Blooms of Dissent: Funeral W-Pop Light Sticks as Protest Symbols in South Korea
On the morning of May 25, streets surrounding key government buildings in Seoul were lined not with banners or placards, but with funeral wreaths and glowing K-Pop light sticks. The unusual display of protest artfully blended grief with pop culture, reflecting both the deepening political divide in South Korea and the creative energy of its citizenry.
President Yoon Suk Yeol’s ongoing impeachment trial has become the focal point for this new form of expression. Hundreds of wreaths—traditionally reserved for solemn funerals—have been delivered to his official residence as well as to the Supreme Prosecutors’ Office and the National Assembly. Alongside them, countless K-Pop light sticks—brightly colored battery-powered rods used by concertgoers—have appeared in clusters, illuminating sidewalks in pulsating hues of pink, blue, and green.
This movement began in December of last year. According to Yoon Miyoung, manager at Dongsung Flower in central Seoul, the shop has shipped over 1,000 wreaths to government offices since December. “We never imagined that funeral wreaths would transform into tools of political expression,” Miyoung said. “Requests pour in day after day, sometimes dozens in a single morning.” Local media estimate that several thousand wreaths have already been delivered, making it one of the most visible—and controversial—forms of demonstration in recent memory.
The messages attached to these wreaths range from the darkly satirical to the fervently supportive. Some bear ribbons inscribed with phrases like “Rest in Justice” or “Final Farewell to Corruption,” while others carry messages of solidarity: “May Democracy Live On” or “We Mourn the People’s Trust.” A smaller number of wreaths celebrate President Yoon, with messages such as “Your Leadership Will Not Be Forgotten.”
“Even though the form remains the same, the types of flowers or the messages differ,” said Choi Hang-sub, a sociology professor at Kookmin University. “This is a direct reflection of the polarization within Korean society. The wreaths themselves have become a canvas for competing narratives and emotions.”
Unlike traditional protests—where chanting, slogans, and banners dominate—this approach relies on visual symbolism. Funeral wreaths carry an implicit weight, signaling finality or mourning. In repurposing them, protestors force observers to reckon with the possibility that, to them, the nation’s democratic ideals may be dying.
The infusion of K-Pop culture into politics marks another layer of significance. Over the past decade, K-Pop fandoms have evolved into highly organized networks of young people proficient in digital mobilization and mass coordination. They are accustomed to producing synchronized fan chants, fundraising for charity, and staging flash mobs at concerts. Now, they have redirected their skills toward civic engagement.
“K-Pop fandom culture, especially centered around young women in their teens and 20s, is now being applied to political rallies,” said Hong Gayeong, a 29-year-old protester who helped coordinate a light-stick demonstration outside the Supreme Prosecutors’ Office. “Our light sticks glow in unison, just as our voices do online. It’s a way to reclaim a joyful part of our culture for a serious cause.”
On the evening of May 20, hundreds of fans gathered on a pedestrian plaza outside the prosecutors’ building. At a coordinated moment, they activated their light sticks from dark to full brightness. The effect was mesmerizing: a field of synchronized light moving in choreographed patterns, captured on social media and broadcast across local news channels. Organizers livestreamed the event, encouraging viewers to share photos with hashtags that trended nationwide.
This convergence of traditional iconography and modern fandom culture points to a broader trend in South Korea’s evolving civil society. Public demonstrations are becoming more theatrical and visually oriented, leveraging social media to amplify their impact. Funeral wreaths and light sticks serve as both literal and metaphorical devices—mourning the perceived failures of leadership while illuminating hopes for reform.
Reactions from officials and experts have been mixed. Some government spokespeople have criticized the displays as disrespectful and unbecoming, suggesting that civic engagement should not desecrate cultural traditions. Others have acknowledged the creativity but warned of possible legal repercussions for unsolicited deliveries to private residences.
Yet for many citizens, the movement has provided a meaningful outlet. The act of purchasing a wreath or brandishing a light stick allows ordinary people to participate without attending mass rallies. It democratizes protest participation, inviting those who might otherwise shy away from large gatherings to make a statement.
At a small café near the National Assembly, 23-year-old student Seo Min-ji sipped her coffee while affixing a hand-written note to a wreath destined for the president’s residence. “I couldn’t join the marches in person,” she explained, “but I wanted to be part of the conversation. This feels personal—like I’m sending a letter directly to those in power.”
As the impeachment trial progresses, protestors are already planning the next wave of actions. Some envision digital wreaths—animated GIFs shared across social media—while others are experimenting with hybrid installations that combine real flowers with LED lights. Across universities and community centers, workshops are teaching participants how to design ribbons, write impactful slogans, and safely deliver their tributes.
Observers believe this fusion of art, culture, and politics will endure long after the trial concludes. South Korea has a rich history of protest art—from the pamphlets of the independence movement to the street murals of the pro-democracy campaigns of the 1980s. Today’s wreaths and light sticks represent the latest chapter, one defined by intergenerational collaboration and the power of visual storytelling.
When asked what she hopes the protesters will achieve, sociology professor Choi Hang-sub offered a sobering thought: “At its core, this is about voice. These symbols allow people to project their feelings—anger, sorrow, hope—in ways that traditional demonstrations cannot. Whether the trial results in impeachment or not, the cultural impact of this movement is undeniable.”
In Seoul’s twilight streets, as light sticks fade and wreaths wilt under the morning dew, the message remains clear: when political discourse becomes gridlocked, South Koreans will find novel ways to speak their truths. Through blossoms and beams of colored light, they confront power and cast their votes of confidence—or no confidence—in the future of their democracy.