DJI’s Rise: Frank Wang’s Dream to Drone Empire

What began as a Chinese boy’s dream to simplify flying helicopters in the 1990s spiraled into DJI, a global drone empire that reshaped aerial photography, surveillance, and modern warfare. From a forgotten 2005 customs bust in Japan to the battlefields of Ukraine, where DJI drones drop bombs on tanks, Frank Wang’s journey is a tale of innovation tinged with ethical shadows. This documentary from Amarre unravels Wang’s rise, from a dorm-room tinkerer to a billionaire atop a secretive giant, now eyed warily by the U.S. amid data leaks and Communist Party ties. But the real kicker? A new twist with BetaVolt’s coin-sized nuclear batteries—50 years of power—hinting at a future where DJI’s drones could dominate skies endlessly, blurring the line between hobby and horror.

Dive in for the full story or to brush up your French! Don’t worry, a translated English transcript can be found below.

DJI Investigation | Frank’s school project changed his life and the world

One day in December 2005, a shipping container was stopped by customs at the Nagoya industrial port in Japan, while at the same time 200 police officers conducted dozens of searches across the country. In the container were several autonomous helicopters like this one made by Yamaha, which was supposed to be delivered to a Chinese company a few days later. Japan then simply banned the export of unmanned flying vehicles to China for all Japanese companies. Why did they do that? We’ll come back to that later. But what I can tell you is that even today, this event is little known and considered unimportant by almost everyone on earth. I even doubt that the person we are going to talk about in this video, Tao Wang, who is 25 years old, is aware of it.

A few months later, in his university dormitory, he created a company that would turn the world upside down—a company that would go from a university room to one of the most coveted technologies in the world, from Hong Kong to Washington, from Dubai to Ukraine. Let me tell you the story of Tao Wang. You don’t know him, and until a few months ago, neither did I. In fact, outside of China, very few people know him even by his Western name, Frank Wang. Yet he is one of the youngest, richest, and most powerful Chinese entrepreneurs in the world—and not a day goes by without us sometimes unknowingly witnessing the fruits of his work.

But before discussing his work, let’s talk about his beginnings. Tao Wang was born in 1980 in the Chinese city of Anju, to an engineer father and a teacher mother. However, the story we are talking about today begins in 1990, when Tao was 10 years old and his parents gifted him several volumes of a very popular comic in China called “Grandpa, Use Your Brain,” which tells the adventures of an old man teaching science to his two young grandchildren. In volume 8, the story takes place in a helicopter—and it would become Tao’s dream years later: to build and pilot helicopters.

Years later, while Tao was in high school and his grades were really not that great, his father proposed a deal: “Get your act together, bring me much better grades, and I’ll get you a radio-controlled helicopter.” We’re talking about the year 2000 or so, and these things cost a lot, so Tao was extremely determined. He worked very hard, and by the end of the year he was among the top students in his class. His father kept his promise and bought him a helicopter. The only problem was that at the time, piloting such a helicopter wasn’t something you learned in a few minutes—it required lots of practice. And so, after only a few minutes of flight, Tao ended up crashing his helicopter. Keep in mind that at that time, the controls were entirely manual: you had the main rotor, the tail rotor, and you had to figure it all out on your own. Moreover, to repair it, he had to send it all the way to Hong Kong, 1300 km from where he lived.

But Tao didn’t stop there. He contacted one of the workshops in Hong Kong to do a remote diagnostic to identify which parts were broken and which could be fixed. Then he went to see his father and said, “Can you buy me just the parts that are broken? I’ll fix the rest myself.” His father agreed to spend a bit of money; he wrote a check, and a few months later, Tao received the parts. It required fuel, oil, and mechanical pieces—it was really impressive for a 15-year-old to repair something like that. But Tao did not give up. He had the manual that came with the helicopter, which explained a lot, and from that single manual, he managed to get it airborne again. The problem remained, however: he didn’t really know how to fly it. This created an obsession that would last for 10 years—the obsession of making the controls of such a device much, much simpler. Not just improving the ergonomics to make the remote more comfortable, but making it as simple as playing a video game—that was all he demanded.

This obsession materialized in his mind as a flying device he imagined as a little gadget in your pocket that would follow your commands, record video, and accompany you everywhere—and he gave it a name.

In short, Tao now had a project, a goal, and that motivated him to get much better grades. So much so that a few years later, he entered Shanghai University where he was exposed to a huge dose of theory and very little practice. He eventually left the university and applied to some of the top American schools like MIT or Stanford. But Tao was eager, and well, MIT and Stanford are extremely competitive, so he was rejected and ended up feeling like an idiot. Then he applied to the Hong Kong University of Science and Technology, and they accepted him.

