∵ leothelion ∴ 2025-03-17 ∞ 15'
I write in grievance and immense sadness, for it is a country I once called home. It has been three months since Yoon’s Martial Law Crisis [1]. As his impeachment trial continues, Korea stands divided between those who support the president, waving the US and Israeli flags [2], and those who are apparently Chinese state agents [3]. In this commentary, I argue that this is a symptom not a cause, of the downfall of Korea should it continue down the path it had trodden for the last 40 years.
South Korea’s modern history has been shaped by a transition from one form of authoritarianism to a another. After the Korean War, the country endured decades of military dictatorship under leaders like Park Chung-hee and Chun Doo-hwan, who ruled through martial law and suppression of dissent [4]. This “proto-fascist” period entrenched authoritarian governance and brutally stifled democratic freedoms. Even when mass protests finally forced a democratic opening in 1987, political and economic power did not disperse widely. Instead, it shifted into the hands of corporate oligarchs, the family-run conglomerates known as chaebol [5]. Essentially, South Korea moved from a military dictatorship to a “chaebol-driven” capital dictatorship, where economic elites wield outsized influence over society.
This symbiotic ties between the state and chaebols were forged during the proto-Fascist era and still persist today [6]. Starting from Park Chung-Hee’s regime which deliberately partnered with select family-owned firms to fuel rapid industrialisation through cheap credit and policy favours [7]. From a macroeconomic perspective, this strategy led to the famed “Miracle on the Han”—transforming a war-torn nation into a global economic powerhouse—but at the cost of concentrating wealth and power in the hands of a few. Over time, the chaebols grew into behemoths that dominate the economy. By 2023, the four largest chaebol groups – Samsung, SK, Hyundai and LG – had combined revenues equal to nearly 41% of the country’s GDP—while the top 30 accounted for a staggering 77% [8]. According to Scott A. Snyder [9], these conglomerates “contributed more to Korean social inequality than to society”. In effect, Korea’s post-authoritarian order allowed a new elite class—the chaebol owners and their allies—to continue the concentration of power, reproducing authoritarian dynamics under the disguise of democracy.
The legacy of authoritarianism is not just political but deeply ingrained in Korean society. Social relations often mirror the strict stratification of the past—perhaps a legacy of the rigid class system of the Joseon dynasty (the yangban aristocrats vs. commoners)—that Koreans wryly reference in the popular term “Hell Joseon” [10]. This satirical phrase based on the harsh truth compares today’s Korea to a feudal hellscape of relentless pressure and competition, while being completely stuck in a stratified pecking order (See e.g., [11], [12]). Hell Joseon is a reflection of a society where success is a zero-sum dominated by the elites.
Competition is a defining ethos in every sphere of life. From as early as two, Koreans are hammered with the compulsion to compete for top ranks (see e.g., [13]) as their entire life trajectory entails just that—in school, at university, in the job market, and even in marriage [14]. Korean culture is marked by a cult of competitiveness that permeates homes, schools and workplaces. The dominant narrative taught from birth is that corporate and career success matter than personal well-being, i.e. there is a right way to live one’s life—one misstep then you are simply not worthy, a failure. This fostered an environment where employees are forced to sacrifice everything for their companies, resulting in the most grueling work hours in the world [15]. Perhaps a remnant of the Korean Confucianism [16] that all things are in a natural order of hierarchy, these internalised hierarchy ensures that authoritarian dynamics continue at the micro level: bosses command fealty, seniors bully juniors [17], and social status dictates one’s worth. Such toxic cultures erode mental health, and push the vulnerable minority toward suicide.
Class divisions have hardened under these conditions as well. Economic inequality has been on the rise [18], with the wealth of chaebol families contrasting sharply against the struggles of ordinary workers and small-business owners [19]. Chaebols’ capital dominance squeeze out smaller firms that limit entrepreneurship and social mobility. Good jobs are disproportionately provided by the chaebol conglomerates or in the public sector, which creates a winner-takes-all races to be on one of these elite tracks. These are, however, not of merit but of educational pedigree and family connections (often called “spec”) that largely determine one’s class destination—which simply perpetuates the cycle of inequality. This elite reproduction ensures the children of the affluent secure the best education, best connections, then top jobs, perpetuating a cycle of privilege while others are ensured to remain locked out.
