It was a regular Tuesday morning until I returned to my room after class and checked my phone. A flood of New York Times notifications appeared, and one headline stopped me cold: “President Yoon’s Speech Declaring Martial Law.” My heart pounded as I scrambled for more information, fearing the worst — that the Korean War had resumed and my family was in danger. Relief came when I realized it wasn’t war, but confusion remained. I asked myself: why did the South Korean President suddenly declare martial law?
For South Koreans, martial law is not just a bureaucratic measure, but a loaded term that evokes painful memories. South Korea endured decades of authoritarian rule where martial law was a tool of oppression rather than protection. The most infamous example occurred in 1980 when the military crushed the Gwangju Uprising, killing hundreds of pro-democracy protesters. Given this history, the mere mention of martial law today sends chills down the spines of many South Koreans.
So, when President Yoon invoked martial law, the question arose: was history repeating itself? The immediate impulse was to say yes. The eerie similarities — military mobilization and mass protests — suggested a troubling return to the past. However, in the aftermath of the short-lived rule, this crisis revealed something more: South Korea’s past was not repeating itself, but rather, it was echoing it in a way that highlights both progress and persistent challenges.
To understand this moment, we must consider the context. The crisis began with accusations of corruption within the government, leading to mass protests demanding accountability. Such demonstrations are not new in South Korea; they are a defining feature of its democratic evolution. Unlike in the past, however, these protests were met not with indiscriminate violence but with strategic state intervention under the justification of national security. This raises an important question: when does government intervention cross the line from necessary governance into authoritarian overreach?
One key difference between now and past crises, in my opinion, is the presence of a powerful civil society and a free press. South Koreans today are not passive observers of their government’s actions but are active participants who demand transparency and accountability. This marks a stark contrast to the country’s days of military dictatorship, when protests were brutally suppressed and media censorship kept the public in the dark. The fact that this crisis unfolded in real time, with open debate and widespread access to information through social media, is a testament to the strength of South Korea’s democratic institutions.
Eager to understand the perspectives of members of parliament during this critical moment in history, I reached out to South Korea’s National Assembly to arrange interviews with its members. On Dec. 30, 2024, I spoke with Jung Chung-rae of the Democratic Party and Lee Yang-soo of the conservative People Power Party.
In the interview, Jung, a former student protester for democratization, reflected on the moment when martial law was declared. He described it as an ordinary day until the news broke, and he recalled that in that instant, “my heart stopped beating for five seconds.” Having lived through the harsh realities of imprisonment and torture during the democratization movement, Jung admitted that the situation in 2024 felt “much more frightening because [he] knew what martial law entailed.” Unlike in the past, when he was uncertain of the consequences of opposing martial law, his personal experience with authoritarianism made him acutely aware of the stakes. As a member of the opposition, Jung rushed to the National Assembly to vote against the law. His vivid recollections highlight not only the painful memories of that time but also his determination to prevent history from repeating itself.
Jung condemned the failure of impeachment efforts following the declaration of martial law, criticizing those who defended the president’s actions as “lacking any conscientiousness.” He viewed the declaration as a blatant overreach of executive power and constitutional violation — grounds, in his opinion, for immediate impeachment.
Jung’s concerns were echoed by others, including those from within Yoon’s own party. Lee weighed in on the impeachment debate. While he resented the Democratic Party’s portrayal of the entire People Power Party as “treasonous” for not supporting the impeachment, Lee was adamant that most members of his party were equally opposed to the martial law declaration. “We are not idiots,” he said. “Most of us didn’t want to live under martial law either.” Yet, logistical challenges and partisanship led to a divided vote, preventing the impeachment bill from passing. Lee’s comments shed light on the ways partisanship and group mentality sometimes cloud individual judgment in politics. He acknowledged that, in hindsight, it might have been more ideal for party members to act based on their own consciences rather than loyalty to the collective opinion of the party.
Despite the impeachment efforts initially falling short, the public response to the crisis revealed a shift in South Korea’s political consciousness. Massive protests continued to fill the streets, but rather than being crushed by force, they became a stage for civic engagement. Citizens mobilized, legal scholars debated constitutional limits and journalists scrutinized the administration’s every move. The resilience of South Korean democracy was put to the test, and while the declaration of martial law was alarming, the outcry against it demonstrated the country’s political maturity.
The United States, with its own struggles for protecting democracy, can take several lessons from South Korea’s experience, in my view. First, the importance of a vigilant and engaged civil society cannot be overstated. Democracy thrives when citizens actively participate, hold leaders accountable and refuse to remain passive in the face of governmental overreach. Second, an independent and free press is essential for transparency and truth, preventing misinformation and ensuring that democratic institutions remain strong. Finally, political leaders must prioritize principles over partisanship. The South Korean crisis illustrated how blind loyalty to party interests can undermine democracy.
In the end, history doesn’t repeat itself in identical form, but it does provide lessons. The difference between repeating history and learning from it appears to lie in the actions of the people.