Once admitted, he asked for a grant to develop that famous, much simpler, and much better flying helicopter. The school agreed, but he needed to form a team. He recruited two classmates, and they had a budget equivalent to about €2000. They spent six months working together on the helicopter, but quite quickly his two teammates left, judging Tao to be too authoritarian and obsessive. Tao ended up doing the project alone, working on it for months, and at the end of the year, he presented the device to his professors as his final undergraduate project. He was very highly graded, and he reminded the examiners of the ambition of his project: to build the helicopter entirely from scratch, but more importantly, to automate part of the piloting so that when the controls were released, the helicopter would remain stable. The helicopter took off without any problems, ascended very steadily, and then Tao looked at his professors and let go of the controls. Tao was thrilled—it had been a year of hard work and it worked! But the helicopter abruptly stopped functioning and fell like a stone, crashing just a few meters from Tao and his contraption. It worked for a few seconds, so obviously the professors weren’t too excited about the project—they gave him a C, which wasn’t great, and this ultimately closed the door to places like Stanford and MIT for him.

We’ve all had moments in our lives when we can imagine what Tao must have felt at that moment—I’ve had a few, namely failure. But as is often the case in life, when there is a huge failure, there is also a ray of light. A professor from another department of the school, who had watched the exam from afar—this professor, Li Jig Zhang, came over to talk to him. In short, he said, “I find what you did with those radio-control commands and algorithms absolutely impressive, even if it crashed—you’re not just anyone.” Before being a professor, he was an entrepreneur and is highly respected in the world of robotics and computing; he even made his fortune in ’99 with his company Google Technology, which specialized in robotics. They talked for several hours, and at the end of the discussion, he gave Tao several pieces of advice:

1. Continue on this path and don’t give up—this is a really great idea with huge potential.
2. Aim for the international market; don’t limit yourself to China.
3. Set up shop in the Chengen district—you’ll be neighbors to the factories that produce the parts you need. But before all that, sign up for my classes, of course.

The very next day, Tao enrolled in his new mentor’s class, and at the same time, he scoured the classifieds to find a small workshop in Chengen. Chengen is a big city between mainland China and Hong Kong that produces a huge number of parts for model building, computing, high-tech, and photography—it is one of the most important high-tech factory cities in the world. In the end, he found an office through his uncle—small, dark, and cramped—but he didn’t have to pay rent, and that was very cool.

So, on November 6, 2006, Tao had just received the keys to his little workshop. He had already filled out the paperwork in his university dorm, the documents were signed, and the company name was already chosen: Da Chang Innovation. It’s a blend of Mandarin that could be translated as “beyond borders,” plus the English word “innovation.” More often called DJI or “Jee,” in good French.

It was time for Tao to recruit. Alongside his classes, Tao searched throughout China, identifying young profiles from big companies and top schools. He didn’t have much money to offer, but he leveraged the innovative nature of his project. In fact, he had one strong argument: he had placed third in the Robocon Asia Pacific robotics contest—an extremely important competition in Asia, especially among tech geeks. I didn’t fully understand the rules, so if someone feels like explaining in the comments, please go ahead! In the meantime, here is an excerpt from the 2006 edition where the Chinese team defeated the Thai team. In this pixelated jumble, you can see Tao—highlighted in orange—participating in that victory.

Thanks to that success, he managed to recruit three guys his age. The four of them worked intensively for two years, allowing DJI to build an increasingly vast and solid technical base. But one of the problems was that for Tao, DJI was his life, which was not necessarily the case for his three colleagues. For example, Tao was extremely meticulous about every detail and would often wake his partners in the middle of the night by phone to discuss technical subjects. And then, secondly, during those two years, they had to spend a lot of money on parts, prototypes, and equipment, while the company wasn’t bringing in enough money at all—the university grant, Tao’s family money, everything was drained. Gradually, the employees started to doubt, feeling underpaid and disrespected.

At the end of 2008, Tao had finished his courses with Li, and for several months he had been working full-time on DJI. Then, Lujuju left—he went to work for another autonomous vehicle manufacturer that was much more profitable and established than DJI—and a few months later, the same thing happened with his two other partners for the same reasons: 1) your company is not profitable, 2) you’re a psychopath, and 3) you’re about to shut down. They even took the opportunity to leak a large part of what was on DJI’s hard drives, so part of Tao’s work ended up in the hands of his competitors.

This was a new setback for Tao, who once again found himself alone and at risk of having to close his company if he didn’t find money soon. But before that, he went back to see his mentor, whom he hadn’t seen for a few months. During his lunch break between classes, they talked at length. Tao presented the technical progress he’d made as well as the difficulties he was facing with DJI. After that, Tao accompanied Li to his classroom and, before the class started, told him, “DJI is going to die. I need $100,000. That’s called guts.” Tao waited for his mentor’s answer for two hours outside the classroom, and once class ended, Li came over and said, “Listen, I’m going to inject $100,000 into DJI on two conditions: I want to be part of DJI—I’ll leave you free with all the technical stuff—but I want to have shares and a say in the company’s strategy, and I want us to go to Tibet together for the first autonomous flight of your prototype over the Everest.” Well, they didn’t fly over Everest, to tell you the truth—and I think they were far from it—but they did fly, and most importantly, they filmed it.

Thus, the first images captured by a DJI product were born. I know it wasn’t perfect—clearly, with the AI we have in 2024 it wouldn’t be considered amazing—but back in 2009, it was incredible. And Tao took a photo like that without knowing what would be the starting point of one of the most breathtaking technological and entrepreneurial successes in human history—and I promise you, I’m not exaggerating.

