[[Life]]The night of December 3rd 2024, Seoul South Korea
2024-12-04
조회수 122
I usually avoid talking about politics or watching news related to it.
But what happened last night in Seoul, South Korea, where I live with my family, was terrifying.
I got off work around 10:15 PM after finishing my last class. As I left my tiny office and headed to the bus stop, it felt like any other Tuesday night. I was waiting for the 2014 bus, but even with my AirPods on, I sensed a strange tension in the air—an unshakable anxiety I couldn’t quite name.
By 10:45 PM, I knew something was wrong.
Everyone on the bus was glued to their phones, watching the same thing. The silence on the bus felt heavy, almost suffocating—like walking on black ice, unsure when it might crack.
When I got off the bus, I overheard people on their phones saying, “I’m on my way home. Don’t worry.” That’s when I realized something terrible had happened.
As I approached the entrance of our apartment building, I noticed the mix of reactions—some people hurried along, clearly anxious, while others seemed completely unaware.
When I got home, my husband and I had a conversation that brought everything into focus.
The President of South Korea had declared martial law.
For those unfamiliar, martial law is a state of emergency where military authority temporarily overrides civil government. The president justified this unprecedented move, citing the need to protect the nation from “communist forces” and “anti-state elements.” This hasn’t happened in South Korea since 1980. It suspended the National Assembly, local councils, and even political parties.
What made it more alarming was that this decision came without warning—no public announcement, no preparation. Only the president’s closest circle seemed to know it was coming.
Why is this so terrifying for many of us? South Korea has a painful history with martial law. It’s not something we talk about casually over dinner. It’s a dark chapter my parents and grandparents lived through—a time when the military took control of the country, dictating how people should think, act, and even feel. Those memories of suppression, fear, and silenced voices haunt older generations to this day.
Back then, there was no internet or real-time access to information. The military controlled what people could see, hear, and say. But this is 2024. We live in an age where freedom of speech exists—or at least, we believe it does. Social media, livestreaming platforms, and outspoken individuals weren’t going to stay silent this time.
Neither were South Korea’s lawmakers. Shortly after the president’s announcement was broadcast, opposition leaders took action. One opposition leader live-streamed his drive to the National Assembly, calling on fellow lawmakers and the public to gather at the parliament building to resist. Even the president's party members were saying that it was the wrong move.
That’s when tensions boiled over.
Police forces blocked the National Assembly with buses and officers, forming a barricade at the front gates. Lawmakers and citizens were prevented from entering. At one point, special forces were flown into Seoul by helicopters, and military tanks were supposedly seen. Some might think, “Maybe it was for safety, to maintain order?” But how did the police know to mobilize so quickly? Only the president’s inner circle supposedly knew about the announcement. Was this about preventing lawmakers from voting against martial law?
We may never know.
What we do know is that in South Korea, lawmakers have the power to vote on revoking a martial law decree. That’s exactly what happened last night. The National Assembly convened in an emergency session, and within hours, they unanimously voted to overturn the president’s decision. By early morning, martial law was lifted, and the military forces were ordered to withdraw.
For some, this will just be a memory of a sudden and dramatic government action. But for others, it will remain a night of terror—a haunting reminder of how fragile democracy can be and how close we came to losing it.
I usually avoid talking about politics or watching news related to it.
But what happened last night in Seoul, South Korea, where I live with my family, was terrifying.
I got off work around 10:15 PM after finishing my last class. As I left my tiny office and headed to the bus stop, it felt like any other Tuesday night. I was waiting for the 2014 bus, but even with my AirPods on, I sensed a strange tension in the air—an unshakable anxiety I couldn’t quite name.
By 10:45 PM, I knew something was wrong.
Everyone on the bus was glued to their phones, watching the same thing. The silence on the bus felt heavy, almost suffocating—like walking on black ice, unsure when it might crack.
When I got off the bus, I overheard people on their phones saying, “I’m on my way home. Don’t worry.” That’s when I realized something terrible had happened.
As I approached the entrance of our apartment building, I noticed the mix of reactions—some people hurried along, clearly anxious, while others seemed completely unaware.
When I got home, my husband and I had a conversation that brought everything into focus.
The President of South Korea had declared martial law.
For those unfamiliar, martial law is a state of emergency where military authority temporarily overrides civil government. The president justified this unprecedented move, citing the need to protect the nation from “communist forces” and “anti-state elements.” This hasn’t happened in South Korea since 1980. It suspended the National Assembly, local councils, and even political parties.
What made it more alarming was that this decision came without warning—no public announcement, no preparation. Only the president’s closest circle seemed to know it was coming.
Why is this so terrifying for many of us? South Korea has a painful history with martial law. It’s not something we talk about casually over dinner. It’s a dark chapter my parents and grandparents lived through—a time when the military took control of the country, dictating how people should think, act, and even feel. Those memories of suppression, fear, and silenced voices haunt older generations to this day.
Back then, there was no internet or real-time access to information. The military controlled what people could see, hear, and say. But this is 2024. We live in an age where freedom of speech exists—or at least, we believe it does. Social media, livestreaming platforms, and outspoken individuals weren’t going to stay silent this time.
Neither were South Korea’s lawmakers. Shortly after the president’s announcement was broadcast, opposition leaders took action. One opposition leader live-streamed his drive to the National Assembly, calling on fellow lawmakers and the public to gather at the parliament building to resist. Even the president's party members were saying that it was the wrong move.
That’s when tensions boiled over.
Police forces blocked the National Assembly with buses and officers, forming a barricade at the front gates. Lawmakers and citizens were prevented from entering. At one point, special forces were flown into Seoul by helicopters, and military tanks were supposedly seen. Some might think, “Maybe it was for safety, to maintain order?” But how did the police know to mobilize so quickly? Only the president’s inner circle supposedly knew about the announcement. Was this about preventing lawmakers from voting against martial law?
We may never know.
What we do know is that in South Korea, lawmakers have the power to vote on revoking a martial law decree. That’s exactly what happened last night. The National Assembly convened in an emergency session, and within hours, they unanimously voted to overturn the president’s decision. By early morning, martial law was lifted, and the military forces were ordered to withdraw.
For some, this will just be a memory of a sudden and dramatic government action. But for others, it will remain a night of terror—a haunting reminder of how fragile democracy can be and how close we came to losing it.