What Happens When MAGA Goes Global

SEOUL — There is a man in a Donald Trump mask wearing an American flag as a cape, and he is walking down one of the busiest streets in Seoul. His strides are long, his chest puffed out, as if he is the president himself.

He is surrounded by a crowd peppered with red hats — and while red is the color of the People Power Party, South Korea’s main conservative party, this is the distinct hue of Donald Trump’s branding.

“Make Korea Great Again,” the hats read. “Stop the Steal,” others say. For a moment, an American might think they were at a Trump rally in Phoenix, if not for the giant LED billboard in the background that advertises Netflix Korea.

It is mid-February, the final weekend rally before former South Korean President Yoon Suk Yeol’s sentencing hearing for his 2024 declaration of martial law and attempted insurrection. The crowd spans three blocks of a major street in Gangnam. They all shout “Yoon Again,” the catch phrase on the right that has captured the desire to bring back the disgraced president, whom they see as a victim of a political witch hunt.

The MAGA paraphernalia is no accident. Trump is an inspiring figure for the Yoon Again crowd, someone who faced his own legal gauntlet, triumphed and has now returned to power to seek vengeance against his enemies. Particularly for some young people on the Korean right, the themes and issues under the MAGA banner are deeply resonant.

“We are fighting the same fight — the struggle to reclaim electoral sovereignty,” says Park Joon-young, the 25-year-old leader of Freedom University, a far-right organization for college students that has hosted several Yoon Again rallies. “The United States and South Korea are in the same situation.”

What does it look like when MAGA-esque politics take root abroad, particularly among young people on the right? That experiment is now playing out in South Korea.

Older Koreans have long been the backbone of conservatism in the country. But young people are everywhere at these rallies — waving flags, holding up signs, singing along with their elders. The protest is dotted with people with bleached hair and bag charms and trendy fur jackets. And yet out of their mouths come an avalanche of claims typically associated with old, far-right zealots, not young Seoulites: that the Chinese have hacked South Korea’s election system, that the current progressive president is actually a communist, that North Korean spies are infiltrating South Korea to turn it into a communist haven.

“I learned about what was happening in South Korea through social media, and I felt that I couldn’t just stay still,” says 29-year-old Kang Ji-heon.

There is now a growing effort to harness the rightward drift of young voters like Kang, especially among men — a phenomenon that has been captured in polling that shows 74 percent of men in their 20s and younger voted for a conservative candidate in last year’s presidential election.

Two major youth-oriented groups are promoting hardline conservatism in South Korea with a MAGA flair: Build Up Korea and Freedom University.

Build Up Korea is explicitly modeled after the conservative youth organization Turning Point USA and has direct ties to the MAGA orbit, including Donald Trump Jr. and the late Charlie Kirk. It’s a straightforward injection of U.S. MAGA politics into South Korea, and it’s had success among a small but vocal and growing group of supporters. The group has gained a following of 24,000 users on YouTube and its founder, Mina Kim, is now a familiar face on the MAGA media circuit.

Then there is Freedom University, an organization that seems more distinctly Korean in its sensibility and aims, but still embodies the culture of MAGA — the appeal to youth grievances, an openness to conspiracy theories and a distrust of the system. If Build Up Korea represents an export of Trumpian American politics, Freedom University shows what MAGA looks like once that culture is translated, localized and embedded in a country’s political DNA.

As this style of populist far-right politics roots itself deeper into the culture of young conservatives in South Korea, disillusionment with the government and major institutions is only growing. It’s a familiar tale for Americans — and one that is gaining force across the globe.

The inception of Build Up Korea is a distinctly American tale.

The story goes like this: Kim was born in South Korea and immigrated to the United States when she was 12; she graduated from Pennsylvania State University in 2012 before moving back to Korea as an adult. When she came across TPUSA founder Kirk’s videos, she says she was inspired. She was particularly struck by the ones where he spoke to religious leaders, she says, including pastor Rob McCoy.

McCoy would gain national attention for defying Covid-19 orders and holding indoor, mask-free services, but before that, he was the man who helped guide Kirk’s spiritual journey, inviting him to speak at his church and later helping him establish TPUSA Faith.

And so Kim sought him out.

“When God gave me that vision to bring this movement, freedom movement to Korea, I went to Pastor Rob’s church out of the blue and walked into his office and said, ‘Pastor Rob, I came from Korea. You don’t know me, but you gotta help me. And I want to bring this freedom movement to Korea, and we need this so badly right now,” she recalled in a 2025 speech at Liberty University, the evangelical college founded by Jerry Falwell. (Kim, now 36, did not respond to a request for comment.)

