Craig Anderton’s Open Channel: MI Lessons From the Land of Morning Calm

New York, NY (November 19, 2025)—Once upon a time, a country was undergoing challenging economic and political times. Its brand had tarnished, and it was becoming alarmingly autocratic. The population at large had become deeply cynical and disillusioned about the daily repression, corruption and lack of transparency they experienced. The economic problems were particularly unsettling. So, the government decided to build up its global arms industry and sell weapons of destruction all over the world. Kidding!

Actually, that wasn’t their solution. I’m talking about South Korea, where after those dark days, the election of President Kim Dae-jung (Nobel Peace Prize laureate, dissident and human rights champion who served from 1998 to 2003) regained the public’s trust. And what did he see as a vital way to revive the economy?

Invest in music.

And it worked. We could learn from this.

During the late-1990s Asian financial crisis, Kim Dae-jung decided not to rely solely on an industry-based recovery, but on exporting culture to rebuild not just South Korea’s economy but also its global image. The government treated K-pop as a strategic export sector, just like semiconductors and cars. It created the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism, with a dedicated pop culture development department. There was a massive public investment in culture-related infrastructure like concert halls, hologram tech, VR research and dedicated music districts.

And there was serious synergy. K-pop was included in music education, tourism campaigns and the soundtracks that promoted Korean products, fashion and food.

By 2019, South Korea’s cultural investment was around $550 million. That same year, the boy band BTS contributed $4.65 billion to South Korea’s GDP. A study by the Korea Economic Research Institute estimated that between 2017 and 2021, the total economic impact of Korea’s culture investment was around $28 billion. (Korea has about 15% the U.S. population, so if the U.S. had charted the same path, the economic impact here would have been $190 billion.)

I’d say South Korea got a good return on its investment. But K-pop is also a successful movement and lifestyle, and differs in significant ways from the music scene in America.

The K-pop music formula: no silos. It takes time for untrained ears to “get” K-pop. The music meanders among hip-hop, EDM, rock, techno, rap, R&B and more—sometimes in the same song—but once you’re acclimated, it’s adventurous, surprising and addictive. K-pop is about taking risks and blending styles. It reminds me of the 1960s, when unbridled musical experimentation was considered a good thing.

The stars work their butts off. The quest for excellence is relentless, because the fans are the “star creators” who sit at the top of the hierarchy. Sure, Taylor Swift is aware of the power of fans, and gives them carefully curated peeks into her life. K-pop idols also curate what goes out to fans, but the transparency is off the hook. The focus is about a band’s commitment to delivering the best possible experience, so fans watch “their” idols grow and struggle. They see the genesis of dance routines, and the difficulty in being able to do incredible dance moves and sing at the same time. Furthermore, K-pop artists make social media videos of their rehearsals, warts and all—not lounging around on Jeff Bezos’ yacht or acting like stars. Letting fans connect so thoroughly creates a strong emotional bond. The fans know it’s all about them, because they make the stars. The bands pay homage to them, not the other way around.

Many East Asian societies value emotional restraint, but K-pop artists often wear their emotions on their sleeves. Granted, they do it mostly through metaphors, but adolescents navigating their identity relate to these emotional themes. K-pop manages to thread the needle of pushing subtly on societal barriers while still respecting cultural nuances.

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To be fair, the K-pop “idol system,” with its uncompromising artist development process, raises ethical questions. Kids join the system as early as age 10, deal with intense competition and face grueling schedules. With government support and mentoring from entertainment conglomerates, the process sometimes seems more like Olympic training. Koreans are no strangers to the work ethic, but still, for most that training will end in crushing disappointment.

Only a fraction make a “debut” to the fans in the manufactured K-pop world, and only a few go from debut to stardom, but they know that relentless training is the only way to become a polished performer who can execute complex choreography while singing live and looking like a fashion model. Hey, it’s never easy being a star.

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Another issue is creative autonomy. These bands are mostly manufactured, like The Monkees were. Or at least, they used to be. The Stray Kids, now a global phenomenon, broke away from the machine by choosing their own members, creating their own material, and forming a production group for their own projects, as well as those of other K-pop artists. They’re successfully rewriting the rules, so expect more of the same.

K-pop is a worldwide juggernaut that has helped grow the South Korean economy thanks to a plentiful supply of artists who exemplify passion and dreams. Maybe it’s time we truly unleashed American music and culture as our own strategic export sector, with the humility of realizing it’s the fans who create the stars…with a little help from their friends. And in K-pop’s case, the government. ■