A democracy can hold itself accountable when its leader tries to dismantle it
En una noche de diciembre de 2024, el expresidente surcoreano Yoon Suk-yeol declaró la ley marcial por televisión, invocando amenazas al Estado que el parlamento rechazó en cuestión de horas. Ahora, mientras su juicio por insurrección llega a su fase final en Seúl, los fiscales han solicitado la pena de muerte —un gesto cargado de simbolismo en un país que lleva casi cuatro décadas sin ejecutar a nadie. El caso trasciende la figura de un político caído: es el intento de una democracia de mirarse al espejo y exigirse cuentas a sí misma.
- Los fiscales pidieron la pena capital para Yoon, argumentando que usó la ley marcial no para proteger al país, sino para afianzar su propio poder sobre el poder judicial y el legislativo.
- La declaración duró apenas seis horas antes de que el parlamento la revocara, pero desencadenó una crisis institucional que sacudió los cimientos democráticos de Corea del Sur.
- Yoon fue destituido por el Tribunal Constitucional en abril de 2025, y en junio se celebraron elecciones presidenciales que llevaron al poder a Lee Jae Myung, cerrando el ciclo político pero no el judicial.
- Veinticuatro personas enfrentan cargos relacionados con la ley marcial; el exprimer ministro Han Duck-soo será el primero en recibir sentencia a finales de enero.
- El nuevo gobierno respondió con cautela, pidiendo que los tribunales fallen 'conforme a la ley, los principios y las expectativas ciudadanas', sin respaldar ni rechazar la petición de muerte.
- El veredicto sobre Yoon se espera para principios de febrero, convirtiendo este juicio en un examen histórico sobre los límites del poder ejecutivo en una democracia consolidada.
En diciembre de 2024, el entonces presidente surcoreano Yoon Suk-yeol apareció en televisión sin previo aviso para anunciar la ley marcial, acusando a la oposición de ser «fuerzas pro-norcoreanas» y una amenaza para el Estado. El parlamento reaccionó con rapidez y revocó la declaración en pocas horas. Era la primera ley marcial en 45 años en Corea del Sur, y la primera jamás decretada bajo un gobierno democrático.
Esta semana, en el último día del juicio por insurrección celebrado en el Tribunal Central de Distrito de Seúl, los fiscales solicitaron formalmente la pena de muerte para Yoon. Según la acusación, el expresidente no actuó por razones de seguridad nacional, sino para perpetuarse en el poder controlando la judicatura y el legislativo, movilizando recursos del Estado en beneficio propio. El tribunal emitirá su veredicto a principios de febrero.
La petición tiene un peso simbólico innegable, pero escasas probabilidades de materializarse: Corea del Sur mantiene una moratoria de facto sobre las ejecuciones desde 1997, hace casi cuatro décadas. La solicitud habla más de la gravedad con que los fiscales califican los hechos que de un desenlace probable.
La caída de Yoon fue rápida. El Tribunal Constitucional lo destituyó en abril de 2025, y en junio su sucesor, Lee Jae Myung, asumió la presidencia tras nuevas elecciones. El nuevo gobierno se limitó a pedir que la justicia actúe «conforme a la ley y a las expectativas ciudadanas», sin pronunciarse sobre la pena solicitada.
Yoon no está solo en el banquillo: veinticuatro personas han sido imputadas en relación con la ley marcial, entre ellas el exprimer ministro Han Duck-soo, el exdirector del Servicio Nacional de Inteligencia y el exministro de Defensa. Lo que comenzó como una crisis de seis horas se ha convertido en un proceso judicial que interroga algo más profundo: la capacidad de una democracia para responsabilizar a quien intentó desmantelarla desde dentro.
On a December night in 2024, former South Korean president Yoon Suk-yeol announced martial law to the nation in an unscheduled television address. He framed the move as necessary to protect the country from what he called "antistate" activities, directing his accusation at the opposition Democratic Party, which he described as "pro-North Korean forces." Within hours, parliament revoked the declaration. It was the first martial law imposed in South Korea in 45 years, and the first ever during democratic rule—a distinction that would reshape the legal and political landscape for months to come.
This week, as the insurrection trial against Yoon reached its final day at Seoul's Central District Court, prosecutors made their case official: they requested the death penalty. The special prosecution team argued that Yoon had declared martial law with a singular purpose—to entrench himself in power by seizing control of both the judiciary and the legislature. The move, they contended, represented a deliberate misuse of public resources for political survival. The court is expected to issue its verdict in early February.
The death penalty request carries symbolic weight but little practical consequence. South Korea has maintained an execution moratorium for nearly four decades. No one has been put to death in the country since 1997. The request signals the severity with which prosecutors view Yoon's actions, but it is almost certainly theater—a statement about the gravity of the offense rather than a realistic outcome.
Yoon's fall from power was swift. In April 2025, the Constitutional Court removed him from office. Presidential elections followed in June, bringing a new administration under Lee Jae Myung. The government's response to the death penalty request was measured: it stated that it expects the courts to rule "in accordance with the law, principles, and public expectations." The language was careful, neither endorsing nor opposing the prosecution's demand.
The charges against Yoon are extensive. He faces accusations of leading an insurrection, abusing power, obstructing justice, aiding an enemy, and perjury. He is not alone in the dock. Twenty-four people have been charged in connection with the martial law declaration, including former Prime Minister Han Duck-soo, whose sentencing is scheduled for late January—making him the first to receive judgment in the case. The former director of the National Intelligence Service and the ex-defense minister are also among the accused.
What began as a six-hour institutional crisis—the time between Yoon's announcement and parliament's revocation—has become a prolonged reckoning with the fragility of democratic institutions. The declaration exposed how quickly the machinery of state can be weaponized, and how dependent democratic survival is on the willingness of other branches to resist. South Korea's response, however imperfect, demonstrated that those checks held. But the trial now underway is about more than one man's ambition. It is about whether a democracy can hold itself accountable when its own leader attempts to dismantle it.
Notable Quotes
Yoon declared martial law to protect the country from antistate activities, accusing the opposition Democratic Party of being pro-North Korean forces— Yoon Suk-yeol, in unscheduled television address, December 3, 2024
Prosecutors argued Yoon declared martial law with the purpose of remaining in power by controlling the judicial and legislative branches— South Korean special prosecution team
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why request the death penalty when everyone knows it won't be carried out?
Because the prosecution is making a statement about what they believe the crime deserves. The penalty is the measure of the offense, not necessarily the outcome.
So it's symbolic?
Partly. But it's also a legal position. They're saying: this is how serious we believe this was. The court will decide what actually happens.
What made this martial law declaration so different from others in South Korea's history?
It happened during democracy. Every other time martial law was declared, it was during military rule or authoritarian periods. This was a democratically elected president trying to use emergency powers to consolidate control. That's the rupture.
Did anyone die?
No. Parliament moved quickly enough to revoke it. But the threat was real—he was trying to seize the courts and legislature. If it had held longer, the consequences could have been severe.
What happens to the other 23 people charged?
They'll be sentenced separately. The former prime minister goes first in late January. The others follow. But Yoon's case is the centerpiece because he initiated it.
Does South Korea have a history of holding its leaders accountable this way?
Not always cleanly. But this trial is unusual—it's testing whether the system can actually constrain power when power tries to break free. That's what makes it matter beyond South Korea.