Daughter set to shake off father's shadow The boxcutter blade emerged suddenly from the crowd, slicing a deep path from Park Geun-hye's ear to the front of her right jaw. As she clutched her face in agony onlookers wondered whether Ms Park had met the fate of her dictator father, murdered three decades before. Ten days later she was back on the election trail - and on her way to becoming northeast Asia's first female leader. For Ms Park's supporters, her stoical response to that 2006 attack reflects the toughness and dedication that brought her election this week as South Korea's next president. Her victory is a milestone in a region where women are under-represented at the top of business and politics. "You have allowed me to open a new era," Ms Park told a cheering crowd in Seoul's central square, after her victory was confirmed late on Wednesday night. Yet, as she prepares to take office in February, Ms Park will be pondering how she can win over the many South Koreans who view her less as a symbol of change and more as a remnant of a sinister political past that they hoped to forget. History runs deep in public discourse in South Korea, which in the matter of a few decades has moved from poverty and dictatorship to democracy and prosperity. Ms Park's father, General Park Chung-hee laid the foundations for robust growth by directing funding towards the export-focused manufacturing groups that remain at the heart of the economy, now Asia's fourth-largest. But he eroded civil liberties, with many political dissidents intimidated, tortured or killed. As Ms Park sought the presidency this year, opponents said her refusal to criticise her father showed that she would rule in a similar authoritarian style. In September, bowing deeply, she apologised publicly for "pain and suffering" during her father's rule. But she held back from condemning him altogether. "I do not think that the people of Korea really want me, a daughter, to spit on my father's grave," she said with a nod to Confucian norms of filial respect. Born in 1952, Ms Park entered the presidential Blue House aged nine after Park Chung-hee's military coup in 1961, and spent the remainder of her childhood there, before moving to Paris to study French. She made a tearful return in 1974, after her mother was killed by a North Korean assassin's bullet intended for her father. She served as his first lady, entertaining foreign statesmen and attending state ceremonies - until he too was shot dead, over dinner, by his intelligence chief. Awoken in the night to be told of her father's murder, Ms Park says her first words were: "Is the border with North Korea secure?" Despite this outward coolness, she was deeply shaken by her father's death, retreating from public life. For 19 years she worked with a charitable foundation and read extensively on philosophy and spiritualism. In 1998, as South Korea was buffeted by the Asian financial crisis, Ms Park decided to enter politics. She quickly became a leading figure in the conservative, male-dominated Grand National party, later becoming its chairperson. Early this year she oversaw its rebranding as the New Frontier party, and ran a slick campaign that resulted in a surprise victory in April's parliamentary election. Her ascent has been in spite of a wooden public-speaking style. Her reliance on briefing documents during televised presidential debates earned mockery as the "notebook princess" in online forums. "She's not a great communicator, but she has great talent in crisis management," says Ahn Byung-jin, author of a book on Ms Park. Decisive leadership is her key quality - like father, like daughter. Her opponents prefer to associate her with her father's less attractive qualities. "She steers her party in an authoritarian, undemocratic way," says Lee Hae-chan, former head of the opposition Democratic United party. One clear difference with her father may be her stance on North Korea with whom Ms Park has promised to seek talks - while still keeping up pressure for Pyongyang to abandon its nuclear programme. For many South Koreans, however, Ms Park's carefully managed public appearances and closely guarded privacy make her difficult to assess. A softly spoken woman who never married or had children, Ms Park tends to avoid publicity, preferring to spend time reading or practising yoga. Shim Jae-hoon, a political commentator, says appearances can be deceptive: "She's much tougher than she looks - she grew up under a very difficult set of circumstances." Her reserved manner has left her vulnerable to accusations of haughtiness. This year, Jun Yeo-ock, former chief spokeswoman for the GNP, recalled in her memoirs an incident at a political event: "I was sitting behind Park when it started to rain. A lawmaker told me to put on the hood of her raincoat. I was embarrassed - why couldn't she put it on herself? I put it on for her, but she didn't say anything. Lee Chung-min, a senior adviser to Ms Park, defends her against claims of insensitivity: "She's a very good listener - she listens to all views. And what she says in public is the same as what she says in private. Her public pronouncements have not been explicit enough for some voters. "All the older generation like her, but I haven't heard clear policies from her," said one 32-year-old woman leaving a polling booth in Seoul this week. Her campaign pledges centred on reining in the mighty chaebol conglomerates , boosting social spending and support for struggling small businesses. A growing number of South Koreans feel that the country's export-led, growth-focused economic model needs to be refashioned to help those left behind in the dash for prosperity. Sceptics argue that Ms Park, as a conservative politician from a powerful family, will do little more than preserve the status quo. If she delivers on her promises of a fairer society, she could prove her doubters wrong - and finally step out of her father's shadow. The writer is Korea correspondent