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2006 and 2026: A parallel theory of electoral collapse

Published: 22 Jan. 2026, 00:02

Chae Byung-gun

The author is an editorial writer of the JoongAng Ilbo.

The current state of the People Power Party (PPP) inevitably recalls the local elections of 2006. In Yeouido, many are drawing comparisons instead to 2018, when the Liberty Korea Party suffered a crushing defeat in local elections held after the Democratic Party (DP) took power following impeachment, and are warning of a “2018 again” scenario. But assuming that 2018 marked the bottom would be a serious miscalculation. Political fortunes can sink even lower. That is exactly what happened in 2006.

Jang Dong-hyeok, leader of the People Power Party, is seen deep in thought at a party event held at the National Assembly in Yeouido, Seoul, on Jan. 5. In the background, a slogan reads, “Carrying the light of hope to the people.” [NEWS1]

In May of that year, during the fourth round of local elections, the ruling Uri Party won just one of the country’s 16 metropolitan mayoral and gubernatorial races, taking only North Jeolla Province and shrinking into what was derisively called a “North Jeolla party.” A ruling party winning a single regional government remains an almost unthinkable record, unlikely to be repeated. More consequential was the fact that the local election debacle became the starting point for the Uri Party’s disintegration.

Five months from now, in June, Korea will again hold local elections. Public sentiment, increasingly tilted to one side, bears an unsettling resemblance to 2006. At the time, the leadership of the Roh Moo-hyun administration and the ruling party had effectively collapsed. Turning the impeachment crisis into a political comeback initially seemed successful, but the ruling camp then pushed ahead with four major reform bills, including the abolition of the National Security Law, proposals that remain politically radioactive even two decades later.

The decisive blow came in 2005, when the Roh administration floated a grand coalition. That proposal shattered its support base. The Uri Party’s traditional supporters in the Honam region split away, as did the party’s reformist mainstream faction that had championed the dismantling of regional parties. In the 2006 local elections, the mayors of Gwangju and South Jeolla governor were elected as candidates of the DP, which had gone its own way, separate from the Uri Party.

Today, the PPP faces an even harsher reality than a mere collapse of leadership. The Yoon Suk Yeol administration has fallen through impeachment, leaving the party confronting a vacuum deeper than anything seen two decades ago. Its support base is badly fractured. Peripheral conservative voters who once aligned loosely with the party departed long ago. Even its core supporters are now split between pro-Yoon and anti-Yoon camps, with no visible focal point to pull them back together.

Party leader Jang Dong-hyeok’s ruling faction appears more intent on identifying targets for anger within the party than on rebuilding cohesion. Former leader Han Dong-hoon, meanwhile, has shown not a unifying leadership that can encompass the whole party, but a talent for producing finely calibrated statements of apology and rebuttal, a narrow skill set ill-suited to the scale of the crisis.

If the PPP assumes that its supporters will naturally rally as election day approaches, it risks repeating a fatal mistake. The lesson of 2006 is that vague hope can lead to total collapse. Uri Party leaders told themselves that things could not possibly get that bad. When the ballots were counted, public judgment proved merciless. Out of 230 basic local government chief posts, the ruling party won just 20, fewer than even independent candidates, who captured 29. In Seoul, all 25 district chief positions went to the then-opposition Grand National Party.

The environment surrounding the PPP today is no better than what confronted the Uri Party in 2006 or 2018. Over time, the number of elderly voters who had experienced poverty and hunger, once a bedrock of conservative support, has declined. Jang’s hunger strike may have signaled defiance toward the ruling camp, but the party remains trapped by what Plato called the idols of the cave. Outside that cave, most voters agree that martial law should never have been considered. Inside, the party still clings to a distorted view of reality.

Han Dong-hoon, former leader of the People Power Party, arrives at the National Assembly Press Center on Jan. 14 and heads toward a news conference, amid cheers from supporters, to state his position on the party ethics committee’s decision to expel him. [IM HYUN-DONG]

Unless the PPP expands beyond its shrinking base to win back former peripheral supporters and centrist voters, defeat is inevitable. Elections are binary contests. Even a razor-thin margin of 49.9 percent to 50.1 percent still produces only two outcomes: winner or loser. Complicating matters further, April could bring a sudden diplomatic spring on the Korean Peninsula following U.S. President Donald Trump’s visit to Beijing. If that leads to trilateral or inter-Korean summits before the local elections, what narrative will the PPP have left to campaign on?

After its 2006 defeat, the Uri Party lacked even the breathing room to rebrand. A party that dreamed of lasting a century dissolved the following year. Today, the People Power Party speaks of reviving itself through a name change. But a new label alone cannot save a party. Depending on the outcome of the June 3 local elections, the party’s very survival may be at stake. If cameras pan across an empty situation room after the votes are counted, the damage will be irreversible. Unless it changes, the PPP risks proving a twenty-year parallel, with the roles reversed, as the catastrophe of 2006 reemerges in 2026.

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.