In the early hours of 15 January, thousands of police officers surrounded South Korean president Yoon Suk Yeol’s hilltop residence in Seoul. Yoon had been holed up inside the compound for weeks since declaring – and swiftly rescinding – martial law in December. He claimed the move was necessary to overcome the “state of paralysis” in the opposition-controlled parliament, where his political rivals had repeatedly blocked his legislative agenda, rejected his budget and attempted to investigate those close to him, including his wife. After the thwarted attempt at martial law, Yoon was impeached by parliament and suspended from his official duties, but he was still technically the head of state. And he was still guarded by the Presidential Security Service, which had erected barricades made of buses and razor wire around the compound, as he vowed to “fight to the end” to remain in power.
Investigators from the Corruption Investigation Office for High-Ranking Officials, which has led the criminal investigation into Yoon, had failed to arrest the president two weeks earlier, retreating after a six-hour stand-off with his bodyguards. On 15 January, however, they returned with a small army of police, equipped with ladders to scale the barricades, and Yoon’s security offered little resistance. Pro-Yoon protesters scuffled with police outside the gates and lawmakers from the president’s People Power Party (PPP) attempted to block the arrest by locking arms, but he was taken into custody. As Yoon was driven away, his aides released a pre-recorded video in which he declared that the rule of law had “completely collapsed” and that he was complying with authorities solely to “prevent unsavoury bloodshed”.
Having started his day in the opulence of the presidential residence, Yoon was taken for questioning and then transferred to a detention centre south of Seoul. According to prison authorities, he was assigned to a standard cell, with a sink, toilet and a small table for writing and eating, along with a folding mattress to sleep on, on the floor. The only apparent deference to Yoon’s status is that he is being held in isolation, away from the other inmates, and reportedly is accompanied by his bodyguards whenever he leaves his cell.
Yoon, who is 64, was formally indicted on 26 January on charges of leading an insurrection – a capital offence – becoming the first sitting president in the country ever to face criminal trial. If convicted, he could face life imprisonment or even the death penalty. He will stand trial alongside several military officials and his former defence minister, Kim Yong-hyun, who claimed he urged Yoon to declare martial law. Kim attempted suicide after he was detained in December. Yoon is also undergoing a parallel impeachment trial at South Korea’s constitutional court, where the justices must decide whether to uphold his impeachment and remove him from office – triggering a new election within 60 days – or restore him to the presidency.
There is more at stake than Yoon’s personal and political fate. The coming months will serve as a crucial test of South Korea’s celebrated democracy, secured in the 1980s after decades of military dictatorship. There have been duelling street protests in recent weeks between pro- and anti-Yoon factions in Seoul, with many of Yoon’s supporters carrying “Stop the Steal” placards – the same slogan used by Donald Trump’s supporters as they attempted to overturn the results of the 2020 US election. The Korean version refers to a conspiracy theory spread by right-wing YouTube channels claiming that 2024’s parliamentary election was rigged in favour of the opposition Democratic Party (DP), which currently controls South Korea’s parliament, the National Assembly, despite there being no credible evidence to back up those claims.
Yoon’s downfall could also trigger a significant shift in South Korea’s foreign policy, with implications far beyond the Korean Peninsula. Yoon had sided with the US in its rivalry with China and worked to strengthen ties with Washington – memorably singing “American Pie”, to the delight of Joe Biden, during a White House state dinner in 2023. He also agreed a historic rapprochement with Japan, supplied ammunition (albeit indirectly, via the United States) to Ukraine and adopted a hardline approach to North Korea. By contrast, an incoming DP administration would likely pursue a more sceptical approach to Tokyo, renewed engagement with Pyongyang and a more balanced approach to US-China relations. It is unlikely that a new Democratic president will be serenading Donald Trump any time soon.
