Chris Jung/AP
Back in September, amid simmering tensions between South Korean President Yoon Suk Yeol and the country’s parliament, opposition leader Lee Jae-myung issued a warning: Yoon and his allies were preparing to declare martial law.
The claim was roundly dismissed as alarmist, the irresponsible stuff of conspiracy theories—even by some of Lee’s supporters. But the warning was prescient. On Tuesday, Yoon shocked the world by carrying out exactly what had been warned, declaring that martial law was necessary to save South Korea from “anti-state forces.”
The action instantly prompted scenes of chaos to unfold, with stunned lawmakers, and thousands of ordinary citizens, mobilizing to protest the declaration. Hours later, a unanimous parliamentary vote forced Yoon to back down. Still, his fate remains uncertain. Many are increasingly concerned that Yoon could reinstate martial law once more. Meanwhile, immense crowds continue to gather in Seoul, demanding Yoon’s removal.
As a Korean American watching some seven thousand miles away, the scenes have engendered a rare mix of relatability and pride. I say rare because my own relationship with the country of my parents is a bit strange. My Dad discouraged me from learning Korean, having immigrated at 19 and endured ugly bits of racism at school and later in his sheet metal career; my Mom, who very much still considers herself Korean first, taught me at a young age that the US is an international bully. Dad’s influence ultimately won. Though I’ve visited Seoul many times, I don’t speak the language and couldn’t care less about the pop culture everyone else in the world seems to increasingly enjoy.
It’s against this personal backdrop that I quickly noticed an expected current undergirding the demonstrations against Yoon: one of joy, even revelry, with protesters spanning generations: ajummas, ajushees, halumnis, haksengs. Then there were videos of soldiers apologizing to protesters. The nation’s largest labor union declared an indefinite strike, events I simply can’t envision here. It’s a palpable adrenaline that seems foreign to the current stupor I feel about things closer to home. And a surprising envy came over me. What was it about South Korea that could produce such a robust protest culture?
I reached out to Namhee Lee, a UCLA professor of modern Korean history, to learn more.
What was your initial reaction to the martial law announcement? Were you in contact with anyone on the ground during those six hours?
My sister happens to live in Korea still, so I was able to talk to her very shortly [after it began] because she was also in complete shock and disbelief. My first reaction was complete shock. There had been some rumblings on the part of the Democratic Party [the opposition party in South Korea] that martial law might be on the way. But the suggestion was completely shut down by conservative forces, including the presidential office. I dismissed it as well, thinking that that could not possibly be the case.
But one mistake I think some are making now is dismissing Yoon’s actions as simply “crazy,” the product of a nutcase, and therefore it can’t happen again. But this clearly did not come out of the blue; people had warned us of this very situation three months ago. This is not something that was done out of a volatile character. In fact, there’s something much more systematic and more dangerous going on—and people need to remain vigilant of the real possibility of another coup attempt.
“These soldiers know what could happen in history and that they could be later condemned as betraying the nation. They’ve learned from history, to be cautious in terms of violence, and actually consider how their actions would be judged in the future.”
That’s interesting because I think the perception in the US is that because the declaration of martial law had been so brief, things in South Korea are fine now, and the protesters won.
I’m hoping that will be the case. But vigilance is key. South Korea is one of the thriving democracies in the world and its citizens have been so active, to the point where people say that South Koreans possess a so-called “protest gene.” Take a look at the soldiers who were deployed to the National Assembly, asking for protesters’ forgiveness. These soldiers had learned what could happen in history and that they could be later condemned as betraying the nation. They’ve learned from history, to be cautious in terms of violence, and actually consider how their actions would be judged in the future.
Of course, in Gwangju, where hundreds were killed in a student-led uprising for democracy, that did not happen. [You can learn more about the deadly episode here.]
Yes, many have alluded to the memory of Gwangju this week. How do these memories play into the current protests?
Many of the individual citizens who went out to the National Assembly this week reminded themselves that this is what the people of Gwangju people must have confronted. Yes, the events this week largely stayed peaceful. But when the citizens first rushed out, they remembered Gwangju and therefore knew that there was a possibility things could turn violent, that the situation could have easily turned into one of the many massacres in Korean history.
