The mood outside South Korea’s parliament was a mix of anger and bewilderment on Wednesday afternoon, hours after President Yoon Suk Yeol’s shocking, albeit thwarted, declaration of martial law.
The pre-dawn events caught many South Koreans off guard. Those who had slept through it awoke to the news that their democracy had faced its gravest challenge since the 1980s.
Yet, under the clear winter sky, hundreds of defiant citizens gathered on the steps of the national assembly to voice their outrage. Across the capital, other rallies were held demanding Yoon step down.
“I couldn’t sleep last night, watching the situation unfold in real-time. My heart was pounding with worry,” says Son Jung-hee, who rushed to the national assembly building from Gyeonggi province, an hour’s drive from Seoul.
She says she felt compelled to come as an “ordinary citizen” to protect parliament, which she sees as the “last line of defence”. In her hand she was clutching a handmade pink placard demanding Yoon’s impeachment.
“I feel ashamed. We thought Korean democracy had matured, but something this absurd happened,” she says. Gesturing at other citizens who had gathered, she adds: “Look at this precious daily life people are living – how could a president act against the will of his people like this?”
The previous night, the national assembly was surrounded by hundreds of police officers, troops entered the building, and military helicopters circled overhead, creating a scene that felt more like a dramatic film than real life.
For Cho Tae-ik, who is in his 60s, the events of the past half day brought back painful memories.
“I witnessed the Gwangju Democratic Movement from start to finish,” he says, referring to the pivotal 1980 pro-democracy movement that was brutally suppressed by military forces, killing hundreds.
“Democracy isn’t supposed to work like this. Trust between the people and the government is essential, but this administration has none of that,” he says.
President Yoon had justified his declaration of martial law as necessary to “protect the free Republic of Korea from the threat of North Korean communist forces” and to “eradicate pro-North Korean anti-state elements”.
His language echoed the fearmongering tactics of the past and rhetoric of South Korea’s controversial National Security Act, which bans actions deemed “anti-government” – a vague term historically used to silence critics under the guise of combating a North Korean threat.
While provocations from North Korea are a real concern and tensions have remained since the Korean war, the idea of a significant “pro-North” movement within South Korea is considered, at best, a tenuous claim.
‘National embarrassment’
Yoon’s declaration prompted scathing criticism across South Korea’s political spectrum. The conservative Chosun Ilbo newspaper, typically sympathetic to Yoon’s administration, published a searing editorial saying he had “severely crossed the line” and called it a “national embarrassment” for a Top 10 democracy.
One university student from Seoul who declined to be named, says: “This was like a coup d’état, I only thought these things were textbook history … I could have never imagined [this] ... It’s humiliating.”
But the crisis did not come without warning. In September, the opposition Democratic party lawmaker Kim Min-seok and others raised the alarm about Yoon’s systematic appointment of his high-school classmates to key security positions, including in the defence ministry and defence counterintelligence command.
They warned these moves, combined with Yoon’s increasing use of “anti-state forces” rhetoric against his critics, suggested a preparation for martial law. At the time, his warning was dismissed as alarmist.
Min Hee Go, associate professor of political science at Ewha Womans University, called the situation a “very poor, nonsensical decision”.
“The president doesn’t seem to understand the representative nature of the parties nor the national assembly,” she says. “The nation will once again experience a huge turmoil. Calls for resignation, or impeachment are in order.”
While opposition parties are calling for impeachment, the path forward is complicated. They would need at least eight members of Yoon’s own party to reach the required two-thirds majority in parliament. Even then, the constitutional court, now operating with just six justices instead of the usual nine, lacks the minimum seven judges required to hear such a case.
Yoon’s administration has faced persistent scandals, including allegations that his wife, Kim Keon Hee, accepted a 3m won (£1,675) Dior bag as a gift from a pastor. Yoon and his supporters dismissed the claims as part of a political smear campaign.
International observers have noted democratic backsliding under Yoon’s leadership, with the V-Dem Institute recently ranking South Korea 47th globally for liberal democracy, down from 28th last year and 17th in 2021.
Civicus, a global civil society alliance, has warned of eroding civic freedoms since Yoon took office, particularly citing actions to stifle media freedom and target trade unions.
“I don’t think the president knows how to address these pressures by political means – by deliberation, persuasion and communication,” says Prof Go.
“Given his background as the prosecutor general, he must have been surrounded by an extremely homogeneous group of people and worked his way up in a very rigid hierarchy. A very persecutory, black-and-white culture that vilifies and punishes dissent.”
For many South Koreans, the brief martial law attempt has confirmed their worst fears about authoritarian tendencies in Yoon’s administration.
Outside the national assembly, protester Son reflected on the road ahead.
“No one imagined this could happen again … But here we are, under the warm sunlight, having to defend our democracy once again.”
