In a chilling intersection of grief and technology, Russian families are turning to artificial intelligence to create digital replicas of loved ones killed in the Ukraine war. Startups in Moscow and St Petersburg offer services that analyse photos, videos, and text messages to generate avatars capable of conversing in the deceased’s voice and mannerisms. The trend, dubbed ‘digital resurrection’, has exploded since the conflict began, with some providers reporting a tenfold increase in requests.
These AI clones, often built on large language models similar to GPT, can simulate conversations, remember shared memories, and even offer comfort. For many, it’s a coping mechanism. But ethicists warn of a ‘Black Mirror’ scenario where grief becomes a subscription service, commodifying trauma. The Kremlin has remained conspicuously silent, neither endorsing nor condemning the practice. This silence may reflect a desire to control the narrative around war casualties, which Moscow officially downplays. But it also raises questions about digital sovereignty and the psychological consequences of blurring life and death.
Technically, the process is straightforward: users upload gigabytes of personal data, from WhatsApp chats to Instagram captions. Algorithms map linguistic patterns and emotional responses. The resulting chatbot can be accessed via smartphone or smart speaker. Some services even offer holographic projections. The cost ranges from 1,000 to 10,000 roubles, making it accessible to many.
Yet the user experience of society is being fundamentally altered. We are sliding into a world where the dead never truly leave. For families in grief, this may seem a comfort. But there’s a darker side: these replicas cannot evolve. They freeze a person at a point in time, denying the natural process of memory and closure. Psychologists report cases of individuals withdrawing from real relationships, preferring the predictable solace of a digital ghost.
From a tech perspective, we must ask: who owns the data of the dead? Russian law is vague on digital inheritances. And how long will these services persist? A startup bankruptcy could mean a second death. Moreover, the AI models require constant updates; without them, the avatar degrades, potentially causing fresh trauma.
The Kremlin’s silence is deafening. It may fear that acknowledging the practice legitimises a narrative of high casualties. Alternatively, it might see such technology as a tool for social control: a grieving population is a docile one. But the absence of regulation creates a wild west where profit motive overrides ethical boundaries.
There are also security concerns. These companies hoard intimate data: voices, emotions, private conversations. In a nation with a history of surveillance, that data could be weaponised. Imagine a deepfake of a dead soldier used for propaganda or blackmail.
For now, the digital resurrection industry grows unchecked. As a technologist, I see the allure but also the peril. We must tread carefully, lest we create a world where we never let go, and in doing so, lose our own humanity.
