South Korean Democracy at a Crossroads

On June 3, voters in the Republic of Korea will elect the country’s 21st president and its fourth since 2013. Among recent presidents, two—Park Geun-hye and Yoon Suk Yeol—were impeached before completing their terms. Will the election mark the beginning of political stabilization in South Korea? Unfortunately, the outlook is not promising.

The current political crisis, which began with President Yoon’s declaration of martial law on December 3, 2024, and peaked with the Constitutional Court’s impeachment ruling on April 4, 2025, reflects only South Korea’s short-term turbulence. In the longer view, the ideological conflict and national division between conservatives and progressives that followed the impeachment of President Park in March 2017 remain unresolved and are now exacerbated by intensifying political tribalism. Public trust in the rule of law and the separation of powers—fundamental pillars of democracy—has eroded. Structural constraints, such as the division of the Korean Peninsula and ideological polarization between pro-China and pro-U.S. camps, continue to limit South Korea’s democratic resilience.

Amid this turbulence, this commentary examines what has gone awry in South Korea’s once-promising democracy, focusing on three key dynamics: the rise of excessive fandom politics, the threat of legislative overreach, and the enduring geopolitics of inter-Korean division.

The Dark Shadow of Fandom Politics

Over the past 80 years since the end of World War II, South Korea has transformed from one of the world’s poorest nations into the twelfth-largest economy. As of 2023, its GDP per capita reached $35,000, surpassing that of Japan. Yet paradoxically, its citizens’ sense of happiness has stagnated or even declined. According to the 2024 UN World Happiness Report, South Korea ranked in the lower tier (80th–90th out of 143 countries) in metrics such as social support and autonomy in life decisions. This reflects a reality in which material wealth has not translated into social cohesion, and where feelings of relative deprivation have deepened.

Such conditions fuel fandom politics. Fandom politics are rooted in perceived inequality and relative deprivation—not only in economic terms but also in social and political exclusion. Members of these fandoms often regard those outside their political camp as “enemies,” intensifying resentment and antagonism. They offer unconditional support to their side’s politicians and reject any opposing views. This behavior, driven by the psychological need for group belonging and self-protection, often overrides facts and logic, turning political discourse into emotionally charged echo chambers.

Political elites exploit fandom politics as a means to sustain and amplify their power, using loyal supporters to deflect criticism and avoid accountability. Fandoms act as shields, weakening essential democratic checks and turning political debate into emotional polarization. While political participation via YouTube and social media has positive aspects—like fostering grassroots democracy—the darker side is more prevalent. Although fandom politics successfully channel public passion into engagement, they become corrosive when trapped in binary logic and hostile exclusion. In South Korea they are ultimately threatening the foundation of electoral democracy.

In a separate concern, the National Election Commission’s mishandling of recent elections—including security flaws in the early-voting system introduced in 2013—has further eroded public trust in the democratic process. A 2023 security inspection by the National Intelligence Service confirmed the system’s vulnerability to foreign hacking. In the digital era, cyberwarfare is a central national security threat. Can we still dismiss the possibility of foreign interference in South Korean elections as mere conspiracy? A democracy that fails to protect the integrity of its elections cannot be considered truly healthy.

A Monster Born of the Imperial Presidency: Legislative Tyranny

Today’s political crisis reflects a deeper problem: the crisis of “Korean-style democracy.” This model combines a presidential system with a hybrid separation of powers in which the legislature checks the executive and the judiciary balances both. Since the 1987 constitutional reform—often called the “1987 system”—South Korean democracy has become more institutionalized. Yet it has also exposed structural limits. The problem lies not only in the “imperial” role of the presidency but increasingly in “legislative tyranny” by the supermajority party.

Democracy is one of the most stable political systems ever devised, but it is also vulnerable to slow internal decay. South Korean democracy is now facing such a threat. Abuse of legislative power by the near-supermajority undermines checks and balances and stigmatizes dissent as anti-democratic extremism.

When the majority party forces bills through the legislature using sheer numbers and then claims, “We followed the democratic process—if you don’t like it, win the next election,” it exemplifies political irresponsibility. Since winning a near-supermajority in the 2020 general election (180 out of 300 seats) and maintaining dominance in the 2024 election (175 seats), the Democratic Party has pushed through controversial laws—including the Corruption Investigation Office Act, the Anti-North Korea Leaflet Ban (later ruled unconstitutional), the Grain Management Act, the Nursing Act, the Yellow Envelope Act, and a package of broadcasting reform bills—without adequate political or social deliberation.

After President Yoon’s impeachment, this trend intensified. Rule by law masquerading as rule of law gravely shook public trust in legal due process and national institutions. The arrest of a sitting president for rebellion, televised live by the Corruption Investigation Office and the judiciary, followed by unprecedented mob intrusions into court buildings, showed how common sense has drowned in partisan conflict.

To complicate matters further, the Democratic Party is advancing a series of controversial—and potentially unconstitutional—bills that are widely seen as efforts to shield its presidential candidate, Lee Jae-myung, from ongoing legal troubles. The party is now pushing to impeach the Supreme Court justices who remanded Lee’s election law case—stemming from a false statement made during a 2018 gubernatorial debate—for retrial with a guilty interpretation, claiming the decision was rushed. Following threats to impeach the judges if the remanded trial proceeded as scheduled, the Seoul High Court postponed the hearing from May 15 to June 18—after the presidential election.

