Where's Waldo
A new political wave is rippling through South Korea: an emerging “young conservatism” taking shape among many in their 20s and 30s. Some observers herald it as a necessary recalibration, others fear it may deepen societal divisions. But beneath the shifting polls and heated debates lies a hidden figure—Waldo, the intangible driver pushing Korea’s youth away from entrenched progressive ideals and toward a conservative worldview.
For decades, conventional wisdom held that young people tend to be liberal, growing more conservative with age. Yet in Korea, an undercurrent of conservatism is taking hold among segments of the 20s and 30s demographic, particularly men. Polls show a steady rise in younger voters turning to conservative candidates—witnessed as early as the 2021 Seoul mayoral by-election and confirmed in the 2022 presidential race.
Where is Waldo, exactly? Ask a young voter, and the answer often revolves around disillusionment with a progressive establishment that feels more like a new power bloc than the underdog it once was. These young Koreans grew up without personal memory of the country’s democratization struggles in the 1980s, so they tend to evaluate politics on present-day issues like economic growth, job security, and rapidly escalating housing costs. Mentioning democracy as an all-encompassing banner no longer resonates the way it did for older generations who toppled authoritarian regimes.
The 86 Generation—those who led the democratization movement—still dominates much of Korea’s progressive politics. Many hail their past struggles, framing contemporary issues in the same moral binaries of “dictators vs. activists,” “pro-democracy vs. pro-authoritarian,” or “pro-labor vs. pro-chaebol.” Yet to a sizable slice of younger Koreans, these lines feel outdated. A young man from Seoul might see progressive lawmakers—some with family wealth or prestigious real-estate portfolios—as every bit the “elite” they claim to oppose.
In other words, Waldo is the yawning gap between lived realities of youth and an older generation’s narrative that revolves around battles long concluded. By ignoring the economic anxiety that defines today’s youth—stagnant wages, unaffordable housing, pressures for relentless self-improvement—progressives risk looking disconnected or even elitist.
Another place you find Waldo is in the rising fatigue over perpetual “anti-something” campaigns. Movements like No Japan (boycotting Japanese goods and cultural exchanges) once united Koreans over historical grievances. Yet many younger citizens view the fervor as excessive when they see pressing domestic problems—like the vanishing middle class—going unaddressed. Progressive politicians who center campaigns on anti-Japanese sentiment can come across as stuck in the past.
Similarly, some policies aimed at social equity—though grounded in ideals of fairness—are perceived by a portion of the youth as heavy-handed or one-sided. There’s a sense among 20- and 30-somethings who don’t feel financially secure that “giving handouts to others” is an untenable luxury. Waldo also appears here as the hidden frustration that intensifies when those struggling themselves are asked to sacrifice further for broader social programs—especially if they don’t trust the administration to manage those programs effectively.
A major reason for the youth’s conservative turn is a fervent focus on growth. This generation grew up amid predictions that they would be worse off than their parents. Many have concluded that wealth redistribution alone won’t solve systemic problems—Korea, they say, needs to expand the economic pie, not just slice it differently.
Progressives, in the eyes of some younger voters, lack a compelling vision of sustainable economic growth. Conservatives may not articulate it perfectly either, but they do emphasize deregulation and competitiveness—messages that resonate with youth anxious about future prospects. Waldo emerges once more: hidden in the tension between an immediate desire for social support and a long-term belief that only vigorous economic expansion can secure everyone’s well-being.
The final place Waldo lurks is in what social psychologists call the “cycle of extremes.” Societies go through phases where they crave liberal freedoms, swinging away from order and hierarchy. Then, faced with economic or social turmoil, they swing back toward stability and tradition. In South Korea, decades of progressive activism gave rise to a new set of power holders who, in the eyes of skeptical youth, sometimes appear as “establishment” themselves.
Thus, the more fervent the progressive rhetoric, the more some young Koreans label it overbearing or moralistic. Many were educated by teachers outspokenly critical of conservative governments; hearing only one side for so long has ironically pushed them to explore the other side. Waldo becomes the silent nudge—a collective craving for balance, or simply a reaction against perceived dominance.
In the end, whether this youthful shift toward conservatism will become a stable movement or merely a transient reaction remains to be seen. If these young conservatives bring fresh solutions to stagnating wages, housing inequities, and social stratification, they could revitalize South Korean politics. On the other hand, if they merely recycle hardened ideological stances, deeper polarization may follow.
Where is Waldo? He’s woven through every thread of this complex tapestry: in the generational disconnect, in the distrust of an older progressive elite, and in the longing for growth over redistribution. In searching for him, we might discover that each new generation renegotiates what “progress” even means. And that process, inherently messy and conflict-ridden, may be democracy’s perpetual balancing act.
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