US Solar Manufacturers Seek New Tariffs on Imports From India, Southeast Asia
A group of American solar panel manufacturers has asked the U.S. Commerce Department to impose tariffs on solar imports from Indonesia, Laos, and India, a month after Washington imposed hefty tariffs on solar products from four Southeast Asian nations.
According to Reuters, the complaint was filed by the American Alliance for Solar Manufacturing Trade Committee, a group representing several major solar equipment producers, including South Korea's Hanwha Qcells USA Inc. and the U.S. firm First Solar Inc.
The complaint requests investigations into 'illegal trade practices by largely Chinese-owned manufacturers operating in Laos and Indonesia, as well as companies headquartered in India,' according to a statement from the Alliance. It accuses companies based in three nations of receiving unfair government subsidies and of selling their products below the cost of production in the United States, which threatens to undercut U.S. producers.
'We have always said, vigorous enforcement of our trade laws is critical to the success of this industry,' Tim Brightbill, the lead attorney for the Alliance, said in the statement.
As PV magazine noted, the new cases 'extend a marathon struggle begun in 2011 that has focused on imports from Chinese companies. As they have relocated factory assets ahead of tariffs resulting from the cases, the domestic industry has refocused on litigation against imports from new country targets.'
In May, the U.S. International Trade Commission (USITC) ruled in the Alliance's favor in two similar complaints regarding solar imports from Cambodia, Malaysia, Thailand, and Vietnam. In its ruling, the Commission determined that the U.S. solar industry had been 'materially injured by reason of imports of crystalline silicon photovoltaic cells, whether or not assembled into modules,' from the four nations.
The Commerce Department subsequently imposed a series of varied tariffs on solar products from the four countries, which reached as high as 3,500 percent in the case of some solar panels and components from Cambodia. The tariffs came into effect on June 16.
However, as with previous rulings, this action merely prompted agile solar manufacturers to relocate their operations to nations not yet subject to U.S. tariffs. Trade data showed a sharp decline in U.S. solar imports from Cambodia, Vietnam, Malaysia, and Thailand after the initiation of the complaint in April 2024. Meanwhile, even before the latest batch of complaints had been concluded, 'the same Chinese-backed companies wasted no time shifting operations to Laos and Indonesia, and companies in India joined in to continue undercutting American producers,' Brightbill said in the statement. 'We have always said vigorous enforcement of our trade laws is critical to the success of this industry.'
The Alliance cited figures showing that solar imports from the three nations combined were $1.6 billion last year, up from just $289 million in 2022.
However, the Alliance's campaign against cheap imports has not been universally supported. Opponents, including the Solar Energy Industries Association, which testified to the USITC against the petitioners in its last case involving imports from Cambodia, Vietnam, Thailand, and Malaysia, said that the May decision was 'concerning for American solar manufacturers' and would harm 'solar module producers that depend on access to imported solar cells.'
This is especially the case given the broader policy orientation of the Trump administration, which, in an executive order signed by President Donald Trump on July 7, announced that it was tightening up on access to federal solar and wind credits.
'For too long, the Federal Government has forced American taxpayers to subsidize expensive and unreliable energy sources like wind and solar,' the order stated. 'Ending the massive cost of taxpayer handouts to unreliable energy sources is vital to energy dominance, national security, economic growth, and the fiscal health of the Nation.'
Today, Politico reported that 'solar and wind energy projects must now get Interior Secretary Doug Burgum's personal sign-off to receive permits across the hundreds of millions of federal acres under his department's control,' citing an internal memo from the Department of the Interior. It said that the memo 'puts wind and solar projects under heightened scrutiny, potentially slowing approvals and construction across vast swaths of some of the most sun- and wind-rich portions of the country.'