A few months later, we are in 2010. A new chapter begins, and it starts very well: the bank account of DJI is filled because there was a little transfer of $100,000, and he now has his mentor as a partner, which was probably the best thing that could have happened to him. While Tao was working to perfect his prototype—testing the piloting algorithms, the controls, etc.—Li was, on his side, seeking good profiles among his students to bring into DJI. Both of them worked tirelessly for months, and on April 28, 2010, they officially commercialized the very first DJI product. It wasn’t a helicopter; it was a control module—a product that you install in your helicopter that allows you to have that stability and ease of piloting that would become DJI’s trademark. It quickly exploded in popularity among model aviation enthusiasts and aerial videographers. Finally, DJI started generating money, and it never stopped after that.

This was also the occasion for DJI to move to a new location. Here’s a look at the new workshop with a flying device. At the same time, Li began recruiting someone for marketing. Tao then turned to a childhood friend, SWI, to present the project, and he immediately said yes. Only a few weeks after joining the company, SWI sold his apartment to buy a 14% share in DJI—a very, very smart move, as it would eventually make him a billionaire.

Meanwhile, Tao realized that the helicopter format was becoming a bit limiting and that to go further, he would need to move to a multirotor configuration—that is, several rotors of the same size on the same axis. He went all in on that direction, with several prototypes and a whole lot of new innovations now possible: the “WayPoint,” which allowed the aircraft to be piloted by GPS coordinates; the “Atti” mode, which allowed it to remain stable even indoors; further improvements in stability even with wind or unbalanced weight; the “Return to Home” feature that made the aircraft return autonomously to its takeoff point in case of signal loss; an emergency automatic landing when the battery was low; and even a boomerang-style takeoff that made it look as if Tao were playfully tossing his drone. In short, DJI was in the process of inventing the drone as we know it today.

Between 2010 and 2011, DJI filed 50 patents. Does that seem like a lot? To me, yes, but here’s a brief overview of the following years. In 2012, the first real DJI drones were released: the S800 and the F330. They were two different drones—they didn’t look the same, didn’t weigh the same, and weren’t priced the same—but both were designed to carry a camera, creating a new branch of aerial photography. There were already companies mounting cameras on small radio-controlled helicopters, but it was not at all the same atmosphere—it was heavy and cumbersome, the device weighed 60–70 kg, and piloting it required extensive know-how. DJI arrived with a simpler, lighter, battery-powered product that was easy to use, stable, and not overly expensive.

Tao then started taking his best plane tickets and attending innovation trade shows in the United States, where drones were beginning to attract some attention, to present his products. But DJI wasn’t the only player; there were other brands, notably a French brand called Parrot. Parrot is a French company that, since its creation in 1994, has been focused on innovative technologies, and since 2008–2009, it has been involved in the drone sector. In 2010, they released the Parrot Air Drone, which is piloted from your smartphone and practically created the market for fun, easy-to-use drones. I mention this not only because it’s a French company I have long admired for being ahead of its time, but also because at that moment in history Parrot was one of the few companies in the world that had grasped the immense potential of the drone market, which would explode in the coming years.

By the way, a fun fact: one of the founders of Parrot is named Henri Sedoux—and he’s also the father of Sedoux. During a trade show, Tao met Colin Gin—a guy who is both a social media star and a luxury home photographer. They hit it off so well that a few months later, Tao entrusted him with the American market under the company name—an impressive gesture considering how possessive Tao can be about his company. He gave Colin 48% of the new branch, and Colin did a fantastic job; he threw himself into presentations, interviews, and built genuine hype. And since his content was in English, it wasn’t limited to the States—it spread worldwide. The result? The Phantom sold very, very well. Yet, curiously, things did not go exactly as one might expect between DJI and Colin Gin. Following disagreements, Tao and his team wanted to buy back Colin’s shares in DJI North America in exchange for a rather paltry amount—about 0.3%, which, as Colin says, is not much. He makes it clear that he feels he contributed a lot to the success and has absolutely no intention of selling his shares. This corporate standoff between Tao and Colin eventually led to the firing of the entire North American branch—including Colin—on New Year’s Eve 2014. If this story is true, it reveals two things about DJI and Tao Wang: a rather inhuman management of human resources and complete opacity about almost everything.

But that’s not all. A few weeks later, Colin filed a lawsuit for wrongful termination, and the case was settled amicably with a multi-million-dollar check. The year 2014 was a turning point for the drone world. The market was exploding—the sales had multiplied by five between 2013 and 2014, which is huge—and many investors were eager to catch up, with money pouring into the sector. Among the brands benefiting the most were 3DR Robotics, an American drone company that had raised a lot of money and was set to compete with DJI and Parrot. And guess who joined them very recently? Colin. (A side note: it was around this time that DJI was in discussions with GoPro about a collaboration that ultimately did not materialize. Not much is known about it except that it did not end well, with Tao later saying that, in short, GoPro did not respect them enough.)

