For disability activist Jang Ik-sun, hope isn't just a feeling — it’s the eye-tracking software he has mastered to draft policy proposals, the half-million blinks that earned him a master’s degree, and the gaming system he engineered to keep playing despite being almost completely paralyzed
GWANGJU --- Jang Ik-sun wrote his master’s thesis one blink at a time.
About half a million times, to be exact.
For most people, blinking is an unconscious act — something they do effortlessly 20,000 times a day. For Jang, each blink was deliberate, selected with precision to form words, sentences, and ultimately a 70,000-character academic paper that earned him a master’s degree in social welfare from Gwangju University last month. His accomplishment made headlines and landed him a live TV appearance.
But Jang, 38, is more than just a scholar. He is a muscular disability rights activist who has spent years advocating for policy reforms and social support systems for people like him. Diagnosed with progressive muscular dystrophy at five, he gradually lost almost all physical movement and now relies on a ventilator to breathe. He types using an eye-tracking mouse, selecting letters with careful blinks.
His thesis, "An Autoethnography of a Bedridden Muscle Disability Activist Using a Ventilator," is both deeply personal and sharply analytical. It explores how disability is shaped not only by physical impairments but by pervasive societal barriers.
The numbers behind his writing process tell their own story.
Jang estimates that his final 70,000-character thesis written in Korean, factoring in punctuation, corrections, and predictive text efficiency, required around 189,000 blinks across multiple revisions. Before that, he scrapped an earlier 35,000-character draft, which added another 63,000 blinks. But writing was only part of the work — extensive research, reference management, formatting and emailing advisors accounted for at least 50 percent more, bringing the subtotal to about 378,000 blinks.
And considering the project's three-year span, punctuated by interruptions for activism and medical needs, Jang estimates a 30 percent inefficiency factor that raised the final blink count to approximately 490,000.
For context, an average person blinks half a million times in an entire month. Jang’s blinks built something far more concrete — an academic argument grounded in lived experience, turning personal struggle into a call for systemic change.
This is the story of how he did it.
The hacker of his own life
What makes Jang’s story compelling isn’t just perseverance — it’s the way he has hacked his way through life’s obstacles.
Each time his condition took away another physical ability, his response was simply: What’s the next possible workaround?
“I know people see my story as inspiring, and I appreciate that,” he says. “But honestly? I don’t dwell on it. I’m too busy looking for the next tool that will help me keep going.”
Instead of focusing on what he had lost, he focused on what he could still do. He experimented with technology, software and DIY setups, finding workarounds for everyday challenges.
For example, writing a master’s thesis using only an eye-controlled cursor with an onscreen keyboard sounds painstakingly slow — and it is. But Jang made it as efficient as possible.
While he does have to blink to select each keystroke, he doesn’t type every single character individually. He relies on predictive text, similar to how smartphones can suggest words as you type. But there was a problem — there was no good predictive keyboard for Korean on desktop computers, and voice dictation wasn’t an option due to his ventilator mask.
So, he improvised.
Using a screen-mirroring tool, he was able to display his Galaxy smartphone screen on his Windows desktop monitor. With Google Docs open on both devices, he used his phone’s predictive keyboard to type, while simultaneously viewing and editing the full document on his desktop. Since Google Docs syncs almost in real time, he had a seamless, two-screen writing system — one that dramatically increased his typing speed.
“I’ve gradually learnt to type with my eyes since 2014 as I lost control of my hand movements, so I’m pretty fast,” Jang says. “But this setup made a huge difference.”
This hybrid system was just one of many tools Jang has built to maintain control over his daily life. His entire home is automated — the curtains, air conditioning and air purifiers can all be controlled from his computer. He even edits his own YouTube videos for his gaming channel using Premiere Pro, entirely with the eye-tracking mouse.
Eye-typing vs. eyes-and-toes gaming
Typing a 70,000-character master’s thesis in Korean with an eye-tracking system may sound like an immense challenge. But for Jang, it was nothing compared to what he had built to continue gaming.
