May God Protect Korea from the Deluge: An Analysis of Protestant Support for Yoon Seok-yeol’s Martial Law (2024)

2.1 A Polarised Socio-Political Landscape

On 14 December, while attention was focused on the 200,000 people gathered in Yeouido to support the impeachment motion, Mr Yoon’s allies organised their own demonstration in the heart of Seoul (Photo 3). Coming from all over the country, around 40,000 conservatives gathered along Sejong Boulevard, in front of Gwanghwamun Gate – a site highly symbolic of South Korean nationalism. It was along this boulevard that the Republic of Korea was proclaimed, and it remains a regular gathering place for political groups from across the spectrum. In stark contrast to the wealthy and well-educated residents of Seoul, the clothing worn by these demonstrators revealed their modest social origins. Wearing poor-quality synthetic coats and shoes, plastic visors, and permed hairsyles, they exchanged smiles and small gestures of sympathy with us. The crowd was predominantly composed of elderly individuals raised in a deeply anti-communist culture. Impoverished by decades of colonial rule and a devastating civil war, this generation poured its sweat and blood into the country’s factories and workshops to rebuild Korea and drive its economic miracle. As a lasting source of pride, many hold the conviction that they were the architects of the country’s rapid transformation into one of the world’s most prosperous economic powerhouses. Fuelled by conspiracy theories circulated on YouTube by far-right influencers – who have become a primary source of information for Koreans with lower levels of education and those disengaged from mainstream media, particularly the elderly^[19] – many sincerely believe that the Democrats rigged the 2024 legislative elections to secure a parliamentary majority. According to this narrative, the goal of these so-called “traitors” is to paralyse the government and ultimately hand the country over to the communists.^[20]

Photo 3:

Rows of flower wreaths bearing messages of support for Mr Yoon lined the streets surrounding the Presidential Office in Seoul, Seoul. © Adrian Gasser, December 2024.

Echoing the conspiratorial rhetoric of MAGA (Make America Great Again) activists – who claim that the 2020 US presidential election was “stolen” by the Democrats – South Korean demonstrators marched with placards bearing the slogan Stop the Steal. In Korea, allegations of electoral fraud and irregularities have become a powerful rallying cry for the right since the impeachment of President Park Geun-hye in 2016. In power since 2008, the Conservative Party suffered a crushing electoral defeat following the Choigate scandal – a case that directly implicated President Park Geun-hye, a shamanic advisor, the Samsung conglomerate, and the intelligence services.^[21] Found guilty of corruption and abuse of power by a special team of prosecutors that notably included Yoon Suk-yeol, President Park was impeached and later sentenced to prison. While the scandal sparked widespread outrage and mobilised several million citizens ,^[22] the impeachment process – and the subsequent shift in political power – also gave birth to the Taegeukgi movement.^[23] Initially mobilised in defence of Ms Park, this conservative countermovement began modestly but gradually gained momentum. Rallying a range of conservative currents – including the New Right,^[24] right-wing authoritarianism, and Protestant groups – the movement united voters who were genuinely committed to defending the legacy of the dictatorship and reclaiming political power, even if that meant challenging the legitimacy of South Korea’s democratic institutions.

In recent years, conservatives have regularly assembled in large numbers at Gwanghwamun, brandishing giant portraits of authoritarian presidents Syngman Rhee (1948–1960) and Park Chung-hee (1962–1979). In the absence of a collective memory work that might reconcile the ambivalent facets of South Korea’s historical trajectory, Korean society remains deeply divided over its past. On one side, democrats regard the era of dictatorship as a dark chapter in which the population was subjected to the arbitrary power of the state – a period marked by army-led massacres (Jeju in 1948, Gwangju in 1980) and torture sessions conducted in the basements of the KCIA.^[25] On the other, many conservatives idolise the authoritarian presidents, portraying them as guarantors of national security and as the architects of South Korea’s spectacular economic rise. Outraged by the policy of reconciliation with the North and by the purges carried out by the first democratic presidents against former collaborators during the colonial period – respectively Kim Young-sam (1993–1998), Kim Dae-jung (1998–2003), and Roh Moo-hyun (2003–2008) – conservatives have organised themselves to proactively defend their vision of national strength and social order. In their view, calls for reunification sound like a dangerous absurdity: North Korea is seen as a rogue, menacing state that deserves no concessions.