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On October 5, 2011, thirteen Chinese sailors were found bound, blindfolded, and executed, their bodies dumped in the Mekong River near northern Thailand. The scene was grisly. Two Chinese cargo ships, the Hua Ping and Yu Xing 8, were later discovered with nearly a million methamphetamine tablets onboard. Within days, Chinese authorities blamed the massacre on Naw Kham, a drug lord operating in the Golden Triangle, launching a full-scale manhunt. Authorities captured Kham, brought him to China, tried him, and then executed him by lethal injection in 2013. The state broadcast the execution on national television. A murkier truth is buried under that official story. Thai investigators – and eventually, Chinese ones, too – uncovered that nine Thai soldiers from an elite anti-narcotics unit carried out the killings. They orchestrated the massacre after a protection racket went sideways, then allegedly tried to frame Kham by planting the drugs. And yet the Thai soldiers faced no charges. They walked free. The Chinese public got the closure of televised justice, but the men who pulled the triggers? Nothing. Why would China, a country famously assertive about protecting its citizens overseas, allow the real perpetrators to go unpunished? Following the murders, China halted all shipping on the Mekong and scrambled to reassert control. Within weeks, it convened an emergency summit with Thailand, Laos, and Myanmar (the three countries touching the Golden Triangle) and rolled out a bold new initiative: joint river patrols. The plan, as Beijing envisioned it, would have Chinese boats and personnel operating across borders, patrolling shoulder-to-shoulder with forces from neighboring countries. However, that did not happen. Instead of combined patrols, the countries agreed to coordinate separate national patrols – each country sticking to its own waters, handing off responsibility at the border like a security relay race. Why was China willing to accept a watered-down arrangement that falls far short of the sweeping authority it initially sought? The answer lies in the politics of perception. Beijing did not need full operational control to declare victory. It needed a story to tell: one that showed the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) responding swiftly to threats, protecting its citizens, and exerting regional leadership. The joint patrols delivered that narrative, even if they didn't deliver much in the way of actual security. This is not just a story about the Mekong. It's about how China manages its image as a rising power: balancing ambition with optics and pressure with pragmatism. It is about how smaller states resist by leaning on sovereignty and domestic legal barriers and how the CCP turns even partial wins into full-blown victories for domestic consumption. It also touches on the limits of performative security: what happens when symbolism outweighs substance and whether those symbols can evolve into something more. How the Patrols Work Launched in December 2011, the Chinese presented the patrols as a breakthrough in regional security cooperation. But what followed was far less integrated or muscular than the headlines suggested. The joint patrols are merely a cooperative effort among the four countries. The 'jointness' of the operation lies primarily in branding, and in a Combined Operations Center in Guanlei, China, which facilitates limited intelligence sharing. The patrols occur roughly once a month. The 155th joint patrol was held from July 22 to 25, 2025, according to China's official media. 'Seven vessels and more than 100 law enforcement personnel from the four countries traveled over 700 kilometers during the patrol, which lasted four days and three nights,' Xinhua, China's state news agency, reported. The scale can vary; at times these operations involve thousands of personnel and hundreds of boats. According to Chinese state media, the latest joint patrol involved three Chinese law enforcement vessels traveling south from Yunnan, while boats from Laos and Myanmar also departed separately from local ports, 'bound for a pre-determined area.' There was no mention of Thailand sending a boat to participate in the patrol itself, although it hosted 'an information exchange meeting' in Chiang Saen during the operation. A 2021 People's Daily article reported that over the past decade, law enforcement agencies from China, Laos, Myanmar, and Thailand have conducted over 180 joint missions, cracking down on more than 36,000 drug-related crimes and seizing nearly 137 metric tons of drugs. However, this reporting appears to aggregate all enforcement actions across the four countries, not just those actions conducted during the official joint patrols. For example, other official press coverage indicated that, as of July 2022, only 119 joint patrols had occurred, suggesting that the larger figure of 'over 180' joint missions includes separate operations. These numbers are subject to scrutiny. One report in People's Daily claimed that police vessels patrol the Mekong for 25 days a month, contradicting other reports that suggest typical Chinese patrols only last for approximately four days. These discrepancies suggest that Chinese press reports conflate individual countries' achievements with those of the joint operations, potentially overstating the level of multilateral coordination and the effectiveness of the patrols themselves. Most of the publicly available figures come from Chinese government sources or state-run media with little independent verification of the patrols' impact. The persistence of issues like meth smuggling, armed gangs, and illegal border crossings in Golden Triangle suggests that the patrols have done more to showcase regional cooperation than to deliver security. Understanding the political and institutional context of these patrols further complicates the picture. The joint patrols have primarily used China Coast Guard (CCG) vessels, which historically operated under the Ministry of Public Security (MPS). In 2013, however, the CCG was unified as a national force, and in 2018, the CCP transferred it under the command of the People's Armed Police, which now reports directly to the Central Military Commission (CMC), reflecting broader trends toward militarization and centralized control under Xi Jinping. In 2024, China introduced a new class of fourth generation ('Gen-4') patrol vessels specifically designed for Mekong River operations. These vessels were commissioned by the Yunnan provincial public security department, but it remains unclear whether the MPS directly operates them, or if they fall under the CMC command structure. All of this raises a question: If these patrols are not clearly effective, why are they still happening? The answer may lie less in security strategy than in storytelling: who these patrols are meant to reassure and what