The following year, 2014, Tao kept busy and presented the Inspire—a drone dedicated to professional aerial photography. I won’t go into all the drone models—I’m not the best person to talk about their specifics—but we must talk a little about the Inspire. The Inspire is a drone that has everything. In the following years, it would become the high-end workhorse for audiovisual productions—whether for music videos, fiction, advertising, or documentaries—by offering an all-in-one drone with a high-quality integrated camera. It’s an iconic model in DJI’s work. Also in 2014, the Ronin was released. The Ronin is a stabilized gimbal—a platform on which you mount your camera—and it has three axes that pivot to counteract vibrations and movements during filming. It is important to note that I’m not claiming to be a pioneer with this tool since a U.S. company called Freefly had released a similar product the previous year. However, the difference is that the Ronin costs much less, even if it isn’t exactly the same. It came to compete with the Steadicam—a system that required a lot of knowledge and skill—whereas the stabilized gimbals allowed for very beautiful shots quite easily. Once again, DJI would become a huge player in the stabilizer market by simplifying the process and creating smaller, more powerful, more manageable, and simpler gimbals than the competition. Today, it’s almost impossible to find a production that doesn’t use a stabilizer—often DJI’s stabilizers.

By January 2015, Tao Wang was pleased—the sales kept increasing every day. In a few months, he would present his new model, and Wang Feng—a Chinese rockstar—would propose to the very famous actress Zhang Ziyi using a Phantom 2 to deliver the ring. It was a great year for Tao until one morning on January 26, when he was awakened by a call from one of his partners telling him to turn on the TV and tune in to one of the American news channels:

“City drone was flying at a low altitude—it went down!” A DJI Phantom had crashed in the garden of the White House, one of the most heavily guarded buildings in the world. The investigation moved quickly. A White House employee, after having a few drinks on Sunday night, had launched his drone from his apartment for a flight over the White House, and it malfunctioned. And who did it crash onto first? The Secret Service. This incident allowed the Americans—and eventually part of the world—to discover the name DJI. The American administration demanded answers from the company, and under the mounting pressure, Tao finally spoke. He then addressed the Western press confidently, “I don’t think it’s a big deal—it’s a minor incident.” If he can be so arrogant, it’s because he already has a solution—and he has already started implementing it in China. It’s called Geo-fencing. Basically, DJI programs all its drones with GPS coordinates for areas in the world where flight is restricted or even impossible—in these cases, what we call “no fly zones,” areas where you simply cannot fly. Eventually, DJI would set up no-fly zones on all sensitive locations worldwide, such as nuclear plants, prisons, airports, and many other sites. And so, one week later, boom, no one could fly a DJI drone near the White House. This event shined a spotlight on drones, having a double effect: on the one hand, it was an incredible boost for drones in general, and particularly for DJI—for example, when Obama later expressed his concerns about this technology. It was also the first collective realization of what could be done with a drone, and above all, the complete legal gray area surrounding the subject.

But for Tao, 2015 was not limited to that—in fact, it was the year he became a billionaire. He even graced the cover of Forbes Asia under the title “The Drone Billionaire,” and he also became a member of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). We won’t go into detail about the CCP because that isn’t the point of the video. But if you’re not too familiar, basically it’s the only real political party in China—a tremendously powerful party. In reality, even the word “party” doesn’t quite capture what the CCP is from our perspective: it’s an omnipresent political ecosystem in China that you must deal with daily when you are a citizen—and even more so when you are a business leader. Not everyone is a member of the CCP; roughly 8% of the population are members, and being a party member as a company boss in China often signals that you collaborate with and support the party’s policies.

So, in 2015, Tao was a billionaire, a CCP member, and about to present his latest drone. You might remember the rivalry with Parrot and 3DR Robotics. That rivalry would never be as pronounced again as it was then. At that time, Parrot presented its Parrot Bebop, 3DR Robotics released its 3DR Solo, and DJI came out with its Phantom 3, all within a few months of each other. The results? By the end of 2016, 3DR had sold 25,000 3DR Solos, Parrot had sold 90 Bebops, and DJI had sold 500,000 Phantom 3s—almost five times as many as Parrot and 3DR combined. Tao Wang had won.

Just as an aside, a new player in the drone world arrived a bit later: GoPro with its GoPro Karma. Although quite ingenious, it didn’t sell more than the 3DR Solo; in fact, it would be GoPro’s first and last drone. We are now in early 2016. DJI dominated 70% of the global market, made $1.5 billion in revenue in 2016—a figure that would double in 2017—and now had 14,000 employees worldwide. There was only one thing missing for Tao—a single thing: that is for you to subscribe to this channel. So, what are you waiting for, Tao? Hurry up!

And as if to add insult to injury, just when all these sales figures were starting to come in, he presented his absolute banger—a foldable, ultra-stable, robust drone packed with sensors that can fly for 20 minutes over long distances for just over $1000. In the blink of an eye, six years had passed. Six years—it’s crazy, it’s unbelievable.

There is a sort of fairy tale here: 20 years earlier, a prototype called the Mavic Pro existed. Its promise was a drone that anyone could pilot—and that was the beginning of the summer of 2017. Twelve million Americans were in front of their televisions watching the Emmy Awards, Better Call Saul, Game of Thrones, Ninja Warrior—and many of the productions nominated had used DJI drones during filming. It is no coincidence, then, that the ceremony awarded the brand the “Emmy Award” for the greatest technological innovation of the year—an absolute coronation for Tao Wang. However, it wasn’t long after that, far from Los Angeles, that the characteristic sound of DJI drones was heard. It wasn’t the signal that a filming was taking place nearby, but rather that it was time to run.

