By Tae Kyung Kim
Professor, Sungkonghoe University (Policy Research Committee Member, Korean Sharing Movement)

Translated  by Sam Lee (Coordinator, Korean Sharing Movement)

---

   On April 2, 2003, barely two weeks after the United States invaded Iraq, South Korea’s National Assembly approved a motion to dispatch troops by a vote of 179 to 68, with 9 abstentions. The vote had been postponed twice amid public opposition, and the motion passed only after President Roh Moo-hyun delivered an address to the plenary session. Following the deployment of the Seohee and Jema Units, a contingent of 666 construction engineers and medical personnel, Washington requested an additional division-sized combat force on September 4, and on October 18 President Roh decided to dispatch additional troops. The National Assembly approved the additional deployment on February 13 of the following year by a vote of 155 to 50, with 7 abstentions. Only speeches in opposition were delivered before the vote; none were made in favor. By that point, the policy had been public for four months and its details finalized for two. The Assembly’s vote thus came close to an after-the-fact ratification of a decision already made.

Although 23 years separate 2003 and 2026, South Korea’s civil society groups continue to voice their opposition to troop deployments at the same location. (Source: Left photo © KSM; Right photo © Kyunghyang Shinmun)

   Twenty-two years later, in September 2026, the Lee Jae-myung administration raised the possibility of contributing a deployment to the Strait of Hormuz, in either a combat or a non-combat capacity. With the decision effectively already made, public opposition grew over concerns that the deployment would amount to intervening in the tensions around Hormuz. President Lee then drew a firm line, stating that there would be no deployment that involved Korea in, or intervened in, a war. At the same time, he left the door open to a contribution aimed at protecting the lives and property of Korean citizens.

   As pressure from the Trump administration and public warnings from Iran continued, domestic concern grew over several issues: the obligation to uphold Article 5 of the Constitution, which renounces wars of aggression; the form and scope of any deployment and the National Assembly’s right to consent to it; and the possibility of being drawn into a war with even less justification than the Iraq War. Beyond these, the very absence of a process for building consensus on the overseas dispatch of armed forces, whether through National Assembly consent or through public deliberation, emerged as a problem in its own right. While the alliance and the national interest were being invoked, procedural rationality and democratic public deliberation were left by the wayside. This is closely tied to a lingering sense that, even after the Iraq deployment, Korean society has never properly reckoned with the deployment itself, with how the National Assembly and the public deliberated over it, or with what it ultimately achieved. Indeed, the National Assembly has never formally evaluated either the process or the outcomes of the deployment, and no post-hoc review has ever examined the errors made along the way or the questions that remain unresolved.

President Lee Jae-myung speaking at a press conference on September 18. He ruled out troop deployments involving participation in or intervention in a war, while leaving open the possibility of contributions aimed at protecting the lives and property of the public. (Source: © The Blue House)

   Other countries that took part in the Iraq War, by contrast, undertook retrospective reviews. In the United States, the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence unanimously adopted a report in June 2004 documenting errors in prewar intelligence assessments and released it in July. In June 2008, it released a second-phase report, adopted by a vote of 10 to 5, concluding that the administration had repeatedly made claims unsupported by intelligence. The Netherlands’ Davids Committee concluded in 2010 that UN Security Council Resolution 1441 could not be interpreted as authorizing individual member states to use military force, and criticized the government for failing to fully inform parliament about the U.S. request for support. In the United Kingdom, the Chilcot Inquiry concluded in 2016, after seven years of investigation, that the UK had joined the invasion before peaceful options had been exhausted and that Prime Minister Tony Blair’s decision had been influenced by a desire to preserve the relationship with the United States. Denmark established a commission of inquiry in 2012, but abolished it following a change of government in 2015. An academic investigation commissioned in its place concluded in 2019 that the government had misrepresented intelligence to parliament.

   The cases above share one thing in common: each left a national record of the grounds and process behind the decision. South Korea, at one point, sent the third-largest contingent, after the United States and the United Kingdom, and kept its troops in Iraq for five years and eight months, from April 2003 to December 2008. Yet neither the government nor the National Assembly has ever produced an independent evaluation examining errors in the decision-making process. The Constitutional Court, for its part, declined to rule on the merits on both occasions. In December 2003, it dismissed the constitutional complaint against the deployment of the Seohee and Jema Units on the grounds that the complainants were not themselves the personnel being deployed. In April 2004, it dismissed the complaint against the additional deployment on the grounds that the matter involved a highly political decision, and that whether the deployment was unconstitutional or constituted participation in a war of aggression was for the President and the National Assembly to judge. Without evaluation, there can be no lessons. The motions the government submitted to the National Assembly from 2003 onward, for the initial deployment, the additional deployment, and the extensions, all cited the development of the ROK–U.S. alliance as their first rationale. Yet no one has ever taken stock of what South Korea gained in return, and twenty-two years later, the same justification has returned in the same form.