3.1 Moses against Amalek:^[28] The Protestant Right’s Political Mobilisation

During the conservative demonstration on 14 December, beneath the immense Christmas tree erected by the Seoul metropolitan council, American, South Korean and Israeli flags were waving under the cold winter sky. Since 2017, evangelical activists have regularly displayed the Israeli flag at right-wing rallies, reflecting their close ties to Christian Zionism (Photo 4).^[29] Based on a premillennial eschatology, Korean evangelical Protestants interpret the return of the Jewish people to the Holy Land as the beginning of the end times, which underpins both their Islamophobic stance and their supportive attitude towards Israel.^[30]

Photo 4:

View of a pro-Israel demonstration on Sejong Boulevard, Seoul. © Adrian Gasser, December 2024.

Harangued by political activists and Presbyterian pastor Jeon Kwang-hoon of Sarang Jeil Church, the crowd directed its anger toward the leader of the opposition party – elected president in June 2025 – shouting in unison: “Stop Lee Jae-myung!” With over 4,000 followers nationwide, Sarang Jeil has held group prayers in support of Mr Yoon and organised protests in front of the Constitutional Court to pressure prosecutors reviewing the impeachment motion’s legality .^[31] Once a marginal church less than ten years ago, it has gained new followers by combining Christian faith with anti-communist patriotism – an ideological blend that grants its members a prestigious social role as defenders of both God and the nation. Closely aligned with the Korean New Right’s pro-American and anti-communist stance, the church is now the main Protestant group openly supporting Mr Yoon and advocating for martial law. Pastor Jeon frames this as God’s will and wholeheartedly endorses the president’s conspiratorial narrative, which he actively disseminates through his networks.^[32]

Although Sarang Jeil is a clear example of a Protestant church that openly uses political activism to bolster the conservative movement,^[33] there is no evidence that its stance reflects the broader views or beliefs of other Protestant communities. While its actions have been widely documented – particularly its defiance of public health regulations during the COVID-19 pandemic^[34] – Sarang Jeil remains, with its 4,000 members, a relatively small institution compared to the vast congregations of the country’s Presbyterian megachurches.^[35] Out of the 8.5 million South Koreans who identify as Protestant,^[36] Pastor Jeon’s congregation accounts for just 0.05 of this population. It would therefore be misleading to infer a broad alignment between President Yoon and conservative churches based solely on the activism of a few highly visible groups. Such an interpretation risks obscuring the diversity of South Korean Protestantism and its varied modes of engagement with the political sphere.

The main Protestant traditions were introduced to Korea in the late nineteenth century by Anglo-American missionaries, most of whom were from the United States and generally held politically conservative views. Churches first began to grow after the Korean War (1950–1953)^[37] and expanded rapidly between 1960 and 1995, with membership rising from one million to 8.5 million. Through the exchange of symbolic and material resources with North American Protestantism – which facilitated the transfer of Reformed doctrines and the training of Korean clergy in the United States – the religious diversity of American churches has gradually been reproduced on the Korean peninsula.^[38] As a result, South Korean Protestantism is less a unified category than a religious constellation composed of thousands of congregations, often difficult to classify due to their hybrid nature^[39] and frequent internal schisms. While some churches clearly identify with a specific Protestant tradition,^[40] most evangelical Protestant churches in Korea simply describe themselves as “Christian”. Moreover, the Korean religious landscape is shaped by patterns of syncretism and religious mobility (or butinage),^[41] with churches often combining diverse practices and interpretations of the Bible. These theological distinctions are further complicated by political divisions. On the one hand, there are a small number of liberal churches historically active in pro-democracy movements;^[42] on the other, a larger number of conservative churches whose political involvement is more recent and varies from one congregation to another.

