South Korea’s social media problem
The Lee Administration faces a dilemma. It wants to clean up the internet. And who can blame it? The country’s digital spaces—once the pride of a hyper-connected, democratic society—have become a swamp of hate speech, deepfake porn, conspiracy theories, and coordinated harassment. Social media reform is not just overdue; it’s essential.
Here lies the dilemma: the tools that can clean up a swamp can also flatten a garden. Without great care, South Korea risks building an online regulatory machine that doesn’t just fight extremism—it chills dissent, shrinks the space for legitimate political debate, and attracts global criticism.
The line between protecting democracy and controlling speech is thin — and easily crossed. Every measure that targets misinformation risks becoming a tool for silencing dissent or manipulating debate. How far will the Lee Administration go?
Let’s be clear about the problem. South Korean law already goes further than most democracies. The country’s infamous real-name system for a while discouraged anonymity. Cyber defamation is criminal—even true statements that damage someone’s reputation can land you in jail. Platforms bear legal liability for what users post. Recently, the government cracked down hard on AI-generated deepfake porn. Telegram is under investigation. Big platforms are being forced to beef up monitoring teams or face fines.
The next phase, however, will go deeper. The new administration has made clear it wants to tackle not just the fringe cases of abuse or illegal content—it wants to go after the structural rot of political extremism and anti-social behavior online.
This is not just about deepfakes or bullying anymore. It’s about reining in far-right YouTubers who peddle lies and hate.
It’s about countering coordinated disinformation campaigns, some of them foreign. It’s about restoring some level of civility to an online culture that’s become dangerously toxic.
On this, the government is right. The American model of “anything goes” has shown us what happens when platforms are left to profit from outrage and lies. It results in corporate profits being built upon encouraging disharmony. The Chinese model, although the government would be satisfied, would attract international attention. The European Union’s Digital Services Act probably offers the closest thing to a model worth looking at: strong accountability and transparency rules, but with clear legal boundaries and due process.
South Korea’s approach, however, will be its own—one that may take into account economic interests more than democratic rights.
Behind the language of public safety and online civility lies a quiet ambition to revive Korea’s own tech ecosystem. Policymakers see an opportunity. If global platforms like Facebook, YouTube, and Netflix are made to comply with tougher regulations—or penalized when they fail—domestic alternatives could thrive.
Government officials have long been frustrated by the dominance of U.S.-based platforms, which extract huge advertising profits while contributing little to the Korean content ecosystem or public interest. By tightening the regulatory screws on these global giants, Seoul hopes to tilt the playing field back toward local companies—whether it be Korean video platforms, homegrown streaming services, or new social media players.
The dream is to create a cleaner, safer online environment and, in doing so, spark a renaissance for Korean digital platforms that can better serve domestic interests.
And that’s where the warning bells start ringing.
In Korea, commentators know all too well how laws like defamation can be used to silence critics. We’ve seen how vague terms like “antisocial behavior” or “extremist speech” can be interpreted—conveniently—for those in power. We’ve seen ruling parties lean on prosecutors and police to pursue their enemies under the banner of “order.” The risk is not theoretical; it is baked into the political culture.
Pushing platforms to take down “harmful” content always sounds reasonable—right up until the government starts using that same label to scrub political criticism. That is exactly what will happen. Domestic platforms, smaller and more exposed, will fold easily under pressure. Expanding platform liability will pass under the banner of responsibility, and companies will respond the only way they can: by deleting anything that looks remotely controversial, long before any bureaucrat needs to lift a finger.
The chilling effect will spread quickly. Ordinary users will start self-censoring; political commentary will become more cautious, more banal. Journalists will face new legal risks, and some will go silent. Satire, parody, and protest will increasingly get caught in the dragnet. Once this culture of caution settles in, it will not easily unwind—if it ever does.
Reform is coming. That much is certain. Korea’s political class has no intention of leaving online spaces as they are. The narrative of “out-of-control digital mobs” has taken hold, and every party—left, right, or center—sees an opportunity. Laws will pass. New rules will be imposed. Informal pressure will grow behind the scenes.
But the reforms will not be neat, legalistic exercises in the public interest. They will be political tools, shaped by the instincts of whoever holds power. Definitions of “harm” will be elastic, shifting as administrations change. Civil society groups will be invited in, but some will become useful enforcers. Platforms will be expected to comply first and ask questions later. Legal appeals will exist on paper but will be slow and unreliable in practice.
And neutrality? That will evaporate fast. Every government will be tempted to redefine “extremism” to suit its needs. None will resist for long. The clean-up campaign will morph into a system of quiet digital control, justified at every step in the name of public safety and democratic health.
Korea will not look like Beijing. Nor will it fall into the chaotic ineffectiveness of Washington. It will chart its own path—an increasingly managed internet space where dissent will remain possible but riskier, and where more and more users will choose silence over scrutiny.
The slogans will talk of a freer, fairer, safer internet. The reality will move steadily in the other direction. Once the machinery of control is built, few governments dismantle it. The line between reform and repression will blur. And the new normal will be very hard to reverse.
