I recently participated in a hackathon with the theme "AI for Good." However, throughout the event, looking at the organizers' promotional materials and the other competing projects, I felt that something was amiss—a certain, different kind of voice was missing.

Our lives are filled with countless "overlooked details," and I saw many projects aimed at addressing these details, such as those designed to help the elderly, children, and people with disabilities. These included intelligent recipe assistants for patients, voice models for autistic children, diagnostic systems for rural doctors, as well as projects supporting agriculture, psychological interventions, and more. These are undoubtedly wonderful designs, and they certainly improve the lives of some. Yet, seeing them, I couldn't shake the feeling that another kind of voice was absent—a voice that isn't so comfortable to hear.

When we talk about "AI for Good" and how to use artificial intelligence to make the world a better place, we always think in patterns, falling into a kind of mental inertia, focusing on things that have already been labeled. Beneath this grand narrative, I can't help but wonder: are we being selective in what we "see"?

When we think about what to do, we always start from a grand perspective. We are always eager to help those who have been labeled as "vulnerable groups"—the elderly who need companionship, the children who need better education. But what about the Swing Kids defying the Third Reich, the Zoot Suiters in 1940s America, the hippies of the counter-culture, or the Shamate, the ostracized migrant-worker youth of China's factory towns? These groups are often stigmatized, simplified, misunderstood, and relegated to the "margins," forgotten, or even shunned. Their existence, their culture, their struggles, and their rebellion against or alienation from the mainstream order seem to have never been illuminated by the light of "AI for Good." Are they really "problem youth," or are they just seeking a shred of dignity amidst loneliness, childhood trauma, and a world that doesn't understand them?

For example:

When we talk about "caring for the elderly," a man who has just come from the gym, muscular and with a generous pension, is undoubtedly "elderly." But is he the "vulnerable" person we need to prioritize helping the most?

Conversely, when we see a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old with colorful hair and a body full of tattoos, our first reaction might be "delinquent." But do we ever stop to think that he might come from a poor farming family with critically ill parents, and that he works alone in a factory, using this external "armor" to protect himself? Can a learning gadget that combines play and study solve his problems?

And what about the silent, struggling majority? The office workers living in old apartments, worrying daily about tuition and their parents' medical bills? The young people crushed by structural pressure, forced to choose between caring for their aging parents and their own children? Who is the "vulnerable" group here? Is their exhaustion and despair drowned out by the daily hustle, untouched by the grand narrative of "AI for Good"?

Beneath the glossy surface of society, who is truly bearing the structural pressure? Whose dignity is precariously eroding day by day, yet struggles to receive effective support and attention? Does the "respect" and "care" we take for granted sometimes become superficial, or even a new form of moral high ground that conceals deeper injustices?

The pain of individuals trapped in systemic predicaments, deprived of a voice, for whom even "being seen" is a luxury, is often diffuse, difficult to attribute to a single cause, and may even challenge the existing social order and our comfortable perceptions. Consequently, their needs and plights can, paradoxically, be marginalized in the mainstream "ethical agenda," or simplified into individual problems requiring "psychological counseling," rather than systemic issues demanding fundamental changes to the social structure.

In our current systems of evaluation and resource allocation, whose difficulties and needs are most often underestimated or even ignored? How can we empower those who are truly crushed at the bottom, systematically stripped of their dignity and hope, and struggling to survive outside the mainstream view, to regain control of their own destinies?

That extreme individual suffering, that despair born from being pushed to the brink of survival by poverty, discrimination, oppression, and institutional injustice, and the fundamental questioning of life's meaning that follows—do these most direct and heart-wrenching predicaments always become the core, priority issues in discussions of AI ethics? Do they receive an equal and urgent level of attention and response?

I see my friend, giving up on himself. When encouraged to study, his only response is "I'm lazy." He finds his sense of existence by attacking others, lives in constant anxiety, complains about politics and reality to a chatbot every day, and wallows in self-abandonment, thinking he'll just end it all when he can't go on anymore.

I see my friend in daily agony because of her marriage. I see my friend lost, with no idea what to do with his future. I see so many girls whose only goal is to marry a rich man. I see so many people who constantly distract themselves with all kinds of entertainment but dare not face reality.

When an individual feels that no amount of effort will allow them to meet societal expectations or improve their situation, "giving up on oneself" can become a form of... "self-preservation" or "silent protest." And the thought that "I'll just die when I can't take it anymore" is the most extreme manifestation of this despair—a signal that must be taken with the utmost seriousness and vigilance.

These are not isolated cases. To varying degrees, they reflect the pressure, confusion, and struggles that many people, especially the young, may be experiencing in modern society. When individuals feel immense pressure, injustice, powerlessness, and a lack of hope in their real lives, they may adopt negative coping mechanisms—whether it's disillusionment with relationships, confusion about the future, fantasies of "shortcuts," or immersion in the virtual world. Behind these behaviors often lies a profound longing for dignity, a sense of worth, security, understanding, love, and a "meaningful life," coupled with the immense disappointment that these desires cannot be met in reality.

When the pressures of reality are too great, the sense of frustration too strong, or the future feels hopeless, the instant gratification, sense of control, and temporary oblivion offered by the virtual world become an incredibly tempting "sanctuary." However, while this escapism can temporarily alleviate anxiety, in the long run, it often exacerbates the individual's disconnect from reality, eroding their will and ability to change their situation, thus creating a vicious cycle.

This is the true picture of those "beaten down by life"—the real, widespread, individual pain and collective anxiety that is overlooked or simplified by the mainstream narrative, hidden beneath the daily clamor. Merely providing "treatment" solutions like "early education machines" or "psychotherapy" may not touch the fundamental predicaments arising from one's "fate" —that is, the deeper social structures, economic pressures, unequal opportunities, and the resulting loss of hope.

AI for Good may not be able to cure poverty, discrimination, oppression, institutional injustice, or solve problems of justice, survival, dignity, and a future without hope. But it is precisely because we "see" all of this... this real pain and struggle hidden beneath the daily clamor... that perhaps we should try, in a... different way, to attempt to touch and heal these "wounded souls," rather than choosing to ignore them.