The arrest of President Yoon Suk Yeol underscores deep-rooted tensions in South Korea’s political landscape, where democratic progress continues to clash with lingering authoritarian attitudes. This turmoil reflects unresolved historical divides and the enduring polarisation of its society.

The chaotic political events leading up to South Korean President Yoon Suk Yeol’s recent arrest have provoked much consternation and confusion among many observers globally. If you’ve not been paying attention to these political events in South Korea, here is a summary. On 3 December last year, Yoon declared martial law to take back control of a political situation in Korea in which Yoon’s People Power Party had been unable to pass legislation through the country’s parliament, the National Assembly—dominated by the opposition Democratic Party. Although political gridlock is a feature of democratic governments elsewhere, including the United States, Yoon inexplicably believed that a late-night declaration of martial law would allow him to stamp his authority on the political decision-making process. Yoon justified his actions by blaming “anti-state forces,” hinting without evidence that pro-North Korean elements were acting against him. The angry public response to Yoon’s declaration was almost immediate, and military officials were unwilling to fully back their commander-in-chief during widespread protests outside the National Assembly.

Within a few hours of declaring martial law, the National Assembly voted in an emergency motion to nullify the president’s decision; Yoon revoked his order and publicly apologised. Ten days after Yoon’s chaotic martial law declaration, the National Assembly voted to impeach the president. On New Year’s Eve, an arrest warrant was ordered for Yoon on charges of insurrection. Two attempts to enforce the arrest followed; the first involved a tense standoff at the presidential palace involving agents from the Corruption Investigation Office (CIO), demonstrators, and Yoon’s security detail. The second attempt was only successful after CIO agents scaled the walls of the presidential residence and negotiated barbed wire with bolt cutters.

A natural question from many observers may be, “What’s next for Yoon and South Korea?” We might expect Yoon to be permanently removed from office, put on trial, and perhaps even sentenced like two of his predecessors, Park Geun-hye and Lee Myung-bak. In addition to another presidential election, we might see some attempts to change the constitution, for example, to clarify the jurisdiction of the competing institutions of government that have refused to recognise each other’s authority during this crisis. I would be lying if I said I had any clue what is in store for Yoon, his administration, or the future of South Korean democracy.

What makes the situation so difficult to predict is that many events have broken new ground. This was the first time since the military dictatorship (1961-1987) that martial law had been declared. This is probably the first time a president has been impeached, and then the replacement impeached immediately after. Yoon Suk Yeol was the first sitting South Korean president to be arrested and taken into custody. This may well be the first time that agents had to scale walls and use bolt cutters to prise a president from his residence. I have not yet read an account that predicted such events.

Some of the background issues underlying Yoon’s disastrous decision to declare martial law and his refusal to leave quietly, however, have a longer pedigree with roots stretching back into Korea’s tumultuous twentieth-century history. Understanding these factors may help shed some light on what happened (but not so much on what will occur over the next few weeks and months).

South Korean scholars have sometimes written about the distinction between democratisation and de-authoritarianisation to describe the transition from a thirty-year-long military dictatorship to a representative civilian government. There is no doubt that South Korea’s democratisation process was successful. 1987 saw the introduction of a constitution allowing direct presidential elections and guaranteeing freedom of the press and human and political rights, among many other changes. However, in many ways, the de-authoritarianisation process has been far slower. Censorship of cultural output, for example, was not entirely removed until 1996, and only after a fierce legal challenge. South Korea’s controversial National Security Law, enforced in 1948 to prevent North Korean subversive activities in the South, is still a source of some considerable debate since it is ambiguous enough to justify the imprisonment of individuals simply for expressing their political opinions. It is not just in terms of institutions and the law but elite attitudes where de-authoritarianisation has been slow. South Korean presidents are elected democratically by a popular mandate, but once established in office, many start to act as though they are entitled to behave in the same way as twentieth-century military dictators. A good example of this was the notorious 2016 Blacklist scandal, which revealed that presidents Lee Myung Bak and Park Geun Hye kept lists of suspected left-leaning artists to exclude from government funding applications.

Another feature of the recent political turmoil in Korea has been the sight of demonstrators taking to the streets in sub-zero temperatures—either Yoon’s supporters engaged in round-the-clock vigils in defence of the besieged president or opponents holding noisy rallies for his incarceration. An estimated 35,000 Yoon supporters demonstrated outside a court deliberating over Yoon’s fate. These demonstrations and counter-demonstrations are a key feature of South Korean politics dating back to the early days of the authoritarian rule of Syngman Rhee. There is a strong tendency to take to the streets in South Korean political life, a belief that political decision-making cannot be left to established politicians alone and that change has to come from below. This passion for participation is a reminder that the democratic freedoms granted almost four decades ago were not offered up willingly by incumbent political elites; they had to be taken. Koreans, young and old, demonstrated, fought, and self-immolated to bring democratic change.

South Korea remains a deeply polarised political society with conservative groups who retain a sense of loyalty and nostalgia for the rule of dictator Park Chung Hee. Many celebrate the disciplinarian leader who restructured, reorganised, and reformed society and implemented the South Korean economic miracle. Those progressive groups that demonstrate for Yoon’s incarceration, on the other hand, see themselves as the inheritors of the legacy of the democratisation movement. Just as their forebears fought and sacrificed to bring the freedoms South Koreans now enjoy, so they must struggle to ensure there is no return to authoritarianism.

The gulf between these two constituencies is so vast that compromise seldom appears possible. This may be why so many pro-Yoon supporters blocked his residence from investigators and stormed a court of justice, knowing full well they were defending a politician who had made a catastrophic error of judgment in declaring martial law and should be punished for his blunder. However, in their eyes, they’re not defending a policy, political decision, politician or even a political party. They’re defending a moral position and a sense of political self and national identity aligned with Park Chung Hee’s developmental rule. No compromise is possible because to do so would betray a moral stance and political identity. This political reasoning may also explain why Yoon dug his heels in and refused to leave office, knowing that the game was up. By giving up, Yoon would also be turning his back on an entire constituency and everything they represent politically.

Andrew David Jackson is Associate Professor in Korean Studies at Monash University. From 2017-2019, he was Convenor of the Korean Studies programme. Prior to his appointment, he was Associate Professor at the Department of Cross-Cultural and Regional Studies, University of Copenhagen, Denmark (2013-2017).

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