fake news that caters to the whims of the powerful? If they refuse to be so servile, they will have no choice but to pay "media liability insurance premiums" that are many times higher than they are now.

Major YouTubers, media organizations, and influencers must now live in fear of punitive damages reaching up to five times the amount of actual loss, along with astronomical fines of up to 1 billion won.

I will continue to write columns that highlight security risks vital to the public’s survival and express views intended for the public good. Yet, to think that anyone can file a lawsuit or criminal complaint if they decide—based on their own partisan logic or dislike for my tone—that my work does not serve the "public interest" is absurd! There is no other country in the world where people are prosecuted for writing columns.

If the "Emergency Decree No. 9" of the Yushin era was a visible "sword and shield" used to suppress opposition politicians and critical media, the July 7 Law acts more like the "cutting off of water and air," invisibly choking off the freedom of expression for the majority of the public.

If North Korea once operated the "Five-Household Surveillance System" to force neighbors to watch each other, the July 7 Law is effectively a "Digital Five-Household System," turning giant platforms into "Big Brother" to silence the entire nation.

Anyone who creates content that influences others is now forced to wear the shackles of "self-censorship." The anxiety of wondering, "Will I be sued for writing this?" or "Will my content be deleted and my account suspended?" has already frozen the public since the initial announcement of the bill.

Over 140,000 citizens pleaded for the withdrawal of this悪 law through the National Assembly petition board, and the international community warned against the erosion of "freedom of expression," yet the regime ignored these desperate cries and pushed ahead with the law's enforcement. We must ask ourselves: for whom was this law written?

This is not merely regulation; it is the strangulation of the public sphere. Hitler’s "Malicious Gossip Law" and Stalin’s "Article 58" of the Criminal Code both labeled legitimate criticism as "malicious dissemination," allowing those in power to monitor the daily lives of citizens. The July 7 amendment, much like internet regulation in communist states, is an evil law that pressures platforms to construct invisible "digital prison bars."

Big Brother’s eyes are now fixed even on our smartphones. Platform operators, fearing excessive repercussions, will rush to pre-emptively delete content, and citizens will hide behind a cowardly anonymity, using only "safe" language. Is this the final state of the 586-generation democratization movement—to keep the public in a state of anxiety and freeze even the most conscientious expressions?

As a student of national security who has written on related issues, my concerns are profound. I cannot write "dead" articles praising security while watching our defenses crumble, just to align with the "public interest" standards of the opposing faction. Nor can I parrot meaningless platitudes.

If this "muzzle-the-mouth" dictatorship that suppresses the unsuspecting public does not end, I would rather become a prisoner of this law and stand in court to defiantly shout, "If I am not innocent, then sentence me to death."

If raising legitimate concerns about national security is defined as a falsehood worthy of punitive damages, I will pay that debt with my own physical labor. At 100,000 won per day, a 1 billion won fine would require 10,000 days of labor—27 years and 5 months of servitude. That is 5 months longer than the 27 years Nelson Mandela served.

I have harbored resentment toward the opposition party for failing to stop this evil law. Even now, they must exert every effort to present the dangers and falsity of this law to the Constitutional Court and ensure it is struck down as unconstitutional.

The impromptu "Gayaji" chant by Baejae High School students was certainly not an affront to the May 18 Democratic Uprising. It was likely an expression of mockery and resistance against the atrocities and runaway nature of a power that seeks to divide and conquer rather than a lack of historical awareness.

Our people, who stood up with bare fists against the bayonets of Imperial Japan, possess a gene for resisting injustice. Do you really believe you can silence voices, break pens, and stifle cries with mere laws? The arrogant power of today should remember the history of justice, where even the British Empire surrendered to the non-violent resistance of India’s Gandhi.

From whose mind did this totalitarian idea of maintaining power by muzzling the public emerge? That mind may contribute to maintaining power for a fleeting moment, but it will surely be the primary catalyst for the regime's collapse.

When this law, which runs counter to human civilization, is enforced and citizens are sued, will those in power be able to withstand the boiling rage of the people? They must remember how the Cambodian communist regime collapsed after it blocked the internet.

If this evil law turns us into a laughingstock on the international stage and becomes the starting point for trade and financial sanctions, will our trade-dependent economy survive? I urge you to have the courage to repeal this law, even now.

History has proven that the anger of the masses cannot be stopped even by guns and swords. If you are making 50 million people uncomfortable just to cover up crimes that have already been committed, whose version of justice is that? If the price of speaking the truth is being labeled a "criminal," then we must accept that stigma and fight together.

If you do not want July 7th to become the day that the doors of an unfamiliar prison transform into the grave that swallows your arrogant power, stop the atrocities of arresting critical citizens and muzzling the public.

To me, writing is the heartbeat that confirms I am alive. If the heart stops, one dies. The pen and keyboard aimed at the truth cannot be swayed or dulled. Rather than yielding to the tyranny of this arrogant law, I choose to become a criminal who speaks the truth. I have no intention of living a life that bends my soul, body, and conscience. I would rather die standing like a giraffe than kneel like a camel.

Today, those of us who cannot help but think differently put our focus on resisting this unjust era. If even a creation of conscience harms the public interest, sentiment, and justice of the opposing faction, then take me first—tie me to the "muzzle" rack and beat me into a pulp beyond recognition.

I hope to shorten the time of my suffering, where pain has become a daily routine. I feel a growing sense of skepticism about having to live as a student of security in a country without freedom of expression, conscience, or the press. Still, I listen to the advice of my comrades: to survive, I must first prevail.

◆ Commissioner Park Pil-kyu

Editorial Writer, Korea-US Daily

40th Class, Korea Military Academy