McCoy was happy to offer his support. And Kirk happened to have a speech scheduled at the pastor’s church the following day, she said, giving her the opportunity to pitch them both on her vision.

“The seed of Build Up Korea was planted,” she said during the Liberty University speech. “It’s Turning Point USA, but the Korean version.”

Less than a year later, she says, Build Up Korea was born. The organization, founded in 2023, now markets itself as a conservative youth organization that promotes right-leaning political and cultural ideas among young South Koreans and Korean Americans. Its main tenets have been straightforward: anti-communism, a biblical worldview and free-market economics — not just within Korea, but globally.

The group spreads its gospel by hosting events and creating content online. On its Instagram account, there is a post praising the GOP’s proposed election overhaul known as the SAVE Act, an image of New York Mayor Zohran Mamdani with the phrase “the socialist surge” and a video examining the allegedly “occult” performances that repeatedly show up in Olympic ceremonies in Europe. The message is clear: The grievances and cultural battles that define MAGA politics in the United States have a place in South Korea too.

The organization’s centerpiece is its annual conference in Korea that draws hundreds of attendees and features guests tied to the American conservative movement. It’s a mash-up between a TPUSA event and CPAC, from the over-the-top stage lighting to the frequent references to God. The color scheme everywhere is red, white and blue — the colors of both the South Korean and American flags.

But what gives the group credibility is the conference’s speakers list: Key figures on the American right, including Donald Trump Jr., Trump adviser Alex Bruesewitz, Steve Bannon and Jack Posobiec have participated in the past. And Kirk himself attended the conference in person just days before he was assassinated in Utah.

“It is the young people that will determine the future of this country,” Kirk told a cheering audience last September. “I will continue to fight the communists on American college campuses, and you need to keep fighting communism in South Korea.”

Kirk’s message captures the ultimate goal of Build Up Korea: to cast South Korea’s political fights as part of the same global struggle championed by MAGA figures in the United States.

“I think he understood that his role had broadened to encourage conservatives throughout the world,” says Andrew Kolvet, a spokesperson for TPUSA and a Kirk confidant. “He also realized that America had a certain magic and an energy to it that he could lend to [South Koreans].”

Kim’s ties to the broader Trump orbit inform Build Up Korea’s ambitions and its MAGA-aligned messaging. Until January of this year, Kim was the Korea president of anti-abortion diaper company EveryLife, which is sold on PublicSquare, an online “anti-woke” marketplace backed by Don Jr.

She’s also spoken on conservative and far-right podcasts and shows, from Bannon’s War Room to Kevin Freeman’s Pirate Money, to praise the U.S.-South Korea alliance, lament conservatives’ plight in her country and plead for support from the United States.

“Korea just elected a left-leaning socialist president, and they just impeached a conservative president who would defend our relationship with America, and right now, Korea is actually leaning towards more favorable policies for China,” she said alongside Bannon last year at a War Room event. “And that’s why I’m trying to erect a movement called Build Up Korea for a grassroots freedom movement to bring Charlie Kirk and Steve Bannon to Korea and be a big daddy for our Korean people.”

“We need America and your help, people, for freedom for Korea,” she added before the crowd began chanting U.S.A. In the moment, she looked more like a CPAC regular than a Korean activist.

Then there is Freedom University, a group that is Korean to its core.

When I meet Park, the group’s 25-year-old leader, he is dressed in subdued, dark colors, and looks just like any other Korean college student. The way he bows, the way his voice remains low in public, the way he takes phone calls with two hands — Korean through and through.

A group of university students who opposed Yoon’s impeachment and defended his martial law order founded the organization in January 2025. The students were unable to stop Yoon’s impeachment — which a majority of the country approved of — but they soon created a more concrete political grassroots organization that looks to mobilize young conservatives both on social media and in the streets.

At first glance, the issues that Freedom University are focused on seem strictly Korean. The group deploys harsh anti-China and anti-North Korea rhetoric that have long been staples of Korean conservatism, though critics say their language is so intense it has veered into hate. Activists are fiercely opposed to the progressive President Lee Jae-myung and his party, the Democratic Party of Korea, often portraying them, without credible evidence, as sympathetic to communist influence.

But activists also eagerly promote wild claims of election fraud about South Korea’s voting system, echoing the kind of conspiracy theories that Trump and his supporters pushed after his 2020 election defeat.

Freedom University members frequently argue that South Korea’s elections have been manipulated, sometimes alleging that China played a role in rigging the system to keep conservatives out of power and advance communist interests. Election authorities and courts in South Korea say there is no evidence of widespread fraud and have repeatedly dismissed such claims — but that has done little to sway these young far-right Koreans.

