South Korea is once again at a critical turning point. The upcoming presidential early election is more than a matter of selecting a new national leader. It is a referendum on the country's democratic resilience. Five months ago, former President Yoon Suk Yeol messed with democracy in Korea, declaring unconstitutional and illegal martial law, and the nation now has a chance to reaffirm its commitment to liberal democracy.
The political and psychological damage from the Yoon administration's final days was profound. Understandably, expectations are high that the new president will restore the values of liberalism, democracy and civilization. Yet as this hopeful chapter begins, an old shadow has returned. The People Power Party, which brought Yoon to power and remained loyal even during his downfall, has once again demonstrated a troubling disregard for the democratic process. What should have been an open and fair candidate selection turned into a case study in how not to run a political party in a democratic society.
Eleven contenders, including former Minister of Labor Kim Moon-soo, joined the party's candidate selection race. Through successive rounds of internal screening, the list was narrowed to eight, then four, then two and finally one. Kim emerged as the winner, seemingly on track to become the party’s nominee for the presidency. But his victory proved premature. Almost immediately after his nomination, party leadership pressured Kim to "unify" with former Prime Minister Han Duck-soo, who had recently stepped down as acting president. Han had not participated in the initial selection process, yet was suddenly elevated by an unknown group of party elites as a more viable challenger to the leading candidate, Lee Jae-myung of the Democratic Party of Korea.
Though Kim agreed to the idea of unification, he insisted that such a move be handled democratically. He called for some more days of open campaigning and policy discussion between the two contenders. His proposal seemed modest and rational. However, party leaders — citing urgency — pushed for a rapid, top-down decision. They argued that time was short and the party could not afford a prolonged debate. Kim resisted, insisting that a rushed and opaque process would undermine not only his candidacy but also the democratic integrity of the party itself.
What followed was a political ambush. At midnight on May 10, the People Power Party’s emergency committee convened a special meeting. In just 45 minutes, they voted to disqualify Kim's candidacy, erasing his weekslong campaign and hundreds of millions of won, which he had paid in registration fees. Then, in a move that shocked even seasoned political observers, the party posted a new announcement at 2:30 a.m., stating that candidate applications would be accepted between 3:00 a.m. and 4:00 a.m. that night. More than 30 documents were required. Unsurprisingly, only one person submitted the paperwork — Han Duck-soo. At 4:40 a.m., the People Power Party declared Han the only applicant. By 10:00 a.m., party members were asked to vote on whether to ratify the leadership’s decision. By 9:00 p.m., the result was in: Surprisingly, they had rejected the move by a slight margin. Caught off guard, the leadership had to reinstate Kim Moon-soo as the official candidate.
The damage, however, had already been done. The process — rushed, opaque and entirely devoid of fairness — was a public embarrassment and a betrayal of democratic values. It was, in effect, a backroom coup. The party that had resisted holding its former president accountable for an autocoup had now conducted its own miniature trashy drama, this time within its internal ranks.
The People Power Party's actions have exposed a more profound crisis within South Korean conservatism. The party has long claimed to represent order, responsibility and constitutionalism. Yet in recent years, it has consistently chosen loyalty to individuals over institutions. There is little evidence of introspection. No formal apology has been made for Yoon’s imposition of martial law. The party leadership did not endorse his impeachment. Instead, many of Yoon’s allies remain embedded in the highest levels of the party and its campaign apparatus.
Even after the midnight fiasco, the party’s course correction was limited. Kim Moon-soo appointed a 35-year-old emergency committee chair who expressed regret over the Yoon crisis and called for reform. But the appointment appeared more symbolic than substantive. The young chair lacked real power, and the party continued to be dominated by Yoon loyalists who showed no interest in course correction.
The People Power Party is now at a crossroads. It can continue down the path of internal decay or embrace reform, accountability and genuine democratic values. Encouragingly, the vote by party members to reject the leadership's unfair decision showed that grassroots democracy is still alive within the People Power Party. It may represent the last opportunity for the party to reconnect with the people and salvage its political relevance. South Korea's democracy depends on institutions and the behavior of those who lead it. The People Power Party's recent actions have undermined public faith in electoral fairness, but the decision of party members to override their leadership also reminds us that democracy is not dead. It is, as always, contested and defended by the people.
The People Power Party must now decide what kind of party it wants to be. If it remains captive to undemocratic impulses and backroom deals, it will lose elections and its legitimacy as a political institution. But if it can confront its recent failures honestly and adopt meaningful reforms, it may still have a future in a democratic Korea. The stakes could not be higher. The legacy of Yoon Suk Yeol's authoritarian overreach lingers like a shadow over this election. Healing that wound requires more than a new face — it requires a return to principle. In a liberal democracy, no party is entitled to power. That power must be earned through honesty, sincerity, and the people's trust. The People Power Party has one final chance to prove that it understands this. If it fails, it cannot avoid a process of being disintegrated.
Wang Son-taek
Wang Son-taek is an adjunct professor at Sogang University. He is a former diplomatic correspondent at YTN and a former research associate at Yeosijae. The views expressed here are the writer’s own. — Ed.
koreadherald@heradcorp.com