To gain a more representative understanding of Protestant attitudes towards the recent political crisis, we conducted fieldwork in December 2024 among two segments of Protestantism: premillennialist evangelicals and Presbyterians.^[43] Our findings indicate, first, that support for Mr Yoon and Protestant anti-communism are deeply shaped by biblical worldviews and the historical trajectory of Christianity in Korea. Secondly, our investigation challenges the assumption that Protestants unanimously support Mr Yoon, revealing that the only consistent common denominator among those surveyed is a critical stance toward policies promoting the inclusion of sexual minorities.

3.2 Resisting the Forces of Satan: Meeting with Premillennialist Evangelicals

Kyubok and Jisun

During the demonstration on 14 December, we witnessed a singular event. Equipped with loudspeakers, a preaching van from the evangelical The Light and Salt Church^[44] patrolled along Sejong Boulevard, urging passers-by to repent of their sins. Those who did not accept Jesus as the sole path to salvation – such as Catholics who worship the Virgin Mary – were warned they would go to hell. To understand the motivations behind this kind of mobilisation (Photo 5), we contacted a member of the evangelical church For the Never-Ending Revival (FTNER), which is active in street preaching. Founded in 2020 by Kim Young-hyun, a young theology student, FTNER appears to follow a growth model partially connected to the United States, where it sends missionaries and cultivates ties with a local Presbyterian church.^[45] These initiatives, far from exceptional in the Korean context, highlight the significant role of the United States in the growth of Korean evangelical churches. Benefiting from a Korean diaspora of around two million people, more than 4,000 South Korean churches have been established across the United States. They have used the symbolic resources tied to the empowering image of the USA as a “chosen power” to bolster their legitimacy among Protestants in Korea.^[46] With around twenty pastors, FTNER conducts most of its communication via social media platforms such as YouTube and Instagram, where it publishes religious videos – in both Korean and English – that have garnered tens of thousands of views. In an effort to attract new followers, FTNER positions itself as an alternative to other evangelical churches, which it deems corrupt, and promotes a premillennialist theology of the Apocalypse that blends literal interpretations of the Bible with conspiracy theories.^[47]

Photo 5:

View of an evangelical preaching booth in Myeongdong, Seoul. © Adrian Gasser, December 2024.

Kyubok,^[48] aged 35 and a member of the church, agreed to meet us at a café in Hongdae, a trendy district of Seoul. Despite several attempts to persuade us to join the FTNER Church, Kyubok proved to be a friendly and cheerful person. His conversion to evangelical Protestantism is recent, occurring during a difficult period in his life marked by a desperate search for meaning. Realising the countless sins he had committed, Kyubok was overcome by a visceral fear of being sent to hell. Eager to ease his anxieties, he seriously contemplated suicide before experiencing a divine vision, in which God appeared to him in the form of a magnificent cherry tree, whose blossoms fell generously upon humanity. Whether consciously intended or not, the symbolism of the cherry tree is probably no coincidence. This tree has long held a central place in Buddhism as a symbol of ephemerality and fragility, and from the late nineteenth century onwards, it became the subject of a nationalist appropriation campaign between Korea and Japan. As instruments of Japanese botanical imperialism in colonial Korea (1910–1945), “Japanese cherry trees” (Tokyo Cherry) were widely planted across the peninsula to foster cultural unity within the Empire.^[49] Confronted with the tree during his vision, Kyubok came to understand the true meaning of the Gospel and Christ’s passion – who died on the cross to redeem humanity’s sins: “God gives us endless love and wishes us to be united with him for eternity, as long as we repent of our sins and accept his Truth.”

His conversion profoundly changed his view of society and human behaviour, which he now interprets through a literal reading of the Bible. Previously, Kyubok had not been very involved in politics. He had supported both the impeachment of Ms Park and welcomed the election of the Democrat Mr Moon in 2017. He attributes this “youthful mistake” to the irresistible charm of the Democratic Party candidate and to the pervasive lies spread by South Korean media, which he claims serve China and North Korea. According to him, the Democratic Party of Korea, communism, Catholicism, Buddhism and feminism are evil forces unleashed in Korea to divide and deceive people. Confused by the complexity of the world, people are tempted to embrace the false promises and comfort offered by these seductive but deadly ideologies, none of which are capable of bringing salvation: “It’s like coffee. It tastes good and feels pleasant in your mouth, but it will not save you. By distancing humanity from the knowledge of God, these satanic forces condemn lost souls to a sinful existence devoid of true joy, before damning them to eternal punishment.” Citing the Book of Revelation by John, he insists that Christ’s prophecy is clear: “If you do not repent, your eyes and ears will be blocked. You think you see, but you do not see. You think you hear, but you do not hear.” Living with the certainty that a battle between Good and Evil is raging and that the Apocalypse is imminent, Kyubok’s life is now guided by a single moral imperative: to save as many souls as possible from the Devil by calling them to repent their sins. He carries out this mission with sadness and resignation, lamenting both the ingratitude and ignorance of the people he meets daily.

