The tragedy of the P9 is not that it couldn’t run Android 10; it’s that it could have, if the incentives had aligned differently. Custom ROM communities (such as LineageOS) have proven that the Kirin 955 can boot Android 10, albeit with broken camera drivers—a fatal flaw for a phone sold on its Leica lens. For the average user, however, the lack of an official update meant a slow death by app incompatibility. Banking apps and WhatsApp features began to demand Android 8 or higher. By 2021, the P9 was a museum piece.

Yet, hardware limitations are only half the story. The second, more cynical reason is . By 2019, Huawei had moved on to the P30 series, complete with its own advanced camera zoom and the aggressive push of EMUI 10 (Huawei’s skin of Android 10). To give the P9 a fresh OS would be to cannibalize mid-range sales. A phone with a still-impressive Leica camera and a modern OS might dissuade a budget-conscious user from upgrading. The smartphone industry thrives on the churn of the two-to-three-year upgrade cycle. Updating the P9 to Android 10 would have been an act of charity, not capitalism—and publicly traded companies are not charities.

Finally, we cannot ignore the elephant in the server room: . In May 2019, just months before Android 10’s stable release, the US government added Huawei to the Entity List. This effectively severed Huawei’s access to Google Mobile Services (GMS) for new devices. While existing devices like the P9 were technically exempt, the ban created a corporate paralysis. Why would Huawei dedicate engineers to port Android 10 to an old device when the company’s future was suddenly shifting toward a Google-less, HarmonyOS-based ecosystem? The P9 became a relic of the “old Huawei”—one that still trusted American software. To update it would be to remind users of what they were about to lose. Instead, Huawei chose a forward-looking silence.