   Here, the concept of “national interest” warrants closer scrutiny. Article 5(1) of South Korea’s Constitution renounces wars of aggression, while Article 60(2) requires the consent of the National Assembly for the dispatch of armed forces abroad. These two provisions exist precisely to prevent the government from judging the national interest on its own. The proper order is not to suspend constitutional principles in the name of national interest, but to weigh the national interest within the bounds of those principles. In the case of Iraq, that order was inverted, and a similar inversion has occurred this time. The conflict in the Strait of Hormuz began without authorization from the UN Security Council. Even the U.S. Congress adopted resolutions in both the Senate and the House in June calling for the withdrawal of forces, and on September 15 the House of Representatives passed a third war powers resolution by a vote of 220 to 204. More than 60 percent of American voters regard the decision to go to war as a mistake. It falls to civil society to bring before public debate the question of whether contributing to such a war is compatible with Article 5 of the Constitution, and to the National Assembly to answer it. The press conference held on September 9 by 601 organizations opposing the deployment on the basis of Article 5 raised precisely this question.

   There are also precedents for circumventing parliamentary oversight. In 2020, the government expanded the Cheonghae Unit’s area of operations to the Strait of Hormuz without National Assembly consent, citing a provision in the deployment motion that included “waters designated for operations to protect Korean nationals in emergencies.” A Ministry of National Defense directive also allows individual personnel to be deployed abroad by ministerial decision without parliamentary consent. Because the directive does not define what constitutes an “individual” deployment, it was identified as a potential loophole during the 2024 controversy over sending an observer team to Ukraine. This time, too, the prevailing view within the government initially favored relying on the wording of an existing consent motion.

   Proposals have also been made for a general law governing overseas deployments. However, civil society has expressed reasonable skepticism that such legislation could serve more to provide a legal basis for deployments than to constrain them. In 2013, the Ministry of National Defense argued that legislation was needed because deployments other than peacekeeping operations (PKO) lacked a statutory basis, and mentioned considering a system of ex post parliamentary consent. A bill that passed the National Assembly’s National Defense Committee in 2014 would have expanded the categories of deployments to include multinational forces and training and education missions in non-conflict areas. Article 60(2) of the Constitution refers only to “the dispatch of armed forces to foreign states,” making no distinction between units and individuals, or between PKO and multinational forces. Once legislation divides deployments into categories, some categories may fall outside the scope of parliamentary consent. Any discussion of new legislation should therefore begin by asking whether it would expand or narrow the National Assembly’s constitutional right of consent.

   The National Assembly and civil society each have a crucial role to play, both in the decision on Hormuz and in any future involvement in overseas conflicts. First, the National Assembly should begin its own evaluation of the Iraq deployment, even at this late stage. The US Senate Intelligence Committee published its report five years after the war began, and Britain’s Chilcot Inquiry published its report thirteen years after. Twenty-two years is a long delay, but it is better than no evaluation at all, and only such an evaluation can provide a benchmark for examining the motion to consent to the Hormuz deployment. Civil society, for its part, must shift from opposing decisions after they are made to fostering public deliberation before they are made. The Emergency People’s Action Against the Dispatch of Troops to Iraq, formed by 351 organizations in September 2003, could not prevent the deployment, but it helped limit the kind of units sent and shorten the length of their deployment. What sets the present moment apart is that civil society has mobilized before a final decision has been made. If the petition to the National Assembly, open until October 17, reaches the required number of signatures, the process should not stop at referral to the standing committee. It should lead to public hearings and broader public deliberation.

   The lesson that South Korea in 2026 can draw from 2003 is that, for the sake of future decisions, the past must first be evaluated, both in society at large and in the National Assembly. The political community faces questions about Article 5 of the Constitution and the scope of the Assembly’s right of consent, and about how to weigh the national interest against the duty to preserve peace. It is through deliberating over these questions that democratic decisions will gain their legitimacy, one that cannot be reduced to policy rationality or efficiency.

By Tae Kyung Kim
Professor, Sungkonghoe University

Translated  by Sam Lee (Coordinator, Korean Sharing Movement)

---

   On April 2, 2003, barely two weeks after the United States invaded Iraq, South Korea’s National Assembly approved a motion to dispatch troops by a vote of 179 to 68, with 9 abstentions. The vote had been postponed twice amid public opposition, and the motion passed only after President Roh Moo-hyun delivered an address to the plenary session. Following the deployment of the Seohee and Jema Units, a contingent of 666 construction engineers and medical personnel, Washington requested an additional division-sized combat force on September 4, and on October 18 President Roh decided to dispatch additional troops. The National Assembly approved the additional deployment on February 13 of the following year by a vote of 155 to 50, with 7 abstentions. Only speeches in opposition were delivered before the vote; none were made in favor. By that point, the policy had been public for four months and its details finalized for two. The Assembly’s vote thus came close to an after-the-fact ratification of a decision already made.

Although 23 years separate 2003 and 2026, South Korea’s civil society groups continue to voice their opposition to troop deployments at the same location. (Source: Left photo © KSM; Right photo © Kyunghyang Shinmun)

   Twenty-two years later, in September 2026, the Lee Jae-myung administration raised the possibility of contributing a deployment to the Strait of Hormuz, in either a combat or a non-combat capacity. With the decision effectively already made, public opposition grew over concerns that the deployment would amount to intervening in the tensions around Hormuz. President Lee then drew a firm line, stating that there would be no deployment that involved Korea in, or intervened in, a war. At the same time, he left the door open to a contribution aimed at protecting the lives and property of Korean citizens.

