The Birth of the Seventh Republic
December 17, 1998, had been an ordinary day until yesterday. From this moment forward, however, it would be etched forever into the annals of Korean history—the day the national referendum on the Tenth Constitutional Amendment passed. The amendment proposed by Jeon Myeong-heon, which had cleared the National Assembly threshold only a month earlier, was rushed to a public vote with astonishing speed. Its full text appeared in newspapers and was posted online. Television stations aired serious, in-depth discussions. Even the far-right factions understood their cause was lost. Still, they threw themselves into a desperate all-out campaign, clutching at straws. Smears and wild rumors flooded the airwaves. To Yoo Jae-won, the atmosphere felt even more sordid than the elections of the 1960s, when rubber shoes changed hands as bribes. It was inevitable: while a candidate who violated election law risked disqualification even after winning, opponents of the referendum faced no meaningful penalty for breaking the rules.
Some broadcasters gave the far-right arguments substantial airtime. Absurd claims were presented with mechanical neutrality, as though they carried logical weight. Seoul Broadcasting was the most zealous in this regard. The station itself had begun on shaky ground, entering terrestrial television through a network of regional broadcasters while its true owner remained Daeyoung Construction. Its broadcasting license had been mired in favoritism controversies from the start, and those questions lingered. Perhaps because of that fragile foundation, the station maintained a pro-government facade, yet its editorial line ultimately bent to the will of its owner. As the reports made clear, Daeyoung Construction’s stance on the amendment was deeply hostile.
The public, however, remained unmoved by the noise. Voter turnout reached 88 percent, with 69 percent in favor and only 19 percent opposed—an overwhelming mandate. President Jeon Myeong-heon’s approval rating also climbed back into the seventies. It was a decisive triumph.
At six o’clock on the afternoon of the seventeenth, once the polls closed and counting began, Yoo Jae-won sat with Jeon Myeong-heon, watching the results come in. Though conscious, the elder statesman was still confined to the VIP suite at Mirae Asan Hospital. Around nine that evening, roughly three hours after counting started, the networks declared passage certain. Because every ballot was counted by hand, the process moved slowly, yet the margin was so lopsided that the outcome became clear early. An hour later, the final confirmation arrived.
“Grandfather! It’s an overwhelming victory!”
“Hah… don’t make such a fuss. It was… inevitable, wasn’t it?”
Each time Yoo Jae-won raised his voice in cheerful exaggeration, Jeon Myeong-heon, propped against thick cushions on the hospital bed, replied as though the result had never been in doubt. Despite his physicians’ warnings to prepare for the worst, Jeon Myeong-heon had endured an entire month. His speech had grown halting, and he could no longer hold himself upright, yet that immense self-assurance remained untouched.
Yoo Jae-won had already received detailed data from his own intelligence team—whose accuracy and speed rivaled the world’s premier spy agencies—and had known the game was won the moment the bill cleared the Assembly. Still, watching the live count on television stirred a flicker of nervousness, lending genuine feeling to his excited outbursts. With the amendment’s passage, the success rate of his master plan had risen sharply. Yet the joy felt muted. He had never imagined Jeon Myeong-heon would stake his own health on seeing the reform through. The presidential medical system at the Blue House had also proven deeply disappointing.
For Yoo Jae-won, failure to pass the amendment during this session would not have been catastrophic. A fresh general election would almost certainly deliver a commanding majority to the ruling party, allowing a more secure passage in a few years. Jeon Myeong-heon, however, had been determined to enact the change while still in office. That insistence had led to this outcome. It was regrettable, but Yoo Jae-won knew dwelling on what was already done was pointless.
“Then you really intend to preside over the official proclamation of the Seventh Republic tomorrow?”
“Of… of course! I am Jeon Myeong-heon.”
Jeon Myeong-heon had made his wishes unmistakably clear: he would attend the proclamation ceremony. He was willing to yield the commemorative address to Prime Minister Kim Dae-jung, but the honor of declaring the end of the Sixth Republic and the birth of the Seventh belonged to him alone. The medical staff had objected strenuously. Jeon Myeong-heon’s condition continued to deteriorate; the only hope, however slim, lay in remaining still and focusing entirely on treatment. Yet Jeon Myeong-heon understood better than anyone that his life force was nearly spent. No amount of care would bring recovery. To leave his mark at the historic turning point that was the proclamation of the Seventh Republic mattered more to him than anything else. Even Yoo Jae-won could not dissuade him.