The Islamic State was using DJI drones, rigged with explosives, to carry out attacks. The international press then made big headlines about DJI. DJI quickly reacted—not only condemning any malicious use of their drones (which is logical), but going further with a radical solution you now know as Geo-fencing. It became impossible to launch a DJI drone in zones where the Islamic State was carrying out attacks in Iraq and Syria—a very effective solution that allowed DJI to show a strong stance to the international community.

At the same time, DJI’s expansion continued. Beyond the consumer market, it started to impact the professional civilian sector: not only videographers and enthusiasts, but also Firefighters, rescuers, and technicians around the world were equipping themselves with DJI drones. Even on the black market, with drug traffickers using them to smuggle drugs, and for bombarding rival cartels—as seen in this video in the jungle where a drone is eventually shot at. Political opponents also seized them. In 2018, during an assassination attempt against Maduro, the dictatorial president of Venezuela, three DJI M600 drones—each carrying a kilo of explosives—were used during a speech. Although the attack caused injuries, Maduro came out unscathed.

Conventional armies, like the Israeli army for example, bought Mavics and M600s equipped with night vision cameras for surveillance, notably over the Gaza Strip. The U.S. Army also made a habit of including DJI drones in their equipment. However, an internal Pentagon investigation concluded that the data sent and received by DJI drones was not secure enough and that there was a major risk of leakage. This led, in August 2017, to a complete ban on using or purchasing DJI drones by the entire U.S. military. Let’s be clear: for years, DJI has denied all these accusations, consistently affirming that the use of their drones is perfectly secure. Later, several states even banned DJI from various public services that would have used them, and eventually, every federal service was prohibited from using a DJI drone. In other words, in one year DJI was banned from a considerable number of services in the U.S.—the world’s leading power and a key potential market for DJI.

But then, three years later, 90% of the drones used in the United States in services such as surveillance, Search and Rescue, or firefighting are DJI drones. In fact, it’s absolutely crazy—despite the ban, DJI’s dominance in these sectors is even more pronounced than in the consumer market, where purchasing DJI drones is still allowed.

As for the military, it took years before there wasn’t a single DJI drone among the ranks, simply because no Western drone offers such a complete product for that price. I think you understand: DJI seems unstoppable. The company now employs thousands of people worldwide and continues to be at the forefront of innovation. In 2018, DJI filed nearly 3,000 patents—that’s a lot. By comparison, its most serious competitor, Parrot, filed around thirty patents at the same time. For comparison, Tesla filed 350 patents that year—almost 10 times fewer than DJI. Also in 2018, DJI acquired Hasselblad, a prestigious Swedish camera manufacturer known for its iconic cameras from the Apollo program. DJI acquiring the camera that once symbolized American aeronautical genius was a significant move during a time of American mistrust towards the brand, even as U.S. agencies were struggling to let go of their DJI drones.

It must be admitted that the symbolism is amazing. Nothing seems able to stop DJI’s expansion. By the end of 2019, DJI represented nearly 77% of the global drone market. Meanwhile, Tao Wang and the company continued to release more and more specialized drones—such as the Agras MG-1P for agriculture, the DJI Matrice 200 or M200 for research and rescue, and the Mavic Enterprise series, which offers various tools for infrastructure monitoring and also for surveilling you and me. And it can be said that the timing was impeccable: lockdown, lockdown, lockdown—the lockdown of millions of inhabitants in quarantine, long supermarket lines, lockdowns all over the world—and all the images you have just seen, which are undoubtedly familiar to you, were filmed by DJI drones.

But that’s not all. A tragic event would further spotlight them. On February 24, 2022, Russia invaded Ukraine and bombed strategic points in the country. Putin declared that the operation would last only a few days. The military advanced very quickly—so much so that American officers announced the fall of Kherson in the coming days. Yet, one of the world’s most powerful armies slowed down, the conflict stagnated, U.S. support, European support, Ukrainian strategy, weather… But not only Ukrainian civilians like you and me were hacking drones and turning them into weapons—they developed 3D-printed systems to drop bombs using a Mavic. Note that although the following images are not graphic, they depict war and may shock some viewers: some Russian soldiers are shown, for example, surrendering, or another appears to say goodbye to his opponents shortly before being killed by a kamikaze drone. In Ukraine, it’s not only DJI’s consumer drones that are used; there are also FPV Drones, which are much more rudimentary, usually homemade and cheaper than DJI drones, and that can go very, very fast. FPV drones are used by attaching an explosive charge and crashing into the enemy—hence the name “kamikaze drone.” They can surprise the enemy and reach targets in very tight spaces, such as when the enemy believes he’s protected inside a bunker or in a moving vehicle—leading to setups reminiscent of Mad Max to protect themselves. They can even track a soldier, providing images we thought were only possible in science fiction. Here, a soldier is seen running as he tosses a bag at the drone attempting to kill him.