Jisun,^[50] a friend of Kyubok, is an elegant woman in her forties with a degree in physical education. She now lives in Basel, Switzerland. She was extremely friendly and immediately gave the conversation a proselytising tone: “Since when have you been born again?” she asked us, quickly clarifying her own religious identity. For over an hour, Jisun eloquently and carefully recounted her journey to faith. It was a long process marked by anxiety and constant questioning. Deeply shocked by the horrors and brutal violence afflicting the world, she suddenly felt unable to live an ordinary life without understanding why evil exists. Jisun had an insatiable thirst for Truth. A bright and self-taught person, she delved into most conspiracy theories about satanism, the imminent return of the Nazis, the world government, and Freemasonry. While noticing disturbing coincidences in real life – such as the presence of Masonic symbols in European museums and in Korean Jesuit cemeteries – she learned about satanic cults where followers allegedly sell their souls and kill babies. These shocking discoveries led her to believe that underground, evil forces were causing great disasters and massacres, plunging her into deep anxiety.

As a young adult, Jisun had turned away from Christianity because she found “prophets arrogant and hypocritical”. However, her metaphysical anxieties gradually brought her closer to evangelical Christianity, drawn by its claim to affirm the of the Bible’s truth: “Other Christian churches are hypocrites. Jesus clearly asked adulterers, fornicators and the LGBT community to repent of their sins. But as soon as a pastor has the courage to speak this truth, these so-called churches reject him and call him hateful.” Struggling with doubts, Jisun briefly fluctuated between baptism and total renunciation before a series of miracles led her to fully commit to the faith. After sincerely praying to Jesus Christ, she was healed of COVID, altitude sickness and infertility. In 2021, convinced of God’s existence, Jisun contacted a member of the international evangelical movement The Last Reformation (TLR),^[51] Mr Jon Bjarnastein, who baptised her in Nyon, Switzerland. Today, Jisun attends a small revival church, the New Covenant Fellowship Church (NCF),^[52] located in Riehen, near Basel.

Jisun and Kyubok’s conversion journeys and testimonies exemplify, in a broader sense, South Korea’s integration into an extensive transnational network of evangelical doctrines and practices emanating mostly from the United States. Through the circulation of pastors, prospective converts and missionaries,^[53] the doctrines and methods of North American evangelical churches were progressively embraced by their Korean counterparts starting in the 1990s. As a result of this close relationship, eschatological theologies, Christian Zionism, and the rejection of communism and homosexuality gained significant traction across the peninsula.^[54] It is important to emphasise, however, that these processes of doctrinal alignment are not simply the result of a vertical imposition of foreign norms onto a passive recipient society. Rather, they reflect complex dynamics of acculturation and cultural extraversion^[55] involving active agents – namely Koreans – as evidenced by their capacity to mobilise and blend both global and national references. Among the Protestants we encountered (including Presbyterians), a significant number hold the conviction that Korea – North Korea included – has been divinely elected since its millennial origins. In an approach intertwining religious fundamentalism and Korean nationalism, some Protestant pastors and intellectuals have undertaken ambitious research within Korean historiography, seeking any cultural or mythological element that might prove the presence of fundamental Christian roots in Korea’s history.