   As pressure from the Trump administration and public warnings from Iran continued, domestic concern grew over several issues: the obligation to uphold Article 5 of the Constitution, which renounces wars of aggression; the form and scope of any deployment and the National Assembly’s right to consent to it; and the possibility of being drawn into a war with even less justification than the Iraq War. Beyond these, the very absence of a process for building consensus on the overseas dispatch of armed forces, whether through National Assembly consent or through public deliberation, emerged as a problem in its own right. While the alliance and the national interest were being invoked, procedural rationality and democratic public deliberation were left by the wayside. This is closely tied to a lingering sense that, even after the Iraq deployment, Korean society has never properly reckoned with the deployment itself, with how the National Assembly and the public deliberated over it, or with what it ultimately achieved. Indeed, the National Assembly has never formally evaluated either the process or the outcomes of the deployment, and no post-hoc review has ever examined the errors made along the way or the questions that remain unresolved.

President Lee Jae-myung speaking at a press conference on September 18. He ruled out troop deployments involving participation in or intervention in a war, while leaving open the possibility of contributions aimed at protecting the lives and property of the public. (Source: © The Blue House)

   Other countries that took part in the Iraq War, by contrast, undertook retrospective reviews. In the United States, the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence unanimously adopted a report in June 2004 documenting errors in prewar intelligence assessments and released it in July. In June 2008, it released a second-phase report, adopted by a vote of 10 to 5, concluding that the administration had repeatedly made claims unsupported by intelligence. The Netherlands’ Davids Committee concluded in 2010 that UN Security Council Resolution 1441 could not be interpreted as authorizing individual member states to use military force, and criticized the government for failing to fully inform parliament about the U.S. request for support. In the United Kingdom, the Chilcot Inquiry concluded in 2016, after seven years of investigation, that the UK had joined the invasion before peaceful options had been exhausted and that Prime Minister Tony Blair’s decision had been influenced by a desire to preserve the relationship with the United States. Denmark established a commission of inquiry in 2012, but abolished it following a change of government in 2015. An academic investigation commissioned in its place concluded in 2019 that the government had misrepresented intelligence to parliament.

   The cases above share one thing in common: each left a national record of the grounds and process behind the decision. South Korea, at one point, sent the third-largest contingent, after the United States and the United Kingdom, and kept its troops in Iraq for five years and eight months, from April 2003 to December 2008. Yet neither the government nor the National Assembly has ever produced an independent evaluation examining errors in the decision-making process. The Constitutional Court, for its part, declined to rule on the merits on both occasions. In December 2003, it dismissed the constitutional complaint against the deployment of the Seohee and Jema Units on the grounds that the complainants were not themselves the personnel being deployed. In April 2004, it dismissed the complaint against the additional deployment on the grounds that the matter involved a highly political decision, and that whether the deployment was unconstitutional or constituted participation in a war of aggression was for the President and the National Assembly to judge. Without evaluation, there can be no lessons. The motions the government submitted to the National Assembly from 2003 onward, for the initial deployment, the additional deployment, and the extensions, all cited the development of the ROK–U.S. alliance as their first rationale. Yet no one has ever taken stock of what South Korea gained in return, and twenty-two years later, the same justification has returned in the same form.

   Here, the concept of “national interest” warrants closer scrutiny. Article 5(1) of South Korea’s Constitution renounces wars of aggression, while Article 60(2) requires the consent of the National Assembly for the dispatch of armed forces abroad. These two provisions exist precisely to prevent the government from judging the national interest on its own. The proper order is not to suspend constitutional principles in the name of national interest, but to weigh the national interest within the bounds of those principles. In the case of Iraq, that order was inverted, and a similar inversion has occurred this time. The conflict in the Strait of Hormuz began without authorization from the UN Security Council. Even the U.S. Congress adopted resolutions in both the Senate and the House in June calling for the withdrawal of forces, and on September 15 the House of Representatives passed a third war powers resolution by a vote of 220 to 204. More than 60 percent of American voters regard the decision to go to war as a mistake. It falls to civil society to bring before public debate the question of whether contributing to such a war is compatible with Article 5 of the Constitution, and to the National Assembly to answer it. The press conference held on September 9 by 601 organizations opposing the deployment on the basis of Article 5 raised precisely this question.

   There are also precedents for circumventing parliamentary oversight. In 2020, the government expanded the Cheonghae Unit’s area of operations to the Strait of Hormuz without National Assembly consent, citing a provision in the deployment motion that included “waters designated for operations to protect Korean nationals in emergencies.” A Ministry of National Defense directive also allows individual personnel to be deployed abroad by ministerial decision without parliamentary consent. Because the directive does not define what constitutes an “individual” deployment, it was identified as a potential loophole during the 2024 controversy over sending an observer team to Ukraine. This time, too, the prevailing view within the government initially favored relying on the wording of an existing consent motion.

