Dennis Kim woke up Dec. 3, 2024 earlier than usual. He followed his typical routine — turn on his phone and check the latest news updates. Then the first headline appeared: “Yoon declares martial law.”

“My first reaction was: This is fake news! This has to be fake,” 59-year-old Kim said. “But then I kept reading, and it wasn’t fake. It actually happened.”

56-year-old E. Kang was similarly horrified to hear the news.

"That morning, someone I go hiking with sent a message in our group chat, saying, 'He must be crazy.'" said Kang. She — like Kim — immigrated to the United States from South Korea as an adult. "So I was like, 'What are you talking about? What’s going on?'"

South Korean President Yoon Suk-yeol’s brief declaration of martial law was “unbelievable” for Kim, Kang and many other Koreans because it represented an unwelcome repeat of history. As teenagers, Kim and Kang lived under martial law in Korea. As university students, they were arrested, detained and threatened for protesting against this sort of leadership.

2025 marks the 45th year after the brief “Seoul Spring” era of widespread hope for reform and democratization, which abruptly ended in 1980 after dictator leader Chun Doo-hwan sent troops to violently suppress a pro-democracy uprising in Gwangju that opposed his military coup. Before Yoon, this had been the last time in South Korean history that a president implemented martial law.

This tragedy, the Gwangju Massacre of May 18, 1980 (광주 민주화운동), was also the catalyst for the student-led democratization movement of the 1980s — a movement that Kim and Kang were both active in. Now, after Yoon’s attempted coup, Koreans are rising up in a similar way, both domestically and overseas.

In the span of only three hours after Yoon announced his declaration of martial law, citizens and politicians physically blocked soldiers from entering the National Assembly as lawmakers gathered to unanimously vote to reject the martial law, according to the Korea Times. The images and videos coming from the National Assembly were stunning — citizens hopping into taxis to join the struggle and a party spokesperson grabbing a soldier’s rifle while yelling, “Aren’t you ashamed?” The National Assembly swiftly impeached Yoon on Dec. 14, 2024; on April 4, 2025, the Constitutional Court formally removed him from office.

Across the Pacific Ocean, Korean diaspora organizations also rallied in major U.S. cities like Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York to call for Yoon’s impeachment and show solidarity with the South Korean protestors camping out in the winter cold.

No matter their physical location, the people were steadfast in a single belief: We won’t let history repeat.

The Minjung: The Power of Common People

Kim immigrated to the United States in 1999 to work as a software engineer after the 1997-1998 Asian Financial Crisis; but before that, he attended Seoul National University as a computer engineering major from 1984 to 1988. As soon as he entered university as a first-year in March, Kim saw police camping out at the university’s entrances and inside the campus. The oppressive military situation became very clear to him very quickly.

Kim participated in student protests at SNU from 1985 to 1988.

“I realized that there was a large gap between the understanding I had in high school and what was actually happening in reality,” Kim said.

He joined underground study circles — also known as ideological circles, or simply "families" (집) to avoid suspicion — at SNU, where Kim and his peers studied and discussed Korean history and leftist texts that weren’t taught in school. These secret and open groups expanded “explosively” at universities throughout the 1980s, mobilizing students into activism.

But these ideological circles weren’t just for studying texts. Joining a circle, Kim said, meant that you were also agreeing to participate in demonstrations on and off campus. Physical clashes between students and police forces were common. Kim recalled the “tug-of-war” of police spraying tear gas to disperse the crowd and student protesters throwing rocks or small explosives to fight back. Holding picket signs opposing dictatorship and calling for a civilian government, students would attempt to spread the demonstration off campus while police tried to block them. Despite the threat of violence and arrest, the goal was to grow their numbers.

“The common belief was that nothing could change with a single person. Nothing could change with two people either,” Kim said. “But with 100, 200 people, then thousands of people, mass power could create change.”

This idea of ordinary people mobilizing to create change was a characteristic of the democratization movement, also known as the “minjung movement.” The notion of minjung (민중), which translates to “common people,” was conceived from Korean intellectuals and students who believed that the people had power to rise up against oppression in the sociopolitical system.

Namhee Lee, a professor of modern Korean history and the director of the Center for Korean Studies at UCLA, wrote in her 2007 book “The Making of Minjung: Democracy and the Politics of Representation in South Korea” that student protestors and intellectuals of the 1980s saw the minjung “as the true subject of historical development, capable of social change and therefore the rightful owner of a future democratic society.” Lee explained that the notion of minjung drove the mobilization of students.

“Many of the intellectuals and university students believed … very sincerely and strongly that ordinary people had that will to overcome social, political, economic constraints and that they were willing to fight for equality [and] justice,” Lee said.

For E. Kang, who participated in the pro-democracy protests from around 1988 to 1989, joining the minjung movement felt like a responsibility. Like Kim and many other student protestors of the democratization era, Kang also joined study circles and demonstrated alongside her peers, even getting arrested at one protest on campus.

