Almost a year ago, I attended a screening of Hassan Fazili’s documentary, Midnight Traveler (2019). The event was held in the Museum of Tolerance, a space meant for Holocaust exhibits and “confronting modern-day discrimination,” as a passing sign noted. Fazili shot and directed Midnight Traveler solely on his mobile phone, capturing his family’s escape from Afghanistan after the Taliban put out a bounty on him. The film was an intimate and daring example of how far artists will go to pursue their craft. While I admired Fazili for his determination to criticize oppressive powers such as the Taliban, I wondered if his bravery was instead selfishness. Do filmmakers who fight against oppression and censorship need to have some level of selfishness in order to succeed? What the answer would mean for artists working under similarly-restrictive governments?
In the film, there is a heart-wrenching scene where one of his daughters suddenly disappears and the entire refugee camp is sent into a frenzy looking for her. During this panic, Fazili still brings his camera along, capturing his feet as they pound against the sidewalk. His wife breaks into tears, his other daughter falls quiet. All reactions lead towards the fear that, in the next shot, we may see the little girl’s lifeless body.
The film fades into black. And then back to light: the daughter has been found, alive and well. Throughout this scene, Fazili narrates his emotions and reveals his nagging thought that filmmakers are — to some extent — selfish and exploitative. Even during one of the most frightening moments of his life, Fazili brought his camera along, filtering his experience through a screen. What would have happened if he had actually captured the worst-case-scenario? How would he have reconciled his duty as a filmmaker to capture stories with his duty as a father to protect his child? It made me question if viciously fighting for your artistic beliefs was necessary when those you love are in danger. Fazili’s documentary guided me towards artists in similarly oppressive countries. In the case of the oppressed, there is a distinction between artists who use art to criticize unjust restrictions, and those who want less creative limitations. Fazili would fall into the first category. Similar to Fazili, Chinese Artist Ai Wei Wei uses his craft for socio-political awareness and critiques a government that has as many authoritarian detriments as they do socialist benefits.
As a friend from mainland China once explained to me, Chinese people are aware of how their government censors the content they can access and the topics they can discuss. Often, this isn’t an issue for normal people, who can easily cope without knowing about all of the details of the outside world. Ignorance is bliss, especially for those who just want stability. After the turbulence of the cultural revolution, citizens turned away from nationalist fervor and settled into apolitical attitudes. However, that hasn’t stopped all citizens from speaking out, especially not Ai Wei Wei, who offers an extreme example of defying censorship.
Ai Wei Wei holds a complicated position in popular Chinese perception. Once, he was highly regarded enough to come in as one of the architects for the Beijing National Stadium in preparation for the 2008 Beijing Olympics. However, Ai currently resides in England, essentially exiled from China after his tumultuous confrontations with the Chinese government in 2011. Having butt-heads with the government since the 1990s over suppressing the true costs of the AIDs crisis in China and later with the 2008 Sichuan Earthquake, Ai Wei Wei was long overdue for a government check on his rebelliousness. In 2011 he was arrested for tax-evasion (a case that Ai Wei Wei supporters will say was more of a circus than a real trial) and had his passport confiscated, leaving him more or less under house arrest until 2015.
Having studied film at the Beijing Film Academy, it makes sense that Ai Wei Wei used video as the medium for his citizen investigations that critiqued local and national government ineptitude. Similar to Fazili, Ai’s documentary-style is confrontational. He gets right into policemen’s faces, exposes local officials, and provides a sort of agency to the victims of corruption. The films Little Girl’s Cheeks, 4851, and So Sorry acted both as tributes and evidence of the citizen investigations that took place.
However, Ai’s unapologetic approach to art makes it difficult for him to enact lasting change or create the kind of films that he wanted to within China itself. This isn’t to say that just because you are not physically in a location that you cannot influence that space. However, due to China’s censorship guidelines, those inside of the mainland likely cannot access Ai’s work easily. As a result, his critiques and awareness-raising efforts will largely go unseen by those who supposedly need to see it the most. Even the ability for Chinese people to use a VPN to break through the firewall is quickly disappearing. Apple has removed many VPNs from their app store just as censorship has become stricter in China. While confronting oppression and corruption within a government is necessary in facilitating change, are there other options for artists to engage with? While the world would see faster change with constant rebellion, this option isn’t feasible for everyone. However, if one can change majority mindsets, albeit slowly, change should supposedly last longer.
This brings us to the second category of artists who wish for greater creative freedom — people who bear the restrictions of censorship, but dream of a freer future. For these artists, I can only suggest that they return back to the tips and tricks that have long existed in society: symbolism and abstraction. As long as communication has existed, so has the ability to impart symbolism. Symbols are objects that can represent something else, including words, drawings and music. What would film critique be without an analysis of symbols? Religious symbols, phallic symbols, political symbols, etc., all help filmmakers tell stories visually without additional dialogue or being too blunt. Of course, symbolism isn’t anything new, but in recent film history, especially in China, filmmakers draw upon the same familiar symbols as if working from a singular language. We need a revolution in symbols, signage, and referents. Abstract sensitive topics to the very edges of comprehensibility. For my young filmmaker friends who see their work washed out by censorship guidelines and sponsorship pressures, don’t let this dilute your creative integrity.
When you can’t actively rebel against overwhelming forces, support your causes by subverting.