   Proposals have also been made for a general law governing overseas deployments. However, civil society has expressed reasonable skepticism that such legislation could serve more to provide a legal basis for deployments than to constrain them. In 2013, the Ministry of National Defense argued that legislation was needed because deployments other than peacekeeping operations (PKO) lacked a statutory basis, and mentioned considering a system of ex post parliamentary consent. A bill that passed the National Assembly’s National Defense Committee in 2014 would have expanded the categories of deployments to include multinational forces and training and education missions in non-conflict areas. Article 60(2) of the Constitution refers only to “the dispatch of armed forces to foreign states,” making no distinction between units and individuals, or between PKO and multinational forces. Once legislation divides deployments into categories, some categories may fall outside the scope of parliamentary consent. Any discussion of new legislation should therefore begin by asking whether it would expand or narrow the National Assembly’s constitutional right of consent.

   The National Assembly and civil society each have a crucial role to play, both in the decision on Hormuz and in any future involvement in overseas conflicts. First, the National Assembly should begin its own evaluation of the Iraq deployment, even at this late stage. The US Senate Intelligence Committee published its report five years after the war began, and Britain’s Chilcot Inquiry published its report thirteen years after. Twenty-two years is a long delay, but it is better than no evaluation at all, and only such an evaluation can provide a benchmark for examining the motion to consent to the Hormuz deployment. Civil society, for its part, must shift from opposing decisions after they are made to fostering public deliberation before they are made. The Emergency People’s Action Against the Dispatch of Troops to Iraq, formed by 351 organizations in September 2003, could not prevent the deployment, but it helped limit the kind of units sent and shorten the length of their deployment. What sets the present moment apart is that civil society has mobilized before a final decision has been made. If the petition to the National Assembly, open until October 17, reaches the required number of signatures, the process should not stop at referral to the standing committee. It should lead to public hearings and broader public deliberation.

   The lesson that South Korea in 2026 can draw from 2003 is that, for the sake of future decisions, the past must first be evaluated, both in society at large and in the National Assembly. The political community faces questions about Article 5 of the Constitution and the scope of the Assembly’s right of consent, and about how to weigh the national interest against the duty to preserve peace. It is through deliberating over these questions that democratic decisions will gain their legitimacy, one that cannot be reduced to policy rationality or efficiency.

By Tae Kyung Kim
Professor, Sungkonghoe University

Translated  by Sam Lee (Coordinator, Korean Sharing Movement)

---

   On April 2, 2003, barely two weeks after the United States invaded Iraq, South Korea’s National Assembly approved a motion to dispatch troops by a vote of 179 to 68, with 9 abstentions. The vote had been postponed twice amid public opposition, and the motion passed only after President Roh Moo-hyun delivered an address to the plenary session. Following the deployment of the Seohee and Jema Units, a contingent of 666 construction engineers and medical personnel, Washington requested an additional division-sized combat force on September 4, and on October 18 President Roh decided to dispatch additional troops. The National Assembly approved the additional deployment on February 13 of the following year by a vote of 155 to 50, with 7 abstentions. Only speeches in opposition were delivered before the vote; none were made in favor. By that point, the policy had been public for four months and its details finalized for two. The Assembly’s vote thus came close to an after-the-fact ratification of a decision already made.

Although 23 years separate 2003 and 2026, South Korea’s civil society groups continue to voice their opposition to troop deployments at the same location. (Source: Left photo © KSM; Right photo © Kyunghyang Shinmun)

   Twenty-two years later, in September 2026, the Lee Jae-myung administration raised the possibility of contributing a deployment to the Strait of Hormuz, in either a combat or a non-combat capacity. With the decision effectively already made, public opposition grew over concerns that the deployment would amount to intervening in the tensions around Hormuz. President Lee then drew a firm line, stating that there would be no deployment that involved Korea in, or intervened in, a war. At the same time, he left the door open to a contribution aimed at protecting the lives and property of Korean citizens.

   As pressure from the Trump administration and public warnings from Iran continued, domestic concern grew over several issues: the obligation to uphold Article 5 of the Constitution, which renounces wars of aggression; the form and scope of any deployment and the National Assembly’s right to consent to it; and the possibility of being drawn into a war with even less justification than the Iraq War. Beyond these, the very absence of a process for building consensus on the overseas dispatch of armed forces, whether through National Assembly consent or through public deliberation, emerged as a problem in its own right. While the alliance and the national interest were being invoked, procedural rationality and democratic public deliberation were left by the wayside. This is closely tied to a lingering sense that, even after the Iraq deployment, Korean society has never properly reckoned with the deployment itself, with how the National Assembly and the public deliberated over it, or with what it ultimately achieved. Indeed, the National Assembly has never formally evaluated either the process or the outcomes of the deployment, and no post-hoc review has ever examined the errors made along the way or the questions that remain unresolved.

