What do you call a president who believes they can defy voters, laws, and the most basic forms of reason?
If you’re in South Korea or Georgia, the answer might simply be “President.”
Yoon Suk Yeol and Salome Zourabichvili have turned political theater into an avant-garde display of delusion, leaving the world to wonder: is this democracy’s midlife crisis?
And yes, we are talking about South Korea, one of the most stable allies of the West in Asia and the West’s other (former) favorite, Georgia’s president.
Let’s begin with Yoon Suk Yeol, whose recent declaration of martial law wasn’t just audacious—it was so absurdly out of touch it almost felt like performance art.
Yoon, whose presidency has been dogged by low approval ratings and his wife’s burgeoning reputation as a First Lady Fashionista™ (thanks to a Dior handbag scandal), decided to “defend democracy” by suspending it altogether.
Citing murky pro-North Korea plots in Parliament, Yoon effectively handed himself South Korea’s crown—at least for a few hours. His pronouncement caused immediate indignation and derision, causing the National Assembly to squash it with the speed of a chef killing a bug. Yoon’s impeachment move demonstrates the effectiveness of South Korea’s checks and balances, notwithstanding the president’s lack of compliance.
Critics say Yoon is less interested in democracy and more in preserving his fragile ego—and perhaps his wife’s burgeoning designer collection. Between the martial law debacle and accusations of nepotism, one wonders if Yoon confused the presidency with an episode of Succession. South Koreans, on the other hand, are not laughing, with protests breaking out across the country and a clear message: this is not the 1980s, and Yoon is not Chun Doo-hwan.
Though, based on the frequency of the country’s presidents ending up in trouble, we are not that far from it.
Across the globe, Salome Zourabichvili is proving that democracy in Georgia isn’t just fragile—it’s apparently optional.
Her rationale?
The last parliamentary elections didn’t go as she liked, so clearly, they must not count.
In an extraordinary display of ego, Zourabichvili has implied she might extend her presidency because the legislature, according to her, lacks legitimacy.
This is political gaslighting on a scale Freud himself would struggle to diagnose.
Zourabichvili’s behavior resembles a clinical condition (narcissistic delusion syndrome, perhaps?): an unshakable belief that her judgment transcends that of the electorate. She’s essentially argued that her disdain for election results gives her a moral—and, apparently, divine—right to rewrite the rules.
Georgian opposition leaders have denounced her remarks as a power grab disguised as reform, while observers are concerned about the chilling precedent she may set for a country still recovering from years of political violence. But Zourabichvili stays undeterred, portraying a reluctant ruler compelled by fate (read: her own ego) to save the country from the government which has been ruling in the last twelve years and won the election this november.
The common thread connecting Yoon and Zourabichvili is their dislike for the annoying thing known as “the will of the people.”
Both appear to feel that the public exists not as a source of political legitimacy but as a small inconvenience that can be ignored.
Yoon thinks martial law is the cure for criticism; Zourabichvili thinks being the president means she’s the only one allowed to interpret democracy.
Or maybe, together, they form a new archetype of leadership: the “Post-Democratic President.” Forget separation of powers, checks and balances and all those unnecessary nuances of democracy — these leaders are gunning for “separation from reality.”
What makes this saga truly remarkable is the sheer shamelessness.
Neither leader has attempted subtlety. Yoon’s declaration of martial law and Zourabichvili’s open disdain for election outcomes are as subtle as a cannonball through a glass window. Perhaps they deserve credit for their transparency in undermining democracy?
The irony, of course, is that both leaders claim to be acting in the name of democratic reform.
Yoon argues his martial law stunt was to protect South Korea from parliamentary “traitors,” while Zourabichvili cloaks her extended term fantasy in the language of justice and legitimacy. But for anyone watching from the outside, it’s clear: these justifications are as flimsy as a fake Dior bag’s warranty.
The stories of Yoon and Zourabichvili should serve as cautionary tales for democracies around the world. Leaders like this thrive when institutions fail or challenged.
Fortunately, in South Korea the robust civil societies, the unity of the political class dismissed the president’s plans. In Georgia the president with the support of civil activists, protesters still fuel the fire and try the change the parliamentary election’s result in favor of their own willing. Despite the absurdity, there is optimism that democracy will prevail—if only because the people refuse to accept the alternative.
Meanwhile, let us appreciate the irony of these self-proclaimed saviors of democracy being brought down by the exact mechanisms they attempted to undermine. History truly does have a sense of comedy.