When Yoon declared martial law on 3 December, much of the media coverage focused on the National Assembly, where large crowds rallied in defiance of the order, facing down heavily armed troops and hoisting lawmakers over the fences so that they could reach the building. But Yoon also sent troops to raid the National Election Commission that night to search for evidence of election rigging – playing into the right-wing conspiracy theories around last year’s election – before he lifted the decree. He has claimed he’s defending the country against “anti-state forces” and “pro-North Korean” sympathisers – well-worn slurs against the left in South Korea that are designed to appeal to his political base. He has insisted that it was within his legitimate powers as president to declare martial law when confronted with what he has called a “legislative dictatorship”. Now facing criminal trial, he has vowed to fight on, urging his supporters to do the same. “This is a war,” his spokesman told a flag-waving crowd on New Year’s Day. “And you are warriors.”
Some of Yoon’s supporters have taken that message literally. When a court in Seoul extended his detention on 19 January, hundreds of protesters stormed the court building, smashing windows and attacking police as they forced their way inside to search for the judge who had issued the ruling. Nine police officers were injured and dozens of the protesters were arrested in an uncharacteristically violent incident for South Korea, which has been compared to the 6 January attack on the US Capitol by Trump supporters.
Senior DP lawmakers say they have begun wearing body armour during public appearances because of what they have called a “serious threat to their personal safety”. These fears are not unfounded. The DP leader, Lee Jae-myung, who narrowly lost the presidential election to Yoon in 2022, was stabbed in the neck by a would-be assassin at a campaign event in January 2024. Three weeks later, a teenage boy attacked a PPP lawmaker, Bae Hyun-jin, striking her repeatedly over the head with a rock in Seoul.
“These societal divisions and political polarisation are getting worse,” said Shin Gi-wook, director of the Asia-Pacific research centre at Stanford University and author of Korean Democracy in Crisis: The Threat of Illiberalism, Populism, and Polarisation. “I don’t think this turmoil will end, even if Yoon is impeached by the constitutional court. His diehard supporters may not accept the verdict, and they will continue to mobilise and protest.”
Many in Yoon’s party have also sided with the president despite initial condemnations from senior figures, including the party leader, after his martial law declaration. This mirrors the approach taken by Republican Party leaders in the US, who briefly distanced themselves from Trump after the 6 January attack before coalescing around his re-election campaign. PPP lawmakers, Shin explained, are now weighing their electoral chances and the prospect of the DP returning to power. “They don’t really want to side with [Yoon] entirely, but at the same time they don’t want to break with him either, so that is why you have seen PPP members outside Yoon’s residence, trying to protect him, and some of them joining the ultra-rightists.” There are clear parallels with the Maga movement in the US. “Yoon’s supporters are waving Korean flags and American flags and using President Trump’s playbook,” he said. “You can call it Trumpism in Korea.”
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Like Trump, Yoon has strong support from the evangelical community, which views his conservative bloc as a bulwark against the supposed threat from communism, embodied by neighbouring China and North Korea. Every day since Yoon’s arrest, his supporters have gathered outside the detention centre to offer prayers for his release and for his enemies to “be defeated”. Yoon also has a core base of younger men. Fifty-nine per cent of male voters aged 18 to 29 voted for him in the 2022 election, compared to only 34 per cent of women of the same age, which was notable for Yoon’s efforts to mobilise the nascent “men’s rights” movement. Yoon had pledged to abolish the country’s gender-equality ministry after the election, but his efforts were blocked in parliament.
“There is a staunch far-right element to the pro-Yoon camp that is very pro-US and very anti-North Korea that argues they need to protect Yoon’s conservative government, because otherwise the extreme left gets into power,” said Darcie Draudt-Véjares, a fellow in Korean studies at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. These camps have been a feature of South Korean politics since the transition to democracy in the 1980s, she explained, but they have come to renewed prominence over the past decade as the country has become more polarised.
“South Korean political parties have come to rely on this contest that is left over from the Cold War, where the right claims to be protecting the state against left forces.” The left, meanwhile, tends to take a more hostile approach to Japan, invoking the terrible abuses that took place under colonial rule and advocating for dialogue with North Korea. Both sides assert a moral authority, claiming to be defending the very existence of the state.
The trend towards political polarisation is hardly unique to South Korea, but the country’s long-running divisions have been supercharged by rising economic inequality in recent years; property prices are skyrocketing and there is ferocious competition among graduates to find jobs.
