‘Are we about to repeat history?’: The painful legacy of martial law in South Korea

Koh Jae-hak still remembers well when he saw soldiers brutally shoot a group of young women.

It was April 1960. The students began the protest demanding the resignation of dictatorial President Syngman Rhee. Mr Koh was working in a government building when he looked out the window and saw protesters clashing with police.

“There were demonstrations from different universities and they all gathered in front…then shots were fired,” the 87-year-old man said. A few days later, martial law was declared.

South Korea is widely considered a peaceful icon of democracy in Asia, but this was not always the case. It is a country that saw 16 bouts of martial law during its first four decades, largely ruled by dictators.

This is why South Koreans now value democracy as a hard-won right. That’s why President Yoon Suk-yeol’s declaration of martial law this week – the first to happen in 45 years and during democratic rule – was particularly provocative and inspired such an intense reaction.

Almost immediately, legislators jumped out of bed and ran over the fences to the National Assembly to overturn martial law.

Hundreds of civilians gathered to block the soldiers who were ordered to evacuate the MPs.

Some soldiers, apparently unwilling to carry out their orders, reportedly dragged their feet in clearing the crowd and entering the building.

When Yun declared martial law on Tuesday night, he said it was necessary to get rid of “pro-North state anti-state” forces. Initially, this caused confusion among some South Koreans, who believed there was a real threat from the North.

But as they watched Yun’s television announcement, many people began to have doubts. He did not provide any evidence that such forces were at work, nor did he say who they were. As Yun had previously used similar language to describe the opposition obstructing his reforms, the public concluded that he was actually trying to crush his political enemies.

The previous period of martial law was also described by leaders as necessary to stabilize the country, and sometimes what they alleged were communist subversives planted by North Korea.

They curtailed freedom of the press and freedom of movement. Night curfews and arrests were common.

There were occasional violent clashes, most indelibly in 1980, when then-President Chun Doo-hwan extended martial law to deal with student protesters demanding democracy in the southern city of Gwangju. A brutal military crackdown was launched, and has since been labeled a genocide – while the official death toll is 193, some experts believe hundreds more died.

South Korea finally transitioned to democracy in 1988, when the government held its first free and fair presidential elections following increasing public pressure. But the past decades have permanently and deeply shaped the nation’s consciousness.

“Most Koreans are traumatized, deeply traumatized, about martial law,” said Kelly Kim, 53, an environmental activist. “We don’t want to repeat the same thing over and over again.”

Ms Kim was a child when martial law was last imposed and remembers little about it. Still, she shudders at the thought of its return.

“The government will control all the media, our normal activities. I am working in civil society, so all our activities like criticizing the government will not be possible under martial law. So it is really terrible.”

The freedoms afforded by democracy have not only created a thriving civil society.

In the more than 35 years since that first democratic election, South Korea’s creative industry has flourished, with its dramas, TV shows, music and literature becoming world-renowned. Those creative industries have changed our perspective on the country’s past, making history come alive for those too young to remember.

The country has seen a proliferation of shows about its dictatorial past, immortalizing events such as the Gwangju Uprising in popular culture.

Some were blockbusters starring South Korea’s biggest stars, such as last year’s 12.12 The Day, a historical drama starring popular actor Hwang Jung-min. The film depicts the political chaos that followed the declaration of martial law in 1979 following the assassination of then-President Park Chung-hee.

“As soon as I saw the pictures (of Yun’s declaration of martial law), it reminded me of that movie… It made me question, are we going to repeat that history now?” said Marina Kang, a 37-year-old web designer.

“Korea has been blessed with a wealth of visual representation works (of that era) in films and documentaries. Although through these works we only have an indirect experience of the horrific past… I still feel very strongly that such events Shouldn’t happen again.”

There is a sense of disbelief among young citizens that it could come back. Despite never knowing about life under martial law, his parents and older relatives have taught him to fear it.

“At first (when I heard Yoon’s announcement), I was excited at the idea of ​​getting a day off from school. But that joy was fleeting, and I was overwhelmed by the fear of daily life collapsing. I couldn’t sleep, ” Kwon Hu, 15, said.

“My father was worried that under martial law, he would not be able to stay out late, even though his work required him to do so… When he heard the news about the possibility of a curfew being imposed again, he “Started swearing while watching the news.”

Not all South Koreans feel this way about their past.

“Most Koreans highly appreciate democracy and regret the authoritarianism of the post-war period,” said Mason Ritchie, associate professor of international politics at Hankuk University of Foreign Studies in Seoul.

But, he added, “the country is very divided regarding many aspects of the authoritarian past, particularly how justified some of the repressive measures were to prevent communist subversion.”

A significant portion of the population, especially older people, believe that martial law was necessary for stability and democracy in the past.

“At that time, it was a time defined by the ideological war between democracy and communist socialism,” said Kang Hyo-san, 83. He sat next to his friend Mr. Koh at a cafe in Gwanghwamun, Seoul’s main intersection and focal point City protest rallies.

Competing ideologies led to clashes and “when the military intervened, the situation was stabilised… It was a process of restoring order and properly establishing independent democracy.

“Given the circumstances, we can’t do anything but look at it positively,” he said. He said he felt that each period of martial law had left the country in a more “favorable” situation. He stressed that martial law in South Korea is “fundamentally different” from other countries, where it was “not about killing people or senseless violence”.

But this time, it is different. Both octogenarians felt that Yun’s declaration of martial law was unacceptable. “Even though we have experienced martial law many times throughout our lives, there is no justification for declaring it this time,” Mr Koh said.

Like him, environmental activist Ms Kim was also happy that Yoon did not succeed and that democracy prevailed in the end. “Because we fought so hard to get it, right? We don’t want to lose it again.

“Without democracy and freedom to live, what is life?”