Separately, Lee remains on trial for alleged misconduct involving favoritism toward private developers in large-scale residential development projects during his tenure as mayor of Seongnam, as well as for third-party bribery related to corporate donations to Seongnam FC, where he served as the football club’s owner in his capacity as mayor. The Democratic Party has also proposed a bill to suspend all criminal trials for sitting presidents, another bill to expand the number of Supreme Court justices from 14 to 30, and yet another to abolish the law against spreading false election information—one of the criminal charges against Lee. Should Lee win the presidency, he is unlikely to veto any of these bills.

Kim Moon-soo, the presidential candidate for the People Power Party, has strongly criticized the Democratic Party’s legislative drive. He has described the election as “not merely a contest between parties, but a choice between advancing democracy or descending into grotesque dictatorship.”

The Democratic Party may feel victimized—indeed, South Korea’s short party history is not without its dark chapters. Progressive parties endured decades of repression before finally gaining power with the presidential victories of Kim Dae-jung in 1997 and Roh Moo-hyun in 2002. But historical grievances do not justify the risks of legislative overreach today. Until the 2020 general election, the only time a party—conservative or progressive—had secured a supermajority, or even come close, was the 1973 election under the Yushin (restoration) system, when the ruling party secured a two-thirds majority through a combination of elected and presidentially appointed seats.

In South Korea’s current system, where the president cannot dissolve the National Assembly, a supermajority party that repeatedly exercises its impeachment authority becomes an unchecked power. The 1987 Constitution abolished the president’s emergency and dissolution powers from the Fourth and Fifth Republics (1972–81 and 1981–87, respectively) and reinstated legislative oversight. Over the past four decades, South Korea muddled through political crises within the bounds of peaceful power transitions and the separation of powers. But now accumulated tensions are erupting. Yoon’s attempt to ban political activity in the legislature via martial law and the opposition’s retaliatory impeachment and prosecution campaign represent clear signs of democratic regression. Future majorities are likely to emulate this behavior.

The Geopolitical Legacy of Inter-Korean Division

South Korea’s democratic crisis is inseparable from Northeast Asia’s geopolitical landscape. Pro-North radical groups in South Korea gained a foothold in the wake of the 1980 Gwangju Uprising and expanded significantly during the final years of the Cold War. The urgent desire to avoid a second Korean War created fertile ground for the rise of pro-North sympathizers. In the post-Cold War era, especially following the North Korean nuclear crisis of the mid-1990s, illusions about China’s potential role in Korean unification and regional peace further fueled pro-Beijing sentiment.

What sets South Korea apart from other postwar democracies is the intensity of its anti-corporate and anti-capitalist attitudes, coupled with enduring anti-imperialist discourse. These positions are often spearheaded by powerful and militant labor unions—most notably the Korean Confederation of Trade Unions (KCTU), which wields significant political influence through its ties to pro–North Korea and pro-China factions.

This ideological orientation came under renewed scrutiny in 2023, when several KCTU officials were arrested on charges of spying for North Korea. Prosecutors accused them of maintaining secret communications with North Korean agents, promoting pro-Pyongyang narratives, and attempting to infiltrate key civil society organizations. The incident has reignited concerns about ideological extremism and foreign influence within South Korea’s labor movement.

When President Yoon declared martial law—only to lift it six hours later—few grasped his full intent behind the warning: “to defend the free Republic of Korea from the threats of North Korean communist forces and to eradicate the shameless pro–North Korean anti-state forces that are plundering the freedom and happiness of our people.” Why now, in a supposedly mature democracy? That was the question on everyone’s mind. But as the impeachment and prosecution unfolded, South Korea’s political community split sharply. One side demanded Yoon’s removal; the other believed he acted out of patriotic duty to awaken the public. What divides these camps is their view of the roots of South Korean democracy. The former camp sees it as embodied in the 1980 Gwangju Uprising and believes antiwar and self-reliance forces are the true custodians of democratic values. The latter, after 40 years post-democratization, believes that South Korea’s democracy has been hollowed out by pro-North and pro-China leftists.

Younger generations are especially incensed by China. Through trade, investment, infrastructure, and soft-power strategies—including “debt-trap diplomacy,” tech dominance, and cultural infiltration—Beijing has deepened its influence worldwide. The sense that South Korea is defenseless against such influence operations has intensified this anger. The policies of the Moon Jae-in administration (2017–22), pursued under the slogan “people first” and the promise that “opportunities will be equal, the process fair, and the outcome just,” are now seen as enabling this vulnerability. There is a reasonable suspicion that some lawmakers’ reluctance to revise espionage laws—citing “human rights risks” to foreign (i.e., Chinese) suspects—might stem from being co-opted by Chinese influence. By overemphasizing ties with China, South Korea has rendered itself vulnerable externally and divided internally.

Meanwhile, during the intense anti-impeachment protests over the past winter, Yoon’s approval rating surged into the 50% range. Supporters waved both the South Korean and American flags at rally sites, calling for U.S. support. In response, pro-North factions condemned them as pro-American far-right sympathizers and instigators of insurrection, further fueling social conflict.

Just as South Korea’s economy grappled with the middle-income trap in the early 2000s, its democracy now faces a “middle-democracy trap”—a condition in which democratic development stalls without achieving full liberal democracy, including due process, judicial independence, and protection of minority rights. South Korean democracy can only be safeguarded through vigilant public scrutiny. As the saying goes, the price of freedom is eternal vigilance—a principle that will be put to the test in the June election.

Min Gyo Koo is Professor in the Graduate School of Public Administration at Seoul National University.