di Changyu Veronica Hou 

Film and television works dealing with juvenile crime are far from rare. Stories of fatal school bullying and murderous youths have long appeared in well-known productions such as Eden Lake, yet most of these works focus primarily on portraying the “evil child”. From another perspective, such depictions often externalize adults’ deep-seated fear that minors may be fundamentally uncontrollable.

In contrast, Juvenile Justice stands out as particularly distinctive. The South Korean legal drama, released on Netflix in 2022 and directed by Hong Jong-chan, follows an elite juvenile court judge who is openly hostile toward young offenders. Through seven interconnected cases, the series systematically explores why juveniles commit crimes, how they exploit legal protections to evade punishment, and how the juvenile court system functions. Ultimately, it raises a pressing question for the viewers: how should society take responsibility for the “evil of youth”?

From a structural and logical standpoint, the series first confronts the audience with the reality of juvenile cruelty. The opening case, the Yeonhwa National Elementary School Murder, foregrounds the disturbing criminal capacity of minors. A high school student murders and dismembers an eight-year-old child, then shifts the primary blame onto her middle-school girlfriend who has a diagnosed mental illness, exploiting the legal principle that mentally ill offenders may avoid full criminal responsibility.

This storyline is based on the real 2017 Incheon Elementary School Dismemberment case in South Korea, in which the perpetrators, aged seventeen and eighteen, carried out a premeditated murder. The two met online, learned methods of killing and evading punishment via the internet, and even replicated violent missions from online games in the real world. Their complete lack of reverence for life was chilling: after dismembering the victim, they even kept parts of the body as trophies. Through this case, Juvenile Justice forces viewers to confront an uncomfortable reality: the psychological sophistication of minors may be far greater than adults assume. In an era penetrated by the internet and AI, information, no matter how dangerous, is only a search away. Under the help of the internet, even minors can acquire alarming criminal capability with relative ease.

But why do juveniles become “evil” in the first place? The second case, which centers on an offender who was abused by her biological father, offered the tragic and inescapable influence of the family as a possible answer. In reality, in many juvenile offenders’ cases, the parents themselves are involved in crimes. If parents are indeed children’s first teachers, then those who repeatedly cross moral and legal boundaries may become the very forces that push minors toward the deep.

Minors who turn to crime due to deep familial trauma often carry intense hostility toward the world. Many seek attention by deliberately violating rules established by adults, making it difficult for them to rebuild trust within the short timeframes typical of juvenile correction programs. Effective rehabilitation must address both behavioral correction and psychological healing, ultimately reshaping the offenders’ worldviews and restoring their belief in life.

Yet even successful rehabilitation offers no guarantees. The fifth case, the Unlicensed Minor Traffic Fatality, portrays a reformed youth who, despite strong hopes of starting anew, was drawn back into delinquent peer networks and reoffended: While driving without the driver’s license, the vehicle went out of control and collided with a delivery worker’s motorcycle, and the accident resulted in the death of the innocent rider. The case underscores a painful dual reality: juvenile wrongdoing is not always innate and can be redirected through proper guidance; however, structural barriers in family, school, and society often make genuine reintegration extraordinarily fragile.

Online, public outrage toward juvenile offenders is often intense. In moments of anger, people may declare that such youths deserve the harshest possible punishment. Yet we rarely pause to ask: has the crime already occurred? Has the victim already suffered irreversible harm? Even the most severe punishment cannot restore a lost life.

Ultimately, the power to prevent juvenile crime does not lie primarily within themselves, but with the adults who control resources and institutions. One of the drama’s recurring narrative threads debates whether to abolish juvenile protections altogether and impose harsher penalties. The series itself offers a clear answer: law alone treats symptoms, not root causes. If minors can exploit juvenile protections today, they may exploit mental illness defenses tomorrow. Education, therefore, becomes the true priority: within families, within schools, within society, and within correctional systems after offenses occur.