“It wasn’t exactly a ‘want’ to protest,” Kang said. “I had a lot of fears, so I was really scared of the risks. I felt that this is something I should do, but I wondered if I could handle it in reality. But I felt like I couldn’t pretend like nothing was happening when I knew what was going on and knew it wasn’t right.”

In 1988, Kang visited the Mangweol-dong Cemetery — the original burial site of those killed in the Gwangju Massacre — as a student at Ewha Womans University. In an interview in the July 25, 1988 Ewha student newspaper, Kang stated, “In the rainy Mangweol-dong, I felt that we were comrades with the ones who died. I wanted to stand there again, not with the weak ‘me,’ but the strong ‘us.’” Kang’s reflections on the Gwangju Massacre remained similar as an adult now living in the U.S.

“I felt: ‘We have to do something,’” she said. “Since so many people went through that tragedy, I believed that we shouldn’t sit still and do nothing.”

According to Lee, the Gwangju Massacre was a significant turning point in Korean history and a fixture in Koreans’ historical and social memory. The minjung movement saw the people killed in the massacre as “martyrs of democracy.” As Lee describes in her book, university students like Kang started to stage commemoration ceremonies at Mangweol-dong despite attempts by the state to prevent visits to the burial site. She explained that many pro-democracy protesters in the 1980s felt a sense of “guilt” that the tragedy had occurred in Gwangju.

“That sense of guilt compelled many of the individuals to first get into the movement in the ‘80s, and also to then make this resolution that they will become revolutionary — that it's a matter of life and death,” Lee said. “There was never any stop in the attempt, both by the people in Gwangju and the activists, to bring the issue of Gwangju forward and make sure that those who are responsible for massacring the people will be put to justice.”

Historical moments like the Gwangju Massacre and the democratization movement continue to have lasting impacts on the people of that generation today. For Kim, becoming an adult in the context of the Seoul Spring and Gwangju Massacre and being active in the pro-democracy protests as a student “had the most influence” on the development of his identity.

“On a more fundamental level, as a member of society, I was able to form my identity and develop my value set and how to realize it,” Kim said. “Even after I graduated and live life now … it still has the biggest influence on me.”

While South Korea has since ratified the direct presidential election system in the constitution (thanks to the pivotal June Uprising of 1987) and experienced exponential economic growth, the events of the minjung movement are still prevalent in people’s social consciousness. There was no better example than the struggle at the National Assembly in December after Yoon’s declaration.

Lee Jae-myung, leader of the opposition Democratic Party, live streamed himself heading to the National Assembly and hopping a fence to enter his office. He urged citizens to come out to the Assembly, warning, "Tanks, armored vehicles and soldiers with guns and swords will rule this country.” The people listened.

Professor Lee attributed the immediate mobilization of assembly members and citizens to a sort of “muscle memory” due to Korea’s history of military dictatorship.

“Some of them have experienced the 1980 Gwangju Massacre, and it was very conceivable under the martial law situation that they could have been killed,” Lee said. “But because of the historical memory that they’ve had, I think they were able to say, ‘Despite all that, I would still be there.’ Otherwise, our democracy that we have sacrificed ourselves for will be dismantled.”

The Diaspora: The Solidarity Overseas

Almost 6,000 miles away from Seoul, many Korean Americans in Los Angeles watched as videos from news broadcasts and social media started streaming in from South Korea. Compelled by the mass mobilization of Koreans to the National Assembly, Korean diasporic community groups felt as though they couldn’t — and shouldn’t — sit still.

Nodutdol (노듯돌) is one such organization of diasporic Koreans dedicated to national liberation and anti-imperalist causes. Over 380 people gathered across LA, New York City and San Francisco for Nodutdol’s “Yoon Must Resign” rallies on Dec. 4, 2024. At the LA rally in front of the South Korean consulate in Koreatown, protestors held signs declaring “Impeach Yoon now,” “We remember Gwangju” and “Never again to martial law.”

“The level of discipline and seriousness that [Koreans] treated that moment really inspired us here in the U.S. to also mobilize,” said Inchul Kim, a Korean American member of Nodutdol. “We were just like, ‘Let’s get some speakers. Let’s choose a location, let’s pick the time.’”

Different communities such as the Palestinian Youth Movement as well as Filipino American organizations spoke at the rallies to show solidarity with Nodutdol and the protesters in Seoul. Kim said it was an “inspirational moment” that showed the importance of being able to “unite in many different ways.” On a more personal level, he said the experience made him feel more “rooted” in his Korean identity.

“We saw this intense, all-night peoples’ struggle to push back and defeat that declaration of martial law, which … just really broke open another layer of what it means to be Korean,” Kim said. “Seeing [that] this is what we’re capable of as a people, as a nation, made me feel really proud and very inspired.”

