'Fandom' politics is aging and has little future

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'Fandom' politics is aging and has little future

Published: 19 Aug. 2025, 00:04

Audio report: written by reporters, read by AI

Park Sang-hoon

The author is a political scientist.

The prevailing interpretation of “fandom politics” in Korea goes something like this. First, it is understood as a leader-centered phenomenon — the blind adoration of a single politician. Second, fandom support is assumed to be unconditional. Third, in this framework, the leader is the “head,” the followers in the legislature are “pro-head,” and the mass base are “diehards,” bound together in an unbreakable triangle. For those accustomed to this view, the Democratic Party’s recent leadership election was a surprise.

Jung Chung-rae, leader of the Democratic Party, right, and lawmaker Park Chan-dae exchange words of encouragement after the election results are announced at the party’s second national convention at Kintex in Goyang, Gyeonggi, on Aug. 2. [JOONGANG ILBO]

The victory of Jung Chung-rae was not what President Lee Jae Myung had wanted. Lee favored Park Chan-dae, and the overwhelming majority of lawmakers campaigned as “pro-Lee unifiers.” But the decision ultimately rested with the rank-and-file members, often labeled “fandom party members.” These were the same activists who had dedicated themselves to making Lee party leader and later president. This time, however, they openly defied his wishes. Was this a break from fandom politics — or its purest expression?

Fandom politics is less a leader phenomenon than a mass phenomenon. It is not about devotion to a politician but about using politicians as instruments in a distinctive kind of popular movement. Fandom members are citizens who relish the sense of efficacy that comes from political engagement. They want politicians who depend on them, not those who treat them as passive supporters. Politicians dubbed “heads” or “pro-heads” are not masters of their base — they are captives of it.

The protagonists of fandom politics are the masses, not the leaders. And the tool they have discovered to magnify their influence is the extraordinary power of hatred. They act less out of preference than aversion, stigmatizing rivals as “watermelons” and instilling fear to amplify their presence. At one point, their target shifted from “anti-Moon” to “pro-Moon,” and the effect was even more potent. Today, the same fate has befallen the pro-Lee camp.

Fandom members see themselves as active citizens who can both make and break power. They are proud, independent actors, not subordinate variables. On the conservative side, they want recognition for defending Korea from communism and driving industrialization. On the progressive side, they want credit for the democratization and unification movements of the 1980s and 1990s. In both camps, they seek visibility, not submission. They are not compliant participants, but critical publics.

A video message from President Lee Jae Myung plays at the Democratic Party national convention at Kintex in Goyang, Gyeonggi. [JOONGANG ILBO]

Such voters admire strong personalities, not ordinary lawmakers. They mocked pro-Moon legislators as “watermelons,” and they see little to admire in the uninspiring Park Chan-dae or the now indistinct pro-Lee faction. Jung Chung-rae was different. By declaring “democracy without an opposition party,” he invited fandom members into an exhilarating political brawl. For those who craved a fight, he represented opportunity.

Yet the alliance between Jung and the fandom is a matter of strategic convenience, and could shift at any time. Fandom politics is fluid, just as the targets of its scorn evolve — from pro-Moon to pro-Lee, and perhaps beyond. In truth, it is not fandom politics alone that is unstable. Korean politics as a whole is fragile. Parties no longer wrestle with the nation’s deeper conflicts; they fight only over who will control the party and the presidency. Politicians with conviction are hard to find. Fandom politics has not ruined politics; rather, politics has decayed, and fandom has rushed into the vacuum. Perhaps we should be grateful it offers at least “unexpected drama.”

Despite the nickname “gae-ttal” (literally “puppy daughters”), the most passionate political fandom in Korea is not youthful women but older men. Look at the comments on political news articles: 85 percent come from men, mostly those in their 60s on the conservative side and 50s on the progressive side. In 2023, the Democratic Party’s Innovation Committee inflated the number of dues-paying members to 2.45 million. In fact, the official membership filed with the National Election Commission was 5.13 million, of which 1.5 million were dues-paying. In the latest leadership election, just 1.11 million voted, and Jung secured 420,000.

So perhaps fandom politics is less extraordinary than it seems, and hardly the “K-democracy” some celebrate. Above all, it is not young. In 2023, only 6 percent of dues-paying members were in their 20s; more than 72 percent were in their 40s or older.

Korean politics, and fandom politics with it, is aging. Perhaps all of this is not proof of the future, but of how hollow the fading glory of an older generation has become. Fandom politics has no future.

This article was originally written in Korean and translated by a bilingual reporter with the help of generative AI tools. It was then edited by a native English-speaking editor. All AI-assisted translations are reviewed and refined by our newsroom.