The addictive drug of modern political efficacy

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The addictive drug of modern political efficacy

Published: 16 Oct. 2025, 00:01

Audio report: written by reporters, read by AI

Lee Hyun-sang

The author is the head of the editorial board at the JoongAng Ilbo.

“Why did the party make that decision?”

According to aides, President Lee Jae Myung has been asking that question frequently these days. Woo Sang-ho, senior presidential secretary for political affairs, said on television that he agreed with the Democratic Party’s overall direction but sometimes struggled with “differences in pace and tone.” His words reveal growing unease within the ruling camp: the party’s headlong push to “eradicate rebellion” and advance sweeping reforms appears to have spun beyond control. Appeals for restraint have failed. Among hard-line supporters, even the president himself is now derided as a “watermelon” — blue on the outside, like the party’s color, but red inside, suggesting sympathy with the conservative opposition. The ruling party’s engine seems to be running separately from the president’s, speeding dangerously toward instability.

President Lee Jae Myung watches as Democratic Party leader Jung Chung-rae and People Power Party leader Jang Dong-hyuk shake hands during a luncheon meeting of ruling and opposition leaders at the presidential office in Yongsan, Seoul, on Sept. 8. However, the next day, Jung attacked the People Power Party in a National Assembly speech, demanding an apology for the martial law crisis and suggesting the party could face a constitutional review for dissolution. [JOINT PRESS CORPS]

Barely four months into the new administration, expressions such as “Myung—Chung War” and “gaeddal vs. Chunglae Party” have entered political discourse. The first combines one syllable each from Lee Jae Myung and party leader Jung Chung-rae's names, symbolizing the growing tension between the president and the party chief. The second refers to a confrontation between the “gaeddal,” or “daughters of reform” — a group of passionate pro-Lee supporters — and the faction aligned with Jung. These are not fleeting squabbles but signs of a widening internal divide. The president’s image as a centrist pragmatist, once his political hallmark, now risks being overshadowed by a party that dismisses moderation altogether.

Why, then, is the Democratic Party (DP) acting this way — and does the president truly not understand? The answer is simple: its members are pursuing their own political survival. In nature, a species sacrifices the individual to preserve its genes. In politics, it is the opposite. When Jung declared, “Mr. President, you just govern. I’ll do the fighting,” it sounded selfless but was in fact a calculated survival tactic — an “egoistic strategy” in evolutionary terms.

At the center of this strategy lies political efficacy. To climb the political ladder, politicians must give their base a sense of satisfaction and empowerment. Jung is not alone. Choo Mi-ae, chair of the parliamentary Legislation and Judiciary Committee, follows the same logic. Her combative leadership has turned the committee into a battleground, yet the backlash only strengthens her following among progressives. The mocking label “mother of conservatives” leaves her unfazed; instead, she proudly embraces the nickname “Choodarc,” a blend of her name and “Joan of Arc.” For her and others like her, giving supporters a feeling of political efficacy — a sense of winning — is the key to survival.

The term political efficacy once had a positive meaning. It described the belief that citizens can influence political outcomes. The concept originated in the 1950s with political scientists like Angus Campbell at the University of Michigan, who introduced it to revive American democracy amid the Cold War, racial tension and the civil rights movement.

In the twenty-first century, however, it has evolved into an illusion of participation. Many now believe they can change the world with a single click or comment. The sensation of involvement matters more than actual change. Populist politicians have learned to exploit this illusion, transforming democracy into a stage for emotional release. Political efficacy has become a form of “political dopamine,” an addictive stimulant that activates the brain’s reward circuits. Like a drug, it may be beneficial in moderation but toxic in excess.

The most effective way to maximize this high is to create enemies. Expressing anger toward an adversary produces a rush of empowerment. When hostility is framed as a moral battle between good and evil, the effect intensifies. Politicians therefore have an incentive to keep inventing enemies — because enemies are valuable political resources. As one Holocaust survivor observed, “The Jews were the most important people in Hitler’s Germany. If Hitler had truly succeeded in exterminating them all, he would have had to invent new Jews.” The insight, quoted in “The World Is Made of Stories” (2018) by Samira El Ouassil and others, remains chillingly relevant.

For the DP, the People Power Party (PPP) serves as that indispensable adversary. If the Democrats ever truly succeeded in their goal of “eradicating rebellion,” they would face a political void. That is why, after toasting opposition leaders in a rare moment of bipartisanship, Jung Chung-rae could return to the National Assembly the next day and declare that the rival party should be dissolved. It was not an outburst of temper but a reflection of political necessity — a fear that the enemy might vanish.

Democratic Party lawmaker Choo Mi-ae (left), newly elected chair of the Legislation and Judiciary Committee, greets Democratic Party leader Jung Chung-rae as she leaves the main chamber after the National Assembly plenary session in Yeouido, Seoul, on Aug. 21. [YONHAP]

The dynamic works both ways. Just as the DP needs the PPP, conservatives also need liberals. To shed their image as remnants of the old establishment, they too must direct supporters’ anger outward. Anti-China sentiment and far-right gestures — such as promoting anti-communist documentaries about the April 3 Jeju Incident — serve the same purpose. Politicians have become “curators of emotion,” focused not on crafting policy but on orchestrating outrage. Provocative slogans, viral videos and the demonization of opponents amplify identity and heighten political efficacy.

This cycle is reinforced by the membership structure of political parties. Under the current system, dues-paying members — who contribute about 1,000 won (about 70 cents) a month — form tightly knit online communities that steer party agendas. In the name of “party member sovereignty,” both major parties have become captive to their most extreme factions. The result is not a citizen-centered democracy but a fandom-based one.

Unless the Political Parties Act is amended to rebalance the influence of paid members and prevent hard-line supporters from defining entire parties, Korean democracy will remain addicted to the same drug. The illusion of participation — the “political efficacy” that once nourished democracy — has become its most dangerous narcotic.

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.