According to Jisun, God disseminated the Gospel in Korea millennia ago through the birth of Tangun (Image 6), whom she identifies as a prophet of the Lord: “Since that day, the Gospel has been in our roots and in our blood.” Popular in certain evangelical circles, this narrative is based on a Christian reinterpretation of the Tangun myth – a figure regarded as the “father of the Korean nation”. This foundational myth recounts the tale of a divine prince born in 2333 BCE from the union of the heavenly prince Hwanung and a bear-woman, who became human after eating a bundle of mugwort and a handful of garlic cloves before spending 100 days in a dark cave. Tangun, their offspring, is said to have founded the Korean people and the first Korean kingdom – the legendary Gojoseon. As the historian Samuel Guex notes, although this lineage myth is no longer widely accepted as historically factual by contemporary Korean historiography, the existence of Tangun continues to be regarded as a historical reality by much of the population.^[56] Discredited by the Confucian elites of former dynasties, this folk myth became the basis for a cult^[57] and an ethnoracial history of Korea in the early twentieth century, during a period marked by the rise of nationalist movements. Determined to decentre the peninsula from Chinese and Japanese imperialism, historians Shin Chae-ho and Choe Nam-seon saw in this myth the possibility of writing a history that would confer upon Korea a racial and cultural distinctiveness and superiority over Japan.^[58] In the second half of the twentieth century, the Tangun myth was appropriated by the Korean state to mobilise the population around an ethnonationalist sense of belonging. This myth has divided Protestant circles, some of whom are outraged by its idolatrous character, while others recognise its theological potential as a point of reconciliation between Christian universalism and Korean particularism – all the while upholding Protestant dominance. While certain evangelical groups (to which Jisun and Kyubok belong) have opted to appropriate the myth by christianising Tangun, others remain firmly and vehemently opposed to any public and idolatrous acknowledgement of the deity. Between 1998 and 1999, a controversy arose when evangelical believers vandalised statues of Tangun, which had been erected in 369 Korean public schools by a cultural association aiming to “strengthen Korean national identity”.^[59]

Image 6:

Portrait of Tangun, by Chae Yong-shin (1850–1945), late Joseon dynasty (1392–1910), exact date unknown. Public domain image.

Contributing in her own way to the construction of Korea’s divine election theory, Jisun even justifies the nineteenth century massacre of 8,000 Catholics by Confucian rulers^[60] – a purge, she believes, was willed by God to protect Korea from Catholicism and foster “healthy Christianity”, namely Protestantism. She also perceives signs of God’s presence in two iconic Korean works of art, Arirang and Chunyang, both of which became cultural symbols with strong nationalist connotations during the twentieth century. Arirang, a six-hundred-year-old folk song, recounts the difficulties endured by travellers lost in the mountains. For Jisun, however, the meaning of the lyrics is intrinsically biblical and serves to inspire reverent devotion to the Divine.^[61] While the pansori^[62] Chunyang celebrates Confucian virtues of marital fidelity through the hardships of a woman pursued by a powerful magistrate, Jisun interprets the story as a dramatic battle between Good and Evil. The original tale centers on Chunyang, the daughter of a courtesan, who marries Mongryong, the son of a provincial governor. When Mongryong leaves to serve at the royal court in Seoul, his wife vows to remain pure and loyal until his return. Left alone for several years, Chunyang is imprisoned after refusing the advances of Sato, a dignitary, but is ultimately rescued by Mongryong. For Jisun, struck especially by the similarity between the names Sato and Satan, this story serves as a clear metaphor for temptation: “Chunyang, while guarding her purity against Satan, awaits the arrival of God.” For both Kyubok and Jisun, these signs are proof that Korea is destined to become the kingdom of God, heralding a thousand-year era of peace and harmony. Unfortunately, this magnificent divine plan is now being obstructed by the devil, who is determined to manipulate the population by subjecting it to the temptation of communism.

