11 (1).🌱 The Root of the Matter: Why Koreans Expect Their Leaders to Serve
A civic reflex shaped over 500 years of Confucian thought, peasant uprisings, and a deeply rooted culture of holding power accountable—now driving Korea’s modern democracy.
🎧What ends up in my Substack posts is just a small portion of what I’ve researched and studied. So I created a conversational audio version using Google NotebookLM, filled with insights and details that didn’t make it into the written piece. If you’re curious to dig deeper—or if you prefer listening over reading—you might enjoy checking it out!
South Korea is heading into yet another presidential election on June 3rd—which means that by the time my next piece lands in your inbox next Thursday, the results will already be in.
This election was prompted by the abrupt downfall of Yoon Suk Yeol, who began his presidency in May 2022 but failed to complete even three full years in office. His removal followed a bizarre martial law stunt on December 3rd that ultimately led to his ousting.
So I figured it was the perfect moment to take a closer look at Korea’s unique brand of democracy.
I’m calling it The People’s Mandate: Korea’s Democratic Edge—a special series exploring the roots of Korea’s civic spirit and how it became a country where holding leaders accountable isn’t the exception, but the expectation.
📘This is the first installment in the series.
Here’s a wild statistic that might blow your mind:
Of the last four Korean presidents, three have gone to prison.
Of the last three, two were impeached during their terms.
(Meanwhile, North Korea is on its third generation of hereditary dictatorship. Aren’t Koreans kind of... extreme in both directions?)
My husband, who still holds Korean citizenship, voted in the overseas Korean election in Seattle last Friday. (I couldn't vote since I automatically lost my Korean citizenship when I became a U.S. citizen.) Watching this unfold from America, I have to admit—I'm kind of jealous of Korea right now.
The Question that Fascinates Me
Here's what I find absolutely fascinating: Why don't Koreans just... wait?
In most countries, when you have an immoral, corrupt, or incompetent leader, you grit your teeth and wait for the next election cycle. You complain, maybe protest—but ultimately you let them finish their term and then vote them out. Not Koreans. They're like, "Nah, we're not waiting two more years for this nonsense to end."
But why? What makes Korean political culture so uniquely intolerant of power abuse? How did Korea become what my collaborator Lee Ji-hyun calls "a lighthouse of democracy for the world"?
It’s a complex question, and there’s no single easy answer. But I genuinely believe that if more people understood the unique spirit of Korea, they'd see why Korea is, as Ji-hyun put it, a potential "lighthouse of democracy."
Why I'm Writing This Now
This isn’t just about Yoon’s impeachment.
It’s about what made it possible—and who made it possible.
The recent movement was led in large part by young Korean women in their twenties. Yes, the same generation often described as the most depressed youth in the developed world. Many of them grew up in a hyper-competitive education system, their heads buried in books, their days dictated by exams.
And yet—these young women have emerged as fierce, articulate, courageous defenders of democracy.
(Wondering why I keep emphasizing "women"? That’s intentional—because young Korean men in their twenties are currently on a very different political path. I’ll be unpacking that in a future post. Stay tuned.)
Isn’t that worth pausing for?
Of course, there’s a wide range of beliefs and ways of life within any country—that goes without saying. But people who’ve lived through the same historical events—who’ve shared in a nation’s traumas, triumphs, and transformations—tend to develop similar psychological traits.
Those traits get passed down: in the values parents instill, the stories they tell, the lessons taught in school. Over time, they interact and crystallize into something larger—a distinct cultural character. Eventually, what feels completely natural to one society can seem radical or even incomprehensible to another.
What Koreans consider entirely natural—but others might find extreme or baffling—didn’t appear overnight.
These instincts were shaped over generations.
In this series, I want to trace the roots of these instincts—to understand how they were shaped by history, reinforced through culture, influenced by the land itself—its geography, nature, and climate—and passed down across generations until they became second nature.
So let’s treat The People’s Mandate: Korea’s Democratic Edge as a mini-series inside Growing Up in Korea—a way to understand the stories, values, and expectations that shape the country, one layer at a time.
I’ll keep it simple and accessible. This is, after all, a newsletter.
It’s All in the Blood (and the Books)
Culture doesn’t just happen. It builds over time—layered with memories, shaped by philosophies, reinforced by rituals. And when it comes to Korea’s intolerance for corruption and authoritarianism, the roots run centuries deep. To understand the Korea of today—the one that lights candles and brings down presidents—we have to go back to the Joseon Dynasty.
The King Was a Public Servant, Not a God
The Joseon Dynasty (조선, 1392–1910) lasted over five centuries, shaping Korean values in profound ways. At its core was a philosophy that still echoes today: Minbon Sasang (민본사상)—the idea that "the people are the root of the nation."
This wasn't just poetic metaphor; it was baked into Korea's very foundation.
To truly grasp the depth of Korea's people-first mindset, you have to go all the way back to the country's national ethos: Hongik Ingan (홍익인간), meaning "to broadly benefit humanity."
This ancient principle, recorded in the legendary text Samguk Yusa (삼국유사), describes the founding ideal of Gojoseon (고조선), Korea's first kingdom. Imagine a rugged land (spanning northern Korea and Manchuria) where survival depended on collective effort. It’s no wonder a strong communal spirit, where mutual benefit was paramount, took root so early.
In the Confucian order Joseon embraced, leadership was a moral responsibility. The ruler existed to serve, not to dominate. A good king was one who listened, protected, and uplifted the people. A bad one? Replaceable.