The following day, the proclamation ceremony of the Seventh Republic took place at the National Assembly building in Yeouido. A massive Taegeukgi hung across the front of the building, and bold lettering announced the “Seventh Republic Proclamation Ceremony.” Citizens had gathered voluntarily in vast numbers on the plaza outside. Though winter chilled the air, their fervor overcame the weather. The event carried such weight that people arrived steadily until the crowd swelled into an immense gathering.
Because the actual ceremony was held indoors in the Rotunda Hall, security checks were less stringent than they would have been outdoors. For those assembled outside, large multiscreens were erected to broadcast the proceedings from the main chamber. Given that the event had been organized the very day after the referendum, preparations were remarkably thorough—an understandable outcome, since everyone except the far-right had regarded passage as a foregone conclusion. The Blue House had proceeded in the same spirit, and under Acting President Kim Dae-jung’s direction, every detail had been arranged smoothly.
The atmosphere inside the Rotunda Hall was solemn. It marked the beginning of a new Korea, and Jeon Myeong-heon’s illness lent the occasion an added gravity. Because the Jeon Myeong-heon administration had been unusually transparent with the public, the appointment of Kim Dae-jung as acting president had been accompanied by candid reporting on the president’s condition. Yoo Jae-won attended openly. Though the hall offered limited seating for distinguished guests, his VIP invitation secured him a place in the front row.
It was a day of profound joy. Compared with the previous life, in which the Tenth Amendment had emerged tattered after endless blunders and fierce resistance, the version now passed was a distilled essence of reforms whose effects had already been proven in history. Korea’s future would diverge sharply from its past. Yet even amid such elation, Yoo Jae-won had never imagined that Jeon Myeong-heon would be offered up as the price for opening the Seventh Republic. Happiness gave way to sorrow whenever he thought of the elder statesman.
—President Jeon Myeong-heon and Prime Minister Kim Dae-jung are entering.
As melancholy threatened to settle over him, the presidential march began and Jeon Myeong-heon appeared in a wheelchair. Without prompting, everyone rose and greeted him with warm applause. The ceremony unfolded with measured dignity. Kim Dae-jung’s carefully prepared address was a masterpiece no listener could afford to miss, yet the words barely registered with Yoo Jae-won. The same held true for the citizens gathered outside and those watching on television; every eye remained fixed on Jeon Myeong-heon seated behind the podium, fearing something might go wrong during the proceedings.
Fortunately, throughout the ceremony Jeon Myeong-heon’s gaze burned with intensity, and his posture never faltered.
—Next, President Jeon Myeong-heon will proclaim the Seventh Republic.
The pivotal moment had arrived. The head of security wheeled the president’s chair to the center of the stage. Jeon Myeong-heon wore a suit beneath a winter overcoat, and a fedora covered the surgical scar on his head. From a distance, aside from the wheelchair, he appeared almost unchanged. As the chair reached the front of the stage, the security chief moved to adjust the microphone to its height. Jeon Myeong-heon raised a hand to stop him. Gripping the armrests with both hands, he pushed himself upright.
Yoo Jae-won watched in alarm. He knew the brain damage had left Jeon Myeong-heon unable to stand unaided; the fear that he might collapse flashed through his mind. It proved unfounded. Jeon Myeong-heon’s willpower transcended the ordinary. Here, in the Rotunda Hall of the National Assembly, mind triumphed over body.
“On December 18, 1998, I proclaim the beginning of the Republic of Korea’s Seventh Republic.”
Rising from the wheelchair, Jeon Myeong-heon declared the birth of the new republic in a single, powerful sentence.
“Long live the Republic of Korea!”
The triple cheer followed at once. Led by Jeon Myeong-heon, the hall and the plaza outside roared the chant in unison. Thus began the Seventh Republic of Korea.