Before the communist government was established in 1948, North Korea was home to numerous active parishes and churches, earning Pyongyang the nickname “Jerusalem of the East”. Following brutal repression and a total ban on religious practice, 234,000 Christians – representing 60 % of Korea’s Protestant population – were forced to flee to South Korea. This mass exodus left a deep-rooted sense of resentment towards communism among those generations.^[63] During South Korea’s period of industrialisation (1960–1980), certain conservative churches – notably the Yoido Full Gospel Church – partly expanded by reframing the rivalry with North Korea in explicitly religious terms. Drawing on the prosperity theology popular in the United States at the time, these churches reframed South Korea’s capitalist success as a sign of divine election, while portraying the communist North as a realm under Satan’s dominion. Material wealth was presented as tangible proof of divine favour and national chosenness.^[64] By applying to the Korean context a Manichaean worldview – in which a kingdom of light stands opposed to a kingdom of darkness – these churches promoted the idea that resisting the North was not merely political, but a spiritual battle against demonic forces. The widespread acceptance of this worldview among conservative Protestants can be attributed, in part, to the privileged status these churches enjoyed during the authoritarian period (1948–1987). Unlike other denominations – which were subjected to surveillance, movement restrictions, and occasional repression – conservative Protestant churches benefited from significantly more favourable conditions for expansion. This advantage was largely due to their ability to gain the favour of authoritarian regimes by actively legitimising their policies.^[65] While the mobilisation of a nationalist narrative infused with anti-communism allowed these evangelical churches to stand out in a competitive religious “market” and to benefit from a controlled autonomy, it is important to note that this formula varied depending on the historical context.^[66] Moreover, the anti-communist stance of conservative churches did not always consist in equating North Korea with demonic forces. As South Korea completed its economic take-off in the late 1980s, such rhetoric gradually lost its appeal, particularly among the emerging urban, educated middle classes.^[67]

At the crossroads of these historical and transnational dynamics, Kyubok and Jisun hold a profound hatred of communism, which they view in a demonised and caricatured light. Worried by the almost magnetic appeal this ideology seems to exert on people – whom they regard as blinded by the promise of social equality – they perceive communism as a genuine rival religion, one capable of supplanting Christianity. Kyubok and Jisun look back on past authoritarian leaders with nostalgia, seeing in them protective shields against the communist threat. The evangelical Protestant communities to which they belong vehemently oppose progressive parties, which they perceive as the vanguard of evil forces. While idealising a Christian society grounded in harmony and love, they accuse the left of disseminating appealing falsehoods and manipulating individual emotions to divide society – a pattern they also identify in other developed countries. They abhor LGBT claims, feminism – which they blame for creating division between the sexes – and the arrival of Muslims in the West, viewing these as toxic catalysts for forthcoming conflicts. Without a shadow of doubt, Kyubok and Jisun openly declare their full support for Mr Yoon, whom they portray as a heroic victim of a vast diabolical conspiracy – a perception shaped by the enduring trauma of persecution in North Korea. Before leaving, Jisun warned us: “Be careful, it’s happening in Switzerland as well.”

3.3 Saving the Family from Communism: Meeting with Presbyterians

Hyerin and Minseo

Although they do not adhere to an eschatological or demonic interpretation of the recent political turmoil, Hyerin and Minseo^[68] also oppose Mr Yoon’s impeachment. Cheerful and compassionate women in their thirties living in Seoul, they are deeply committed to their faith. While they occasionally attend services at nearby Presbyterian churches, they prefer to pray with their father, Manshik – a pastor who founded a house church^[69] to distance himself from the internal power struggles dividing South Korea’s major religious institutions. Over the past five years, Hyerin and Minseo have adopted a more conservative and revisionist outlook, fuelled by their growing disillusionment with what they perceive as the Democratic Party’s recent drift towards communism – a shift they believe undermines traditional family values. For years, both women supported the Democratic Party and its egalitarian values, but the coronavirus crisis marked a decisive turning point in their political orientation. Convinced that the virus was no more dangerous than a mild flu, they regarded the lockdown and vaccination measures introduced by Moon’s Democratic government as deeply alarming. Like the conservative evangelical groups that rallied in large numbers in 2020 to demand the government’s resignation,^[70] Hyerin and Minseo see the ban on religious gatherings as a serious infringement on religious freedom. To them, the declaration of a state of health emergency marked the beginning of a new era of surveillance, control, and state-led disinformation: “It has become like North Korea! Moon Jae-in and Lee Jae-myung are trying to impose communism on us.” Like Kyubok and Jisun, the two young women equate communism with state intervention, perceiving in any overly generous or intrusive public policy the seeds of a fatal shift: “The Democrats give aid to young Koreans far too easily, which has made them lazy and unwilling to work. Our country has become like China.”