The Korean public knows that the Gwangju protests were ultimately right in the end. And this knowledge and memory play strongly into the actions of citizens today. The Gwangju Uprising went on to spur a persistent democratization movement through the 1980s, which eventually helped change the constitution to make it possible for South Korea to enjoy the kind of thriving democracy it is today. But Korea’s history with effective democratic protests can be traced even further than Gwangju: the April 19 Uprising of the 1960s that helped topple the autocratic regime of President Syngman Rhee, the March 1 movement protesting Japanese colonial rule, etc. Then flashback to more recent times to the candlelight vigils of 2016 and 2017 that helped remove President Park Geun-hye.
“As a historian, I thank those people for producing these kinds of films. And I thank people like Han Kang for her crucial literature.”
I can’t help but wonder, in the face of our own wannabe authoritarian, if Americans lack historical context. Is it different in South Korea? Do educators prioritize history in a way that seems lacking here?
I don’t want to claim that Koreans are any different from other people. But what’s different in South Korea is precisely the fact that Koreans have been able to experience firsthand that they have the power to topple authoritarian regimes.
But I don’t necessarily think it’d be accurate to say that it’s Korean public education that pushes this. This education is really happening outside in a much more public arena, especially in terms of cultural output. Take a look at Han Kang, the recent Nobel Prize winner. Her works directly concern historical trauma and historical memory. Human Acts is even specifically about the atrocities in Gwangju. There has also been a surge of hugely popular TV dramas dealing with these very topics, including the film 1987: When the Day Comes which centered on the June Democratic Uprising. As a historian, I thank those people for producing these kinds of films. And I thank people like Han Kang for her crucial literature.
But I want to underscore that it would be a mistake to think that it’s some kind of exceptionalism among South Koreans. We have our own problems and cycles of anti-democratic leadership. We are just as politically burned by the right as we are by the left. But it’s the fresh memory of historical trauma—and perhaps more importantly, the victories of uprisings— that contribute to this very high level of political awareness and political consciousness in South Korea.
Another remarkable feature: The indefinite strike announced by Korea’s largest labor union. Can you help us understand the power of organized labor in everyday Korean society and how that’s being leveraged in this moment?
It’s important to understand the history here. The Korean Confederation of Trade Unions (KCTU) was born out of a social movement. We need to go back to 1987, when there was a massive uprising with millions pouring into the streets demanding political reform. They won, the leader at the time stepped down, and a direct presidential election took place. But soon after, workers staged another spectacular uprising, which is now referred to as the Great Worker Struggle, where two-thirds of the country’s biggest industries went on strike. So you have to understand that there has always been this very close alliance between the democratization movement and the labor movement in South Korea. Therefore it’s not surprising to see KCTU taking action in this moment.
Alright, so I’ve been to Korea six times, with three of those visits having taken place as an adult. During each of those visits, even as a child, I have clear memories of political protests being commonplace across Seoul. I specifically remember being taken aback by the number of older Koreans participating in them. A lot of this felt antithetical to the stereotype many Americans hold toward East Asian countries: that they’re placid, quiet, eager to please. And I think many watching the events unfold right now are surprised by that upending of a stereotype.
Placid? I mean, nothing could be further from the truth. Korea has a long history of protest, going back to the colonial period, the March 1 movement, and so forth. And you have to remember that these all happened when social media was not even around. Throughout history, during crucial moments, Koreans have been at the forefront of protests. Just take the fact that South Korea is probably the only country in the world to have specific names for generations based on the protests of their time. Yuk-sahn, Yushin, the 386 generation, etc.
One thing that I’ve noticed about these protests is how festive they appear to be.
Yes but this is a drastic change from the protest culture of the 1980s—thank god you were not there. It was a life and death for many of the people who participated in political protests. Sexual abuse during interrogations, extremely grave situations with riot soldiers, plain-clothes security forces, so much brutality.
But a major shift happened in 2008 during the protests against the conservative president’s decision to allow beef imported by the United States into the country despite serious mad cow disease concerns. That’s when the composition of protesters began to change drastically. It wasn’t just the usual labor unions and social movement organizations coming out. Mothers with baby strollers, hobby groups, and ordinary citizens concerned about their health. That’s the moment when South Korean protesting changed completely. And we saw this once again during the candlelight protests, where a more festive nature took hold with singers and entertainment among the protesters.