The downside of these FPV drones is that they require a certain level of skill to pilot, as they are completely manual—unlike DJI drones, as you know. They also have much shorter battery life and limited range. FPV pilots in Ukraine are particularly appreciated and sought after for their skills; many of them were originally just drone enthusiasts who found a very important place in the army during the Russian invasion. So these two types of drones—DJI drones and FPV drones—coexist on the battlefield, sometimes even complementing each other, as here where the Mavic carries a repeater to extend the FPV drone’s signal range, or here where it provides enemy coordinates to another pilot, filling the sky with flying devices. Some even intercept collisions with fighter jets, and others recover damaged drones from the battlefield so that they are not captured by the enemy.

Let me be clear: I repeat, DJI firmly condemns everything I’ve just described. Officially, DJI does not want its drones used for anything other than leisure or civilian professional purposes. Yet remember Geo-fencing in 2017 following the Islamic State attacks, or even in 2015 with the White House incident. DJI would never have done that in Ukraine—I found no trace anywhere of such a measure. And to be completely frank, I was utterly stunned to see that Geo-fencing in Ukraine only affected airports, as in any other country—here is Paris, here is Rome, here is Berlin—and here is the Ukrainian front. One can hack a DJI drone to bypass Geo-fencing, but 1) it doesn’t work on all models, 2) it is not perfectly reliable and can lead to complications, and 3) it requires expertise and, most often, these services are paid. So although there are ways to bypass DJI’s Geo-fencing, it remains cumbersome, doesn’t always work, and creating a no-fly zone over all of Ukraine would undoubtedly reduce the malicious use of DJI drones. It’s important that I tell you this: I’m not taking a side; what I’m pointing out is the contradiction between DJI’s public condemnations of malicious use of its drones and, on the other hand, their reaction— or lack thereof—in Ukraine compared to the White House or the Islamic State incidents. No Geo-fencing decisions were implemented in Ukraine.

And it doesn’t stop there. Even more troubling, a few months after the start of the war, DJI quietly stopped selling its “aeroscope”—a product priced at €60,000 that was used to detect the position of nearby DJI drones as well as their pilots. It was one of the only solutions available on the market to effectively protect against DJI drones. The company later justified this by saying that the product had been designed for Americans, and that after so many sanctions and intimidation measures, they were fed up and decided to stop selling it. Perhaps that is true, or perhaps there is no link with the war in Ukraine—it is entirely possible—but it coincided with many requests from Ukraine for DJI to stop all Aeroscope services in Ukraine. Following that, DJI simply stopped selling the Aeroscope to anyone on earth.

Now, the question I asked myself is: what does this new market—the war in Ukraine—represent for DJI? In other words, is it significant for DJI, or is it an insignificant fraction of their activity? It’s not easy to know, but we have some clues. Ukrainian President Zelenskyy has spoken of a need for 100,000 to 120,000 drones per month, all types combined. Then, the Ukrainian Prime Minister indicated in 2023 that they needed to produce many more drones domestically, adding that the Ukrainian army would purchase, according to SD, 60% of the Mavics sold by DJI. That figure is important because it is one of the only, if not the only, data point that allows us to estimate the market that the war in Ukraine represents for DJI. The problem is that DJI hasn’t disclosed any sales figures for years now—they don’t say how many drones they sell, which models sell the most, or even break down revenue by model. So we have to do some guesswork to have an idea of what 60% of the Mavic sales by DJI represent.

According to Statista, about 5 million consumer drones were sold worldwide in 2020—a figure that increases every year. To be cautious, for 2023, let’s start with that figure of 5 million, and we know that DJI sells 70–80% of the world’s consumer drones. Seventy percent of 5 million means that DJI would have sold at least 3.5 million consumer drones in 2023. And here it gets trickier, since neither DJI nor its dealers disclose the proportion of Mavics sold. Frankly, I spent about ten hours looking for something—anything—that would give us an indication of the number of Mavics sold. The only thing I have to show you is a sales document from a Chinese chain store (similar to La Fnac (or Best Buy in the US)) from 2021 that clearly illustrates the huge success of the Mavic, since at that time, the nine drones sold in their store were all Mavics. So, if I’m being completely honest, the latest DJI models—the DJI Air 3S and Mini 4 Pro—are no longer labeled as Mavic, which complicates things further, as it’s then hard to know whether the Ukrainian Prime Minister’s figure includes those models or not.

So, considering that Mavics have long dominated the market and remain extremely popular, let’s assume that at least one out of every three drones sold by DJI is a Mavic. I would have liked to provide a more precise figure, but we’ll go with that assumption: 30% of the 3.5 million DJI consumer drones sold in 2023 would be Mavics, which gives 1 million Mavics sold in that year. If we assume that 60% of these are purchased by the Ukrainian army, that would be 600,000 Mavics. With an average price of over €1000, that represents roughly €600 million in hypothetical revenue for DJI from the war in Ukraine, just from the Ukrainian side—since the Russians also use DJI drones. This estimate is imperfect, but the figures I present are consistent with other indicators such as the official drone requirements of the Ukrainian army, the estimated drone losses due to Russian jamming (over 10,000 per month), or even punctual statements from geopolitical experts like Dominique Trinan during debates about the Ukrainian front. Currently, there are 2000 drone operators daily, each using five drones because theirs get destroyed—so that’s 10,000 drones per day. Over the year, that amounts to between 3 to 4 million drones consumed. Obviously, DJI is assumed to sell 60% of its Mavics to the Ukrainian army, and at the same time, it is entirely true because the company has ceased all transactions in Ukraine and Russia. What happens is that some European countries supply DJI drones to Ukraine, as well as Ukrainian citizens who are regularly encouraged to buy them in neighboring countries and bring them to the soldiers, who then send thank-you videos for each purchase.

