South Korea Loses Its Princess and Gains an Opportunity
The fall from grace of South Korean president Park Geun-hye, the offspring of arguably the most consequential president in South Korean history, reads like a Shakespearian tragedy. The unanimous decision of South Korea’s Constitutional Court to uphold the legislative impeachment and remove her from office is a stunning rebuke. For a woman who gave up everything in her personal life—husband, family, children—in order to pursue the political legacy of her murdered parents, the failure of her presidency must be a particularly bitter pill to swallow.
Two days after being removed from office, Park left the presidential Blue House mansion, which she first came to know as her family home when she was a nine-year-old child. The last time she departed the mansion was with her siblings in the fall of 1979, at the conclusion of a nine-day mourning period for her assassinated father. This time, the unceremonious departure has left an indelible stain on her life’s work. It must cut more deeply than the injury she received when a mentally unbalanced man attacked her during a 2006 legislative campaign, which left a slash mark on her face that required sixty stitches.
Never highly regarded by most of the younger generation of South Korean millennials, who dubbed her with the pejorative nickname of “gongju,” or princess, due to her family’s political connections, Park nonetheless drew the steadfast loyalty of a largely older generation of conservatives who remembered her father’s economic legacy of the “Miracle on the Han River.” Park’s fall from power, along with the February arrest of Samsung vice chairman (and heir to the Samsung fortune) Lee Jae-yong on corruption charges after he allegedly gave $36 million in bribes to a political confidante of President Park in return for political favors, indicates that a new day may be dawning in Seoul. The close-knit South Korean entanglement of politics and big business first constructed by Park’s father may slowly be becoming a thing of the past. What will replace this structure that produced both miraculous economic development and a sense of social inequality remains anyone’s guess.
I first encountered Park Geun-hye at the Blue House in June 1979, when I was the U.S. Embassy control officer for the banquet hosted by her father for visiting U.S. president Jimmy Carter and his delegation. Even then, as a young twenty-seven-year-old who had assumed the position of acting first lady after a North Korean agent murdered her mother five years before, Park had the poise and regal aloofness for which she would later become famous. The nickname “princess” seemed especially appropriate then. Within four months of that banquet, Park would see her other parent, the South Korean president, gunned down. She would then fade into obscurity. Park reportedly maintained a virtual shrine to her dead parents, especially her father, in her Seoul residence in the years following their deaths.
She reemerged in the late 1990s as a member of South Korea’s national assembly. As a political party chairwoman, she would earn the nickname “queen of elections” for leading the country’s main conservative party back from the political wilderness after a series of scandals. Park’s May 2002 visit to Pyongyang to meet with former North Korean leader Kim Jong-il, scion of another Korean political dynasty, reportedly solicited from the “dear leader” regrets in the form of an indirect allusion to her mother’s murder at the hands of North Korea.
Park would go on to be elected as the eleventh president of the Republic of Korea in December 2012 after winning 51.6 percent of the majority vote. Park Geun-hye had actually succeeded, unlike her American counterpart Hillary Clinton, in shattering the proverbial gender “glass ceiling” by winning the presidency as a woman in Confucian, male-dominated South Korea
So it wasn’t supposed to end this way. The background to the scandal, which engulfed the former South Korean president, has an all-too-familiar ring: e-mail transmissions to a trusted female confidante, misuse of classified information and the murky dealings of private foundations with the alleged shakedown of political donors seeking to buy influence. No, this is not about the failed presidential candidacy of Hillary Clinton, Huma Abedin and the Clinton Foundation. This is about Park Geun-hye and her long-time friend and confidante, Choi Soon-sil, who has been charged with mishandling classified information without a security clearance and influencing peddling among the titans of South Korea’s leading chaebol business conglomerates.
In her rapid downward spiral, Park reached a historically unprecedented low approval rating of just 4 percent (and 0 percent approval among Koreans under thirty years of age), with 1.7 million taking to the streets of the South Korean capital in December of 2016, according to the New York Times. Hundreds of thousands more across the country participated in candlelight demonstrations. Crowds gathered outside the presidential Blue House screaming “evict her.”
The very ties to Park’s father that brought her such stunning success enveloped her in the political polarization of South Korean society between elderly conservatives, who revered her father’s record of achievement, and younger progressives, who despised her father’s dictatorial excesses and human rights violations. Park’s own rather isolated style of ruling included a reportedly rigid stubbornness. Her refusal to take advice from seasoned staff on a number of political appointments, which she reportedly based more on personal connections than competency, led to further scandal.