2020.5: Myungji Yang, Reflections on Studying Far-Right Activism in South Korea

In early December 2016, Gwanghwamun Square, the center of Seoul, drew more than a million people. Outraged and stunned by President Park Geun Hye’s corruption scandal, they protested the Park government, taking to the streets to demand social justice and fair opportunities. It was the largest anti-government protest in thirty years, since the movement in 1987 that successfully overthrew the authoritarian Chun Doo Hwan regime and transitioned South Korea into an electoral democracy. Watching this historic political spectacle, I was deeply moved by the protestors’ civic solidarity and their collective effervescence as they stood up for democracy. Yet at the same time, I was completely puzzled by the scenes that took place right next to the site of candlelight protests. Hundreds of thousands of senior citizens gathered to condemn the anti-government demonstrations. Waving both South Korean and American flags, they rallied against the impeachment of President Park, purporting to defend liberal democracy from this “dangerous” plot. It was the largest and longest right-wing street mobilization in South Korean history, continuing to the present day—its purpose having shifted to protesting the current Moon Jae In government.

I was curious about why some citizens vehemently resisted democratic changes and instead supported a corrupt and less democratic regime. As the world was at the same time witnessing similar phenomena in the rise of the far right in many countries, such as the elections of Donald Trump in the United States and Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil, and the growing popularity of far-right parties in Western and Eastern Europe. In the South Korean context, one generally uses the term “conservative right” (posu up’a) to refer to the right at large, from the extreme right wing, which is explicitly anti-democratic, to the moderate center-right, which embraces some reformist social policies. 

I have been engaged in field research since the end of 2016. I have attended the T’aegŭkki protests (named after the Republic of Korean flag) and other public events organized by rightwing activists, and conducted in-depth interviews with thirty-one rightwing activists and intellectuals, including college professors, journalists, lawyers, and party members. I have collected archival materials, such as news articles, magazines, and memoirs, and joined a conservative chat group on a South Korean messenger app. This wide range of data has given me insight into rightwing elites and their supporters and helped me understand why they believe what they do.

Because of my status as a college professor at a U.S. institution—which is considered a prestigious job in South Korea—recruiting interviewees was not as difficult as I had thought. Unlike in the U.S., where universities are generally dominated by liberal and progressive academics, South Korean academics are usually more politically conservative and some are actively involved in right-wing politics. They are often recruited by the mainstream conservative party (currently the United Future Party) to run for office. Luckily, I had some personal contacts from my previous education and they were able to introduce me to their political comrades.

Unlike many of the most extreme right-wing groups in Europe, which are secretive and violence-prone, South Korean rightist organizations and groups are legal and mostly led by elites, such as politicians or academics. Studying the right in South Korea was relatively safe and did not present any potential physical threats. More challenging was a lack of political empathy and affinity. As their political orientation was completely different from my own, I often had to restrain myself from asking certain questions to avoid confrontation or tension. While most of my interviewees were friendly and open to talking about what they thought, some had suspicions about my research motivations and tried to interrogate my own political position. Some also asked me to affiliate with their organizations. I had to come up with excuses and politely turned down their requests, but if I had studied progressive social movements, I may have happily accepted such invitations. Thus, forming a rapport with the groups whose political orientations were distant from mine in order to obtain insider information was an extremely challenging task.

In studying right-wing activism such as the T’aegŭkki protests, I tried to focus on the mobilization mechanisms. A unique feature of these protests is that the majority of the participants are senior citizens, mainly in their sixties and above. One might imagine that protesters would tend to be disaffected youths whose economic opportunities have been limited. But in this case, older protesters believed they were taking to the streets to save the Republic of Korea and its naïve citizens from the threat of radical leftists and ultimately North Korea. Watching the mounting candlelight rallies, they felt an acute sense of crisis, borne out of a fear that the country that they proudly built was under attack from younger generations manipulated by people whom they considered radical leftists connected to North Korea. These older protesters are of a generation that experienced both the Korean War and rapid industrialization. They had lost family members during the war, sometimes before their own eyes, and later had to internalize hostility to communism and North Korea in order not to be accused of being traitors. Many had suffered from extreme poverty when young, but unprecedented rapid economic growth for three decades not only had improved their living standards but also was a source of national pride. Without understanding their particular generational characteristics and collective experiences, it is difficult to grasp their motivation in taking to the streets.

These older citizens were relatively new to protesting, as they had lived most of their lives under authoritarian regimes, when activism was severely repressed. Though the T’aegŭkki protests were mainly driven by fear, anxiety, and animus toward their political counterparts, the experience of joining the protests also brought them a sense of belonging, excitement, and joy. The elderly in South Korea are usually isolated from their family members and society at large, but attending the protests helped them to overcome loneliness and to feel united with others. By chanting slogans and venting anger together, they felt energy and a common purpose. For these retirees protests provide some routine and a space of socialization. Thus, studying the T’aegŭkki protests raises further interesting questions about the relationship between collective action and particular demographic groups. 

It was also interesting to see how they came to share the idea that the candlelight rallies were engineered by communists connected to North Korea. Social media played a key role in disseminating particular information and unifying older citizens. Most elderly South Koreans are smartphone users and highly connected to the Internet. The popular South Korean messenger app KakaoTalk probably has been the most important tool in spreading information not found in mainstream media and urging users to take to the streets. In chatrooms with friends, family members, or classmates, users actively exchange hundreds of messages daily. In the chatroom I belong to, the members, including famous conservative politicians and activists, post articles and videos that inform users of the “truth” about the left radical forces as well as the current Moon government, the strategies of the right, and the times and locations of T’aegŭkki rallies.

While recent studies on social movements and activism often emphasize the important role of social media, the underlying organizational infrastructure is critical for mobilizing ordinary citizens and creating large-scale political spectacles. I consider the two reformist administrations of Kim Dae Jung and Roh Moo Hyun (1998-2008) as a critical juncture. It was then that conservatives lost presidential elections for the first time in the Republic of Korea and were forced to realize the importance of developing rightist discourses and grassroots organizing in order to appeal to the wider population. Conservatives founded publishing houses, started journals, and established civic organizations in order to promote conservative values and forge broader alliances. Of course, this “new” movement was closely associated with the United Future Party and its members, as well as the mainstream conservative media. In doing so, conservative elites cultivated conservative mindsets among ordinary citizens and enhanced their organizational networks. The large-scale conservative mobilization that we see now has not happened overnight; rather, it should be seen as a concerted effort that conservatives have been preparing for a long time.

The candlelight rallies successfully ousted a corrupt president and ushered in the election of a more progressive government. It also brought a huge backlash and counter-mobilization. At this moment, it is difficult to predict where all these passionate energies on the streets will lead. One clear lesson, though, is that as a political sociologist, this is a concerning, but fascinating, time to closely watch political polarization and the emergence of right-wing activism. Given that the latter is a relatively unexplored topic, more research needs to be done.   

Myungji Yang is a political scientist at the University of Hawaii, Manoa. She can be reached at: myang4@hawaii.edu.