When the South Korean boy band/K-pop sensation BTS takes the stage in Seoul this June, ending a four-year touring hiatus, it will mark more than just a comeback — it will validate one of the shrewdest soft-power decisions in recent memory.
In 2022, at the absolute apex of their global dominance, the group’s seven members chose to fulfill their mandatory military service rather than seek exemptions, which would almost certainly been granted. Their management company, HYBE, supported the decision. The world got a masterclass in how cultural power is created.
The cynics predicted career suicide. Instead, BTS demonstrated that soft power isn’t built on avoiding obligations — it’s built on embracing them. When they reunite on stage, they’ll do so with enhanced credibility, having proven their success didn’t exempt them from the responsibilities of ordinary citizens. Americans remember Elvis taking a similar course at the height of his fame.
The great thing about soft power is that, while generated by creative individuals and companies, it’s to the entire nation’s benefit. Like economic and martial power, soft power generates influence that can be used to bolster a nation’s standing. Examples of soft power abound from Britain’s cricket legacy and rock ’n’ roll ‘invasion’ of the 1960s to French and Italian cinema to America’s NBA, jazz music and Hollywood’s entertainment machine. Now, South Korea is stepping up.
Thus, it is almost tragic that while BTS was serving in the military, the ecosystem that made the band possible faces mounting scrutiny. South Korea has become expert at creating cultural phenomena that captivate the world — and equally expert at treating the architects of that success with suspicion once they achieve scale. This is a pattern South Korea cannot afford.
South Korea’s cultural preeminence did not emerge from a government plan. It sprang from creative ambition, commercial ruthlessness, and just enough regulatory space for experimentation. The K-pop system requires massive capital investment, sophisticated global distribution and executives willing to bet nine figures on whether teenagers in Jakarta and São Paulo will stream the same songs.
Yet, there’s a reflex in South Korean public life that treats popularity itself as evidence of wrongdoing. Bang Si-hyuk, the producer who built HYBE and shaped BTS into a global phenomenon, now faces legal scrutiny over stock transactions — the kind of corporate governance questions that seem to emerge almost inevitably once South Korean companies achieve sufficient scale.
The particulars matter less than the pattern: bold risk-taking generates soft power, then invites investigation once it succeeds.
Executives who might build the next BTS or international TV steaming sensation like, ‘Crash Landing on You,’ watch what happens to those who came before and recalibrate their ambition accordingly. In cultural soft power, this reflex is potentially fatal.
South Korea’s competitors are watching. China has spent billions trying to manufacture soft power through state-directed enterprises. The PRC has largely failed — because audiences smell propaganda. South Korean free enterprise is succeeding in creating cultural exports that are simultaneously local and universal, specific enough to feel authentic in Seoul and accessible enough to travel across the globe.
This is South Korea’s opportunity. Japan was given a similar window in the 1990s with anime and video games, but largely failed to capitalize on the trend because of governmental missteps. South Korea could easily repeat that mistake and lose the global influence that comes with serious national soft power.
South Korea needs to recognize soft-power assets as strategic resources. France protects its luxury brands because Paris recognizes these companies project French taste globally in ways no government agency could. South Korea should ask: What institutional arrangements allow us to maintain standards while protecting our champions?
South Korea’s cultural preeminence did not emerge from a government plan. It sprang from creative ambition, commercial ruthlessness, and just enough regulatory space for experimentation.
BTS’s decision to fulfill their national military service obligations demonstrates what’s possible when artists, companies and national interest align voluntarily. HYBE supported that choice. But South Korea can’t count on such choices being made repeatedly if the system treats success as inherently suspect.
In June 2026, when BTS embarks on a global tour generating billions in economic impact and incalculable goodwill toward South Korea, remember this moment almost didn’t happen. The members could have sought exemptions. Instead, they chose service and came back stronger.
But South Korea can’t count on such choices if the message to cultural entrepreneurs is that success invites scrutiny. The next generation is watching, deciding whether to aim for global impact or settle for domestic safety.
South Korea stumbled into becoming a cultural superpower. It doesn’t have to stumble out of it. But that requires recognizing that the bold, imperfect figures who build global cultural enterprises are assets to be protected, not problems to be managed.
BTS made their choice — they bet on their country. Now, South Korea needs to decide if it’s going to bet on the people who create the next BTS, or put them under investigation instead.