Their distrust of the Democrats deepened after Mr Moon’s failed diplomatic initiative with Kim Jong-un, which not only led to heightened border tensions from 2019 but also cast doubt on the Democratic Party’s ability to guarantee national security. For the two young women, this loss of trust in political institutions has fuelled growing scepticism towards the Democrats’ rhetoric and values. As a sign of their deep distrust, they have gradually distanced themselves from minjung historiography taught in public schools since the advent of democracy, which they view as excessively critical of the authoritarian period. They deeply regret that “the history taught in schools overlooks the positive sides of the authoritarian era, like economic growth and social order.” As many conservative Koreans do, they were enthusiastic about the film The Birth of Korea (2024), which depicts the presidency of Presbyterian leader Syngman Rhee with heroism and pride – while omitting his belligerent tendencies and use of torture to silence political opposition. Flirting with authoritarian nostalgia, they believe that a strong leader who ensures order and security would be the best way to restore stability in South Korea amid political unrest.

Taken together, the various biographical events that have shaped the trajectories of the conservative Protestants we met in Korea echo the discourse of right-wing media. These personal histories are reframed within a broader narrative of betrayal and anti-democratic fraud. Having lost faith in the Democratic Party and mainstream media, Hyerin and Minseo are now firmly convinced that Mr Yoon is the target of a left-wing conspiracy. While their personal histories help identify the various circumstances and events that may have led some Koreans to embrace right-wing narratives, their trajectories also serve as a reminder to approach such life paths with caution, avoiding any teleological interpretation. Minseo remains firmly convinced of the president’s innocence, while Hyerin admits to feeling overwhelmed by recent events and does not fully support his cause. Sceptical of current narratives, she regularly consults a variety of media sources, including those with a pro-democracy stance. Hence, there is no reason to assume that their commitment to conservatism is either inevitable or irreversible.

Manshik et Juwon

Unlike his daughters, Pastor Manshik and his colleague Juwon,^[71] a former tank unit commander, refuse to take a political stance. For them and their friends attending this meeting, something else truly matters. With wisdom, they observe that the unrest surrounding Mr Yoon hinders both discernment and reasoning, since insults and noise coming from across the political spectrum prevent people from seeing things clearly and coherently. Highlighting the need to listen with renewed attention to the voice of God, the only guide to clarity, the two pastors encourage connecting with nature and embracing silence, which they see as essential for experiencing the Truth of the Gospel. Their call to live a calm and contemplative life, detached from political struggles, stands in contrast to the more active and committed approach of other Presbyterians, including Manshik’s daughters. Although statistical data are lacking to generalise this hypothesis to all Presbyterians, one might still wonder whether political preferences within this community reflect generational divides. On the one hand, interviews conducted with baby-boomer pastors (born 1955–1963) who lived through the dictatorship suggest that their desire for a religious and conservative societal change is pursued within the democratic system rather than outside it. On the other hand, Protestants from Generation Y (or millennials) (born 1980–1995), who grew up during the early democratic era, tend to favour leadership by a providential figure. Once consistent voters of the Democratic Party, the experiences of these three Protestants illustrate the rise of swing voting among Korean millennials. Disillusioned by corruption scandals on both sides of the political spectrum, around one third of voters from this generation tend to back candidates perceived as “honest” rather than those affiliated to their usual party.^[72]

Although Manshik and Juwon remain explicitly neutral regarding Mr Yoon’s martial law, they harbour some distrust towards the Democratic Party. Like many Protestants, Manshik and his family feel a strong sense of discrimination, believing that the left and atheists in the country are gradually seeking to eradicate them: “People on the left dislike Christianity, so they try to destroy us. Some are extremely cruel and inventive, which is why they target the family.” Sociologically speaking, the close ties between Protestant churches and both authoritarian and conservative regimes have significantly shaped collective perceptions in South Korea. Although Protestant parishes today gather over 8.5 million South Koreans – 17% of the population – they are commonly associated by the broader public with dictatorship, intolerance, nepotism and aggressive proselytising.^[73] Afflicted by constant criticism, Manshik and his family perceive themselves as a besieged minority – martyrised and fundamentally threatened in their faith.

