The American left’s misguided crush on Lee Jae-myung

It was inevitable. Like watching porn in tracksuit pants, America’s left-leaning commentators can’t hide their fondness for Lee Jae-myung. A plucky human rights lawyer who survived child labor in a factory; a human rights lawyer; and someone who stared down authoritarianism at the barricades. It’s classic Western leftist fetishism—a script-ready narrative for a Michael Moore documentary. Unfortunately, this sentimental packaging misunderstands both Lee and Korea.

Wait. Remember just a few years ago? America’s right-leaning commentators couldn’t hide their fondness for Yoon Suk-yeol. To them, he was a brave, hawkish prosecutor who would strengthen rule-of-law, strengthen the alliance, and stand up for democracy (hehehehe). And so enamored were they that it took considerable time for them to mention, let alone condemn, Yoon’s attempt to seize power in South Korea’s authoritarian two-step December debacle! The sentimental packaging led Americans to misunderstand both Yoon and Korea (read about how American right-wing influencers have already labelled South Korea’s new president Lee Jae-myung as a “communist”).

America’s right misunderstood Seoul then, just as America’s left misunderstands Seoul now. Here lies the reason why the Korea-U.S. alliance is increasingly in trouble—the commentariat is largely f%^ked.

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It’s a shame because I respect the voices of some of these analysts on many issues, but on Korea many miss the mark. The lenses used by the most vocal commentators impose American assumptions on a political landscape that operates on fundamentally different premises. The result is a dangerous misreading of Korean democracy and a poor foundation for understanding how U.S.–Korea relations will unfold, especially under the unpredictable watch of a second Trump administration.

Let’s begin with romantic myth-making. In the American progressive imagination, Lee Jae-myung becomes a kind of Korean Bernie Sanders—anti-elitist, working-class, unpolished, anti-chaebol. They point to his early factory accident and humble roots as proof of ideological purity. His clashes with the elite within his own party are framed as moral crusades against corruption. But this Hollywood tale skips over key aspects.

Every second South Korean of Lee’s age can claim humble roots—I mean the country wasn’t exactly rich when he was born, just ten years after the end of a war that flattened the country and left it bereft of industry. But for a moment, let’s accept the “humble beginnings” schtick.

Like anyone who grew up poor, he knew that you need a never-say-die terrier fighting spirit to make it in Korea. This he has demonstrated. Recall those “moral crusades against corruption”? Most of them were targeted at other leftists as he sought to secure and maintain control of his own party. All politicians do it, especially the successful ones. But it’s not romantically “democratic” in the classical Western sense (although it is rather democratic in the Trumpian sense).

Lee has demonstrated an aggressive use of defamation laws, loose application of electoral laws, combative rhetoric, and a willingness to use the administrative and prosecutorial tools of the state to silence critics. These are not the actions of a liberal democrat in the classical Western sense—they are the moves of a typecast modern populist Korean politician.

To be clear: populism in Korea is not uniquely tied to either the left or the right. Both sides have used it with gusto. But Lee’s style—a mix of personalistic politics, aggressive polarization, and selective legal warfare—deserves scrutiny, not hagiography. When American progressives fail to interrogate these tactics because they align with a broader anti-conservative narrative, they play into the same ideological blindness they rightly criticize in their domestic political opponents.

And Lee’s victory? Now there’ll be many haters when I say this, but it was not because he was particularly competent or overwhelmingly popular, despite the polls (read about polls here). His candidancy was controversial and plagued with legal issues. His electoral success was more about being the only person not poisonously tainted by the most pathetic attempt to usurp democracy since the selfies, bullhorn costumes, and livestreamed crimes of the feckless 2021 Capitol Riot. Regardless, he now has a mandate, but does he deserve such sentimental progressive packaging?

A quick note. I consider myself neither left nor right. I’m pretty much an anti-social recluse whose dissatisfaction is spread across the political spectrum. Totally DEI in my dislike. So, don’t get too perturbed if I criticize your side of politics. Just take my rumblings as the analytical takes of a grumpy professor and wannabe novelist whose Cassandra-like takes have been demonstrated to be on the pulse of happenings in Seoul.