President Lee Jae-myung speaking at a press conference on September 18. He ruled out troop deployments involving participation in or intervention in a war, while leaving open the possibility of contributions aimed at protecting the lives and property of the public. (Source: © The Blue House)

   Other countries that took part in the Iraq War, by contrast, undertook retrospective reviews. In the United States, the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence unanimously adopted a report in June 2004 documenting errors in prewar intelligence assessments and released it in July. In June 2008, it released a second-phase report, adopted by a vote of 10 to 5, concluding that the administration had repeatedly made claims unsupported by intelligence. The Netherlands’ Davids Committee concluded in 2010 that UN Security Council Resolution 1441 could not be interpreted as authorizing individual member states to use military force, and criticized the government for failing to fully inform parliament about the U.S. request for support. In the United Kingdom, the Chilcot Inquiry concluded in 2016, after seven years of investigation, that the UK had joined the invasion before peaceful options had been exhausted and that Prime Minister Tony Blair’s decision had been influenced by a desire to preserve the relationship with the United States. Denmark established a commission of inquiry in 2012, but abolished it following a change of government in 2015. An academic investigation commissioned in its place concluded in 2019 that the government had misrepresented intelligence to parliament.

   The cases above share one thing in common: each left a national record of the grounds and process behind the decision. South Korea, at one point, sent the third-largest contingent, after the United States and the United Kingdom, and kept its troops in Iraq for five years and eight months, from April 2003 to December 2008. Yet neither the government nor the National Assembly has ever produced an independent evaluation examining errors in the decision-making process. The Constitutional Court, for its part, declined to rule on the merits on both occasions. In December 2003, it dismissed the constitutional complaint against the deployment of the Seohee and Jema Units on the grounds that the complainants were not themselves the personnel being deployed. In April 2004, it dismissed the complaint against the additional deployment on the grounds that the matter involved a highly political decision, and that whether the deployment was unconstitutional or constituted participation in a war of aggression was for the President and the National Assembly to judge. Without evaluation, there can be no lessons. The motions the government submitted to the National Assembly from 2003 onward, for the initial deployment, the additional deployment, and the extensions, all cited the development of the ROK–U.S. alliance as their first rationale. Yet no one has ever taken stock of what South Korea gained in return, and twenty-two years later, the same justification has returned in the same form.

   Here, the concept of “national interest” warrants closer scrutiny. Article 5(1) of South Korea’s Constitution renounces wars of aggression, while Article 60(2) requires the consent of the National Assembly for the dispatch of armed forces abroad. These two provisions exist precisely to prevent the government from judging the national interest on its own. The proper order is not to suspend constitutional principles in the name of national interest, but to weigh the national interest within the bounds of those principles. In the case of Iraq, that order was inverted, and a similar inversion has occurred this time. The conflict in the Strait of Hormuz began without authorization from the UN Security Council. Even the U.S. Congress adopted resolutions in both the Senate and the House in June calling for the withdrawal of forces, and on September 15 the House of Representatives passed a third war powers resolution by a vote of 220 to 204. More than 60 percent of American voters regard the decision to go to war as a mistake. It falls to civil society to bring before public debate the question of whether contributing to such a war is compatible with Article 5 of the Constitution, and to the National Assembly to answer it. The press conference held on September 9 by 601 organizations opposing the deployment on the basis of Article 5 raised precisely this question.

   There are also precedents for circumventing parliamentary oversight. In 2020, the government expanded the Cheonghae Unit’s area of operations to the Strait of Hormuz without National Assembly consent, citing a provision in the deployment motion that included “waters designated for operations to protect Korean nationals in emergencies.” A Ministry of National Defense directive also allows individual personnel to be deployed abroad by ministerial decision without parliamentary consent. Because the directive does not define what constitutes an “individual” deployment, it was identified as a potential loophole during the 2024 controversy over sending an observer team to Ukraine. This time, too, the prevailing view within the government initially favored relying on the wording of an existing consent motion.

   Proposals have also been made for a general law governing overseas deployments. However, civil society has expressed reasonable skepticism that such legislation could serve more to provide a legal basis for deployments than to constrain them. In 2013, the Ministry of National Defense argued that legislation was needed because deployments other than peacekeeping operations (PKO) lacked a statutory basis, and mentioned considering a system of ex post parliamentary consent. A bill that passed the National Assembly’s National Defense Committee in 2014 would have expanded the categories of deployments to include multinational forces and training and education missions in non-conflict areas. Article 60(2) of the Constitution refers only to “the dispatch of armed forces to foreign states,” making no distinction between units and individuals, or between PKO and multinational forces. Once legislation divides deployments into categories, some categories may fall outside the scope of parliamentary consent. Any discussion of new legislation should therefore begin by asking whether it would expand or narrow the National Assembly’s constitutional right of consent.

   The National Assembly and civil society each have a crucial role to play, both in the decision on Hormuz and in any future involvement in overseas conflicts. First, the National Assembly should begin its own evaluation of the Iraq deployment, even at this late stage. The US Senate Intelligence Committee published its report five years after the war began, and Britain’s Chilcot Inquiry published its report thirteen years after. Twenty-two years is a long delay, but it is better than no evaluation at all, and only such an evaluation can provide a benchmark for examining the motion to consent to the Hormuz deployment. Civil society, for its part, must shift from opposing decisions after they are made to fostering public deliberation before they are made. The Emergency People’s Action Against the Dispatch of Troops to Iraq, formed by 351 organizations in September 2003, could not prevent the deployment, but it helped limit the kind of units sent and shorten the length of their deployment. What sets the present moment apart is that civil society has mobilized before a final decision has been made. If the petition to the National Assembly, open until October 17, reaches the required number of signatures, the process should not stop at referral to the standing committee. It should lead to public hearings and broader public deliberation.

