Unlike the U.S., which is queasy about prosecuting any former president no matter how awful they are, South Korea is a global leader among wealthy democracies in putting its former presidents in jail. Excluding Yoon, South Korea has had eight presidents since 1980; four of them were imprisoned. Yoon, a former prosecutor, was personally involved in the cases against two of them from his own party.

In 2016, Yoon was the head of investigation under special prosecutor Park Young-soo — the South Korean equivalent to Special Counsel Jack Smith — and their work ultimately led to the impeachment and removal of then-president Park Geun-hye. The politics of Yoon, who is now the country’s top conservative, were not clear at the time, nor did it matter. He captivated the nation with his take-no-prisoners approach to the investigation. The criminal prosecution of Park, based largely on the facts that Yoon investigated, led to a 20-year sentence. The succeeding president Moon Jae-in and his liberal administration rewarded Yoon by appointing him as the powerful Seoul Central District Prosecutor. Then in 2018, Yoon’s office indicted another former president, Lee Myung-bak, who served before Park from 2008 to 2013, for bribery and embezzlement. Lee was convicted and sentenced to a 17-year prison term.

Yoon’s central role in these (ex-)presidential prosecutions turned him into a political star despite his total lack of charisma. A career prosecutor with no prior electoral experience, Yoon may be the worst public speaker that South Korean politics has ever seen. During his presidential campaign, Yoon’s tendency to speak in run-on sentences that swerved wildly into eyebrow-raising statements — such as praising South Korea’s former dictators as “good at growing the economy” or advocating for a 120-hour work week and relaxing food safety laws so that “poor people can choose to eat substandard food” — earned him the nickname “a Gaffe a Day.” (Yet another parallel with Biden, one might add.)

Nevertheless, his public image as a principled prosecutor standing against the highest power was enough to carry him through a razor-thin presidential election victory in March 2022. Biden may not be a prosecutor himself, but Yoon’s tactics could provide Biden the same kind of political power if applied subtly by his allies. Perhaps during the state dinner at the White House, Biden might lean into Yoon’s ear to whisper: How do I capture some of that magic and take advantage of these investigations?

First, Yoon might answer, leverage the allure of the rule of law. South Koreans are deeply cynical people with low trust in government — much like the politically polarized voters of the U.S. But that cynicism, in fact, is a by-product of a strong desire to see a fair application of law that punishes even the most powerful. One of Yoon’s shining moments was early in the Park Geun-hye administration in 2013, when he led the team that investigated the Lee administration’s use of its spy agency to help elect Park in the presidential election. When conservative legislators criticized him, Yoon declared: “My loyalty is not to a person.” Even to a cynical audience, such high-minded appeals to the rule of law can resonate.

Second, make sure to get the media on your side. In a high-profile political trial, a classic prosecutor’s tactic is to make well-timed leaks to journalists, making the defendant face a parallel trial before the public in addition to the one in the courtroom. Despite being a poor public speaker, Yoon could exert significant public influence because of his mastery of this tactic.

So far, Biden remains tight-lipped on the indictment of Trump, a wise move that allows the president to seem above the fray. All fine and good, but Biden and his staff could also privately communicate with journalists to create a media circus, as Yoon did. Technically under South Korean law, it is a criminal offense for a prosecutor to disclose information gained from an investigation prior to an indictment. As a prosecutor, Yoon flagrantly disregarded this prohibition. Yoon was well known for constantly working the phone with journalists and had been spotted meeting with owners of major newspapers. News reports speculated he gave the media access to inside information in exchange for his favored narrative and self-promotion.

Third, and most important: Always look out for number one, and never forget the fact that you are doing this for your own advancement. Yoon would not have become the president if he simply rested on his laurels after prosecuting the two ex-presidents. Following Lee’s imprisonment, Moon sought to dramatically curtail the investigative power of prosecutors, in a move his opponents criticized as an attempt to cover his own behind. If Yoon had acquiesced, he would simply be remembered as a famed former prosecutor who ended his career as one of Seoul’s many law firm partners.

Instead, Yoon staged a full-scale revolt. In order to protect the power of his office, he turned against his boss, Justice Minister Cho Kuk, a star liberal politician who was tasked with the prosecution reform that could threaten Yoon’s power as prosecutor. Claiming corruption, Yoon targeted Cho with attacks even more wide-ranging and vicious than any of his previous investigations. It was a stunning about-face, as if Attorney General Merrick Garland suddenly went all-in on investigating Hunter Biden in an overt pursuit of power and popularity. Yoon’s investigation team carried out more than a hundred raids that included Cho’s house, workplace, his mother’s home, his brother’s home, his wife’s workplace and his children’s schools.

Tipped off in advance, a throng of journalists swarmed each raid location, shoving a camera and microphone at anyone who would come out. In an infamous episode, no less than a dozen journalists blocked the motor scooter of a delivery worker coming out of Cho’s residence, desperately asking what the Justice Minister’s family had ordered. Thousands of news reports raised allegations that Cho was forming a secret political slush fund based on his investment in a private equity fund, even though all these raids failed to uncover any evidence of corruption. Yoon then pivoted to alleging that Cho’s wife forged documents for their daughter’s college admission, and won a four-year sentence against the Justice Minister’s wife. In the end, the prosecutors could not indict Cho or his family on corruption charges, but no matter — unable to withstand the onslaught, Cho resigned from his post, with his political life all but finished.

Yoon’s attack on Cho made him an unlikely hero for South Korea’s conservatives, which suited Yoon just fine. For a career prosecutor with little political conviction other than Nietzschean will to power, the conservative People Power Party, weakened by the imprisonment of two of its former presidents, became an ideal target for his hostile takeover. With their party in shambles, most South Korean conservatives were ready to welcome any credible champion. The PPP’s old guard, the fans of Park who considered Yoon their archenemy, could offer little resistance. His rise to the top made one lesson clear: Mastering the art of prosecuting political rivals is the most powerful tool an ambitious politician can yield.

In the end, just five years after South Korean conservatives suffered the embarrassing meltdown that was Park’s impeachment, they recaptured the presidency with Yoon. Imagine, Yoon might tell Biden, what you could do for Democrats in the wake of a Trump prosecution.