When Pop Stars Make for Secret Weapons

South Korean K-pop boy band BTS in 2020.Foreign Policy illustration/Getty Images photo

When the members of world-famous K-pop boy band BTS announced last October that they would soon begin their mandatory service in the South Korean military, they ended a yearslong nationwide debate about the celebrity superstars’ conscription obligations. Seoul’s military is already leveraging their service to garner positive publicity for the long-criticized experiences of conscripted soldiers. With the BTS members among its ranks, the military hopes to show the South Korean public that it is a reformed force, staffed by adequately compensated, technically skilled soldiers who are capable of fulfilling the country’s expanding national security needs.

Jin, the eldest member of the group and the first to enlist, has already refashioned himself as a dutiful citizen; in photos posted for his adoring fans, a regulation buzzcut has replaced his signature long locks, and he sports standard army fatigues in lieu of luxury designer outfits.

The relationship between the Republic of Korea (ROK) military and BTS bears a striking resemblance to the conscription and military service of another global music superstar: Elvis. Like BTS, Elvis Presley was drafted at a key moment for his country’s military, as it sought to dramatically change its public image and its role in the nation’s future. Examining the parallel transformations that Elvis and the U.S. Army underwent in the late 1950s can shed light on ROK military reforms in the present, illuminating how South Korea intends to use its superstar recruits to support its strategic goals.

Elvis Presley poses during his national military service duty circa 1958 to 1960.Apic/Getty Images

In his book Elvis’s Army, Brian Linn argues that after years of bad press, the U.S. Army was eager to market itself as a new and improved force: an egalitarian, racially integrated institution through which men from all walks of life could build character, gain valuable professional skills, and become good citizens. Conscripting celebrities, even those as famous as Elvis, allowed the Army to promote its reforms while also pushing back against criticism that privileged men might be able to dodge the draft, supposedly a universal call of duty.

In a move largely credited to Elvis’ manager, the singer eschewed a comfortable publicity role and instead became an “average” enlisted soldier. He ditched his greased pompadour for a clean crew cut and reported for duty as a U.S. Army grunt. Prior to his service, Elvis often starred in films as the laidback rebel. He was an icon for youthful disobedience, as well as a target for conservative criticism. But after a two-year stint in the Army, most of which he spent in Germany, Elvis emerged with the look of a “morally straight young soldier.” He may have lost some of his edge, but Elvis’ transformation into a military poster-child was mutually beneficial. The Army boosted its reputation, and Elvis relaunched himself as a mainstream star through films such as G.I. Blues, which offered a light-hearted, patriotic message that military service could be fun and personally transformative.

Unlike Elvis, BTS has already achieved mainstream success on a global scale, and the relatively wholesome boy band has never attracted the type of controversy Elvis did. But failing to fulfill their military obligations could be a lightning rod for the group’s national reputation. One of the longstanding criticisms of South Korea’s conscription is its uneven impact on different sectors of society. Wealthy men have sometimes been able to avoid serving, unlike the less well-off, and some celebrities have faced significant criticism for either dodging conscription or enjoying exclusive luxuries during their service. In this context, celebrity draft dodgers wouldn’t be seen as objecting to an unjust institution; anything less than dutiful service could be seen as BTS members shirking their national duty because their resources allow it.

Much like Elvis Presley in 1958, Jin, the first member of BTS to be drafted, has entered the military’s ranks at a moment of reckoning for the South Korean national security establishment.

Despite procuring advanced, high-level technologies for certain sectors of the armed forces—for instance, the $7 billion spent in 2014 to acquire F-35 fighter jets—the rank-and-file of South Korea’s military have long suffered from extremely low wages, poor meals, inadequate healthcare, and atrophied, unreliable squad-level equipment. Problems for low-ranking soldiers have been exacerbated by the military’s deep-rooted culture of abuse. In recent years, suicides, deaths by hazing, and shooting sprees committed by bullied conscripts have contributed to widespread public discontent with an institution many see as out of step with South Korea’s democratic society.

These problems are—and will continue to be—compounded by South Korean demographic challenges. Declining birth rates mean that, in 2019, the number of draftees was projected to shrink by half over the next two decades.

The South Korean military’s personnel challenges come at a moment of increased concerns about China’s posture and North Korea’s missile capabilities. The military has correspondingly presented itself as serving an expanded global role with a wider mission set, even while the public has shown consistent skepticism about the military’s capabilities vis-à-vis its northern neighbor.

To that end, in 2017, the Moon administration launched the Defense Reform 2.0 plan, which reimagines and seeks to reform the relationship of the military to the democratic South Korean polity. With these reforms, the ROK Armed Forces intend to become leaner and more humane to their service members, and to embrace greater accountability and institutional transparency in an attempt to earn back the public’s trust and support.

The Yoon administration has continued these initiatives. In the 2023 defense budget, salaries for the rank-and-file will increase across the board, with some receiving a 48% increase in their monthly wage. There will be more spending on personal combat equipment, military hospitals, and medical care, and allowances for off-base activities. The ROK Army is also piloting a program that would dramatically elevate mealtime with “hotel-like” cafeterias that employ civilian nutritionists and offer a variety of fresh foods. The Military Manpower Administration, which oversees conscription, also announced in January that “social workers”—conscripted men who are deemed ineligible for military service and occupy public service roles instead—would now receive full health insurance, as opposed to previous partial subsidies.

The conscription of the BTS members, at first glance, may appear to be a net loss for the South Korean government, given the immense cultural, economic, and diplomatic power the group wielded on the global stage when active. However, the move serves the needs of the ROK military in two crucial registers. First, it reasserts that service remains the cornerstone of South Korean male citizenship, which ought to apply to all men without exception for one’s socioeconomic background. Second, it offers a key opportunity for the Ministry of National Defense to publicize its efforts to root out toxic elements of its military culture and rectify the litany of problems faced by the conscripted soldier.

Like Elvis and the U.S. Army, both Jin and the ROK Army have taken advantage of the public and media attention garnered by the celebrity’s service and posted photos of the star at basic training on social media, much to the delight of his global fanbase.

But the relationship between celebrity image and military institutions can be fraught, as Elvis himself found out in the 1960s. After a string of vapid but financially successful musicals, Elvis capped off the decade with a bizarre photo-op with then-President Richard Nixon, at which the star suggested that he should be made a federal agent in the Bureau of Narcotics. Ironically, Elvis was struggling with drug addiction at the time, which is believed to have originated from an introduction to amphetamines during his military service. He eventually died from heart failure at the age of 42, likely due to his drug abuse—lending a deeper meaning to John Lennon’s famous statement that Elvis “died when he went into the Army.”

The U.S. Army, which saw Elvis as an opportunity to present itself as new and improved, also soon found itself embroiled in the disasters of the Vietnam War, which demolished the force’s claims that it had sufficiently reformed to face the challenges of the Cold War and that getting drafted could be a character-building, enjoyable experience.

There’s no reason to believe that members of BTS will meet a similarly grisly fate. But the ROK Armed Forces of today would be wise to learn from Elvis’ and the U.S. Army’s midcentury experience. Celebrities can generate good press and temporarily improve optics, but only persistent structural reform can correct deep-seated sources of dysfunction. Seoul has said it’s serious about following through with promised changes, but if it wants the ROK military to be truly prepared to meet its strategic goals, it will need to succeed at more than just marketing.