So, as you can see, it is likely that a significant number of DJI drones end up on the Ukrainian front. This is simply because DJI drones communicate with DJI servers, and you will see that this is a point of major concern today. DJI drones are equipped with cameras, sonar, radar, infrared sensors, microphones, GPS, and they collect a huge amount of information about the terrain—information that, for a long time, was not encrypted, meaning it could be intercepted and read by anyone, and also that it could be exploited by DJI at the end of the chain. But since May 2024, DJI finally has the users’ data. Unfortunately, the problem is not entirely solved because now DJI reportedly provides USB decryption keys on a case-by-case basis to security groups equipped with drone detection hardware, so they can decrypt this data—the risk being that DJI chooses who is allowed to decrypt or not the sky around us in terms of using drone data, and perhaps the Chinese government as well. The issue remains: yes, everything is encrypted, but the company holds the decryption key. In an interview in early 2024, one of DJI’s American representatives gave an ambiguous answer regarding this destabilizing argument. DJI regularly presents audits—in other words, analyses by organizations presented as independent—that claim there is no evidence of data leakage on their servers. However, these audits have been challenged, notably by Henri Sedoux—you may recall, the founder of Parrot—in an interview. We looked at DJI’s audits and we think they are extremely superficial and merely “convenience audits.” We examined how DJI’s software is built; it’s obfuscated, and in certain conditions, DJI has full control of the drone and can load any software it wants without the user knowing. Extremely serious things can happen. When you use a DJI drone, you do not know which data is being sent to China, but we are certain that something is hidden and that sensitive data is being transmitted.”

This is only a short excerpt, but I strongly encourage you to watch the full video—it’s fascinating. I’ll put the link in the description. I have a hard time believing, purely personally, that DJI and the CCP do not use this enormous mass of data—which represents extremely valuable data, especially with the advent of artificial intelligence that could very well synthesize this information to decipher the strategies of various parties in Ukraine, or even play a crucial intelligence role in a conflict of this magnitude. If I say this, it’s because a few weeks after the conflict, DJI was accused of sharing data on Ukrainian positions with Russia—an accusation that DJI immediately denied.

We’ve now covered quite a few points about the war in Ukraine and the use of DJI drones, but there is one last one. At the time when DJI was banning the sale of its products in Russia and Ukraine, the company was introducing new drones whose design might seem particularly suited for armed conflict. But before talking about that, I must mention a little about Xi Jinping, the Chinese president. Since 2015, Xi Jinping has set the goal for his country of achieving military, technological, and economic domination by the 100th anniversary of the People’s Republic of China in 2049, and he has introduced a strategy of military-civil fusion—a strategy that consists of having China’s major tech companies work closely with the People’s Liberation Army so that their products are as useful in civilian life as they are for the military. In short, all major Chinese companies’ products must be as useful for you and me as they are for a soldier. On this subject, China is very secretive, particularly when it comes to armaments and military innovation—as is the case for all great powers. However, as early as 2017, a journalist present at the 2nd World Drone Salon in Shenzhen, a city known for DJI, reported in the local press—according to industry experts—that the military-civil fusion in the drone industry was inevitable and that technological advances play a key role.

Let me be clear: no concrete evidence exists regarding DJI’s participation in this program, but DJI’s products can often be seen from both military and civilian perspectives. For example, the Mavic 3 Enterprise and the 30T, both released since the beginning of the conflict in Ukraine, come with thermal cameras, 200x zoom, and night vision. They can even display coordinates on screen when you point at an object, which can be super useful for many things—notably for guiding artillery. These models were immediately adopted by soldiers, who even customized them for greater autonomy, more robust drones intended for the agricultural sector that could, for example, carry a wounded soldier to safety, drop heavy explosive charges, or be equipped with heavy weapons, as seen here. Recently, DJI also introduced its DJI Avata series—a FPV drone with extremely simplified controls thanks to a new remote that allows you to pilot the drone just by tilting your hand. It’s an absolutely amazing drone for fun, for shooting cinematic footage—and it could make kamikaze drones more accessible to untrained soldiers.

For instance, the French company Abot now presents a whole range of equipment for the Avata 2 dedicated to intervention groups, like the BRI. They themselves say that all this is linked to the new remote that allows any operator in an intervention unit to pilot easily and without any training.

I repeat: nothing clearly proves that DJI participates in military-civil fusion in China. However, we do see companies emerging that illustrate the terrible potential of this sector in armaments, particularly in the United States. As I write this video, Feloni and Aerospace have presented two drone models that look very much like the Mavic but would be equipped on one side with an explosive charge and on the other with a 5.56mm bullet-firing weapon, along with thermal cameras, night vision, and 40 minutes of flight autonomy. Yes, it’s terrifying—and here the inspiration from DJI’s drones is obvious. Proof that Tao, regardless of his wishes, has already marked the history of armaments.