   The lesson that South Korea in 2026 can draw from 2003 is that, for the sake of future decisions, the past must first be evaluated, both in society at large and in the National Assembly. The political community faces questions about Article 5 of the Constitution and the scope of the Assembly’s right of consent, and about how to weigh the national interest against the duty to preserve peace. It is through deliberating over these questions that democratic decisions will gain their legitimacy, one that cannot be reduced to policy rationality or efficiency.

By Jongdo Sohn
Director-General, Korean Sharing Movement

Translated  by Sam Lee (Coordinator, Korean Sharing Movement)

---

The closing matches of the AFC Women’s Champions League, held in Suwon last May, raised questions that extended far beyond the realm of sport. The participation of North Korea’s Naegohyang Women’s Football Club (hereafter Naegohyang FC) marked the first official inter-Korean contact since exchanges were effectively suspended in 2018. It was also any North Koreans’ first official visit to South Korea since Pyongyang redefined inter-Korean relations as those between “two hostile states.” In this sense, the event became a symbolic moment encapsulating present realities on the Korean Peninsula.

North Korea’s Naegohyang Women’s Football Club celebrates its victory in the AFC Women’s Champions League (AWCL) final held at Suwon Sports Complex in Gyeonggi Province on May 23. (Source: The Hankyoreh)

For this reason, the Korean Sharing Movement (KSM), in collaboration with the Institute for Peace and Unification Studies (IPUS) at Seoul National University, held a discussion forum in July, “The First Encounter in the Era of Two Hostile States: Questions Raised by the Visit of Naegohyang FC to South Korea.” Indeed, the visit generated a wide range of questions within South Korean society and sparked considerable public debate.

The media also showed significant interest in the first official inter-Korean sporting event in eight years. However, attention focused less on the outcome of the matches than on the controversies that unfolded off the field. Issues such as the formation of a joint cheering squad, the use of the Inter-Korean Cooperation Fund, the display of the North Korean flag, and the North Korean team’s request to compete as a team heralding from “Joseon” quickly became subjects of public attention. Some questioned why South Korea should welcome a North Korean delegation, while others emphasized the significance of the encounter itself after years of estrangement. Such contrasting reactions reveal how complex South Korean society’s view of inter-Korean relations remains today.

KSM co-hosted a discussion forum with the Institute for Peace and Unification Studies at Seoul National University last July to discuss the impact of the Naegohyang Women’s Football Club’s visit to South Korea on Korean society. (Source: KSM)

Among these controversies, the issue of the official state name drew particular attention. The North Korean delegation requested the use of its official name, “Joseon Minjujuui Inmin Gonghwaguk” (Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, DPRK), a request that prompted further debate in South Korea. It is true that the term “Bukhan” (North Korea) has long been the common designation for the Nortg used in South Korea. In international relations, however, states are generally referred to by their official names. Just as South Korea expects its official name, “Republic of Korea” (ROK), to be used internationally, North Korea likewise maintains that its official designation should be respected.

Respecting a country’s official name does not necessarily imply agreement with its political system or policies. Rather, it reflects a basic diplomatic and human principle: acknowledging the other side as it exists. Dialogue does not begin by denying or erasing the other; it begins by acknowledging the other’s existence. As hostility deepens, the language used to deny the other side often becomes increasingly harsh. Peace, however, begins with the simplest act of acknowledgement.

These debates are closely connected to the realities facing the Korean Peninsula today. Since the division of Korea, South Korean society has long regarded reunification as both a national task and a historical objective. Yet the division has now lasted for more than eight decades. During that time, the two Koreas have developed into separate societies with different political systems, economic structures, cultures, and identities. Particularly for younger generations in South Korea, North Korea is increasingly viewed less as a partner with which reunification must be pursued, but as an unfamiliar neighbor-or even as a separate country.

North Korea has also undergone significant changes. Chairman Kim Jong Un has redefined inter-Korean relations not as those between compatriots, but as relations between “two hostile states.” Although the implications of this shift remain contested, some argue that North Korea has begun to revise its longstanding discourse on reunification. Whatever the interpretation, it is difficult to deny that traditional reunification narratives are losing their influence on both sides of the Korean Peninsula.

This does not mean, however, that the future of the Korean Peninsula must be defined solely by hostility and separation. On the contrary, what is needed today is not an ideological debate over the distant goal of reunification, but a more practical discussion of how peace can be maintained and the conditions for coexistence can be created.

Recent public opinion surveys likewise indicate that South Koreans increasingly regard peaceful coexistence and the establishment of lasting peace on the Korean Peninsula as higher priorities for North Korea policy than reunification. This does not mean that interest in reunification has disappeared. Rather, it suggests a growing recognition that, in the face of persistent nuclear threats and military tensions, preventing war and preserving peace have become the most urgent priorities.