Mencius, whose writings were foundational to Korean Confucianism, took it a step further: Min-gwi-gun-gyeong-seol (민귀군경설, 民貴君輕說)—“the people are precious; the ruler is dispensable.”
Power wasn’t divine. It was conditional. Abuse it, and you were done.
Built-In Accountability, 500 Years Before Impeachment
Joseon politics included mechanisms that would impress any modern democracy:
Gyeongyeon (경연): Daily lectures where scholar-officials debated state affairs with the king—and could openly criticize him.
The Three Offices (언론 삼사)—Saheonbu (사헌부), Saganwon (사간원), and Hongmungwan (홍문관)—acted as watchdogs, monitoring the king and his court.
Historians (사관) recorded the king’s every word and deed, creating a permanent public record.
In fact, many of those meticulous records still survive today. Known as the Annals of the Joseon Dynasty (조선왕조실록), these volumes document the daily affairs of Joseon kings, from court debates and royal edicts to even minor remarks. Court historians, called sagwan (사관), were tasked with recording everything the king said or did, without censorship and without the king’s review.
One famous episode illustrates just how seriously they took this duty. In 1404, King Taejong fell off his horse during a royal hunt and, embarrassed, ordered that the incident be kept from the record. But the sagwan not only documented the fall—they also recorded the king’s attempt to cover it up.
These annals span 472 years and 27 reigns, making them one of the most comprehensive historical records in the world. Today, they’ve been digitized and are publicly accessible, offering a remarkable window into how power was monitored, challenged, and documented in real time. The Annals of the Joseon Dynasty are available to explore or search in Korean here. Partial English translations can be found here.
The idea was simple: rulers must be kept in check.
And If All Else Failed? Remove the King.
When kings crossed the line, they weren’t just scolded—they were removed.
In 1506, Yeonsangun (연산군)—a despotic ruler known for purging critics and terrorizing the court—was overthrown by his own officials.
In 1623, Gwanghaegun (광해군) was also deposed after losing public and political trust.
These weren’t coups in the modern sense. They were seen as necessary corrections—actions taken to restore moral order and protect the people.
The idea that even the highest office is conditional?
That’s not new to modern Korea. It’s a habit, centuries in the making.
Ordinary People Had a Say, Too
It wasn’t just elites who pushed back. Ordinary Koreans didn’t just sit quietly with their hardships, either—they found ways to speak up, protest, and demand justice.
Gyeokjaeng (격쟁): If you had a complaint, you could bang a drum or shout near the king’s parade—and the king had to stop and listen.
Byeokseo (벽서): Anonymous wall posters criticizing corruption—early civic media.
Minran (민란): Peasant uprisings like the Donghak Peasant Movement (동학농민운동) in 1894 demanded justice and dignity.
Even figures like Im Kkeokjeong (임꺽정), a Robin Hood-esque bandit who robbed corrupt officials to help the poor, became folk heroes.
Civic resistance wasn’t just tolerated. In many cases, it was moralized.
Fast Forward to Today
So when Koreans flood the streets with candles and light sticks, calling for their president to step down, they’re not being dramatic—they’re being consistent. The belief that power must be earned—and can be revoked—isn’t a borrowed idea from the West. It’s deeply, unmistakably Korean.
Now, this might raise a fair question:
What about North Korea?
After all, both North and South share the same Joseon legacy. So how is it that one Korea became a democracy that impeaches presidents, while the other remains a three-generation dictatorship?
Yeah… it’s a good question.
I hope I’ll get to write more about North Korea someday. As a scholar who studies North Korean society and works closely with North Korean defectors, I have a lot to say. But for now, maybe we can leave it at this:
Even siblings raised under the same roof can turn out very differently.
Coming Up Next
In Part 2 of The People’s Mandate, we’ll explore the deep historical roots of Korea’s "national interest first" tendency. We'll delve into how the profound traumas of Japanese colonial rule and the Korean War, alongside the transformative "Miracle on the Han River," forged a powerful collective spirit.
Discover how these defining moments shaped a societal inclination to prioritize the nation's well-being, influencing everything from collective economic responses to powerful democratic movements.
Stay tuned—history, heartbreak, and hope are all woven into the Korean people’s unyielding sense of "we."
Dr. Yoon,
I’m curious about how things work in South Korea—when people protest to remove a leader, it actually leads to change. The leader either resigns or is removed from office before their term ends. In contrast, in countries like the U.S., people can protest as much as they want, but in the end, nothing changes—the president stays in power until the term is over.
In my opinion, a truly successful ruler is one who doesn’t create distance between themselves and the people. There should be a sense of unity. That’s why I think monarchies, where leadership is inherited—like with kings—can be effective. When a king passes, his son becomes the heir to the throne. This system has its strengths because the heir is trained from a young age to lead, to understand the people, and to find solutions.
Compare that with systems like the presidency, where anyone—from businessmen to entertainers—can become a national leader. For example, in the U.S., they elected a businessman as president. And in Ukraine, they have a former comedian as their president—and just look at the situation there now.
I completely agree with you—it’s so true that even siblings who grow up in the same household can turn out completely different. They may share the same parents, environment, and upbringing, but each person responds to life in their own unique way. I’m one of the proofs of that—my siblings and I were raised under the same roof, yet we have different personalities, values, and paths in life. It just goes to show how much individuality plays a role, even within the same family.