As the clock ticks toward 3 p.m. on February 19, 2026, all eyes in South Korea are fixed on courtroom 417 at the Seoul Central District Court. There, in a moment both historic and fraught with tension, former President Yoon Suk-yeol faces the verdict in his first trial on charges of being the ringleader of an insurrection—a charge that carries the most severe penalty under Korean law. The proceedings, set to be broadcast live, mark 443 days since Yoon’s controversial proclamation of emergency martial law, known as the 12·3 Emergency Decree, and promise to deliver a judicial reckoning that has captured the nation’s attention.
According to Yonhap News, the Criminal Agreement Division 25 (presiding judge Ji Gui-yeon) will oversee the verdict, with Yoon having already confirmed his intention to attend the hearing in person. The event is so significant that the court has authorized a live broadcast, allowing the public to witness the reading of the charges, the determination of guilt or innocence, and the rationale behind the sentencing—all in real time. The verdict will not only decide Yoon’s fate but also the futures of seven high-ranking military and police officials who stand accused alongside him.
The heart of the case is the 12·3 Emergency Decree, issued by Yoon in late 2024, which, according to the prosecution, crossed the line from a lawful emergency measure into an act of insurrection. The prosecution, led by Special Prosecutor Cho Eun-seok’s team, has demanded the death penalty for Yoon, arguing that he orchestrated a coup in all but name. Their case hinges on the claim that Yoon, after declaring martial law, mobilized military and police units to paralyze the National Assembly and the National Election Commission, effectively seeking to suspend core democratic institutions.
“The 12·3 Emergency Decree was a power grab—an act of insurrection with the aim of monopolizing authority,” the prosecution stated during closing arguments, as reported by YTN. They went further, characterizing the attempted suppression of the legislature and election oversight body as a ‘palace coup’ and warning that such abuses, reminiscent of South Korea’s past military dictatorships, must be met with the utmost severity. “There is no reason to impose a lighter sentence on former President Yoon,” the prosecution insisted, emphasizing that the symbolic weight of a death sentence would reaffirm the nation’s commitment to the rule of law, even if actual executions are no longer carried out.
The defense, for its part, has pushed back hard. Yoon’s legal team, echoing arguments he made in his own final statement, contends that the emergency decree was meant as a warning, not a genuine power grab. “It was only a matter of hours—perhaps the shortest martial law in modern history—and to call this treason is an exaggeration,” Yoon declared, flatly denying all charges. His lawyers maintain that the deployment of troops and police to the National Assembly and the Election Commission was intended to maintain order, not to stifle democracy, and that the decree was prompted by legitimate concerns over alleged election fraud and threats from anti-state forces.
Yet, as Yonhap News notes, these arguments have found little traction in related trials. Previous verdicts involving former Prime Minister Han Duck-soo and former Interior Minister Lee Sang-min have already defined the 12·3 Emergency Decree as an act of insurrection. In Lee’s case, the court handed down a seven-year sentence, ruling that attempts to blockade parliament and the election commission fit the legal criteria for a “rebellion with the intent to undermine constitutional order.” The court further found that the use of military and police force met the Supreme Court’s definition of a ‘violent uprising.’
The stakes for Yoon and his co-defendants are monumental. If the court finds him guilty, even with mitigating circumstances, the law dictates a minimum of 20 years in prison, with the possibility of life imprisonment. The Korean Penal Code specifies that a commuted death sentence for insurrection must be replaced by imprisonment for at least 20 years and up to 50 years. The prosecution has also called for severe sentences for the seven military and police leaders accused of aiding Yoon: life imprisonment for former Defense Minister Kim Yong-hyun, 20 years for former National Police Commissioner Cho Ji-ho, 15 years for former Seoul Police Chief Kim Bong-sik, and lesser but still substantial terms for others in the command structure.
Outside the courthouse, the atmosphere has been tense but orderly. YTN describes how, with the verdict looming, both supporters and detractors of Yoon have staged rallies, while police buses line the streets in anticipation of unrest. The court has tightened security, allowing only one entrance open from the subway, and requiring strict identification checks for all who enter. The trial’s timing—coming just after the Lunar New Year—has added another layer of anticipation, with the public keen to see whether the judiciary will break from, or reaffirm, the nation’s troubled history with military intervention in politics.
At the core of the legal debate is whether Yoon’s actions satisfy the requirements for insurrection as outlined in Article 87 of the Criminal Code. The law defines insurrection as a violent uprising aimed at disrupting the constitutional order, not merely illegal conduct. For a conviction, the court must find that Yoon’s actions were designed to forcibly overturn the functions of constitutional bodies through the use or threat of force. The prosecution argues that the coordinated use of military and police to silence parliament and the election commission is precisely the kind of threat the law was written to address.
The defense, meanwhile, insists that the martial law was short-lived, bloodless, and ultimately unsuccessful—factors that, they hope, will weigh in Yoon’s favor if the court does find him guilty. They argue that the decree was lifted quickly, that no actual violence occurred, and that the entire episode amounted to nothing more than a failed attempt. But, as Yonhap News and YTN both point out, Yoon’s refusal to acknowledge responsibility or express remorse may count against him when it comes to sentencing.
As the verdict approaches, South Koreans are left to ponder the lessons of their own history. The prosecution has repeatedly invoked the memory of past military dictatorships, notably the 1979 coup by Chun Doo-hwan and the bloody suppression of the 1980 Gwangju Uprising, both of which led to convictions for insurrection and, in Chun’s case, a death sentence (later commuted). “Acts of destroying constitutional order through martial law must never be allowed to repeat,” the prosecution warned, underscoring the gravity of the current case.
With the nation watching, the court’s decision will not only shape the fate of Yoon and his associates but also set a precedent for how South Korea confronts challenges to its democracy. The outcome—whether harsh or lenient—will reverberate far beyond the walls of courtroom 417, serving as a touchstone for the rule of law in a country still reckoning with its past.