Indeed, the situation on the Korean Peninsula today is more complex than ever. North Korea has made its nuclear capabilities a central pillar of its national strategy and has been strengthening its cooperation with Russia. Inter-Korean dialogue has remained suspended for an extended period, and many of the mechanisms for military confidence-building have been significantly weakened. Under these circumstances, an approach that relies on the expectation of the other side’s collapse or calls for unilateral concessions is unlikely to provide a realistic solution.

For this reason, creating channels of contact is more important than ever. Even when political conflicts persist, the two sides must continue to meet; even when dialogue becomes difficult, channels of exchange should be preserved. As the international community demonstrated during the Cold War, hostility and exchange are not necessary mutually exclusive. Even when states remain in conflict, channels of communication can be maintained through culture, sports, academic exchange, and humanitarian cooperation. Such channels have often helped lay the foundations for peace that formal politics alone could not create.

This is precisely why the recent visit of Naegohyang FC to South Korea was significant. It did not signal an immediate improvement in inter-Korean relations, nor did it mark the beginning of a new era of reconciliation. Its significance lay in demonstrating that, even in an era of routinized hostility,  the two Koreas remain capable of meeting one another.

The controversy surrounding the proposal for a joint cheering squad was particularly revealing in this regard, as it exposed the ways in which South Korean society understands the concept of peace. Some felt uncomfortable cheering for the North Korean team, while others argued that athletes should be seen not as enemies, but as competitors on the field. Despite the differences in their views, what mattered was that the debate itself constituted a process of reflection on the meaning of peace.

Peace is not the absence of conflict. Rather, peace is a condition in which differences in ideas and interests can be managed and resolved through dialogue and contact. In this sense, the recent visit offered a glimpse of a new possibility for inter-Korean relations. Even in the absence of political agreement, spectators came to the stadium, athletes competed under the same rules, and a minimum level of mutual respect was maintained.

The visit of Naegohyang FC to South Korea has come to an end, but the questions it raised remains. Can the two Koreas meet even in an era of hostility? What kind of peace can people build where politics has reached an impasse? And in the reality of eighty years of division, what kind of future will South Korea choose?

The first precondition for peace is the recognition of the other, followed by a commitment not to abandon one another. Rather than erasing the other, it means acknowledging the other’s presence; rather than accepting rupture as inevitable, it means preserving the possibility of encounter. Perhaps that is the most important lesson that Naegohyang FC’s visit to South Korea has left South Koreans with. Even in an era of hostility, people still meet. And peace has always begun with such encounters. That is why no encounter is ever too small to matter.

This coming September, South and North Korea will meet again at the 2026 Asian Games in Aichi and Nagoya, Japan. In the women’s football competition, the two national teams are scheduled to face each other on September 21 at 4:00 p.m. What questions will this encounter—taking place not on the Korean Peninsula, but in a third country—raise for South Korea? Will South Korea see it merely as a match that determines a winner and a loser, or will it remember it as yet another reminder that, even in an age of division, encounters remain possible?

By Jongdo Sohn
Director-General, Korean Sharing Movement

Translated  by Sam Lee (Coordinator, Korean Sharing Movement)

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The closing matches of the AFC Women’s Champions League, held in Suwon last May, raised questions that extended far beyond the realm of sport. The participation of North Korea’s Naegohyang Women’s Football Club (hereafter Naegohyang FC) marked the first official inter-Korean contact since exchanges were effectively suspended in 2018. It was also any North Koreans’ first official visit to South Korea since Pyongyang redefined inter-Korean relations as those between “two hostile states.” In this sense, the event became a symbolic moment encapsulating present realities on the Korean Peninsula.

North Korea’s Naegohyang Women’s Football Club celebrates its victory in the AFC Women’s Champions League (AWCL) final held at Suwon Sports Complex in Gyeonggi Province on May 23. (Source: The Hankyoreh)

For this reason, the Korean Sharing Movement (KSM), in collaboration with the Institute for Peace and Unification Studies (IPUS) at Seoul National University, held a discussion forum in July, “The First Encounter in the Era of Two Hostile States: Questions Raised by the Visit of Naegohyang FC to South Korea.” Indeed, the visit generated a wide range of questions within South Korean society and sparked considerable public debate.

The media also showed significant interest in the first official inter-Korean sporting event in eight years. However, attention focused less on the outcome of the matches than on the controversies that unfolded off the field. Issues such as the formation of a joint cheering squad, the use of the Inter-Korean Cooperation Fund, the display of the North Korean flag, and the North Korean team’s request to compete as a team heralding from “Joseon” quickly became subjects of public attention. Some questioned why South Korea should welcome a North Korean delegation, while others emphasized the significance of the encounter itself after years of estrangement. Such contrasting reactions reveal how complex South Korean society’s view of inter-Korean relations remains today.

KSM co-hosted a discussion forum with the Institute for Peace and Unification Studies at Seoul National University last July to discuss the impact of the Naegohyang Women’s Football Club’s visit to South Korea on Korean society. (Source: KSM)

Among these controversies, the issue of the official state name drew particular attention. The North Korean delegation requested the use of its official name, “Joseon Minjujuui Inmin Gonghwaguk” (Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, DPRK), a request that prompted further debate in South Korea. It is true that the term “Bukhan” (North Korea) has long been the common designation for the Nortg used in South Korea. In international relations, however, states are generally referred to by their official names. Just as South Korea expects its official name, “Republic of Korea” (ROK), to be used internationally, North Korea likewise maintains that its official designation should be respected.

