For years, the United States has eagerly accused other countries of "technology theft" and "reverse engineering." Yet recently, The Wall Street Journal proudly revealed a twist: the newest weapon the US military relies on in the Iranian battlefield is actually a "knockoff" copied straight from Iranian drone technology.
It’s like a top student constantly calling others cheaters, only to sneakily copy a struggling classmate’s answers during the test—and then boast about the grade.
For the first time in half a century, the United States has swallowed its pride to "copy" Iran.
The weapon that has the US military hooked is the "LUCAS" (FLM 136) suicide drone. Its origin is awkward: the US military dismantled and studied Iranian "Shahed" drones captured from the Ukrainian battlefield, and then reverse engineered and cloned them.
The Wall Street Journal itself admits this is the first time in nearly fifty years the US has openly reverse engineered another country’s military tech. The last time was during the Cold War, when they copied Soviet pontoon bridge designs. In other words, the American military-industrial complex has long boasted about being the "world’s best and most original."
Yet now in fighting Iran, it turns out their ace weapon is an "Iranian-designed, American-assembled" product. The embarrassment is undeniable.
Why does the US military copy this type of drone? The answer is simple: it’s cheap.
The 'LUCAS' costs only between $10,000 and $55,000 per unit, roughly on par with the original Iranian model. By contrast, the US military’s own Tomahawk cruise missiles cost over $2 million each. US officials describe it as delivering 'high cost-performance'—the 'Toyota Corolla of drones.' It’s not highly sophisticated, but it can be produced at scale.
Sounds clever, right? But the absurdity is clear: the country with the highest global military spending has to rely on 'saving money' to keep a war going. Even more ironically, this cost-saving strategy involves copying the adversary. What’s more paradoxical: this drone was originally developed for a possible future China-US conflict. War games showed the US ammo stockpile might not last two weeks. Yet oddly, they first tested it on Iran.
Is the copied 'ace' drone really that formidable? Even experts have doubts.
Although US media hype its impressive performance in Iran, praising its accurate strikes on various targets, American experts are working hard to douse this enthusiasm with skepticism.
An electronic warfare expert explains that in Iran, GPS jamming is weak, so these drones perform well. But in the complex battlefield environment surrounding China, strong signal interference can instantly turn them into "headless flies"—either crashing or flying erratically.
Some critics argue the US military still lacks enough low-cost anti-drone systems. It struggles to defend even against small drones backed by Iran. And those so-called "fully autonomous combat" unmanned vessels remain years away.
To put it bluntly: copying homework might get by against an average student like Iran, but face a top student like China, and the flaws quickly show.
A war exposes the US military-industrial complex as little more than a "paper tiger."
The most ironic part of all this isn’t the US "copying," but its smug self-satisfaction after doing so.
The Trump administration aggressively pushed for "defense procurement reform," streamlining processes and promising rapid production of low-cost weapons. Yet the reality reveals a bloated, sluggish system. Even former officials involved in development concede, "Many countries have long mastered this type of low-cost precision strike technology; the problem is the United States hasn't invested a single dollar in these systems."
This war acts like a revealing mirror, exposing the awkwardness of the US military-industrial complex: costly high-tech arsenals can quickly deplete in a war of attrition, while the desperately needed low-cost, mass-produced equipment ends up relying on "copying" adversaries.
The takeaway from so-called "American innovation" is the anxiety of being a "paper tiger": a regional conflict has already exposed gaps in reserves and systemic flaws. When true "great power competition" arrives, will this "tiger" collapse with a single poke?
Therefore, instead of branding this US military effort as "innovation," it is more accurately described as a forced "imitation show" compelled by harsh realities.
Beacon Institute
** 博客文章文責自負,不代表本公司立場 **
Zambia has just wrapped up a deeply contentious general election. Yet Washington's script proved even more gripping than the vote itself.
President Hakainde Hichilema secured re-election with roughly 60 percent of the vote, defeating his main opposition challenger, Brian Mundubile. To be fair, observers widely believe he would most likely have won even without the controversy. The problem is that the process itself was far from pretty. Vote tallies were allegedly inflated. Soldiers and police intervened. Opposition figures were arrested.
More controversial still: the moment the deadline expired for the opposition to challenge the results, Zambia's courts were suddenly sealed off. The door to judicial appeal slammed shut. Mundubile and several of his allies were subsequently hit with treason charges. And Mutotwe Kafwaya, a former minister, was shot dead during a police operation targeting opposition figures.