Critically, the sentimentalized version of Lee held by the left in America risks obscuring what is at stake in U.S.–Korea relations under a second Trump term. Trump has little patience for moral narratives or human rights-based foreign policy. He operates on spectacle, loyalty, and deal-making.

And Lee Jae-myung, far from being a progressive bulwark against Trump-style populism, mirrors many of the same tendencies: a fondness for direct communication that bypasses institutions, a personalist approach to leadership, and a willingness to weaponize state tools for political ends.

In other words, Trump and Lee might not clash as the American left imagines—they might find in each other an oddly familiar rhythm. Trump is, after all, the most “Korean” politician I’ve seen in American politics!

As will be covered in a future piece, Trump and Lee’s relationship will follow a very similar pattern to that of previous South Korean presidents with their U.S. counterparts. Look at Roh Moo-Hyun and George W. Bush. Roh was not a fan. Bush heard bad things, didn’t have the patience, and made huge demands (participation in the Iraq conflict). Ultimately, Roh conceded. That’s what you do when you’re a junior partner and are unwilling to see the relationship deteriorate further.

The important point here is that Americans—on both left and right—persist in applying their own simplistic ideological categories to Korean politics without understanding the local context. The terms “left” and “right” in Korea simply don’t map cleanly onto American counterparts.

In Korea, the “left” has historically been associated with nationalism, chaebol skepticism, and engagement with North Korea. But it has not always meant progressive policies on gender, religion, LGBTQ rights, or press freedom. Likewise, the Korean “right” has often emphasized security, economic growth, and pro-U.S. diplomacy—but that has not automatically translated to small government, free speech, or libertarian economics.

Consider this: under both progressive and conservative administrations, Korea has struggled with press censorship, internet surveillance, and vague security laws that chill academic and journalistic freedoms. Neither side has been a reliable defender of free speech. The same goes for diversity and equality—progressive governments have been no faster at enacting anti-discrimination laws than their conservative counterparts.

Gender equality, especially, remains a political third rail across the spectrum. American observers who assume the Korean left will naturally advance these values misunderstand both the electorate and the institutional pressures Korean politicians face.

Worse still, the human rights halo that American progressives place on figures like Lee Jae-myung blinds them to authoritarian tendencies, precisely because those tendencies come cloaked in populist leftist rhetoric. It’s the same trap some American liberals fell into with leaders like Hugo Chávez or Rafael Correa—figures who claimed to speak for the poor and downtrodden, while centralizing power, undermining checks and balances, and limiting press freedom.

Lee is certainly no dictator, but his record deserves more critical attention than a tear-streaked backstory and a heralding cry as the defender of democracy at the barricades.

Lee will secure many reforms that Korea needs. However, each reform will be merely be small steps in a long process of social and economic progress.

The American commentariat’s lack of analytical insight matters because the U.S.–Korea relationship is approaching a period of stress and recalibration. Trump is a precipitant to changes long underway. If American commentators inflate Lee Jae-myung into a moral counterweight to Trump, they are likely to be shocked.

What’s needed now is clarity, not romanticism. Korea’s political spectrum is uniquely its own. Its democracy is vigorous but not always liberal. Its populists come from both sides of the aisle. And its leaders—Lee included—must be understood not as avatars of American ideological struggles, but as products of a complex, contested, and evolving Korean political tradition.

Why do so many American commentators get it wrong? It all comes down to distance. They rely on South Korean surveys and polls (often filled in by interns in the backrooms of Seoul thinktank and juniors government offices, but that’s another story) and U.S. government talking points. They undertake five day trips for whirlwind conferences and interact with cosmopolitan “great friends” who know exactly what Americans want to hear. From the moment they land to the moment they get their hunchbacks back to their D.C. office, their interaction with reguular Koreans is minimal. They impose their own ideological and political lens on Korea. It’s commentary from a distance.

In the end, America’s misreadings—whether from the right or the left—do not merely cloud analysis, they shape policy, commentary, and public understanding. Unless the commentariat get it right, the Korea-U.S. alliance itself, will ultimately be largely f%^ked. In precise analytical verbiage, long-term largely f%^ked. Yes. This is a rant.