Martial Law in South Korea

John Delury is a visiting professor of political science at Luiss University in Rome and the author of Agents of Subversion: The Fate of John T. Downey and the CIA's Covert War in China (Cornell, 2022).

Yoon Suk-Yeol’s shocking declaration of ‘emergency martial law’ was a frontal assault on the integrity of South Korea’s hard-won democratic system. Thanks to courage and luck, democracy prevailed. Having survived the moment of crisis, it is the resilience of Korea’s liberal democracy and civil society that will be put to the test.

Yoon’s late-night declaration of martial law stunned the nation and the world. But you cannot say no one saw it coming. For months, rumors swirled in Seoul about plotting in the presidential office to do just that. In fact, prominent retired general, Chun In-bum wrote a newspaper editorial in September that discounted the rumors as the product of conspiracy theorizing, feeding upon Koreans’ fears of military dictatorship (which, after all, continued well into the 1980s). But former General Chun also warned that, should the rumors prove true, democracy’s survival would hinge on two factors: the vigilance of the citizenry and the passivity of the military.

Yoon was banking on just the opposite: that citizens, in particular lawmakers, would be too slow or stunned to act and that the military would enthusiastically carry out his order. Yoon timed his announcement for maximum surprise, making an unannounced live television address at 10:30 p.m. when people were enjoying an after-dinner drink, relaxing at home, or fast asleep. Most importantly, his timing ensured that the National Assembly—the target of his decree and villain in his narrative—would be empty. The whole plot hinged on shutting down the legislative branch so that Yoon, as commander-in-chief, could govern the country through the military.

To ensure surprise (or perhaps to avoid being told what a terrible idea it was), Yoon kept many key players out of his decision-making process until the very last minute. He did not consult his own cabinet, which was in violation of the procedure for declaring martial law that requires “deliberation by the State Council.” He did not alert his prime minister, who functions as a kind of vice president and becomes acting president in extraordinary situations (such as the likely scenario coming next, impeachment). Yoon did not inform the United States embassy or his “friend” Joe Biden. Nor did Yoon alert U.S. Forces Korea, despite the much-touted “linchpin” alliance and presence of twenty-eight thousand American soldiers who would be, at a minimum, indirectly implicated in martial law.

Not long after the president's stunning announcement, the ROK Army Chief, as a so-called Martial Law Commander, issued the military government’s first and only decree. The decree banned all political activity and authorized soldiers to arrest elected lawmakers if they attempted to enter the National Assembly. It suspended freedom of speech, freedom of press, and the normal functions of civilian government. The decree also ordered all medical professionals back to work within forty-eight hours—an oddly specific command that was Yoon’s authoritarian attempt to end a standoff with doctors, nurses, and medical workers, who have been staging an extended strike.

By the time the decree was promulgated at 11:00 p.m., lawmakers were racing to the National Assembly. So were police, and by 11:40 p.m., at least 280 Special Forces soldiers sent by military helicopter to stop the legislature from voting. Legislative aides and regular citizens formed civilian barricades to protect the Assembly as soldiers smashed windows and tried to clear the chamber. The outraged crowd chanted ‘non-violence,’ and the soldiers, too, refrained from using violence against civilians. By 1:00 a.m., the Assembly voted 190 to 0 to revoke the president’s martial law decree. In the final test of the crisis, soldiers backed down when faced down by legislators telling them of the decision. At least one young soldier bowed in apology as the special forces vanished into the night.

It is hard to imagine that Yoon will be able to complete his term in office, which is not due to end until the spring of 2027. He could choose to resign; otherwise, he would face a prolonged period of impeachment votes and mass protests. South Koreans have been here before, not long ago. In late 2016, demonstrations against then-President Park Geun-hye spurred the National Assembly to impeach her in December. It took three months for the Constitutional Court to review and ultimately uphold the impeachment and then another two months to hold a new presidential election. During that time, the country functioned perfectly normally—a testament to the competence of the administrative state and the solidarity among citizens, who were united in their contempt for the impeached leader.

On Monday night, Korean democracy survived an attempted “autocoup” by the sitting president. In the weeks and months to come, an extended trial of its resilience awaits.