South Korea’s night of martial law: One year on

By A-Young Moon (PEACEMOMO)

The flu is going around in Korea. As I pour boiling water into a cup of herbal tea, I glance at the clock. 10:45 PM. Exactly one year ago at this very moment, I was driving fast towards the National Assembly, my heart pounding. Goosebumps run down my arms. It has been a year. 

That night, I arrived home after working late. My cats greeted me cheerfully at the door. I was about to change out of my work clothes when my messenger buzzed. It was a colleague. "Martial law has been declared." I couldn't believe it, as I’ve said countless times over the year since then. I told my family. My phone kept buzzing with notifications.

For a moment, I felt dazed, then clarity struck. I hadn't changed yet, so I could leave quickly. Since the Sewol Ferry disaster in 2014, I'd spent many nights on the streets. My body remembered what to prepare for a cold winter night. As I packed quickly to leave, just in case, I put out three days' worth of food for my cats. I thought: if I get arrested, it might take three days before someone else could come feed them.

I started driving toward the National Assembly, and found myself speeding without realizing it. My heart was racing. It wasn't like there was anything specific I could do by getting there, but I felt this urgent need to arrive quickly. Afraid I might have an accident, I tried to calm myself as I reached the Assembly. It was around 11:10 PM.

Looking back now, the memory makes me shudder. Stirring my warm tea, I say to my cats: Even thinking about it again, wasn't it truly horrifying? Those days were so exhausting. Yet that day I never want to return to left me with memories I can never forget.

Memories of strangers in the square offering snacks, handing out cushions, pressing heat packs into hands. The square where we danced and sang with light sticks waving. A year later, as I sit to write this, I open my laptop and play the YouTube playlist of impeachment songs.

Singing G-Dragon's "Crooked" fills me with exhilaration every time. "Nothing lasts forever / In the end you changed / No reason, no sincerity / Love and all that crap, shove it! / Tonight I'm going crooked!" I wanted to shout these lyrics into the ears of then-President Yoon Suk-yeol and those who supported his illegal, power-grabbing move for martial law.

Eternal power doesn't exist, and you who spoke of justice became corrupt. Your reason for becoming president was your own benefit. Yoon Suk-yeol, who as president of the nation sent drones and leaflets to North Korea, practically begging them to start a war. The problem isn't just Yoon Suk-yeol alone, but the crowd around him interested only in their own power and profit. Those who use democracy as a parasite uses a host.

Since the 1990s, authoritarianism has begun to operate in new ways across the world. Unlike the overt dictatorships of the past, more sophisticated techniques of governance have emerged, methods that preserve the appearance of democracy while in fact consolidating power. In an era in which liberal democracy has become global hegemony, rulers who seek to avoid the uncertainties inherent in democratic competition have learned to exercise authoritarianism within democratic institutions. The third of December 2024 in South Korea was the moment when this authoritarianism masked as democracy threatened to erupt into overt violence.

Elected by the narrowest of margins in 2022, Yoon had been facing increasing criticism of his conservative policies including on gender, policing and the economy. Earlier in 2024 his People Power party lost their majority to the opposition Democratic Party of Korea (DPK) in parliamentary mid-term elections. On 3 December at 22:27 local time, Yoon declared martial law on television, accusing the DPK of "anti-state activities" and collaborating with "North Korean communists". The move was immediately slammed by the public, both parties, and international observers. Yoon and the cabinet lifted martial law at 04:30 the next morning, but the DPK launched impeachment proceedings over what it called an attempted self-coup. Public demonstrations persisted as Yoon was suspended from office on December 14 then arrested and indicted for insurrection, until he was officially impeached and removed from office on 4 April 2025 by the Constitutional Court’s final ruling.

From 3 December 2024 to 4 April 2025, the public-square gatherings we created together were miraculous. The waves made by multicoloured light sticks, those lights held in each person's hands became points of an Ariadne's thread in the labyrinth that began with martial law.

By now a new government has taken power, and many unstable things are finding stability. But when someone started calling it the "Revolution of Light," it felt like the liveliness from the public squares was being forced into an ill-fitting cloak of grandeur. The new government was elected, but consists mostly of suited men. Where are the voices of the women who shouted in the squares, of transgender people and sexual minorities? Is it democracy's fate for the squares we created together to transform into a solemn town hall meeting?

Where are the voices from the squares? Where are the lights from the squares? If the time of light sticks that shine in darkness has passed, it should be time for the rainbow that sparkles brightly even in daylight, so why hasn't the time of the rainbow arrived?

Reflecting on the martial law night a year ago, democracy is like the boulder Sisyphus rolled. Just when you think you've pushed it up, it slips and slides back down again. We thought the diverse voices that created the square together would be better reflected this time, but no. We thought the proportion of women politicians would increase along with more representation of the minorities, but the reality is much the same as before.

Political scientist and professor Shin Jin-wook summarizes the cycle of Korean politics over the past 20 years as follows: Under democratic party governments, political democracy improves but economic inequality remains unresolved, leading to loss of support. When conservative governments take power, democracy deteriorates, and in reaction to this, the democratic party returns to power, only to lose it again to conservatives due to unresolved inequality. The separation of political democracy from economic democracy, this is what makes Korean democracy a Sisyphean boulder.

Sisyphus's boulder seems destined for despair, fated to roll back down once it reaches the top. But the point isn't the falling boulder, it's Sisyphus, who rolls it up again.

It slipped. My shoulders ache and my palms are blistered, but I must push it up again.

That's what democracy is. The countless beings who don't despair at the fallen boulder but gather their strength to start pushing again. It's not easy. We're tired. Having to stand before the boulder again, knowing it will slip, that's democracy. When the world seems full of democracy's collapse, when the massive boulder seems to be rolling down out of control, let's not despair too much. We will stand before the boulder again, and we will push it up again.

The views expressed in this article are not necessarily those of FES.