Martial law came to South Korea – and my friends and I rolled through the doom all night | Haeryun Kang

AAt 10:23 p.m. on December 3rd in Seoul, I was already in bed, alternating between reading a book and watching cooking videos on YouTube. At that time, President Yoon Suk Yeol declared a state of emergency martial law in South Korea for the first time since 1979.

In an unannounced televised address, Yoon said the imposition of martial law was “aimed at eradicating pro-North Korean forces and protecting the constitutional order of freedom.”

Immediately, my text messages and online chat forums flared up. What the hell is going on? Is that a joke? Can I continue drinking at the bar tonight? Can my children go to school tomorrow? What exactly is the emergency? For the next six hours, complete confusion reigned until a dramatic sequence of events led to the end of martial law at 4:30 a.m.

This was my first experience of martial law – if you can even call this short-lived circus that – something I had only read about in history books. But even in that short time I was terrified. The experience reawakened in me the difficult, unavoidable reality of the Korean division. And I remembered how it can be exploited by our leaders to justify oppression and control.

Luckily, Yoon’s antics were curbed this time. But the martial law fiasco is evidence of both the instability and resilience of South Korea’s democracy. It is a chilling reminder that the collective trauma of 20th century dictatorship is not just history.

It is still unclear Why Yoon took such an extreme measure. Martial law refers to the temporary rule of military authorities in emergencies in which civilian authorities are deemed unable to act. Historically, dictators have declared martial law during times of widespread national unrest and unrest, including the Korean War. This time it was business as usual Tuesday; Earlier that evening I had gone swimming at a government public swimming pool.

Yoon’s move came at a time of personal and political turmoil for him. Corruption scandals have rocked him and his family; the opposition Democratic Party has just insisted on major cuts in the draft budget despite the ruling party’s protests; Yoon’s approval ratings hover in the 20s – all unpleasant, to be sure, but stories that don’t seem all that surprising in a relatively functioning democracy.

In his speech declaring martial law, Yoon voiced strong criticism of his political opposition and its “anti-state activities planning rebellion.” Most South Koreans are familiar with this insidious rhetoric. I grew up with this language and still live with it through my very conservative family in Busan. It is a regular reminder that there is a clear political and generational divide surrounding the division of Korea.

Since South Korea’s founding in 1948 and Korea’s official separation in 1953, my elders have endured grinding poverty and the constant threat of North Korean attack. They painted anti-communist posters and experienced 16 states of war, some of which lasted for years. This history shaped their worldview, creating a black-and-white binary of us versus them, a fight-or-flight approach to protecting one’s boundaries even by persecuting others.

Like many left-wing young Koreans, I have learned to ignore and even laugh at the terrible violence contained in the words of my father, grandfather and right-wing hardliners. I just couldn’t fathom seeing the world through their anti-communist lens. I was a teenager in the early 2000s when South Korea introduced the Sunshine Policy – ​​a more liberal approach to political détente and engagement with North Korea.

“These communist demons should be beaten to death,” I remember hearing my hardline conservative relatives say, referring not just to North Korean leaders but more broadly to those who disagree with their political views and those of the leading conservative party did not agree. I see echoes of similar hatred and insecurity in Yoon’s speech.

Martial law is intended to suspend normal civil rights and expand the power of the military. South Korean history is full of tragedies in which martial law justified the brutal censorship of political opposition and civil liberties. Throughout the 20th century, many Koreans were imprisoned, tortured and murdered by the state, often under the guise of protecting the country from communist enemies.

When Yoon declared martial law, many asked, “Does he think we are in the Park Chung-hee era?” referring to the dictator who ruled in the ’60s and ’70s. In a chilling historical echo, Yoon announced that the media would be controlled by the new Martial Law Committee; Strikes and rallies would be banned; and anyone violating the decree may be arrested without a warrant.

In response, my friends and I joked about being censored in our private KakaoTalk chats and making sure Christmas parties didn’t extend past curfew. We joked that our parents, seasoned martial law veterans, had already gone to bed while the children stayed awake in panic.

But behind the jokes, Yoon triggered a deep-seated historical trauma shared by millions of South Koreans, young and old. Those who lived through decades of dictatorship remembered its terror. Those like me who have never experienced it remember the horror in the stories we were told. We scrolled down and looked at images of helicopters hovering over the National Assembly and fully armed soldiers breaking windows to get inside.

Fortunately, this time most people experienced temporary confusion and fear. People are baffled as to why this even happened: Yoon never had a legal chance to sustain this fiasco. He has been a lame-duck president since the last general election, when the opposition won a landslide victory in parliament. His own People Power Party didn’t even know about Yoon’s martial law plans and the party leader publicly condemned his decision. In a rare show of unity, all lawmakers present in the National Assembly voted in the early hours of December 4 to lift Yoon’s martial law. Yoon relented.

It’s unclear what will happen next for Yoon. His close associates have announced their resignation. Many say this scandal is political suicide, illegal and unconstitutional. It is very likely that the opposition will launch impeachment proceedings against Yoon, possibly to repeat the fate of former President Park Geunhye, the daughter of the late dictator Park Chung-hee. She was ousted from office in 2017 following a corruption scandal.

South Korean democracy is still relatively young; it officially began in 1987 with the end of the dictatorship. Yoon’s antics show that it doesn’t take much to destabilize the system; Past traumas can easily become present. But there is also resilience. I saw how many South Koreans quickly and bitterly rebelled against Yoon. We now know that our freedoms could be lost in a moment.