11/05/2026

Corruption Scandals as Catalysts for Historical Denialism in South Korea

In September 2024, while writing the final chapter of my book Halmoni. The Revolution of the Korean Grandmothers (Penguin Random House), I made a brief work trip to Korea.

My book tells the story of the women who were sexually enslaved by the Imperial Japanese Army during the war (1931–1945), from the beginning of the twentieth century to the present day. When the Japanese decided to advance militarily into China, the Korean Peninsula was already under colonial rule. In the context of the conflict, thousands of women from the colonies and all occupied territories were taken against their will, subjected to violence, enslaved, and sexually abused by up to fifteen soldiers per day. Most of them were poor peasant women. The victims are known as “comfort women,” and since January 8, 1992, South Korean human rights organizations have gathered every Wednesday from noon to 1 p.m. in front of the Japanese Embassy in Seoul to demand truth and justice.

During the twenty years I dedicated to researching the subject, I met activists, victims from different countries, specialized professors, museum curators, artists, and many others directly or indirectly involved in the social movement. A movement that only emerged on August 14, 1991, forty-six years after the end of the war, when a Korean woman dared for the first time to give public testimony and file a lawsuit against Japan. Since then, victims and organizations from the different countries affected by this trafficking network have worked together in defense of the “comfort women.”

Those familiar with the peninsula know very well how difficult it is to find places there. It is an extremely mountainous terrain. Urbanization stretches through alleyways that branch out like tree limbs from the main avenues. Nevertheless, I know very well how to get to the Wednesday protest. In 2024, I took advantage of my visit to the country to attend the demonstration. I entered through the street that, only a few years earlier, had been filled with young people carrying colorful signs in defense of the Korean “comfort women,” surrounding the Statue of a Girl of Peace. The statue is a memorial monument installed to commemorate the one-thousandth march. On the signs and in the messages read to the victims, they are called halmoni, which means grandmother.

To my disappointment, there were only a few demonstrators, all crowded behind barricades guarded by police officers, far away from the statue. The Statue of Peace seemed imprisoned behind double iron fences and surrounded by thousands of police officers. In front of the monument stood several activists with megaphones shouting against the “comfort women.” They accused them of “lying,” “exaggerating,” and “damaging” relations with Japan. Many carried signs bearing the Rising Sun flag and messages of friendship toward their former colonizer. Nearby, a black van was parked, covered with stickers of the flags of the United States, Japan, and the Korean dictator Park Chung-hee, who ruled the country between 1961 and 1979. By then, denialist organizations had already drafted a bill aimed at removing the statue and eliminating any benefits granted to the victims.

I was not surprised; I was simply saddened. In May 2020, Lee Yong-soo, one of the best-known survivors, publicly accused the famous organization defending the “comfort women,” the Korean Council, and its then leader, Yoon Mee-hyang, of corruption. The media condemnation was immediate. The local press gave extensive coverage to the case, which culminated (or began) with the suicide of Sohn Young-mi, director of a shelter for victims located in Seoul, and the dismissal and prosecution of Yoon, the movement’s most prominent leader. In November 2024, the Supreme Court upheld Yoon’s conviction, sentencing her to one year and six months in prison, suspended for three years (probation), for fraud, illegal fundraising, and embezzlement.

The case emerged at a particular moment. Then-president Moon Jae-in had supported the victims more explicitly than any previous president. He met with them on several occasions, invited them to participate in public events, where they played a highly visible role, and established a permanent exhibition on sexual enslavement featuring the faces of several well-known “comfort women” at the Museum of Contemporary History. Furthermore, activist Yoon Mee-hyang, who was close to the president, had for the first time secured a seat in the legislature representing the ruling party. Demonstrating his clear commitment to the cause, one of President Moon’s main measures upon taking office was to renegotiate the controversial 2015 Agreement signed between former president Park Geun-hye (daughter of the famous dictator) and former Japanese prime minister Shinzo Abe, which sought to place a “final and irreversible resolution” on the claims of Korean victims of sexual enslavement by the Imperial Japanese Army.

Nor was it coincidental that when the accusations began, the country’s top prosecutor was Yoon Suk-yeol, who would later become president. Yoon initiated investigations against the Korean Council, the memorial museum dedicated to the “comfort women,” and the movement’s most prominent activists. His strategy was viewed favorably by broad sectors of the country that were resistant to activism in support of the “comfort women.” The conservatives won the battle. The media discrediting campaign proved effective, and in 2022 the famous prosecutor, Yoon Suk-yeol, reached the presidency with an antifeminist and denialist discourse. A denialism so profound that it eventually led to his impeachment in 2025 and subsequent imprisonment.

The corruption case exposed Korea’s internal divide. Beyond issues related to transparency in the management of donations and public funds by the organizations involved, the attacks questioned the very nature of the claims and, above all, the political struggle itself. I found the effects of the wave of discrediting entirely predictable. On several occasions, Korean professors had spoken negatively to me about the organizations, criticizing them for being too “nationalist” or “anti-Japanese.” Some even asked me why I worked on such “politicized” issues. This is not speculation, but rather a conclusion drawn from my own trajectory: researching the halmoni means confronting boundaries of censorship that are often impossible to cross.

I wonder whether the defense of women’s rights can prevail over political sectarianism. How can silence be sustained in the face of the overwhelming accumulation of evidence—from the converging testimonies of victims and perpetrators to the indelible traces left on wounded bodies and the legacy of violence passed down through generations? The paradox is devastating: even when the documentary record is irrefutable, its weight seems insufficient to break the inertia of polarization.

On February 12 of this year, the Korean National Assembly approved an amendment to the “Act on Protection, Support, and Commemorative Measures for Victims of Sexual Slavery by the Japanese Imperial Army.” The amendment establishes the legal basis to explicitly prohibit and punish acts that deny the historical reality of sexual slavery and systematically insult the victims. Following its approval, the opposing demonstrations withdrew, and advocacy organizations regained their space in front of the commemorative statue. The amendment was passed thanks to the fact that the government, aligned politically with Moon, holds a legislative majority.

I do not know whether the law will manage to erase the divide. At the very least, it has been legally established that silence or denial does not constitute a rational phenomenon or a mere cognitive disagreement, but rather represents a moral and humanitarian surrender. The challenge now lies in transcending polarization in order to place the dignity of the victims at the center of the ethical debate.

María del Pilar Álvarez holds a BA in Political Science and a PhD in Social Sciences from the University of Buenos Aires, as well as an MA in Korean Studies from Yonsei University. A researcher at CONICET, she directs the Diploma Program, the Master’s Program, and the Center for Research in Korean Studies at the University of Salvador. She is also a professor at the National University of San Martín and a visiting professor at Universidad Torcuato Di Tella.

A specialist in human rights and historical memory in East Asia, she has conducted research in South Korea, China, Taiwan, and Japan. In 2025, she published Halmoni. The Revolution of the Korean Grandmothers with Penguin Random House.