“Order: The respondent, President Yoon Suk Yeol, is removed from office.”
At 11:22 a.m. sharp on April 4, acting Constitutional Court Chief Justice Moon Hyung-bae delivered the historic verdict that sealed not only Yoon’s fate, but also that of the nation. Outside the courthouse, tens of thousands of people erupted — cheering, crying and embracing in jubilation at the triumph of Korean democracy; others collapsed in disbelief and anger.
The unanimous ruling by the court’s eight justices, presented in elegant literature logically and semantically, illuminated the nation’s path forward. The months of political limbo that had followed Yoon’s short-lived martial law decree of Dec. 3, 2024, had laid bare the face of a bitterly polarized society. Yet, Korea ultimately proved its democratic maturity and resilience by weathering the crisis peacefully, without a single incident of violence between supporters and opponents of the impeached president.
The following weekend, I found myself strolling near the main palace Gyeongbokgung, savoring the calm that had returned to the capital. Under the balmy spring sun, the city felt tranquil once more. The armored police officers, the rows of police buses and the towering metal barricades that had lined the sidewalks for months were gone. Protesters from both extremes — waving K-pop light sticks, or the Korean, American and even Israeli flags — had finally gone home to resume ordinary life.
The victory, of course, came at a heavy cost.
From the freezing night of Dec. 3, 2024, to the dawn of April 4, 2025, hundreds of thousands of Koreans had braved subzero temperatures and snowstorms to demand Yoon’s removal and the restoration of civilian rule. Yet the president and his allies in the People Power Party showed nary a hint of remorse — let alone any effort at self-reflection and reform.
Instead, the People Power Party, long calling itself “conservative,” veered sharply toward the far right, egged on by radical Protestant pastors. Promoting a “Yoon Again” campaign, they embraced the former president’s unsubstantiated election-fraud claims and even courted US far-right election deniers, wishing that President Donald Trump would help save him. During the run-up to the snap presidential election on June 3, the ousted leader and his party continued to unsettle the electorate. But the worst was still to come.
Through the televised impeachment proceedings at the Constitutional Court, the nation had already watched Yoon repeatedly lie and deflect blame onto subordinates. Now, at his criminal trial on insurrection charges, he has continued that pattern — to the dismay of an already exhausted public.
It is deeply humiliating to see a former head of state resort to such blatant falsehoods in his own defense, when clear testimony and evidence indicate otherwise. Worse still, Yoon has yet to apologize for the national crisis brought about by his misgovernance and his shocking imposition of martial law. Nor has he taken any visible action to shield the senior officials and military commanders indicted for helping to execute the unlawful decree.
Korea has seen its share of disgraced former presidents, but none has matched Yoon’s brazenness or sense of impunity. Further compounding the shame is his wife, Kim Keon-hee, who is also detained and being tried for multiple criminal charges, including bribery, influence peddling and stock manipulation.
This marks the first time in Korean history that both a former president and first lady have been simultaneously detained and tried. The troubling part is that rumors of Kim’s opaque private life, questionable business dealings and her mother’s criminal allegations were already widespread before the main conservative party nominated Yoon for president.
In that light, former liberal President Moon Jae-in, who appointed Yoon as prosecutor general, bears a measure of responsibility. One must question the Moon administration’s personnel judgment — and Yoon’s professional integrity as well, given his volatile temperament, partisan zeal and impertinence.
Korea’s party system, once again, appears to have hit rock bottom. The credibility of both major parties has eroded, although the People Power Party is obviously in greater shambles. Strong political parties are vital to democratic stability: They must be capable of holding their leaders accountable and serving as bulwarks against backsliding. It is high time that both camps take a hard look at their internal culture and rebuild institutional integrity.
Now, let us turn from the year’s darkest chapter to its brightest — the dazzling success of “KPop Demon Hunters.”
Released on Netflix on June 20, the Seoul-set animated musical became a global phenomenon. It is now the platform’s most-watched title of all time, surpassing 325 million views in its first three months and topping the charts in 93 countries. Its soundtrack reached No. 1 on the Billboard 200 and has been streamed over 8 billion times, with its breakout hit “Golden” reigning atop the chart for eight consecutive weeks.
Beyond its vibrant visuals and irresistible pop energy, the film’s nuanced message — self-love and acceptance over shame — struck a universal chord.
Director Maggie Kang deserves resounding applause, as do the staff and cast, many of them young Korean artists based in North America. Their creative brilliance and cultural pride have brightened the hearts of countless compatriots in their homeland during an otherwise challenging year.
Lee Kyong-hee
Lee Kyong-hee is a former editor-in-chief of The Korea Herald. The views expressed here are the writer's own. — Ed.
khnews@heraldcorp.com