narrative they are meant to sustain. Bargaining on the River When the CCP first proposed joint Mekong patrols after the 2011 massacre, it did not envision the compartmentalized structure that exists today. Beijing wanted full combined operations: Chinese boats patrolling seamlessly across borders. This would have extended Chinese operational reach throughout a huge portion of mainland Southeast Asia – an unprecedented level of regional access under the banner of public safety. But China didn't get that. Thailand pushed back first, citing a constitutional requirement that any foreign military or law enforcement presence in Thai waters requires parliamentary approval. More importantly, it invoked sovereignty. Allowing armed Chinese vessels into Thai territory, even as part of a cooperative patrol, was a step too far. Laos and Myanmar, while less assertive, followed Thailand's lead. The result was the diluted arrangement. It is telling that China accepted this outcome despite its regional and global power. In theory, Beijing had the economic and political leverage to press harder. Why didn't it? For Chinese domestic audiences, the appearance of CCP action was more important than actual operational control. Beijing could still frame the patrols as a win: Chinese law enforcement was now patrolling the Mekong, coordinating with neighbors, and 'making the river safe again.' Regionally, China could appear as a cooperative partner, not an aggressive bully. In a diplomatic environment where China constantly claims to respect sovereignty, strong-arming its neighbors into accepting cross-border patrols would have undercut that messaging. Importantly, the smaller states demonstrated that they were not entirely powerless. By invoking legal barriers and sovereignty norms, they forced China to scale back its ambitions without directly confronting it. In doing so, they revealed an important truth: that even asymmetric relationships allow for resistance. Security as Spectacle The Mekong River patrols may not have much operational impact, but that doesn't mean they're unimportant. They serve a different purpose entirely: to showcase China as a capable and responsible regional leader without demanding much in the way of actual risk, cost, or power-sharing. This is hardly an isolated case. Across a range of domains, China has leaned heavily on symbolic or low-stakes forms of international cooperation to reinforce its status. One of the clearest parallels is China's naval deployment to the Gulf of Aden. These missions signal China's willingness to contribute to global security, but they have involved minimal risk, little operational coordination with other navies, and almost no combat engagement. Still, Chinese state media celebrates these deployments as a sign of national prestige, showing off the navy's blue-water capabilities and broadcasting its arrival as a global maritime power. The Mekong patrols fit neatly into this pattern. Their very structure – sequential, national, heavily publicized – prioritizes optics over integration. China's message is clear: we are here, we are active, and we are leading. And for the CCP's domestic audience, that message matters more than the fine print. Southeast Asian countries seem to understand and participate in this performance. By allowing just enough cooperation to help China craft its narrative, they can extract benefits – be it economic aid, diplomatic goodwill, or stability – without surrendering too much autonomy. Playing Along If the Mekong patrols are largely symbolic, why do Southeast Asian states participate at all? The answer isn't blind obedience or passive acceptance. It's strategy. For the other countries involved, the patrols offer a way to manage China's ambitions, access economic and diplomatic benefits, and maintain the illusion of cooperation on their own terms. Thailand, for example, walks a tightrope between its U.S. alliance and its deepening economic ties with China. Bangkok gets the best of both worlds by participating in the patrols while blocking Chinese boats from entering Thai waters. It avoids confrontation, earns diplomatic goodwill, and limits Chinese intrusion. The patrols become a form of controlled cooperation: just enough to keep China satisfied, not enough to surrender sovereignty. At times, Thailand chooses not to send a boat at all, as evidenced by the July 2025 patrol – apparently with no consequences. Laos, which is far more dependent on Beijing, faces different incentives. With Chinese-backed railways, hydropower dams, and debt financing shaping its economy, Vientiane has little leverage to resist Chinese overtures outright. Participating in joint patrols, however modest, offers a way to stay in Beijing's good graces and ensure continued investment. For Laos, the patrols are less about security and more about signaling alignment with its most important benefactor. Myanmar's calculus is unclear, especially after the 2021 coup, but it follows a similar logic. The junta's isolation from the West makes China one of the few partners it can still count on. Security cooperation, including on the Mekong, helps reinforce that relationship. Even amid domestic turmoil, Myanmar's participation buys a degree of diplomatic protection (and possibly arms or infrastructure deals) without ceding meaningful control. In short, each country has its own reason for supporting China's performance. And they all understand the same thing: letting China look like a leader costs less than letting China act like one. Conclusion: Substance by Other Means? The Mekong joint patrols appear to be little more than a symbolic gesture – a meticulously staged pageant with limited operational depth. In that way, it's the decade-long version of the Naw Kham execution. The Thai soldiers truly responsible for the 2011 massacre were never held accountable, but by executing Kham Beijing walked away with a win it could sell at home. That is the real currency here: not enforcement capability, but narrative. For domestic audiences, the CCP showed swift state action. For the region, they symbolized Chinese leadership in a 'win-win' security framework. For China, that was enough. And for the Mekong states, cooperating – just enough – helped unlock economic partnerships, avoid direct confrontation, and maintain sovereignty. In this way, the patrols became a kind of regional theater in which each actor plays a part. China performs leadership. Its neighbors perform an alignment. Together, they sustain the illusion of progress. In an international order where hard power looms large but outright conflict remains costly, symbolic gestures can do real diplomatic work. The Mekong patrols may never stop the drug trade. But they've already succeeded in something else: offering all parties a way to act out stability without having to achieve it. In a region where form often trumps substance, that may be the most effective outcome of all.