Yoon is such a product of this system, having attended the prestigious Choongam High School, SNU to study Law and working as a prosecutor before entering politics. To illustrate the gravity of the situation, there was a whole clique of people who attended Choongam High School that also led the martial law crisis: Sang-Min Lee, head of the Interior and Safety; Yong-Hyun Kim, head of National Defence & Chief of the Presidential Security Service; Se-Yeong Hwang, head of 101st PPSC; In-Hyeong Yeo, Chief Commander at the Defense Counter-intelligence Command; Jong-Seon Park, head of the Defence Security Agency, and list goes on.
As millions of ordinary Korean struggle to make ends meet, a handful of elites maintain an iron grip on the economy and power structure, enjoying de facto immunity and influence. The result is a society that formally shed dictatorship, yet everyday life is still governed by authoritarian patterns—which I call a passage from proto-fascist society to a kind of “post-fascism” where hierarchical, anti-democratic values persist under the guise of democracy, without a formal dictatorship. We may turn to institutions, the last refuge of democracy, where the imbalance of power and wealth is openly challenged and kept in check. Unless?
Rather than alleviating these inequalities, many of Korea’s institutions entrench them—prioritising social control and elite interests over democratic empowerment.
At the micro level, the education system in Korea can be described as “stressful, authoritarian, and brutally competitive” [20] that instills obedience to power and authority, perpetual competition and a lack of critical thinking skills. I believe that no one under this regime of education would become a critically-thinking democracy-abiding citizen, but a failure of a Fascist tainted in childhood trauma of defeatism and self-loathe. This unfortunately has been 40 years in the making.
At the institutional level, universities and schools are often beholden to corporate interests and political power. When a $200 million dollar donation from Samsung chairman was made in 2003 in exchange for an honorary doctorate degree [21], it was met with an outcry from the students who feared that the donation would be used to buy influence and power. The professors at Korea University quickly dismissed these concerns and quit their tenure positions in protest because they could not protect the lord Samsung [22]. This is not an isolated incident, but a symptom of a broader trend where universities are increasingly reliant on chaebol donations and government funding, which can compromise academic freedom and critical inquiry.
At the societal level, there’s ample reflection of authoritarian socialisation. The workplace culture, as I noted earlier, is intensely hierarchical; there is no such thing as corporate democracy—labour unions are seen as communist and North Korea sympathisers, and laws have curtailed organisation and strikes [23]. The media landscape, while considered “free”, is dominated by conservative interests, leading to news coverage that downplays structural inequality and favours status quo over calls for reform. Further, religious institutions and mandated military service install conformist values—young men spend two years in a rigid military hierarchy, an experience that is often ameliorated as a rite of passage to manhood, but is in fact an experience that reinforces authoritarian values and gendered norms (since women are exempt, it breeds resentments and chauvinism).
Critically, institutions working under the banner of democracy have not fully challenged the entrenched hierarchies and authoritarian values which has never stopped plaguing Korea. Due democratic processes exist, but they may also be seen as legitimising the status quo rather than challenging it. Electoral politics are seen as free and boisterous, yet the two major parties are largely indistinguishable in their values and policies—both are pro-chaebol, conservative and against liberalism. In this sense, the political establishment has not functioned as a check on the elite, but as a vehicle for their interests. Institutions that should promote democratic, liberal values have instead perpetuated class divisions and authoritarian culture. This kind of institutional inertia is what I call a hallmark of “post-fascism” where formal democratic rules exist, but the underlying power dynamics and social relations remain authoritarian where, fascists are not “converted from democracy” but “groomed from birth”. Surely then, all we need is education?
Of course, one of the most potent mechanisms sustained this undemocratic social order is the education system itself. I argue that Korean education inculcates a kind of internalised fascism in the minds of its students. Firstly, it’s geared towards intense competition, conformity and deference to authority. Children spend most of their waking hours within a rigid schooling of a hakwon system that leaves little room for free thought, personal growth, or even to just play. The rules of engagement are strict with harsh discipline. The curriculum emphasises rote memorisation and standardised test taking over critical thinking and creativity. Corporal punishment was also commonplace until recently, which instilled immense fear and obedience in students, further reinforcing the authoritarian culture that “authority must be obeyed without question“. Education in Korea is, above all else, a system of hierarchy that constantly ranks and sorts students, reinforcing the idea that some are inherently superior to others.
In this kind of education system, there cannot be room for questioning authority or challenging the status quo. In fact, it does the opposite. Teachers, who are also under pressure themselves to produce high-scoring students, often emphasise discipline over discussion. Education in topics like sex, human rights, civil liberties, or democratic citizenship is often side-lined in favour of moral instruction that teaches conformity to social norms. Even if they are taught, they are often just another subject to memorise and regurgitate, rather than to critically engage with.
