Original Author: Sleepy

AI may redefine the future, but it still cannot replace the dignity that belongs to labor.

On May 20, Samsung Electronics and the union's wage negotiations nearly reached a breaking point. The union was originally prepared to launch an 18-day strike starting May 21. At the last minute, both parties reached a temporary agreement, and the strike was temporarily paused, with the final decision to be made through a vote by union members. But the real issue did not disappear because of this.

The matter of striking is not unfamiliar to us.

Those past events are similarly heavy; some occurred in old industrial bases, some in the automotive supply chain, and some in foreign trade factories relying on cheap labor, with keywords often revolving around low wages and debts. Initially, people were taken for granted as a type of durable consumable, accommodated in various plans dubbed "the greater good." It was only when the days became so oppressive that they could hardly breathe that everyone suddenly realized they had not deteriorated into mere iron parts, and so they straightened their backs and made a sound belonging to humanity from that cold order.

But this time is different.

This time, it is the workers of Samsung Electronics who are standing up.

They are not the workers without a way to retreat in the tide of globalization, but rather a group of people positioned deep within the AI supply chain, closest to the "future." In the vast chaebol machine that is Samsung, this giant, which controls the global semiconductor lifeline, is being paused by its own workers.

A Strike That Threatens Global AI

This strike is precisely throttling the throat of the global AI industry chain.

Together, Samsung and SK Hynix produce about two-thirds of the world's memory chips.

While memory chips have always been important, they were not considered a glamorous business until AI came along, suddenly making it a battleground. Large model training, inference, and data center expansion require not just GPUs but also high-speed feeding, storage, and fetching of data, necessitating high-bandwidth memory like HBM.

According to KB Securities analyst Jeff Kim, this 18-day strike could disrupt 3% to 4% of the global DRAM supply and 2% to 3% of the NAND supply. While it's not the end of the world, it’s enough to tighten price expectations, customer production schedules, cloud vendor costs, and the nerves of tech stocks.

The South Korean government is even more restless. Because Samsung is not just an ordinary company; it is more like a manifestation of Korean national strength.

The Korea Herald reported that semiconductor exports account for about 35% of South Korean exports. In the first quarter of 2026, Korea's exports reached a record high of $219.9 billion, with semiconductor exports up 139% year-over-year, reaching $78.5 billion.

Samsung itself accounts for about a quarter of South Korea's KOSPI market value. In other words, a shake in Samsung's production lines affects not only the profits of a single company but also South Korea's exports, stock market, currency expectations, and the country's confidence in storytelling to the outside world.

More crucially, the arrival of AI has been too abrupt. In the past, when Korea spoke of being a technologically powerful nation, it revolved around mobile phones, panels, automobiles, home appliances, and semiconductors. Now, the global narrative has been reshuffled by large models, with OpenAI, Google, Anthropic, and a group of large model companies in China taking the spotlight, along with computing giants like NVIDIA. South Korea also wants to develop its sovereign AI, and the government is promoting national-level AI infrastructure; NVIDIA has even announced plans to deploy over 260,000 AI chips in Korea. But South Korea knows well that relying solely on models, it is difficult to carve out an overwhelming international influence amid the pincers of the US and China.

What it really holds onto is the harder, heavier, and less glamorous path: memory chips, HBM, DRAM, NAND, advanced manufacturing, and the underlying supply chain that feeds AI data centers. This is why Samsung has become more important than ever today.

The further AI runs, the more the world realizes that large models are not magical entities floating in the cloud; they require electricity, GPUs, and memory. Korea may not be able to change the world with just one model, but it can make all models around the world unable to bypass it through chips.

The AI industry often talks about computing power, models, the rivalry among giants, and who has outperformed whom.

The Samsung strike suddenly pulled everyone from the clouds back to the ground. No matter how high the computing power is, it ultimately has to land on factories, shifts, bonus formulas, and labor negotiations.

The future is not floating in the clouds. The future also needs to pay salaries.

Why Did They Strike?

There are several core demands from the union:

A 7% increase in the base salary;

15% of Samsung's annual operating profit to be allocated to an employee bonus pool;

Removal of the current bonus cap of about 50% of annual salary, and clear definitions on how bonuses are calculated, when they are distributed, and whether they will continue in the future.

Samsung disagrees. The company believes the union's demands are too high, especially as extending the high bonuses to loss-making divisions would break the rule of "who profits gets more bonuses."

Reportedly, a key point of contention during negotiations was the distribution of bonuses among different divisions within the semiconductor department. The memory business is profitable, while other divisions are under pressure or even losing money, raising the question of whether substantial bonuses should be given to employees in loss-making departments.

