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When I landed in Seoul after a grueling 12-hour flight from San Francisco, I walked through an unmanned immigration checkpoint, where a machine scanned my face and passport. On the subway home, people were glued to their phones (powered by flawless 5G even underground), as we raced past platforms lined with LED screens of ads celebrating K-pop idols’ birthdays. When I got off the station in Gangnam, a cartoon-eyed robot on wheels was waiting patiently at a crosswalk to deliver someone’s dinner. Internet cafés dotted the sidewalks, crammed with teenagers playing computer games, maybe hoping to become the next legendary pro gamer.

I stood at a bus stop with interactive touch screens showing real-time bus schedule updates. It will soon become an “AI bus stop,” the Gangnam district announced in June, with a kiosk that answers riders’ questions in multiple languages. The news didn’t surprise me. Having grown up in the city, I’ve watched Seoul transform from a scrappy boomtown into the gleaming tech capital it is today.

South Korea loves AI.

While a public backlash against AI is brewing across the US, South Koreans are optimistic. Only 16% say they are more concerned than excited about AI—the lowest of any of the 25 countries surveyed by the Pew Research Center—while 50% of Americans were more worried than excited. A majority of Koreans use AI every day, either as a sort of personal assistant or to do tasks at work, according to surveys by the Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism and Korea Chamber of Commerce and Industry.

One of the most wired countries in the world, South Korea loves to street-test every new technology on the block—AI webcomics, virtual K-pop idols, and humanoid monks. And the appetite for experimentation doesn’t stop with ordinary citizens. Government agencies are early adopters too, deploying AI textbooks in schools and AI eldercare robots in welfare centers. South Koreans share a deep conviction that embracing technology is integral to modernizing the country and cementing its place in the global order. Their fascination with AI is just the latest incarnation of that ethos—and it’s making them anxious to stay ahead.

Engineered enthusiasm

All this techno-optimism has largely been engineered by South Korea’s national agenda to make AI a motor of economic growth. “The South Korean government has designated an AI-powered Fourth Industrial Revolution as the country’s path forward and aggressively promoted and invested in it,” says Chihyung Jeon, a professor of science and technology policy at the Korea Advanced Institute of Science and Technology. “South Koreans have consistently and relentlessly been told by the government about AI’s potential to create a better future.”

As South Korea rose from the ashes of the Korean War, technology lifted the nation from poverty into an economic powerhouse. In the 1970s, South Korea manufactured steel and ships, then semiconductors in the 1980s, broadband in the 1990s, and smartphones in the 2000s. Today, Samsung and SK Hynix supply most of the world’s high-bandwidth memory chips, which power the cutting-edge Nvidia hardware used to train AI models. South Korea’s economy now orbits these two semiconductor giants: The country’s main equity index, Kospi, surged to record highs in 2026, powered by the soaring share prices of both companies, each valued above $1 trillion.

Lee Jae-myung, president of South Korea, has pledged to vault the country into the ranks of the “top three AI powers” alongside the US and China. After taking office in 2025, he launched the Presidential Council on National AI Strategy to help buy massive amounts of computing power and a sovereign AI foundation model project that funds Korean companies to develop homegrown AI models. The government has also supported semiconductor titans, including Samsung and SK Hynix, through generous tax credits and low-interest financing. 

South Korea’s policy posture also prioritizes accelerating AI development over safety considerations. In 2024, South Korea’s legislature passed the AI Basic Act, one of the world’s first comprehensive AI laws, to promote AI development and establish light-touch regulatory guardrails. Seventy percent of South Koreans say advancing science and medicine through AI innovation is a bigger priority than protecting industries through regulation, according to the 2026 Stanford AI Index.

All of that effort might be paying off. The same index ranked South Korea as having the third largest number of notable AI models in the world, based on criteria such as state-of-the-art advancements or high citation rates. For many small countries like South Korea, AI is a chance to punch above their weight.

