The mood outside South Korea’s parliament on Wednesday afternoon, hours after President Yoon Suk Yeol’s shocking if thwarted declaration of martial law, was a mix of anger and disbelief.

The events before dawn surprised many South Koreans. Those who had slept through it awoke to the news that their democracy was facing its greatest challenge since the 1980s.

But under clear winter skies, hundreds of defiant citizens gathered on the steps of the National Assembly to express their outrage. More rallies calling for Yoon’s resignation were held across the capital.

“I couldn’t sleep last night as I watched the situation unfold in real time. My heart was pounding with worry,” said Son Jung-hee, who rushed to the National Assembly building from Gyeonggi province, an hour’s drive from Seoul.

She says she felt compelled to come as an “ordinary citizen” to protect Parliament, which she sees as the “last line of defence”. In her hand she held a handmade pink poster calling for Yoon’s impeachment.

“I am ashamed. We thought Korean democracy was mature, but something so absurd happened,” she says. Pointing to the other citizens who had gathered, she added: “Look at these precious daily lives that people lead – how could a president act like this against the will of his people?”

The night before, the National Assembly was surrounded by hundreds of police, troops entered the building and military helicopters circled overhead, creating a scene that seemed more like a dramatic film than real life.

For Cho Tae-ik, who is over 60 years old, the events of the last half day brought back painful memories.

“I witnessed the Gwangju Democratic Movement from start to finish,” he says, referring to the pivotal 1980 pro-democracy movement that was brutally repressed by military forces, killing hundreds.

“Democracy shouldn’t work like that. Trust between the people and the government is essential, but this government has none of it,” he says.

President Yoon justified his declaration of martial law by saying it was necessary to “protect the free Republic of Korea from the threat of North Korean communist forces” and “eradicate pro-North Korean subversive elements.”

His language reflected past fear-mongering tactics and the rhetoric of South Korea’s controversial national security law, which prohibits actions deemed “anti-government” – a vague term used in the past to target critics under the guise of combating a North Korean threat to silence.

While provocations from North Korea are a real problem and tensions have persisted since the Korean War, the idea of ​​a significant “pro-North” movement in South Korea is considered a tenuous claim at best.

“National embarrassment”

Yoon’s statement sparked sharp criticism across South Korea’s political spectrum. The conservative Chosun Ilbo newspaper, usually sympathetic to Yoon’s government, published a sharp editorial saying he had “significantly crossed the line” and called it a “national embarrassment” for a top 10 democracy.

A university student from Seoul, who did not want to be named, said: “It was like a coup, I just thought these things were textbook history… I could never have imagined this… It’s humiliating.”

But the crisis did not come without warning. In September, opposition Democratic Party lawmaker Kim Min-seok and others raised the alarm about Yoon’s systematic appointment of his high school classmates to key security positions, including in the Defense Ministry and the Defense Counterintelligence Command.

They warned that these moves, combined with Yoon’s increasing “anti-state forces” rhetoric toward his critics, indicated a preparation for martial law. At the time, his warning was dismissed as scaremongering.

Min Hee Go, associate professor of political science at Ewha Womans University, called the situation a “very bad, senseless decision.”

“The president does not seem to understand the representative nature of the parties and the National Assembly,” she says. “The nation will once again experience great turmoil. Calls for resignation or impeachment are appropriate.”

While opposition parties are calling for impeachment, the path forward is complicated. They would need at least eight members of Yoon’s own party to reach the required two-thirds majority in parliament. Even then, the Constitutional Court, which now only has six judges instead of the usual nine, does not have the minimum seven judges required to hear such a case.

Yoon’s government has faced ongoing scandals, including allegations that his wife Kim Keon Hee accepted a Dior bag worth three million won (£1,675) as a gift from a priest. Yoon and his supporters dismissed the claims as part of a political smear campaign.

International observers have noted democratic backsliding under Yoon’s leadership, with the V-Dem Institute recently ranking South Korea 47th in the world for liberal democracy, up from 28th last year and 17th in 2021.

Civicus, a global civil society coalition, has warned of an erosion of civil liberties since Yoon took office, citing in particular measures to suppress media freedom and crack down on unions.

“I don’t think the president knows how to address this pressure through political means – through deliberation, persuasion and communication,” says Prof. Go.

“Given his background as attorney general, he must have been surrounded by an extremely homogeneous group of people and worked his way up a very rigid hierarchy. A very persecuting black and white culture that denigrates and punishes those who think differently.”

For many South Koreans, the brief attempt to declare martial law confirmed their worst fears about authoritarian tendencies in Yoon’s government.

In front of the National Assembly, protester Son thought about the way forward.

“No one thought something like this could happen again… But here, in the warm sunlight, we must defend our democracy again.”