How party democratization gave rise to fandom politics 

Kang Won-taek

The author is a professor of political science and international relations at Seoul National University.

Watching the Democratic Party's (DP) leadership race — dubbed the "Myung-Chung showdown" after contenders aligned with President Lee Jae Myung and Rep. Jung Chung-rae — revealed another significant shift in Korean politics. Most striking is that barely a year into President Lee's term, tensions between the president and the ruling party have already become a major political issue. Some observers have even begun speculating that the leadership contest could trigger an early lame-duck period.

Such friction this early in a presidency is unprecedented. Traditionally, the relationship between a president and the ruling party has followed a well-established division of labor. The president and the executive branch determined the broad direction of policy, while the ruling party relayed public opinion, highlighted unintended consequences and raised concerns about administrative feasibility or local acceptance. Since the creation of formal party-government consultations under Kim Jong-pil during the early Third Republic, this arrangement has largely defined Korean politics.

Recent disputes over abolishing prosecutors' investigative authority suggest that the balance has been reversed. Instead of the administration setting policy and the ruling party offering adjustments, the Democratic Party has established major policy directions through official party positions, leaving the president and government ministries to warn about possible side effects and public concerns. On issues involving fundamental changes to the structure and functions of the state, the ruling party, rather than the president, has increasingly taken the lead.

This development would once have been difficult to imagine, but it reflects profound changes within Korea's political parties. In the past, parties were largely composed of people who had devoted years to building the organization, helping it win power and ensuring the success of the government it created. They developed political experience over time, remained loyal to the party itself and understood the value of patience during difficult periods.

Today's parties operate very differently. Anyone can become a dues-paying member with voting rights by contributing as little as 1,000 won a month. The ease of joining also means members can leave just as easily. Under such a system, many participants are less interested in the long-term success of the party than in using it to advance their own political demands.

In an era of deep political polarization, many party members are driven by hostility, anger or even a desire for revenge against their political opponents. If those emotions become the primary motivation for political participation, loyalty to the party naturally gives way to finding leaders who can most effectively channel that resentment. The party becomes a vehicle for emotional expression rather than long-term governance.

This, the author argues, is the foundation of what has come to be known as "fandom politics." As a result, parties become increasingly influenced by short-term, ideological and uncompromising demands, while the far larger group of moderate and centrist supporters gradually loses influence within party decision-making. Although the DP currently illustrates this trend most clearly, the People Power Party is hardly immune.

The growing influence of highly motivated activist members over party decisions, and the resulting conflicts between the party and the government, are closely tied to the excessive openness introduced in the name of party democratization. Under these conditions, the DP's leadership race is unlikely to resolve internal divisions regardless of who wins. The political aftereffects are likely to persist.

More broadly, these developments suggest that the political and party reforms launched after 2002 have reached their limits. During the 2002 presidential election, the then-Millennium Democratic Party introduced an open primary that allowed broader public participation, breaking away from the traditional closed party structure. The experiment was hailed as innovative and ultimately helped Roh Moo-hyun secure the party's nomination and later the presidency.

Since then, greater openness has become an accepted norm. Korea's two major parties have repeatedly expanded participation in internal elections. Yet today's experience suggests that excessive openness has also intensified factional polarization, reshaped relations between the government and the ruling party and undermined the stability of Korea's governing system. Reforms promoted in the name of strengthening intraparty democracy have instead produced unintended consequences for democracy itself.

The author argues that the time has come for a new round of political reform. Rather than focusing solely on expanding participation, parties should cultivate systems that encourage political accountability, prudence, restraint and mutual respect. Those qualities, not emotional mobilization, should shape political debate.

Whether Korea's two dominant parties are capable of leading such reforms remains doubtful. The last major wave of political change after 2002 was driven not by established parties but by the newly formed Uri Party. Today, discussions about political "reconstruction," criticism of entrenched political elites as an out-of-touch establishment and growing activism among younger generations all suggest that another period of political realignment may be approaching. If so, Korea may once again need a new political force capable of replacing an aging political order with a more sustainable one.