By Jason Lim
On the streets of Seoul, political tension isn’t just about policies or party lines — it’s a full-blown battle over competing visions of what defines legitimacy in leadership. As South Korea enters a week of anticipation for critical decisions by the courts, it’s becoming increasingly clear that the political conflict gripping the nation is less a debate over left versus right and more a high-stakes struggle between two foundational narratives about who has the right to govern — and why.
The conservative narrative in South Korea, long represented by parties like the People Power Party, draws its legitimacy from a mix of anti-communism, national security, economic success and adherence to traditional values. Rooted in the legacy of rapid industrialization under authoritarian regimes like Park Chung-hee’s, conservatives often view themselves as guardians of the “Miracle on Han River” — a country that transformed itself from post-war ruin into an OECD member, all through discipline, sacrifice and technocratic governance.
To these actors, legitimacy flows from preserving the integrity of institutions and protecting the nation from perceived threats — be they North Korean aggression, leftist ideology or social upheaval. The legal system and national security apparatus are framed as tools to maintain a stable order. Their rallying cry is one of continuity: maintaining economic growth, national defense and restoring a sense of moral clarity in an era of change. But critics see this as a form of authoritarian nostalgia — a yearning for strongman politics cloaked in democratic language, where “law and order” are selectively enforced, often targeting political opponents or social movements whom they feel have betrayed the original mission of these institutions.
Progressives, primarily represented by the Democratic Party of Korea, build their legitimacy on a very different foundation: the long fight for democracy and social justice. Their narrative is one of grassroots mobilization, born out of student movements, labor activism and the resistance to military dictatorship in the 1980s.
To them, legitimacy is not inherited from the past but earned through struggle — especially against entrenched power. This narrative gained new strength after the 2016 candlelight protests that led to the impeachment of former President Park Geun-hye. Progressives view themselves as the moral compass of the nation, pursuing inclusive policies, challenging corporate-political collusion and defending the rights of marginalized groups.
Yet critics accuse them of hypocrisy — of wielding the language of justice to shield their own power plays and of undermining institutions when they lose control of them. Scandals involving key progressive figures have weakened the moral high ground they once claimed, giving ammunition to conservative claims of double standards and treacherous behavior designed to tear down the institutions that enabled them to gain power and wealth in the first place, delegitimizing the miracle that was Korea.
At the heart of this legitimacy battle is a contested interpretation of modern Korean history. Is South Korea’s success the result of authoritarian-led development, or the hard-won victories of democratic activism? Should national unity be maintained through top-down control or bottom-up empowerment?
These clashing origin stories influence how each side responds to everything from judicial reform and press freedom to North Korea and gender equality. The prosecution’s role in politics, the legacy of the chaebol conglomerates and the place of women and youth in society, are all battlegrounds where these narratives collide. Key subplots include debate about when the modern nation of South Korea actually began, the role of imperial Japanese colonization on Korea’s trajectory and the growing gulf between the sexes, especially among the young, on their respective worldviews.
And all of this will collide in the coming weeks with the Constitutional Court’s decision on President Yoon Suk Yeol’s impeachment. As each camp clings to its narrative with growing fervor, there’s an increasing risk that both sides will begin to see the other not just as wrong, but as fundamentally illegitimate. The result is a zero-sum political climate that treats compromise as betrayal and opposition as criminal.
This erosion of mutual legitimacy is already playing out in the courts, on television talk shows and in the streets. It’s especially playing out on YouTube channels, with self-appointed political pundits playing bigger roles than ever. It has fueled investigations, impeachments and polarizing rhetoric that undermines public trust in democratic processes and institutions.
If South Korea is to move beyond this impasse, it may need to cultivate a third narrative — one that reaffirms the historical contributions of both economic development and democratic struggle. Until now, this was taken for granted. Or South Korea might experience a disruptive reset of its foundational narrative that derives legitimacy from absolute moral claims of a reconstructed creation myth, whether from the left or right.
Assuming that Yoon’s impeachment is upheld, the real question in the next election is not who will win, but whether the victor can govern with legitimacy recognized by more than just their base. Until that happens, South Korea’s political groundwork may remain hostage to the ghosts of its past and conflicting visions of its collective future. It’s certainly an inflection moment for this generation. The question is whether Korea will be resilient enough to bend without breaking.
Jason Lim ([email protected]) is a Washington-based expert on innovation, leadership and organizational culture. The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not reflect The Korea Times’ editorial stance.
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