In modern corporations, ordinary employees increasingly have fewer opportunities to directly discuss compensation with their bosses. Money is wrapped up in a pile of seemingly objective metrics: performance, coefficients, costs, cycles, business units, profit standards, bonus caps.

Samsung's bonuses have always been tied to a complex formula that South Korean media refers to as EVA. The gist is that profits must first subtract taxes, investments, and various capital costs; only what remains counts as bonuses. The financial logic is of course sound, but it is hard for people to accept. Employees do not understand: If the company's profits are rising, why isn’t my bonus moving? Am I failing because of performance or this formula? Does the sweat I shed really count as contribution in the company’s eyes?

The anger of Samsung employees has only now erupted because they have a mirror beside them, called SK Hynix.

SK Hynix has seized a fantastic position in the AI storage field and has shone brilliantly on the HBM supply chain. More importantly, it knows how to convert that success into real numbers on employee paychecks.

In September 2025, SK Hynix and the union agreed on new rules: over the next decade, the company will allocate 10% of its operating profits to employees annually and has removed the original bonus cap.

The Korea Central Daily reported at the time that under the new agreement, each employee was expected to receive approximately 100 million Korean won in bonuses, about 450,000 RMB. By early 2026, the Seoul Economic Daily reported, based on the company’s 2025 performance, that about 34,500 SK Hynix employees would receive performance bonuses averaging about 140 million Korean won, approximately 630,000 RMB.

Even more remarkably, the Seoul Economic Daily cited FnGuide predictions that SK Hynix's 2026 operating profit could reach 230.0885 trillion Korean won, meaning a 10% bonus pool of about 23 trillion Korean won. Dividing this by 34,549 employees gives an average of about 670 million Korean won, around 3.04 million RMB.

The neighbor has already served the meat from the pot. At this moment, when Samsung employees hear the company talking about EVA, capital costs, and departmental differences, they of course become furious.

Samsung's official financial report shows that in the first quarter of 2026, the company’s consolidated revenue reached 133.9 trillion Korean won, a record high for a quarter; operating profit reached 57.2 trillion Korean won. The semiconductor department's revenue in the first quarter was 81.7 trillion Korean won, with operating profit of 53.7 trillion Korean won. The bulk of the earnings came from AI-related demand, such as high-value-added AI storage, rising industry storage prices, HBM4, and the expansion of AI data centers.

The awkwardness lies here.

When the company is losing money, employees have no leverage, and bosses urge everyone to endure, claiming that the cycle will eventually turn around. Employees may not be convinced, but as they see no profits on paper, they go along with it. However, when the company becomes prosperous again and the fat meat is firmly served on the table, at this point, who gets to wield chopsticks, who sits at the main seat, and who can only stand by and smell the food can no longer be consoled with emotional appeals.

The Source of the Problem

To understand why Samsung has made its employees so angry today, it is necessary to look beyond just one paycheck and reflect on the long-standing tension between Korean chaebols and workers.

The modernization process in South Korea resembles a rapid march led by the state. Large companies pushed ahead at the forefront while workers trudged behind. The vehicle indeed moves quickly, but seat allocation has never been decided by collective discussion.

Post-war Korea was impoverished. Since the era of Park Chung-hee, the state became the overall coordinator of industrialization, vigorously supporting chaebols to seize orders, build factories, and chase after technology. Samsung, Hyundai, SK—these names gradually became the face of the nation. They were preordained to be victorious flag bearers because Korea needed this victory. To achieve this, the state handed over resources, banks delivered loans, and society gave endless patience, leaving only strict discipline in factories.

In this setup, the role of workers was very clear: first build the nation, then grow companies, and endure for a while. Wages can come a little later, rights can come a little later, unions can come a little later, and dignity can also take a discount for now. Before the vehicle even starts, don't ask whether the seats are comfortable.

1987 was a watershed moment. The once rigid order cracked open, and workers emerged through the gap from the factories. Unions in large enterprises began to take root, and workers became unwilling to merely serve as vague backdrops to the grand narrative of the “economic miracle.” They stepped to the forefront, demanding wages, safety, and, crucially, to be treated as living creators, not as worn-out parts that could be discarded.

However, Samsung has long been the exception. Samsung's "no-union management" has been a persistent aspect of its corporate culture. In 2019, relevant executives and employees from Samsung intervened in and obstructed legal union activities in various ways, leading to the imprisonment of Samsung Electronics' chairman Lee Sang-hoon for disrupting union activities. In 2020, Lee Jae-yong publicly apologized, promising to abolish this set of old rules within the Samsung Group, marking the beginning of the opening in Samsung's iron curtain.

Therefore, this strike is not out of the blue. It is backed by the post-war industrialization of Korea, the old methods of chaebols, labor movements after 1987, Samsung's longstanding no-union tradition, and the overdue apology in 2020.

