Seoul pushes military independence as Trump cuts joint drills with North Korea

On Sunday night, Donald Trump picked up the phone and told the Pentagon to cut back this week's joint military exercises with South Korea. His reason was simple: North Korea, he said, had been "unthreathing and respectful," and he had a "very good relationship" with Kim Jong-un. By Tuesday morning in Seoul, President Lee Jae Myung had already seized the moment. He announced that South Korea would accelerate its long-standing push to take full wartime control of its own military from the United States—a goal his government has pursued for more than two decades.

The timing was not accidental. The drills that Trump had just gutted, called Ulchi Freedom Shield, were supposed to certify that South Korea was ready for exactly this kind of independence. They were meant to involve roughly 18,000 South Korean troops, alongside American forces and personnel from eleven of the eighteen member states of the United Nations Command, the multinational body that has overseen the armistice between North and South Korea since 1953. Lee used Trump's decision not as a setback but as leverage. "A strong alliance makes the foundation of security stronger," he told his cabinet, "and strengthening our own capabilities increases our value and necessity as an ally." The message was clear: if the Americans were going to reduce their commitment, Seoul would have to move faster on its own.

The roots of this arrangement run deep. When the Korean War ended in an armistice rather than a peace treaty in 1953, it left the peninsula technically at war. American troops have been stationed in South Korea ever since, and the country now hosts Camp Humphreys, the largest American military base outside the United States. For seventy years, wartime operational control—the authority to direct South Korean forces if fighting resumes—has rested with the head of the Combined Forces Command, a position always held by an American four-star general. South Korea regained peacetime control of its own military in 1994, but the wartime authority became something more than a military question. It became a symbol of national sovereignty, a wound that successive governments have tried to heal.

Lee's acceleration of this goal comes at a moment when the military threat from the North has, by some measures, grown sharper. North Korea has deepened its ties with Russia since they signed a comprehensive strategic partnership in June 2024. Pyongyang is now sending troops to Ukraine, providing artillery ammunition and ballistic missiles to support Moscow's war. Those soldiers are learning new battlefield tactics—drone operations, modern warfare in urban terrain—and bringing those lessons back home. Last week, South Korean and US military officials said the Ulchi Freedom Shield drills would have incorporated exactly these new threats, these evolved capabilities. Colonel Ryan Donald, the public affairs director for the US-led commands in South Korea, explained that the training had to change because the threat had changed. "They've taken those lessons they learned there and brought them back to North Korea," he said. "That changes the DPRK capability."

Trump's decision to cut the drills came despite these warnings from his own military officials. It was not the first time he had suspended major exercises with South Korea in pursuit of diplomacy with Kim. After his first summit with the North Korean leader in 2018, that year's Ulchi Freedom Guardian exercise was cancelled. Other drills were suspended or scaled back. The exercises were eventually redesigned and resumed in modified form with new names. But each time, the underlying message was the same: the US president believed he could manage the North Korean threat through personal relationship rather than military readiness.

On Monday, when asked about his conversations with Kim, Trump said only that things were "very positive" and offered no details. He doubled down on his praise for the North Korean leader. "Kim Jong-un has always treated me with great respect," he said. "I understand him. He understands me." He claimed that his ties with Kim had actually reduced tensions and made things safer. The logic was his own: personal warmth could substitute for military preparation.

Seoul's response was measured but pointed. Lee's office said the drills did not reflect any intention to attack North Korea or escalate tensions. Their purpose, the office reiterated, was "not to treat a specific entity as an adversary, but to safeguard the safe and peaceful daily lives of the people." But Lee also called for faster progress on South Korea's nuclear-powered submarine programme and on developing officers capable of integrated operations for future conflicts. The message was unmistakable: if the American commitment was wavering, South Korea would have to build its own strength, and it would have to do it quickly.