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1995, Kim Young-sam put in place another round of historical rectification, lest he became
accused of protecting his former ally. This time, Chun Doo-hwan ended up in prison with
his Fifth Republic confidantes, including Roh Tae-woo, for his 1979 military mutiny and
1980 national subversion.
Given such dangers and risks of political backlash in its search for a new positive
party identity, South Korea’s conservatives fell on their familiar recipe of anticommunism,
regionalism, and technocracy to guard their grip on power. The old formula worked
surprisingly well into its mid-nineties. They fought off a series of radical protests staged
by chaeya dissidents, labor leaders, and hanchongryŏn student activists through raising a
red scare in society, accusing their foes of inadvertently, if not intentionally, aiding North
Korea’s ambition of reunification-by-force through breeding regime instability.
27
The
North, too, aided their Cold War political design through engaging in an act of military
brinkmanship or even terrorism during South Korean elections. The chilly bukpung or
“Northern Wind” stirred up, unifying conservative voters, if not making some of South
Korea’s undecided shift rightward in their choice on the eve of election.
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For those
skeptical of Cold War ideological symbols and myths, South Korea’s right made a
regionalist political appeal, projecting its political party as a coalition of Youngnam and
Chungchong against Honam voters.
29
Then there was a myth of its technocratic capability
built up through the three decades of economic development. By ushering in a new era of
détente through a “Nordpolitik” after 1988
30
and launching a program of soft-landing
South Korea’s outmoded developmental state through segyehwa or “globalization” in
1994,
31
its conservatives projected a sense of competence. The annual GDP growth of 7.7
percent between 1988 and 1997 backed up this image, too.
Convention