Kim, who is based in LA but was born and raised in New York, described his parents as “apolitical.” While Kim has no direct personal connection to the democratization movement of the ‘80s — his parents had already immigrated to the States a decade prior — he said organizations like Nodutdol and its members are greatly influenced by the era.

“Nodutdol wouldn't exist if it weren't for people who lived through the democratic movement,” said Kim. “They brought those experiences and traditions to the U.S., and lots of different orgs in the U.S. sprung out of that and created the foundation for Nodutdol to exist.”

Nodutdol organized rallies in major U.S. cities, inspired by the mobilization in Korea.

Korean American progressive grassroots efforts are directly linked to the national democratization era. The late Yoon Han Bong was a critical leader for the Korean diaspora, according to the MinKwon Center for Community Action. An active student organizer in Korea during the 1970s, Yoon was imprisoned several times for opposing the military dictatorship and was eventually targeted as a main instigator of the Gwangju Uprising of May 18, 1980. Yoon fled to the U.S. in 1981 and sought political asylum.

Yoon began organizing with the Korean immigrant community to build solidarity with the democracy movement in Korea. He founded the Korean Resource Center in 1983, Young Koreans United (YKU) in 1984 and the Korean Alliance for Peace and Justice of USA in 1987, all organizations dedicated to community social justice and solidarity with the democracy movement overseas. These groups set the precedent for other community-based Korean organizations throughout the U.S., such as Nodutdol and Peace21 (내일을 여는 사람들).

Cheol-Ho Lee joined Peace21 — an LA-based progressive organization of mostly first-generation immigrant Koreans — at its conception in 2002. Lee, who was active in the pro-democracy protests as a student in the ‘80s, said he found it difficult to meet other Koreans in the U.S. with similar beliefs when he first immigrated in 1999. Peace21, however, was a welcome group of allies.

“I was very happy to learn that there was a community of people in LA who shared the same beliefs as me,” said Lee, who works in transportation planning. “It’s a great opportunity to share ideas together with others who also have a progressive mind.”

Lee participated in LA protests for Yoon’s impeachment in collaboration with other Korean community groups. Their activism ranged from in-person rallies in the streets to awareness campaigns on social media.

The Korean diaspora in the U.S. supported the movement to impeach Yoon in many different ways, not just through in-person activities. Users of MissyUSA, a blog and social forum for Korean immigrant mothers living in the U.S., organized a GoFundMe to donate temporary food trucks with warm coffee, tea and fish cakes for protestors braving the winter cold in Seoul. E. Kang donated to this fund in a show of support.

“If I was in Korea, I would have gone out — but I saw the ways that people are supporting in different ways. That power felt very strong,” Kang said. “That was something we couldn’t really feel back then, because we were really fighting for people to listen. But now, people are more willing to listen and see what’s happening.”

The Seoul Spring: A New Era of Hope

The era of the Seoul Spring may have ended violently with the Gwangju Massacre, but it is still remembered as a time of optimism for a better, democratic future. Today, Koreans in the peninsula and overseas are both excited and worried for the presidential election on June 3, 2025 to replace Yoon.

The connections between the Seoul Spring and the political circumstances 45 years later are stark. Kang said she had “mixed feelings” about seeing history repeat for a newer generation.

“It was crazy to see young people do what we were doing 30 years ago on the streets,” Kang said. “They could’ve been my daughter or niece — seeing that, I felt that this wasn’t right, that something like this shouldn’t happen again in 2024 when society has improved so much.”

According to Professor Lee, young women in their 20s and 30s were “major players” in the anti-Yoon protests in Seoul; because of this, she said she was “hopeful” despite the seemingly grim situation.

“I am very confident that [the young women] will change the society,” Lee said. “They will be the ones who are going to be responsible for doing what these social movement activists did in the 1980s.”

The events following Yoon’s martial law declaration in Dec. 2024 represent the shift in Koreans’ public perception about martial law and military power — which has largely been influenced by the outpour of South Korean films and television carrying on the memories of the Seoul Spring era, the Gwangju Massacre and the student-led democracy movement.

The film “12.12: The Day” (2023), for example, portrayed the events of Chun Doo-hwan’s military coup in 1979 that led to his military overtaking. It sparked national and global conversation about Korea’s history of martial law — even more so when Yoon made his late-night announcement.

Dennis Kim said that civilians were unaware of the events of the coup in 1979, but in the internet age now, people felt more empowered to rise against Yoon’s action. When asked if he thought Koreans were entering a new Seoul Spring era, Kim agreed immediately.

“It is not just hope, it is reality. In the [first] Seoul Spring, another military dictator arrived. But now, we blocked that from happening,” Kim said. “Korea’s standard has advanced, so a military coup cannot happen again. It’s not just wishful thinking — it’s more realistic to assume that people will not let it happen again.”