With sincerity and concern, the pastor explains that the left and communism pose an existential threat to society by targeting “the family”, which he regards as its fundamental unit: “The left encourages homosexuality and transgender identity. It teaches this to children from a very young age, and this influences them negatively.” Worried by the sharp decline in birth rates^[74] and the erosion of the “traditional family”, they view non-heteronormative sexuality and extramarital relationships as sins, though ones that can be forgiven. Referring to the biblical story of Sodom and Gomorrah, Minseo explained that they do not wish any harm upon homosexuals. She added that she and her family even pray for their salvation. Although they invoke the Bible to justify their opposition to homosexuality, their stance probably mirrors the recent rise of a scapegoat figure in Korean politics: the “left-wing homosexual who supports North Korea”. This theory, which politically and consubstantially links sexual minorities with progressive movements in a defamatory manner, was developed in 2013 by the right-wing and conservative churches.^[75] At that time, they were protesting the Democratic Party’s proposal to introduce a comprehensive anti-discrimination law. This legislative text, presented as a necessary measure to “bring the country in line with global standards,” aimed to ban all forms of social exclusion against religious and sexual minorities in the country. Fearing that the law would open the door to the legalisation of same-sex marriage – which they regard as against divine will and natural law – a coalition of Protestant Churches succeeded in rallying hundreds of thousands of protesters on Sejong Boulevard on 27 October 2024.^[76] While these churches’ stance reflects a certain theological kinship with the US evangelical right – with whom they share “intrinsic logics of faith” – it is also motivated by political considerations specific to Korea, as the anti-discrimination law could potentially undermine their control over admissions to their private educational institutions.^[77]

Minho

Met in a tea-room in Sadang, a lively district on the outskirts of Seoul, Pastor Minho^[78] carefully outlines the many shortcomings he perceives among his fellow church members. Somewhat unfriendly, this Calvinist-leaning Presbyterian pastor belongs to a small local church.^[79] During our interview, he revealed that his two principal aims in life are to study the Bible and to evangelise as many people as possible. Convinced that Europe “is sick” because of the conciliatory and inclusive stance adopted by the Reformed parishes, Minho learned French and carried out several conversion missions across France. With pride, he told us that he had participated in the demonstrations against the anti-discrimination law on 27 October 2024: “If same-sex marriage is permitted, it will be like the Flood! Afterwards, serious anti-Christian events will occur, including the ordination of women pastors. Korea will turn into Sodom and Gomorrah.” Regardless of their generation, their support for Mr Yoon, or their belief in conspiracy theories, all our interlocutors criticised “the left” for undermining the foundations of society by promoting homosexuality. Overall, our research highlights a shared conservative understanding of family and sexual norms among Presbyterians and Evangelicals, primarily marked by opposition to non-heterosexual behaviours.

While Minho regards homosexuality as a danger to society, he does not, however, draw a causal link between homoerotic sexual practices and communism. With a leaning towards democratic principles, pastor believes that Mr Yoon’s imposition of martial law was based on shady justifications. Denouncing what he saw as an unconstitutional measure and a selfish quest for power, Mr Minho expressed hope that the president would be fully and permanently removed from office in spring 2025. Our conversation with Mr Minho serves as a reminder that, although the Presbyterian landscape exhibits strong elective affinities with the right, it remains internally divided by diverse modes of action and political orientations.^[80] This is evidenced by the emblematic case of the Korean Christian Presbyterian Church (PCK), a democratic church supportive of LGBT rights, as well as by the neutrality expressed by the main megachurches regarding Mr Yoon’s authoritarian turn. Despite their conservative stance on social and sexual matters, Onnuri^[81] and Sarang refrained from commenting on the political crisis through their communication channels. Limiting their actions to collective prayers for a swift return to stability, they also refrained from officially encouraging their followers to join political demonstrations. While this position might reflect their genuine commitment to democratic principles, the clergy’s hesitation also reveals a sense of discomfort – if not apprehension – about alienating polarised segments within their congregations (Photo 7).

Photo 7:

Interior view of the main nave of Sarang Church during a sermon, Seoul. © Adrian Gasser, December 2024.