from the openness-wins dept
On a laptop screen in a dimly lit tent near the Donetsk front, a Ukrainian drone team steers its aircraft into the turret of a Russian T-72 and glimpses the start of an explosion before the picture dissolves into static. The strike is uploaded, verified, and scored against the point value assigned to the tank. The unit climbs a public leaderboard that ranks hundreds of drone teams, and the points are currency: a higher score buys better equipment, faster, from an online marketplace the warfighters compare to Amazon.
Washington is about to decide how the federal government will parcel out access to the most powerful AI, and it is drifting toward concentrating that capability in a few chosen hands, rationed by criteria no one outside the process can see. A country with foreign invaders on its own soil has spent the past year learning to do the reverse—and winning back ground as it does. From Luhansk to Lviv, Ukraine puts its best tools in the hands of whoever can use them and shares what it knows about the enemy as fast as it safely can, openly and by rule.
Behind the leaderboard sits a set of arrangements Ukraine built under fire. A marketplace lets frontline units order drones directly from hundreds of manufacturers, most of them small shops scattered across Ukraine. A procurement cycle that once ran months now takes days, and new designs reach the trenches within about a month of leaving the workbench, because the units doing the fighting, not a distant acquisition office, decide what they need in the field. Furthermore, their feedback goes straight back to the manufacturer, sometimes the same day. Because the manufacturing is dispersed rather than massed, no single Russian strike could ever change much.
Ukraine has been just as willing to share what it learns. Late last month its defense ministry opened a platform called TrophyLab that hands the technical anatomy of captured Russian weapons—schematics, known vulnerabilities, even physical samples—to a deliberately wide circle: allied militaries and intelligence services, and hundreds of Ukrainian and partner-country firms. Access is vetted and revocable, governed by published criteria. The premise is that knowledge of a threat is worth more shared than hoarded. This should be a rule everyone can see, rather than the whims of a distant official.
That combination, wide but rule-bound, is exactly what the executive order the White House issued in June fails to deliver. Faced with AI systems that can now find software flaws faster than any human team, the order promises early access to the most capable models to a few “trusted partners”—a phrase it never defines, routed through a classified process. It calls the arrangement voluntary. In practice it has not been: under national-security and commerce authorities the administration has already restricted, suspended, and then cleared frontier models, with no published criteria anyone outside the process can point to. Ukraine’s leaderboard may be a crude way to run a war, but it is at least a rule—public, legible, the same for every unit.
The deeper problem is what that opacity does. Ukraine found that capability does the most good spread widely, that a defense holds because it has no single point of failure, and that threat intelligence should travel by rule rather than favor. A trusted-partner tier governed by undefined discretion inverts all three: it concentrates the best tools among those already best equipped, builds the very chokepoint Ukraine works to avoid, and turns shared knowledge into something rationed by judgment no one can inspect. The United States already runs sector-based centers for sharing threat intelligence; the question the framework raises is not whether to centralize but whether the flow reaches the defenders who need it or stops at a favored few.
And there are real lessons for the United States. Ukraine’s openness may look like the underdog’s strategy, and the United States is the wealthiest, most powerful country on earth—but national strength does not mean every system is strong. The defenders who most need help are not the money-center banks and wealthy university hospitals; they are smaller institutions that, despite non-specific promises they’ll be helped, seem unlikely to benefit from this system as it’s set up. For them, a head start reserved for the already-strong is no help at all.
Ukraine did not arrive at any of this by design. It was forced into it, and used a mix of openness and clear rules to stop a much larger power in its tracks. Washington has the luxury of choosing on purpose but may be drifting towards a system governed by whims and favoritism rather than clear rules and standards.
Eli Lehrer is president and co-founder of the R Street Institute.