On a gray September morning in Seoul, cameras flashed as Han Hak-ja, the 82-year-old leader of the Unification Church, was ushered into the special prosecutor’s office. Her arrival—frail, flanked by assistants, and reportedly with an ambulance on standby—marked the latest dramatic twist in a scandal that has rocked South Korea’s political and religious worlds. Prosecutors had just requested an arrest warrant for Han, accusing her of orchestrating a complex bribery scheme involving the former first lady, Kim Keon-hee, and a prominent conservative lawmaker, Kweon Seong-dong.
According to AFP and Reuters, the charges against Han are sweeping: violation of the political funds act, breaking the anti-graft law, incitement to destroy evidence, and embezzlement. Prosecutor Park Sang-jin told reporters, “We have requested an arrest warrant for Han earlier today. The charges against her include violation of political funds act, anti-graft law, incitement to destroy evidence and embezzlement. We considered the risk of Han tampering with evidence to be very high, which led us to seek the warrant.”
Han’s alleged role centers on luxury gifts delivered to Kim Keon-hee in 2022, including two Chanel bags and a diamond necklace, together worth 80 million won (about $57,900). Prosecutors believe these gifts were designed to curry favor with Kim’s husband, then-President Yoon Suk-yeol, who had just taken office. The former first lady, now herself under indictment for bribery and stock market manipulation, denies any wrongdoing, as do her lawyers.
Han, for her part, has rejected the allegations outright. Emerging from nearly ten hours of questioning on September 17, she told a scrum of reporters, “No... Why would I do that?” She insisted the bribery was the work of a rogue former church official who has since been arrested. “I was in pain after [heart] surgery,” Han explained, referencing her earlier refusals to appear for questioning. In fact, Han had declined three previous summonses, citing health concerns so serious that authorities kept an ambulance on standby during her interrogation, as Reuters reported.
The Unification Church, formally known as The Family Federation for World Peace and Unification, is no stranger to controversy. Founded in 1954 by Han’s late husband, Moon Sun-myung, the church has long been criticized for its cult-like practices, including mass weddings sometimes involving thousands of couples matched by the church. Followers, often called “Moonies,” have been accused by critics of being coerced into large donations. After Moon’s death in 2012, Han assumed leadership, continuing the church’s wide-ranging business interests—from media to food distribution—and its religious mission, which centers on Moon’s claim to be the Second Coming of Christ.
The church’s influence reaches far beyond religion. Over the decades, it has built a sprawling network of businesses and political connections, both in South Korea and abroad. But that reach has also brought scrutiny. The church was thrust into the international spotlight after the assassination of Japan’s former leader Shinzo Abe in 2022; the alleged assassin blamed the church for his family’s bankruptcy and accused Abe of promoting the group. In the wake of the tragedy, Japan and Singapore moved to ban the church outright.
The current scandal is deeply entwined with South Korea’s turbulent political climate. Kim Keon-hee’s arrest last month marked the first time in the country’s history that both a former president and a former first lady have been jailed. Her husband, Yoon Suk-yeol, was impeached and removed from office in April 2025 after a failed attempt to impose martial law the previous December. The brief suspension of civilian rule was quickly overturned by opposition lawmakers, but the episode left the country shaken. Yoon was detained in January and is now standing trial for his actions.
Meanwhile, Han’s alleged bribery wasn’t limited to the presidential couple. Conservative lawmaker Kweon Seong-dong, once considered a close confidante of Yoon, was also implicated. On September 16, a Seoul court issued an arrest warrant for Kweon, citing the risk he could tamper with evidence. He stands accused of accepting 100 million won (about $72,000) in bribes from the church, a charge he denies. The church has publicly criticized the investigation, arguing that Han poses neither a flight risk nor a threat to destroy evidence, and that she has cooperated despite her health issues.
The allegations against Han have sparked debate across South Korea. Some see the investigation as a necessary reckoning with the church’s outsized influence and the blurred lines between religion, business, and politics. Others, including many Unification Church members, view it as a targeted campaign against their faith and leader. The church’s official statement insisted Han has “cooperated with the investigation despite health problems” and rejected any suggestion she would tamper with evidence.
For many South Koreans, the scandal is a reminder of the country’s long struggle to separate religious institutions from political power. The Unification Church’s history—marked by mass weddings, charismatic leadership, and aggressive business expansion—has often put it at odds with mainstream society. Yet its staying power is undeniable. Even as critics deride it as a cult, the church continues to attract followers and exert influence, both at home and abroad.
Legal experts note that the outcome of Han’s case could set important precedents for how South Korea handles allegations of corruption involving religious organizations. If convicted, Han would face significant prison time and the church itself could come under even greater scrutiny. The Seoul court is expected to review the validity of Park’s arrest warrant request for Han early next week, a decision that will be closely watched by both supporters and detractors.
As the legal battles play out, the broader questions remain: How much sway should religious organizations have over politics? Can institutions with deep roots in both business and faith ever be fully disentangled from the corridors of power? For now, South Korea waits—watching as one of its most enigmatic religious leaders faces the fight of her life, and wondering just how deep the ties between church and state really go.