Therefore, schools implicitly and explicitly teach students (for 12 years!) to accept the system as it is: respect the rules of the game (authority), and the rules are to compete with each other (which divides people into winners and losers), and that in this game, winner takes all.
This nurtures a populace that, even in adulthood, may accept the status quo without question, and may be less inclined to challenge hierarchical structures—a kind of internalised authoritarianism. These thoughts are carried forward into the workplace, military service, communities and families, perpetuating the cycle. The reverence for prestigious universities also feeds elite reproduction: since entry to top schools is seen as the ticket to the ruling class, those with means give their children every advantage to win this race. And indeed, graduates of the top three universities (often children of the elite) dominate high-ranking positions in government and business reinforcing class stratification.
The human cost of South Korea’s elite-dominated, pressure-cooker society is evident in several intertwined social crises. Years of systemic failures to build an inclusive, democratic society have led to record-high suicide rates, persistent gender inequality, and now a demographic collapse. These problems in my opinion are not isolated; they are symptoms of a society stretched to its limits by inequality and micro-authoritarian pressures.
In the developed world, South Korea has one of the highest suicide rates. Interestingly, it is most pronounced amongst the elderly and the children. Nearly half of senior citizens live in poverty, many having been left behind by the breakneck economic growth. Elder Koreans often take their own lives due to financial desperation or feeling like a burden, an indictment of a failed social net. Youth suicide is also distressingly common, now leading cause of death for young Koreans in their teens, 20s and 30s. These are attributed by continuous exposure to stress, mandatory military service for men, intense competition in early years that lead to even tougher job market that leave many hopeless. Korea’s social fabric is strained when many see death as the only relief from the living hell that is unrelenting competition and social isolation.
Another symptom of a post-Fascist society is how akin it is to a patriarchal society. Women in Korea have made strides in education and employment but there is persistent male dominance in almost all professional and social arenas. South Korea consistently ranks near the bottom of the OECD countries in gender equality metrics. It also has the largest gender pay gap in the developed world, where women earn roughly 63% of what men earn on average [24]. In the Global Gender Gap Index, Korea ranks 105th out of 146—indicating a significant disparity in economic and political empowerment for women. These reflect both workplace discrimination and deeply-ingrained cultural norms that men are expected to be breadwinners and women to be caretakers. What of working women? They also face “glass ceiling” in promotions and are pressured to quit jobs after marriage or childbirth. Women not conforming to these norms are often ridiculed (e.g. “no-cheo-nyeo” meaning “old virgin”) and mocked. There’s also a remarkable uptick in gender war. For example, women’s calls for equality and #MeToo revevlations of harassment have been met with defensive and misogynistic reactions from young Korean men. These are not isolated left-right men-women issues—it’s a fundamental democratic deficit, denying half the population full participation in society while normalising it as a “cultural” issue.
Relatedly, South Korea’s plummeted birth rate to being the lowest i the world. In 2023, the country hit 0.78 children per woman, far below the replacement rate of 2.1. Rooted in a variety of factors I have discussed, the demographic crisis is a result of a society that is too competitive, too unequal, and too authoritarian. Young couples are opting out of children because of the high costs and pressures. Housing prices are also exorbitant, education costs for children are frightening (e.g. near-compulsory private education), and jobs that accommodate young families are near-impossible. This is a population time bomb with far-reaching consequences: a rapidly-aging population, shrinking workforce, shrinking tax base, and greater welfare burden. It is a signal of a society that people feel hesistent to bring new life into, because of its systemic strains and pessimism about the future. It is, to my understanding, the starkest indictment of Korea’s unsustainability.
Combined, the on-going authoritarian legacies ingrained in Korean society have led to a society that is deeply unequal, deeply unhappy, and deeply unsustainable—evident in the nation’s suicide epidemic, extreme gender inequalities, and demographic collapse.
Overall, these social crises are big fat giant red flags that signal how Korea’s model is failing its people in many fundamental ways. A society where so many are driven to despair, where minority groups are not treated as equals, where the next generation is not being born, is a society in deep, deep, DEEP shit. I repeat: Korea has never moved on from its authoritarian roots. The link to the proto- and post-fascist elements is clear: authoritarian, elitist systems inevitably devalue individual well-being—for people become cogs in a machine of nationalism, with predictable human fallout. Yoon’s martial law crisis, where officials who shared elite educational backgrounds attempted to undermine democracy, reflects precisely the kind of authoritarian elitism fostered by the history of past dictatorships, internalised fascism and chaebol culture.
Korea’s much-lauded miracle is also a dark underside that has been 40 years in the making.
To be continued