The blind spots

But that single-mindedness can crowd out critical reflection on AI’s broader societal impacts. “Because the national agenda on AI prioritizes economic development,” says Jeon, the professor of science and technology policy, “there isn’t much reflection on the social, political, ethical dimensions of the technology.” In 2025, the South Korean government faced a fierce backlash for rolling out AI textbooks riddled with factual inaccuracies and data privacy risks without testing them first in a pilot program to evaluate how they affect student learning.

And despite their optimism, South Koreans are still worried that AI could displace them from their jobs. After Hyundai announced in January that it will deploy Atlas humanoid robots across its car factories, the Hyundai Motor Group union protested vehemently. “Without labor-management agreement, not a single robot using new technology will be allowed to enter the workplace,” the union said. Sixty-four percent of South Koreans fear AI could displace human labor and exacerbate inequality, although 52% believe it could also increase productivity. 

On a recent Friday night in the Seoul Central Market, I went out with my cousins to a pocha, a late-night restaurant that serves fish cakes stacked in neat pyramids. As we clinked our cups of soju cut with beer—the scrappy staple cocktail of every Korean night out—one cousin asked me if I’d asked ChatGPT about my saju, a traditional Korean fortune-telling practice. A 29-year-old insurance agent in Seoul praying for a new job and a boyfriend, she said asking ChatGPT about work and dating was her favorite pastime. She pulled up her phone and punched my birth date into the chatbot. 

Addicted to their screens, trapped between unemployment and dead-end jobs, and priced out of marriage and homeownership, 46% of South Koreans in their 20s have used a chatbot to read their fortunes, according to a survey by Korea Gallup. 

My cousin said she also asks ChatGPT for tips on trading stocks, dreaming big about making bank on her investment accounts into which she’s been pouring her salary. ChatGPT, she believes, is her portal out of reality into a better future.

Despite how fond she is of the chatbot as her shaman and financial advisor, she fears losing her job to AI. She still uses ChatGPT feverishly at work, as all her coworkers do, afraid of falling behind. 

“I sometimes fear AI, but for now, it’s just so useful,” she said.

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Casey Harrell has had a set of electrodes embedded in his brain for almost three years. Harrell, who has amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS) and is paralyzed, first used his brain-computer interface (BCI) to “speak” sentences with the help of a research team in 2023.

Since then, Harrell has clocked thousands of hours of use. He can use the device largely independently, once he’s been “plugged in” with the help of a carer. His team has added new features to it, and Harrell also uses it to surf the web and perform his job.

“Living with a disease like ALS, you are supposed to have diminished dreams. I do not,” Harrell tells MIT Technology Review. “Any one of these things would be an absolute godsend of improvement. To have all of them, and many, many more, is truly revolutionary.” 

Within the first 22.6 months after the device was implanted, Harrell had used it for more than 3,800 hours at home without any researchers present, the team reported today in the journal Nature Medicine. “He’s the first power user of a speech BCI,” says team member Sergey Stavisky, a neuroengineer at the University of California, Davis.

Decoding speech

Three years ago, Harrell entrusted David Brandman, an associate professor of neurological surgery at the University of California, Davis, and his colleagues with his brain. Harrell, who was 45 at the time, had already been diagnosed with ALS, a degenerative disease that robs people of the use of their muscles.

Harrell was dependent on others to control his wheelchair and to dress and feed him. He had difficulty speaking; people struggled to understand what he was saying. Then Brandman and his colleagues asked if he’d like to trial a brain implant that might help him communicate. “The industry was [on the] cusp of a transformation, and I wanted to be part of it,” says Harrell. He signed up.

In July 2023, during a five-hour operation, doctors implanted four arrays of 64 electrodes each into his brain. Each pair of arrays was wired to a “pedestal” connection point—creating two docking locations on the exterior of his skull to connect the electrodes to a computer.

The team had long been working on developing algorithms to decode brain activity into speech. Their system works by recording activity from the speech motor cortex—a region of the brain responsible for the movements that allow us to speak.