The most painful aspect of the whole situation is not the money but the fact that some capitalists can only "share in suffering" but are unwilling to "enjoy prosperity" together.

When the company is struggling, employees are often asked to act like a family. When the company is profitable, employees are reminded that this is a company. The first statement speaks of feelings, while the second speaks of systems. The problem is that humanity does not only exist in times of difficulty.

At this point, it is no longer just a Korean story.

Working together through difficulties, reducing costs and increasing efficiency, enhancing quality and efficiency, embracing AI, improving human efficiency, optimizing costs—these are phrases we are all too familiar with now.

This may be the least dignified aspect of the AI era.

We thought AI would liberate people from labor. In reality, the result is often that people have to accommodate AI to save costs for the company; people have to learn AI to make departments more efficient; people have to accept job reshuffling, performance re-evaluation, and salary re-setting. As for the benefits, there are always voices advising you to wait a little longer, not to rush, as the company still has to invest, research, resist cycles, and maintain competitiveness.

These reasons may all be valid. But the problem is, if they are forever pushed in only one direction, they will turn into a very dignified excuse. Many companies in reality operate like this: while the money is everyone's to earn, when it comes time to discuss how to distribute it, it is best that you keep quiet.

Samsung employees have now spoken up.

But their voices may not necessarily lead to victory. The South Korean government could resort to emergency mediation, courts have already restricted some actions, and Samsung has complex production and legal mechanisms. A semiconductor factory is not a small workshop that can simply close; the union cannot stop such a sophisticated system without cost. The real world is not a sweet story, and it is not easy for workers to achieve victory.

Snowpiercer

In Bong Joon-ho's "Snowpiercer," humanity is crammed into a train that cannot stop.

The front of the train represents order, technology, and the future; the back is crowded, silent, and marked by a predetermined fate. The most poignant aspect of this story is not the forced stratification of train cars but that everyone accepts a premise: the train must never stop.

As long as the train must keep moving forward, where you suffer in which car and whether you are eating cockroaches become the "necessary costs" to maintain the system's operation. For that grand drive, it seems that actual living individuals can always be sacrificed.

The Samsung strike is similarly trapped on a train that "cannot stop."

Wafers must not be damaged, production lines must not stall, AI servers must not wait, South Korea's export data must not decline, and global tech companies do not want to see memory chip prices pushed higher again. Each reason is so correct that it is indisputable, stated with conviction. From the standpoint of the national economy, Samsung cannot stop; in front of the global supply chain's balance sheet, Samsung cannot stop; in the fierce AI racing competition where victory is still undecided, Samsung absolutely cannot stop.

The less a machine can afford to stop, the more likely the people inside are required to endure.

Endure the production line, endure the cycle, endure the performance, endure the company strategy, endure global competition. Until the end, people will find that they are always paving the way for something larger. Larger than the company, larger than the industry, larger than the future.

Ordinary people's lives appear very small before these grand terms, small enough to resemble a screw. However, screws also have their own metal fatigue.

The action taken by the Samsung union does not negate the benefits brought by AI to the world, it does not deny the semiconductor industry, nor does it say that technological advancement is unimportant.

It is neither an old story of the poor resisting the rich, nor a small story of high-salaried employees sharing bonuses.

It actually hits upon one of the most disquieting propositions of the AI era: as technology advances, will labor become increasingly silent? As machines grow larger, is the bargaining power of ordinary people doomed to shrink? As growth becomes more dazzling, will the certainty of our lives weaken?

We like to talk about the future, and the term "future" is indeed useful. It is like a high-wattage spotlight, illuminating blueprints at press conferences, ambitions in financing plans, and those rising company valuations. But the future cannot solely illuminate the train's front; it must also shift to the rear, illuminating the grueling night shifts, the name tags on chests, the resumes in graduates' hands, and those who are constantly advised to "embrace change" but find themselves ushered out when it comes time to distribute the fruits.

The Samsung strike may ultimately conclude with a compromise, arbitration, partial concessions, or a new bonus formula. Labor negotiations often unfold like this—blazing beginnings fizzling into a series of ratios, a paper agreement, and a few cautiously worded announcements. The media frenzy will pass, stock prices will continue to fluctuate, AI companies will release new models, and servers will consume more chips.

But some questions will not be removed from the negotiation table.

The most pressing issues in the AI era should not just focus on how strong the computing power is, how fast the model is, and how expensive the chips are. We need to consider those who brought the "future" into reality—will they ultimately receive a share of a secure life from the future?

This statement may not sound grand, but what ordinary people want is inherently not grand. It is merely that work is valuable, income is explainable, life is hopeful, and when the era turns, they shouldn't be casually cast aside.

The future must indeed move forward. But a train truly leading to the future cannot merely have its headlights shining brightly.

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