Despite troubling jurisdictional issues, the Urumqi Municipal Culture and Tourism Bureau in Xinjiang has imposed a fine of 75,000 yuan (US$10,300) on Yunnan-based artist and independent filmmaker Guo Zhenming (郭珍明) for “illegal filmmaking” activities. The administrative punishment also included the confiscation of Guo’s hard drive, two cameras, and some sound and lighting equipment. The penalties are being criticized by some Chinese netizens and supporters as blatant examples of administrative overreach, “high-seas fishing,” and suppression of artistic freedom. The unusually harsh punishment was based on some footage Guo shot in Xinjiang, and his 2023 documentary “Tedious Days and Nights” (Chinese title: 混乱与细雨, Hùnluàn yǔ xìyǔ), which was shot in Hunan province and screened at last year’s Berlin Film Festival (without official permission from China’s film censors).
This is not the first time Guo has been targeted by Chinese authorities: in 2023, as reported by VOA Chinese and Variety, he was prevented from renewing his passport and was subject to a travel ban, likely in retaliation for his support of the White Paper Movement and attention to the plight of Xiaohuamei (a woman who was trafficked, abused, and kept chained in a shed). What distinguishes this latest episode of law-enforcement harassment is the sheer distance at which it occurred: the authorities who levied the fine are located 2,000 miles from Hunan province, where Guo once filmed; and 2,500 miles from Dali, Yunnan province, where Guo currently lives.
CDT Chinese editors have archived a March 27 essay by WeChat blogger Li Yuchen, titled “The Film Was Shot in Hunan, but Xinjiang Confiscated Cameras and Imposed a 75,000 Yuan Fine.” In it, the author discusses the harsh penalties imposed by Xinjiang authorities on Guo Zhenming, and argues that this will have a chilling effect not only on filmmakers and other creative artists, but on China’s entire creative ecosystem, and on anyone who has ever picked up a camera:
I just read an announcement about an administrative fine levied by the Urumqi Municipal Bureau of Culture and Tourism.
The announcement said that the individual involved, Guo Zhenming, shot a documentary called "Tedious Days and Nights" in Hunan. Although the director did not obtain official permission to release the film, he submitted the documentary to be screened at the Berlin Film Festival in Germany. Afterwards, Guo traveled to Xinjiang where he shot some footage that was stored on a hard drive but not yet incorporated into a film.
The relevant authorities in Xinjiang reasoned that since Guo had already submitted the film he shot in Hunan to screen at a German film festival, there was reason to believe that the footage he shot in Xinjiang and stored on a hard drive would also be made into a film.
As such, they confiscated his camera and hard drive and slapped him with a fine of 75,000 yuan.
Is this some type of cross-provincial manhunt for filmmakers?
Xinjiang’s Bureau of Radio, Film and Television was of the firm opinion that even though the footage hadn’t been made into a film, let alone been released to the public, the simple fact that the director had previously flouted the rules by allowing a similar film to be screened overseas meant that the footage in this case could be treated as a film.
The sternly worded administrative penalty notice employed the following astonishing logic:
Although the work filmed by the party concerned is not yet complete, the actors have already been hired and paid, the estimated running time is 60-80 minutes, the finished product will have a 16:9 aspect ratio, and there are plans to submit or screen it at film festivals. This meets the definition of ‘a film.’ Furthermore, said party has submitted similar works to foreign film festivals in the past, which further confirms that his actions were taken with the intent to make a film. Therefore, the work produced by Guo Zhenming should be classified as a film.
If they know the work is incomplete, how can they be so sure it’s actually a film?
Anyone will be able to discern the logical flaw here—that a film shot by Guo Zhenming in Hunan was judged to have violated regulations in Xinjiang.
Reasoning by Extrapolation
In other words, if a director has ever filmed in other provinces, authorities in Xinjiang think they have reasonable cause for suspicion, reasonable grounds to impose a fine.
By that logic, Chinese directors and cinematographers would seem to be caught in an inescapable dilemma: if they have ever participated in any overseas screening, exhibition, or competition, then no matter where they travel or what equipment they use, any footage they shoot will automatically be considered a film, putting them at constant risk of punishment.
Can it really be that for someone holding a film camera, all of China is enemy territory?
Urumqi also issued a harsh and detailed list of the penalties: a fine of 75,000 yuan, and confiscation of the equipment he used for filming—one hard drive, two cameras, one recorder pen, two filters, and a set of lights.
The administrative penalty notice was harshly worded, making it clear that there would be no leniency—as if they had actually nabbed some dangerous fugitive after a nationwide manhunt.
The “Crime” of Filmmaking
Upon closer examination, the legal basis for the punishment can only be described as "specious.” After all, if something is to be considered “a film,” it must be a completed work and be approved for public screening, or at the very least, there must be a clear intention to screen it as a film. But apparently now, simply by filming something in Hunan and screening it in Germany, you can be slapped with a fine by authorities located thousands of miles away, in Xinjiang. The laxity of such “supervision” is appalling—even if someone were to commit some heinous offense in Hunan, or in Germany, what on earth would it have to do with the authorities in Xinjiang?
On a slightly deeper level, we might ask: where exactly do the boundaries of filmmaking lie? What are directors allowed to film, and what are they not allowed to film? If authorities in Xinjiang can punish a director simply because they suspect him of making a film, who else is in danger of being added to the “punishment list”? Today it might be those filming natural scenery; tomorrow, bloggers shooting travel videos; and the day after that, independent content creators documenting their hometown customs.
Underlying this superficially serious (but patently absurd) law-enforcement logic is a deliberate blurring of boundaries, a hyper-vigilant stance against creative freedom, and above all, a self-imposed and never-ending expansion of administrative authority.
Administrative Overreach
Ultimately, once the boundaries of authority become blurred, the "comfort zone" of authority will continue to expand, while individuals and creators subject to the authority of the law will find their freedom increasingly restricted.
Lurking behind such absurd punishment is the phenomenon of dwindling creative freedom. Punishing creators with law-enforcement methods based on "cross-provincial suspicion" not only harms specific individuals, but also damages the entire cultural ecosystem. Because now, when creators raise their cameras, they will hesitate and wonder, "Will doing this cause me to be fined by some faraway province?"
Artistic creation requires an atmosphere of freedom and tolerance. But if authority expands to such a point that it becomes completely arbitrary, how—in such an environment—can we even talk about cultural development or outstanding works of art? Even more ironically, given the current emphasis on "cultural confidence," by punishing filmmakers in this way, authorities are actively stunting artistic creativity. This has prompted many to lament, "Xinjiang didn’t just punish a director; it punished artistic creation itself."
Film a movie in Hunan, and get fined by Xinjiang. It may sound utterly ridiculous, but it belies a serious problem: our ever-shrinking space for artistic freedom. If this nonsense continues, I fear that the next people punished for "illegal filmmaking" will be you, and me, and everyone we know who has ever used a camera or a mobile phone. [Chinese]