Jang has been an avid gamer since childhood. About three years ago, when his condition progressed to the point where he could no longer move his hands at all, he didn’t see it as the end of gaming — he saw it as a “technical problem to solve.”
So he spent an entire year designing a custom gaming setup that allows him to play, using not only his eyes but also micromovements of his right thumb and toes.
Ironically, it was gaming — not studying — that pushed Jang to master the precise control of his eye-tracking mouse, as fast-paced gameplay required split-second accuracy and refined eye movements. Over time, this skill became second nature, and without realizing it, he was also improving his ability to type, research and edit.
For console and more complex PC gaming, he imported a “Feather Joystick” from France, which responded to small chin movements. He also installed ultra-sensitive buttons that could be pressed with his thumb and toes, all connected through a specialized accessibility controller called a Flex Controller.
Getting this entire system to work required adapters, rewiring and software customization, most of which were only available in English. But for Jang, the process was just part of the challenge.
“I knew there would be a way,” he says. “When there’s a will, there’s a tool.”
From isolation to activism
Jang wasn’t always the confident, tech-savvy activist he is today.
As a child, he struggled with mobility, but he still attended school with the help of his father, who carried him each day. By 13, he could no longer walk, and by 14, he had to leave school entirely.
For three years, he rarely left his home. Depression set in. The walls of his room became his entire world. His only escape was gaming — especially StarCraft — which gave him a temporary sense of control in a reality that felt increasingly out of his hands.
Then, one day, his mother couldn’t help but intervene.
“The world has changed,” she told him. “Yes, there’s still discrimination, but it’s better than it used to be. You need to get out there and do something — anything.”
With that push, Jang enrolled in a night school run by university student volunteers. He spent two years studying for middle and high school equivalency exams, eventually passing them all.
His confidence grew. He entered Gwangju University in 2006 to study social welfare, shifting his focus from personal survival to collective change. He realized that the biggest challenges he faced weren’t just medical — they were societal.
His academic studies reframed his thinking. He stopped asking, "Why me?" and started asking, "Why isn’t society better prepared to support people like me?"
After earning his undergraduate degree in 2010, Jang co-founded the Gwangju Muscular Dystrophy Association in 2011, creating a space for peer support, advocacy and awareness campaigns. He later helped establish the Korean Alliance for the Right to Life of People with Muscular Disabilities, a nationwide group led by people with severe disabilities.
Even as his condition progressed and he lost the ability to use his hands around 2014, Jang’s activism never slowed. Instead, he adapted — drafting debate scripts, policy proposals and advocacy materials, entirely through eye-tracking and blinks.
In 2019, during his advocacy work, Jang met Professor Chung Hee-kyung of Gwangju University, a prominent expert in disability policy. Recognizing his potential as a powerful voice for change, she encouraged him to pursue a master’s degree, emphasizing that formal credentials would give him a stronger position in policy discussions and negotiations with government officials.
“If you want to make more change, you need the credentials to sit at the table where decisions are made,” she told him.
Jang took the advice to heart.
Fighting for systemic change
Jang’s activism hasn’t always been confined to the digital world he has carefully constructed. One of his most defining battles came in 2018, when a new government policy mandated an hour of rest for most workers after eight hours of work. While well-intended, the rule had unintended consequences for people like Jang, as it restricted personal assistant hours — effectively cutting essential care for those who rely on round-the-clock assistance.
In response, Jang and 30 other bedridden activists staged a protest like no other: they marched through Seoul on their beds, ventilators and all — turning their biggest limitation into a bold statement.
“For me, activism isn’t just about demanding change — it’s about proving what’s possible,” Jang said.
His journey — from a bedridden teenager isolated in his room to a master’s graduate and leading disability rights activist — has been one of relentless adaptation. Having grown up surrounded by technology, he has long understood that physical limitations can be overcome with the right tools. His guiding principle has always been clear: if there isn’t a solution, create one.
And his ultimate goal?
It's bigger than himself.
“If the right technologies and policies were in place for everyone, maybe the idea of ‘disability’ itself would fade away."
mjh@heraldcorp.com