Now the question I ask myself is: what comes next?

“Aniper, that little bang is enough to penetrate the hull and destroy the nuclear contents. Nuclear is obsolete—take out your entire enemy virtually risk free. Just target him, release the … and rest easy.”

What you just saw is a short science-fiction film from 2017 produced by an association aimed at raising awareness about the dangers of autonomous weapons. At the time, we could reassure ourselves by thinking that the technology was not yet mature enough to allow something like that one day. That’s what I thought back then. Whether it was the miniaturization, artificial intelligence, camera quality, or piloting algorithms, today such a drone is technically within reach. The big drawback then—and still today—is battery life. Even now, drones rarely fly more than about 30 minutes on a single battery, even those much larger drones that can carry heavier batteries. Now, imagine an autonomous drone that can fly for hours or even days. I was skeptical, but that is no longer really the case since Betavolt, a Chinese company, presented its “nuclear battery” the size of a one-cent coin that can deliver power for 50 years. Imagine a conflict where the sky is saturated with autonomous drones that search relentlessly for the enemy day and night for 50 years.

Why am I telling you all this? Because I believe that if there is one company today capable of producing a drone like that technologically, it is DJI. I even think there are many factors that could push them to do so. You remember the beginning of the video about the Japanese search in 2005 on Yamaha autonomous helicopters—if Japanese police were that worried about seeing their products sent to China, it was because even in 2005, Japanese intelligence services claimed to have evidence that the People’s Liberation Army was arming its soldiers, notably along the border with India. And yet, ironically, 20 years later, those devices are completely obsolete, and Japan is very far behind China in the field of drones, especially considering Xi Jinping’s strategy of military-civil fusion, the innovation displayed at arms fairs in China, and the fact that China’s military budget increases every year. It is imaginable that DJI and the CCP might collaborate in creating a weapon like this. I’m not saying it exists—I’m not even saying it’s probable—I’m just saying that we have every right to be afraid. No international law limits the construction and use of autonomous weapons; drones like these can very well be legally designed, and as for Tao Wang—Tao hasn’t spoken publicly since 2017. The thoughts of DJI’s CEO are even more secretive than the construction of their drones. His childhood passion for model aviation is now a distant memory as he sits atop DJI’s twin towers, 200 meters high, far from his old 20-square-meter workshop where it all began. A detail that I find meaningful is that on the door of his office is written a phrase that could be translated as “Use your brain without your feelings.” Young Tao, who had simply dreamed of piloting a radio-controlled helicopter with ease, went on to mark the history of his country, of model aviation, but also that of war—and perhaps a part of our future.

I just finished watching the editing and I realize it makes you kind of want to “fly away” yourself. I am truly sorry if it affected you. I have one last piece of information: I sent an email to DJI’s communications department with plenty of questions, leaving them the opportunity to respond regarding this video, and they did not reply before the video ended.

I’d like to talk a little about the background of this documentary. First, I’m not an expert in drones or weapons; my job is to tell stories with a camera—most often true stories, which we call documentaries or reports—and I’d like to share some footage I’ve shot with DJI drones and stabilizers over the past years. For nearly 10 years, DJI has found a special place among the tools that accompany me in filming, and just under a year ago I bought the DJI Avata 2, which I mentioned in this video, and I realized that I didn’t know anything about this company, even though I’ve been a loyal customer. And it was precisely by investigating—first a little bit, then every day for weeks—that I was struck by the same vertigo that you probably felt during this video. It was a shock for me because I love DJI’s products, especially the drones. The first one I used was the Phantom 2, then the 3, then the 4, then the Mavic 1, then the Mavic 2, then the Avata—as I told you—and these drones have allowed me to capture fantastic footage in sometimes very challenging shooting conditions. It is sometimes difficult to explain the relationship between an artisan and his tool, but I truly have a lot of love for DJI drones over the years.

Now, DJI’s products give me the means to pursue my ambitions anywhere and anytime, and beyond capturing beautiful shots, they capture shots that tell a story—stories I could not have told with my main camera. Discovering that these flying cameras I love so much hide a very dark side really hit me hard, and it was precisely that shock that made me want to make this little documentary and launch this YouTube channel. It took me about a year to make this video—not only because I wanted it to be good and because it was a new challenge for me to speak like this, but also because I have other projects on the side. What took the longest was the investigation into DJI, because the company is very secretive and it took me weeks of work to gather everything you saw. In fact, there is still a bit that I couldn’t cover in the video and that I will put in the comments for those of you who are curious.

All this to say that I hope you really enjoyed it, and that one of the things that drives me to come on YouTube is the ability to exchange with the people who watch what I do—something that is not possible on television. So if you liked it, or if you didn’t like it, if you have questions, if you have things to say or clarify—especially if you want to debate—express yourself in the comments. I would really enjoy reading and replying to you. And if you want more formats like this, like the video and subscribe—I have several documentary ideas that could follow. I’ve been thinking about it for several months, if it appeals to you and if enough of you subscribe because, well, it’s a lot of work. I’m really excited—take care, and I hope to see you soon.