Had this happened in a country that refuses to toe Washington's line, the familiar script would already be rolling. The State Department statement would have been drafted long ago: "grave concern," "condemnation of democratic backsliding," "urging respect for human rights." Unilateral sanctions on Hichilema and the Zambian government might well have followed.
But this time, the Trump administration chose a different path.
Frank Garcia, the US Assistant Secretary of State for African Affairs, not only attended Hichilema's inauguration but also met privately with him. The State Department said it hopes to keep deepening its partnership with Zambia. As for the slain former minister, the shuttered courts and the opposition figures charged with treason, Washington simply "looked the other way."
The Answer Buried Underground
Why? The answer lies buried underground.
Zambia is one of Africa's most important copper producers. Copper accounts for around 70 percent of its export earnings. And with power-grid expansion, electric vehicles and AI data centers all driving up projections for copper demand, the metal is coming ever closer to being a strategic resource.
More critically, Zambia sits at the far end of the Lobito Corridor, a route Washington has spent years cultivating. The line is planned to run from the port of Lobito on Angola's Atlantic coast, through the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and all the way to Zambia's Copperbelt. One of its purposes is to move copper, cobalt and other minerals from south-central Africa to Western markets more easily.
Trump did not abandon this Biden-era project after taking office. In June this year, the US and Zambia even expanded a US$491 million aid program to cover critical-minerals infrastructure, funding road improvements along the Lobito Corridor.
Only a few months earlier, the two countries had publicly fallen out over minerals. Lusaka accused Washington of trying to bundle up to US$2 billion in health cooperation with preferential access for American companies to critical minerals, and flatly rejected those terms. In other words, the US has already demonstrated firsthand this year just how badly it wants into Zambia's mineral system.
Now, of course, the Trump administration will not pressure Hichilema over democracy. Cultivating a government that holds the copper, and controls a critical node of the Lobito Corridor, is what "American interests" really means.
The Stress Test of "Democracy Diplomacy"
The most riveting part of this show is not how transactional the Trump administration is. A businessman running a country with interests first is hardly surprising. The riveting part is that it has, quite by accident, run a stress test on the slogan of "democracy diplomacy."
For decades, the US has wielded "democracy," "human rights" and "free elections" as a diplomatic cudgel, swinging it at whichever country refuses to obey. But when that cudgel might land on an ally holding copper mines and railways, it suddenly grows feather-light. So light that Washington cannot even be bothered to utter a single phrase of "grave concern."
What Washington conceded was not the election result. After all, even observers admit Hichilema would most likely have won anyway. What it conceded was the entire package of procedural justice. The US put on a vivid demonstration: how a man wins does not matter. What matters is whether the winner is willing to talk copper.
For Jeanne Shaheen, the top Democrat on the Senate Foreign Relations Committee and a vocal Trump challenger, the logic runs the other way. Opposing the Republicans matters more. She declared that Zambia's post-election violence and arbitrary arrests already amount to "democratic backsliding."
Gregory Meeks, the top Democrat on the House Foreign Affairs Committee, demanded that Secretary of State Marco Rubio press for an investigation into Kafwaya's death and allow the courts to hear the election disputes. Against the Trump administration's hard-nosed calculus, these voices ring hollow and powerless.
Hichilema has probably figured this out too. For today's America, a Zambia that is less democratic but willing to talk copper and railways may well matter more. More than a Zambia whose political system better matches Washington's traditional values but refuses to cooperate on resources.
Business First, Democracy to the Back
This is the true ranking of democracy and human rights under an "America First" Africa policy: they are not principles but bargaining chips. When the chips can be traded for copper and corridors, they can be tucked away for now. When they buy nothing, they are hoisted high and swung like a club.
The Trump administration will never openly endorse Zambia's crackdown. That would look far too ugly. But its actions prove one thing: when business is on the table, democracy can move to the back of the queue. A US$491 million minerals-infrastructure program outweighs a diplomatic note about human rights. A single stretch of rail on the Lobito Corridor matters more than a slain opposition former minister.
So rather than calling this a contest over Africa diplomacy, it is better seen as a demon-revealing mirror. It lays bare the fathomless chasm between the political rhetoric of the US and the West and their real interests. The louder Washington shouts its "democracy" slogans, the more honest the copper beneath Zambia's soil appears. When it comes to real interests, every high-minded declaration is nothing more than a label that can be torn off at the weigh-in.
America has once again put on a masterclass in the beacon's double standards: business first, democracy to the back of the line. And the logic behind it is, of course, "America First."