Respecting a country’s official name does not necessarily imply agreement with its political system or policies. Rather, it reflects a basic diplomatic and human principle: acknowledging the other side as it exists. Dialogue does not begin by denying or erasing the other; it begins by acknowledging the other’s existence. As hostility deepens, the language used to deny the other side often becomes increasingly harsh. Peace, however, begins with the simplest act of acknowledgement.

These debates are closely connected to the realities facing the Korean Peninsula today. Since the division of Korea, South Korean society has long regarded reunification as both a national task and a historical objective. Yet the division has now lasted for more than eight decades. During that time, the two Koreas have developed into separate societies with different political systems, economic structures, cultures, and identities. Particularly for younger generations in South Korea, North Korea is increasingly viewed less as a partner with which reunification must be pursued, but as an unfamiliar neighbor-or even as a separate country.

North Korea has also undergone significant changes. Chairman Kim Jong Un has redefined inter-Korean relations not as those between compatriots, but as relations between “two hostile states.” Although the implications of this shift remain contested, some argue that North Korea has begun to revise its longstanding discourse on reunification. Whatever the interpretation, it is difficult to deny that traditional reunification narratives are losing their influence on both sides of the Korean Peninsula.

This does not mean, however, that the future of the Korean Peninsula must be defined solely by hostility and separation. On the contrary, what is needed today is not an ideological debate over the distant goal of reunification, but a more practical discussion of how peace can be maintained and the conditions for coexistence can be created.

Recent public opinion surveys likewise indicate that South Koreans increasingly regard peaceful coexistence and the establishment of lasting peace on the Korean Peninsula as higher priorities for North Korea policy than reunification. This does not mean that interest in reunification has disappeared. Rather, it suggests a growing recognition that, in the face of persistent nuclear threats and military tensions, preventing war and preserving peace have become the most urgent priorities.

Indeed, the situation on the Korean Peninsula today is more complex than ever. North Korea has made its nuclear capabilities a central pillar of its national strategy and has been strengthening its cooperation with Russia. Inter-Korean dialogue has remained suspended for an extended period, and many of the mechanisms for military confidence-building have been significantly weakened. Under these circumstances, an approach that relies on the expectation of the other side’s collapse or calls for unilateral concessions is unlikely to provide a realistic solution.

For this reason, creating channels of contact is more important than ever. Even when political conflicts persist, the two sides must continue to meet; even when dialogue becomes difficult, channels of exchange should be preserved. As the international community demonstrated during the Cold War, hostility and exchange are not necessary mutually exclusive. Even when states remain in conflict, channels of communication can be maintained through culture, sports, academic exchange, and humanitarian cooperation. Such channels have often helped lay the foundations for peace that formal politics alone could not create.

This is precisely why the recent visit of Naegohyang FC to South Korea was significant. It did not signal an immediate improvement in inter-Korean relations, nor did it mark the beginning of a new era of reconciliation. Its significance lay in demonstrating that, even in an era of routinized hostility,  the two Koreas remain capable of meeting one another.

The controversy surrounding the proposal for a joint cheering squad was particularly revealing in this regard, as it exposed the ways in which South Korean society understands the concept of peace. Some felt uncomfortable cheering for the North Korean team, while others argued that athletes should be seen not as enemies, but as competitors on the field. Despite the differences in their views, what mattered was that the debate itself constituted a process of reflection on the meaning of peace.

Peace is not the absence of conflict. Rather, peace is a condition in which differences in ideas and interests can be managed and resolved through dialogue and contact. In this sense, the recent visit offered a glimpse of a new possibility for inter-Korean relations. Even in the absence of political agreement, spectators came to the stadium, athletes competed under the same rules, and a minimum level of mutual respect was maintained.

The visit of Naegohyang FC to South Korea has come to an end, but the questions it raised remains. Can the two Koreas meet even in an era of hostility? What kind of peace can people build where politics has reached an impasse? And in the reality of eighty years of division, what kind of future will South Korea choose?

The first precondition for peace is the recognition of the other, followed by a commitment not to abandon one another. Rather than erasing the other, it means acknowledging the other’s presence; rather than accepting rupture as inevitable, it means preserving the possibility of encounter. Perhaps that is the most important lesson that Naegohyang FC’s visit to South Korea has left South Koreans with. Even in an era of hostility, people still meet. And peace has always begun with such encounters. That is why no encounter is ever too small to matter.

This coming September, South and North Korea will meet again at the 2026 Asian Games in Aichi and Nagoya, Japan. In the women’s football competition, the two national teams are scheduled to face each other on September 21 at 4:00 p.m. What questions will this encounter—taking place not on the Korean Peninsula, but in a third country—raise for South Korea? Will South Korea see it merely as a match that determines a winner and a loser, or will it remember it as yet another reminder that, even in an age of division, encounters remain possible?