The group has no direct connection to MAGA figures or Trump’s orbit. Yet when their supporters head to the streets with an American flag in hand, it’s clear they are steeped in the same political culture that has defined MAGA politics: a blend of populist anger, distrust of institutions and a belief that conservatives are locked in a battle against powerful elites.

One other reason they wave the American flag at protests: out of hope that the United States will save South Korea in the same way they believe Trump is saving his country. This notion — that the U.S. would somehow swoop in and reinstate Yoon as president, or that Trump would pressure the current president to set Yoon free — is unlikely, to say the least, but it speaks to their desperation.

“Ultimately, I think real change will only happen if a major power like the United States intervenes,” says Jeon, a 29-year-old Freedom University supporter who would only share his last name.

For some in the movement, the election conspiracy theories have evolved into a wider conviction that the government, media and political establishment are fundamentally corrupt — and not just in South Korea.

“Around the world, there is a strong suppression of the freedom camp,” Park tells me. “That’s something we’re seeing as well. What they call the ‘deep state’ — some say that Charlie Kirk’s death is connected to that.”

It is striking to hear the phrase “deep state,” and regarding a Kirk-related conspiracy theory, come out of the mouth of a young Korean man, but it shows how far the language of MAGA has traveled.

Kirk’s death has done much to unite the young global right because many saw themselves in him — and now view themselves and their movement under threat.

“I thought that it could be me next,” Park says. “I still have a lot to learn, but symbolically I serve as a leader for university students, so I felt that I could easily become a target.”

Park says Kirk’s death has helped bring more young conservatives together, and there may be some truth to that: Several young people I talked to at the Freedom University rallies said their politics seemed to resonate more with the people around them in recent months, and they’ve only seen the size of conservative rallies grow.

Surveys show that young men in particular are growing more conservative and dislike the current progressive President Lee. If polling shows strong support for Lee — his approval rating recently hit a new high of 67 percent — well, “the public opinion has been manipulated,” says Park Ji-hun, 27. “You can’t only rely only on what you see and hear [in the media]. You have to experience it yourself.” It’s a sentiment that has been repeated many times across the Pacific Ocean.

Park believes that his coalition of young people can become a political force — if infighting on the right and mounting controversies doesn’t consume them first.

Since Yoon’s removal, competing far-right groups have begun targeting one another with alleged exposés amid a struggle for dominance. Freedom University often finds itself in the middle of these disputes, although they claim it is only because outside forces are trying to exert influence over the organization. Most recently, a political rival disclosed leaked group chats between Freedom University members allegedly making sexually harassing remarks and encouraging illegal filming of women. Park declined to comment amid potential legal proceedings on the issue.

For now, the ongoing scandals haven’t deterred their fans. In a YouTube livestream held by Park to address attacks against Freedom University before the group chat leak, supporters flocked to the comments to show their support: “Stay strong. I support you. Yoon again!”

Just days after the final weekend rally for Yoon, his supporters gather near the court on the day of his sentencing. There have been rumors of a possible death sentence — which would mark the country’s first execution since 1997 — but nobody dares whisper that here.

The gigantic “Stop the Steal” flag is here again, as is the person in the Trump mask. American flags remain everywhere, along with MAGA gear. Organizers have brought out a large screen to watch the proceedings.

In the crowd, just minutes before the hearing is about to begin, I spot a white TPUSA hat in the crowd. It sits atop the head of Shin Woo-woon, 35, a self-proclaimed fan of American politics.

“People might think that the U.S. might have nothing to do with this event, but it is fundamentally about the principles we uphold — the U.S. is the symbol of freedom,” she says.

Freedom is what Yoon loses that day. The former president is found guilty of insurrection and sentenced to life in prison.

Some people start tearing up as they mumble, “What do we do, what do we do?” Many shout curses at the judge, at communists, at the country itself.

On my train ride home, a protester sits in the same subway car and wails during her entire six-stop ride. As she sobs into her hands, nobody tries to make eye contact; they’re looking at their phones, likely scrolling past the hundreds of headlines generated by Yoon’s sentence.

When the protester exits the train, her cries echo through the subway station. They only stop when the doors finally close.

If the jailing of their revered former leader felt like a setback for the movement’s power, it did nothing to dampen the fervor of its adherents.

Five days after the sentencing, a message pops up in Freedom University’s organizing channel on KakaoTalk, the country’s dominant messaging app. Another rally is to be held at the end of the month, this time against President Lee.

“We urge you to unite and raise your voices,” the group insists. The messages are still coming in, week after week after week.