The actions of each individual form a living tissue, a network of infinite causes and consequences that determine the course of history. There are those who stand in front of the rifles when night falls and prevent the darkness from enveloping everything. Shortly after 10:30 p.m. on Tuesday, when he surprised her in a restaurant near the National Assembly, Ahn Gwi-ryung, a 35-year-old South Korean politician, petite, with medium hair and dressed in a leather jacket, ran into a taxi. and went to the Parliament headquarters. “I felt that democracy was in danger; I felt afraid of the Government,” he remembers a day later, at the foot of the building that houses the Legislative Branch of South Korea.
The extreme measure was taken by him, without prior notice and in a televised speech. In his speech he accused the opposition of controlling Parliament, engaging in anti-state activities and sympathizing with North Korea. Very few in the country understood anything. Nobody expected this twist of the script. The military decree was immediately published, stipulating the prohibition, among others, of political activities, including those of the National Assembly, and unleashing the worst demons since the democratic transition of the Asian country in the 1980s.
When Ahn, who works as spokesperson for the main opposition force, the Democratic Party, with a majority in the Assembly, arrived at the parliamentary building, the military and police were already there. Armed. Willing to enter and prevent any vote that would endanger martial law. In those confusing and tense moments; In the midst of the hubbub, the images recorded by the media show how Ahn confronts the special forces, one of the soldiers points the rifle at her, she grabs the barrel and pushes it, while she shouts at the soldier: “Don’t you care? Shame on your behavior?” The videos have become a viral phenomenon. Thousands of people have seen it. And generated headlines like: “Meet the tough woman who confronted an armed Korean soldier.”
It was the first time in her life that they had pointed a gun at her. “I felt I had to stop them no matter what because I couldn’t conceive the presence of armed soldiers inside Parliament,” says Ahn. Inside, in the chamber, some deputies who had managed to escape from the army and enter on time were preparing an emergency session to reverse a measure that had not been imposed in the country since 1980. With 190 of its 300 members present, it was already approved in in the early hours of this Wednesday morning a motion demanding the lifting of martial law. Six hours after declaring it, the president backtracked: “Following the request of the National Assembly to lift martial law, the troops have been withdrawn. “I will accept the demand of the National Assembly and lift martial law through a cabinet meeting.”
Ahn hasn’t slept all night. He hasn’t even returned home. He continues with the same leather jacket, which he now covers under a coat because the cold hits relentlessly in the South Korean capital. Around him, there are hundreds of people who have come to a rally called by the center-left Democratic Party. It is a peaceful meeting with a festive atmosphere. Ahn has served as presenter, and now numerous people approach her to take a photo: she has become one of the faces of the resistance.
During the rally, citizens sat on the steps at the entrance to the Assembly. With lit candles in their hands, they wave signs calling on the president to leave office, and chant: “Kick Yoon out!” Defense Minister Kim Yong-hyun, the first victim of the political chaos, has just submitted his resignation. In Parliament, six parties, including the Democratic Party, have registered a motion before the Assembly for Yoon’s dismissal. The petition has been signed by 190 opposition MPs and one independent, but without the support of any member of the ruling party. Before the microphones, Democratic representative Nam Younghee reads one by one the 110 names of the parliamentarians who did not vote to repeal martial law and demands their support. “Yoon resignation!” hundreds of people chant again.
Sitting on the steps, while a music band now plays an old song from the pro-democracy movement of the eighties, you can feel how this time civil society and politics took the lead, just barely, over the metallic jingle of the military. “We had only seen it in textbooks and movies,” says Kim Seo-yeon, 37, a high school ethics teacher. With the candle in his hand, he says that his mother has not been able to sleep all night. In part, he has come for her. And partly, because of the children who study at school. “I should teach this,” he says.
Many of those present are people, like this 60-year-old man, wearing a hat, who responds to the name of JS Freeman K. (he prefers not to give more than these details). He remembers that he has lived under martial law twice, between the seventies and early eighties. “I have a bad experience,” he says. “Yeah [el presidente] Had Yoon succeeded, our lives would have been destroyed by the Government. We wouldn’t be here, we wouldn’t be talking. “That’s why we fight so hard.”
What everyone is wondering is what is behind the abrupt martial declaration. What did Yoon intend with the failed measure that the opposition described as illegal from the beginning. At the moment, there are few answers. Kang Dan Hun, a 31-year-old political science graduate who recently became unemployed, couldn’t believe it when he saw the news. And even less so when he heard the “nonsense” of the explanations that accused the opposition of being sympathetic to North Korea. He calls it a “self-coup” with no legal basis.
Media from across the political spectrum have remained united at all times to criticize martial law. An editorial in the conservative , described the president’s actions as an “international shame” and demanded Yoon take “responsibilities.”
Kang, the unemployed political scientist, explains that the country’s political life is going through a “hectic” phase. Although the ruling PPP (People Power Party) does not have a parliamentary majority, it retains enough seats to impose presidential vetoes, which has blocked numerous bills. The economy is also not going as expected, to which is added a turbulent international context. “The current Government is not taking any valid measures to fix the situation,” he says. “There are many dissatisfied people.” The president reached the midpoint of his five-year term on November 11, with a meager 17% approval rating, the lowest level since he took office. “I think this had an impact on his absurd decision last night,” Kang concludes. He, after the shock, felt that he should come. “It was my civil obligation,” he says before the parliamentary headquarters.
