Martial law in South Korea—and then not. What comes next?
Editor’s note (December 4th 2024): This story has been updated.
DECEMBER 3RD began as an uneventful day in Seoul, South Korea’s capital. Many went to sleep soundly that evening. By the next morning, the country’s president, Yoon Suk Yeol, had declared martial law, attempted to forcibly take control of the National Assembly—and then abruptly reversed course. This extraordinary turn of events has thrust his country into chaos, called the future of his presidency into question and tested the strength of South Korean democracy.
The wild night began with an unexpected address by Mr Yoon at 10.30pm local time, announcing the imminent imposition of martial law. The decree banned all political activities and limited media freedom. It was the first use of such emergency powers since the country’s military dictatorship fell in the late 1980s. Providing no evidence for his claims, Mr Yoon alleged that the National Assembly, which is controlled by his political opponents in the Democratic Party (DP), had “become a monster” that threatens democracy. He implied that they collaborated with North Korean “communist forces”.
Although successive constitutions have weakened the presidency and given more authority to parliament, South Korea’s system remains one in which the president wields tremendous power, including over the security services. Following Mr Yoon’s statement, armed forces were deployed in Seoul and riot police lined the roads.
The decision was taken by the president and a small cabal around him. Fewer than ten people are believed to have been in the know, including the defence minister. Mr Yoon’s own administration was left flat-footed. “It was a huge surprise to most of the staff here, and the cabinet members as well,” says a source in the presidential office. American officials received no advance warning from their treaty ally, which hosts nearly 30,000 American troops.
The counter-reaction came swiftly. Thousands of protesters took to the streets chanting “Arrest him!” The mood was one of outrage mixed with utter shock. “It feels like Yoon just got drunk and suddenly announced this late at night,” quipped one protester. “Is this reality?” asked another. Currency markets shuddered, sending Korea’s won down by as much as 3% against the dollar. The Bank of Korea called an emergency meeting.
Political opposition to Mr Yoon mobilised throughout the night. The DP called the president’s declaration “essentially a coup”. Han Dong-hoon, the head of Mr Yoon’s own People’s Power Party (PPP) came out against the move. As heavily armed troops stormed the parliament, the 190 lawmakers who had barricaded themselves inside the chamber, a majority of the 300-strong body, voted unanimously to revoke the president’s decree just two hours after it took effect. The armed forces began to leave shortly afterwards.
Just after 4am Mr Yoon made a second televised address, announcing that he would respect the National Assembly’s will and lift his martial-law order. Troops returned to their bases. As dawn broke, Mr Han called for the defence minister’s resignation and apologised to the public for the “disastrous situation”. Businesses and schools opened as usual. By the afternoon, opposition parties had submitted a motion to impeach Mr Yoon, with a vote expected on December 6th or 7th. As the sun set again, hundreds gathered for a candlelight protest at the National Assembly.
Mr Yoon, a conservative former prosecutor, took office in 2022 after narrowly defeating Lee Jae-myung, the DP’s leader. In office he has proved divisive: alienating not only his opponents but many who had initially supported him. Scandals have also marred his image, in particular allegations surrounding his wife, who was caught on video accepting a luxury handbag as a gift. His approval ratings slid to around 20% last month (see chart).
The DP swept general elections to retake control of parliament earlier this year. Mr Yoon refused to attend its opening session on September 2nd, the first time a president has done so since democratisation. Last week parliament voted to trim Mr Yoon’s budget for next year.
Mr Yoon may have thought he could outmanoeuvre his opponents. Yet his move went far beyond the bounds of normal politics, evoking instead the tactics of Park Chung-hee, a military dictator who ruled the country in the 1960s and 1970s. “He’s used the nuclear bomb,” says Victor Cha of the Centre for Strategic and International Studies, an American think-tank.
By setting it off, Mr Yoon has almost certainly sealed his own downfall. “The only thing that is certain is that President Yoon will not be able to finish out his term,” says Ha Sang-eung of Sogang University in Seoul. If Mr Yoon does not resign himself, impeachment requires a two-thirds majority vote in parliament and then a trial by the constitutional court. (Mr Yoon’s party controls 108 seats, so just eight would need to defect.)
The process could drag out for months, leaving an interim president in charge and the political system in limbo. The turbulence will spook investors, who already place an elevated risk premium on South Korean assets. The Korean Confederation of Trade Unions and transit workers have promised to strike until Mr Yoon steps down. Whenever new elections are held, the DP candidate will probably win.
The foreign-policy implications of this would be vast—and come at a sensitive time, as Donald Trump prepares to take office in America and North Korea takes an ever more hostile stance towards the South. During his tenure, Mr Yoon has deepened his country’s alliance with America, steadied a troubled relationship with Japan, and provided indirect support for Ukraine by backfilling American stocks of ammunition. He has also taken a hawkish approach towards North Korea, which has entered into a new security pact with Russia and sent troops there. By contrast the DP tends to be sceptical of Japan, due to grievances over its colonial-era atrocities, and to favour engagement with North Korea; it has opposed calls to provide direct military aid to Ukraine.
The sordid episode also speaks volumes about the state of South Korean democracy. On the one hand, if Mr Yoon does indeed back down and is replaced through a constitutional process, the system will have survived an enormous test. The short-lived nature of the martial-law declaration demonstrates the strength of present-day Korean democracy, says Shin Gi-wook of Stanford University. By contrast, the last time martial law was declared, in 1979, it started eight more years of autocratic rule, including a massacre of protesters in Gwangju in 1980.
But the fact that Mr Yoon turned to such an extreme measure points to a deeper malaise. Political polarisation has become entrenched. Misbehaviour by political leaders, followed by aggressive criminal proceedings against them, is all too common. The threshold for prosecutions is now so low that political accountability has become a cycle of “political bloodletting”, laments Christopher Green of the International Crisis Group, a think-tank.
Earlier this year Mr Lee, the DP leader, was himself convicted on charges of lying to investigators about a bribery case, calling into question his ability to run for president again. (He denies the charges and plans to appeal.) Park Geun-hye was impeached as president in 2016 and sentenced on corruption charges; her predecessor, Lee Myung-bak, was also convicted of bribery after leaving office. The latest fiasco could become an opportunity for the country to reflect and regroup—or it could fuel further division and enmity. ■