A House Divided

South Korea heads to a snap election scarred by the ghosts of martial law, conspiracy theories and an emboldened political fringe.

The expulsion by South Korea’s Constitutional Court of its country’s president, Yoon Suk Yeol from office, was a damning verdict on a nation’s fragile democratic resilience. In the wake of Yoon’s reckless declaration of martial law, the country now prepares for a snap presidential election on June 3, its political landscape fractured and festering. The vote, mandated within 60 days of Yoon’s ouster, will determine not only the next five-year occupant of the Blue House but also the future of South Korea’s contested democracy.

At first glance, the upcoming election is a familiar two-way duel between the conservative People Power Party (PPP) and the centre-left Democratic Party (DP). But beneath that veneer of bipartisanship lies more volatile undercurrents.

The DP, still basking in the glow of its successful impeachment of Yoon, enters the race with momentum. Its presumptive nominee, Lee Jae-myung, commands near-total control over his party and the electoral spotlight. Lee’s path to power appears clear: he has no serious internal challengers, and his popularity remains intact among party loyalists. Yet he is also a man under legal siege, facing five criminal trials that would all but vanish if he wins. His supporters regard him as a populist reformer who resisted Yoon’s overreach; his critics deride him as a demagogue who orchestrated a legislative coup and now seeks immunity by way of the presidency.

If Lee represents ruthless calculation wrapped in reformist rhetoric, the PPP is chaos incarnate. The party is torn between Yoon loyalists, reformist dissenters, and a conspiracy-addled base that believes the former president was a martyr, not a menace. Yoon’s martial law gambit, a chilling echo of South Korea’s authoritarian past, not only ignited fears of democratic backsliding but also splintered the conservative movement into warring camps. Some PPP lawmakers defied party orthodoxy to impeach him; others still defend him with a fervour more commonly associated with cult leaders than constitutionalists.

This internal schism could prove fatal. Ten PPP figures have signalled interest in running, but none has emerged as a unifying presence. Among them, Seoul Mayor Oh Se-hoon has opted for ambiguity, while former PPP leader Han Dong-hoon and technocrat Ahn Cheol-soo (both of whom supported Yoon’s impeachment) have tried to position themselves as palatable to moderates. Meanwhile, Yoon loyalists such as Labor Minister Kim Moon Soo and Daegu Mayor Hong Joon-pyo remain determined to carry their disgraced patron’s torch, even as it singes the party's electoral prospects.

Complicating matters further is the rise of a radicalised fringe. Yoon’s presidency may be over, but his presence still looms large on South Korea’s digital battlegrounds. Right-wing YouTubers now claim that election was fraudulent, blaming Yoon’s fall to North Korean moles and Chinese meddling. Their videos have found a receptive audience among South Koreans distrustful of the mainstream press and wary of encirclement by hostile neighbours.

In January, Yoon’s supporters stormed a Seoul courthouse, attacking police officers with metal beams. In March, an elderly man self-immolated near city hall, leaving behind fliers accusing opposition leaders of communist sympathies.

The PPP thus faces a cruel paradox: the more it courts Yoon’s base, the less it appeals to the broader electorate. And yet abandoning Yoon outright could provoke a backlash from his diehard followers.

For South Korea, the stakes of this election are existential. The country finds itself at a perilous juncture: geopolitically squeezed by China and North Korea, economically beset by slowing growth, and internally riven by populist theatrics. It needs a president who can transcend partisan vendettas, reassert democratic norms and restore public trust in its institutions. Whether Lee Jae-myung is capable of this is uncertain. That the PPP is struggling to produce a credible alternative is even more alarming. South Koreans, weary of drama but unwilling to disengage, will now decide this coming June whether their future is built on grievance or grounded in governance.