“There are 39 phonemes that make up all the sounds in the [American] English language,” says Nicholas Card, a neuroengineer at UC Davis and member of the team. Mapping neural activity related to producing each of those phonemes can allow the team to create a personalized speech decoder and software that can “speak” those words. “We first go from brain data to phonemes, and then from phonemes to words,” he says.

They started using the device around a month after the surgery. The team got Harrell’s speech decoder working on the first day, says Card. On that day in August, Harrell used the device to speak with a 50-word vocabulary, and 99.6% of the words were as he’d intended. That vocabulary was later expanded to 125,000 words with 97.5% accuracy.

At the time, it was unclear how long the device might last. Brain-computer interfaces are still new—not many people have had them implanted for long periods of time. Scar tissue can form around electrodes in a person’s brain, interfering with their ability to pick up neural activity, for example. But that doesn’t seem to be the case for Harrell.

Power user

In another advance, Harrell is now able to use the device more independently. In 2023, members of the research team would have to visit Harrell at his home and physically connect and disconnect him from the device on the days he wanted to use it. Not anymore. The team has since automated more of the system—today, Harrell’s care partner can don and doff it for him. “He’ll wake up, get plugged in, and just get going,” says Stavisky.

This is important, says Mariska Vansteesel, a BCI researcher at Utrecht Medical Center who was not involved in the trial. “For these technologies to be relevant for patients, we really need to test them in settings in which they will eventually be used … to demonstrate that it has value, that it’s usable, and that it functions well without the constant involvement of a research team,” she says.

Casey Harrell uses his BCI to speak in “private mode.”

The team has also worked to improve the system itself. It is now 99% accurate, says Stavisky. Harrell can also control a cursor—a game changer that enables him to use his personal computer to send text messages and emails, surf the web, and keep up with his job as an environmental activist.

Over the years, the team has updated the system to accommodate specific requests from Harrell. He is now able to switch on a “privacy mode”—when active, any decoded text will be automatically deleted. He can also opt to use a “profanity filter” while he’s talking to his young daughter.

“We have been able to add on to the software side of the device … improving the accuracy and adding more bells and whistles to enable me to be more independent when using the device,” says Harrell. “We are making the road as we walk it, or roll it, so to speak.”

Nothing short of revolutionary

Vansteesel cautions that while the device is working well for Harrell, there’s no guarantee it will work as well, or as long, for other people with ALS. Over the last decade, she has worked with a woman with ALS who used a fully implanted device to communicate using “brain clicks”—cursor clicks made using brain activity. The woman used her BCI for seven years, but it stopped working toward the end of that period, apparently due to brain degeneration.

At any rate, not everyone with ALS will be willing to undergo invasive brain surgery, says Jane Huggins, who is developing noninvasive BCIs at the University of Michigan and was not involved in the trial. “Long-term, independent use with efficient and accurate communication is kind of the holy grail of BCI,” she says. “But we have been finding a consistent aversion to hospital stays among people with progressive conditions like ALS.”

Harrell, however, calls the device “nothing short of revolutionary.” “This has allowed me to keep working and earn money and insurance for my family. This is reconnecting me with friends and family who are too shy or too afraid to come over and not be able to understand me,” Harrell says. “With my seven-year-old daughter, I am able to create a bond that I wasn’t before able to forge. Now I can read to them and help them sharpen their own reading skills. By doing so, I am able to share the responsibility of parenting with my wife, who does so much caregiving for me and also our daughter.”

Stavisky and his colleagues hope to improve the device further still. “We’re never satisfied,” he says. One aim is to eventually restore Harrell’s “full voice.” They are working on a “brain-to-voice” system that could directly decode brain activity to a speaking voice, complete with natural-sounding cadence, inflection and intonation—a voice that could sound happy, angry, or sarcastic, for example.

“I was quietly confident that I could get some personal benefit from the system,” says Harrell. “Never in a million years would I think that I would achieve this much.” 

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