The resulting economic precarity has only exacerbated the worsening demographic crisis, with the fertility rate already the lowest in the world and a rapidly ageing population. At the same time, South Korea is one of the world’s most online societies, with surging social media use precipitating digital echo chambers where misinformation flourishes.
The increasingly tribal nature of the country’s politics helps explain why support for Yoon’s party has proved so resilient despite the martial law crisis, viewed as especially egregious given the recent history of military rule. While Yoon’s personal approval rating plummeted to 11 per cent in December, recent opinion polls have shown support for the PPP almost tied with the opposition DP. A Gallup Korea poll conducted in late January found 40 per cent support for DP compared to 38 per cent for PPP, within the margin of error. Much of the electorate might have been repulsed by Yoon’s power grab, but that doesn’t mean committed conservatives are ready to embrace a liberal president.
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Lee, the current DP leader, is also battling legal troubles of his own. He faces multiple corruption allegations relating to a property development during his time as mayor of the city of Seongnam. (He denies all the allegations.) He was also convicted in November of making false statements during the 2022 presidential election campaign – which is illegal in South Korea – and sentenced to a suspended prison term.
Lee is appealing his conviction, but if it is upheld by the supreme court, he will lose his seat in parliament and be barred from standing for election for five years. Yet, if the constitutional court rules to uphold Yoon’s impeachment and he is removed from office first, then Lee will be able to contest, and likely win the resulting presidential election. “The timing is critical for both sides,” Shin Gi-wook told me. “The PPP and Yoon are trying to delay the impeachment process, but Lee’s side is trying to expedite it. At the same time, the ruling party is urging the supreme court to move quickly to uphold Lee’s conviction, while he is trying to delay the process.” With both sides mired in their own scandals and awaiting crucial court rulings, Shin warned, “there could well be a showdown in the spring”.
The initial backlash to Yoon’s martial law declaration was seen by many observers as a testament to the resilience of South Korean democracy. In one widely shared exchange, which seemed to symbolise the collective defiance, the DP spokeswoman and former television news anchor Ahn Gwi-ryeong grabbed the barrel of a loaded rifle a young soldier had aimed at her and pushed it away, shouting, “Aren’t you ashamed?”
But the picture that has emerged in the months since is more complicated. The PPP has recovered much of its popular support and many of its members are now defending Yoon. The fleeting unity provoked by resistance to the martial law decree has given way to the familiar polarisation of the left and right.
Perhaps this should not be surprising given the history of corruption and influence-peddling scandals and the revenge-cycle nature of South Korean politics. All but one president so far this century has faced investigation, and often years in prison, after stepping down. Roh Moo-hyun, who was in power from 2003 to 2008, for instance, died by suicide in 2009 after being accused of corruption. His successor, Lee Myung-bak, was sentenced to 17 years in prison on corruption charges in 2018, though he was pardoned by Yoon in 2022. Lee’s successor, Park Geun-hye was impeached and sent to prison, with Yoon helping to lead the prosecution. Moon Jae-in, who succeeded her, was named as a suspect in a bribery case in September 2024. When presidents lose power, they risk losing everything.
This is a particularly perilous moment for political paralysis. North Korea, buoyed by its new alliance with Russia, claims to have tested a new hypersonic ballistic missile in January, while its leader, Kim Jong Un, has changed the constitution to declare South Korea a “hostile state”. South Korea’s economy is sputtering, with the won hitting its lowest level since the 2008 financial crisis in response to the political turmoil. Trump’s return augurs further volatility with the looming threat of a global trade war and the likelihood of renewed pressure on Seoul to pay more towards the cost of basing US troops in South Korea.
The immediate focus in the weeks and months ahead will be on the courts as Yoon and Lee await their respective rulings – and political fate. But it is far from clear that either side (and their supporters) will accept the verdicts that are handed down.
South Korea has a long, robust tradition of political protests, but the idea of a violent mob ransacking a court building and assaulting police was unthinkable until it happened in January. Many are not optimistic about the road ahead. “I don’t think either side will accept a decision that they don’t like,” Shin said. “They will challenge it, and they will fight.”
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This article appears in the 12 Feb 2025 issue of the New Statesman, The Reformation