Rivalry on the Page and Screen: Hong Kong, Taiwan, World

Episode Narrative

In the late 2010s, Hong Kong was a vibrant tapestry woven with diverse voices and artistic expressions. This bustling city, known for its stunning skyline and rich history, became a focal point for political resistance and cultural identity. Citizens took to the streets, driven by a profound desire for autonomy and freedom. They transformed urban landscapes into shared spaces of hope and dissent. The Lennon Walls emerged as a powerful symbol during this period, where walls and public spaces came alive with colorful post-it notes, artistic drawings, and poignant slogans. Each handwritten message was both a statement and a question, echoing the collective longing for personal freedoms and democracy. This movement was not merely about dissent; it was a mirror reflecting the hopes of a society grappling with its identity amidst growing tensions with authorities.

As the new decade dawned, the environment that nurtured such artistic rebellion began to shift dramatically. In 2020, the passage of the National Security Law marked a dark turning point. The law, framed as necessary for stability, effectively silenced voices advocating for democracy. Independent publishers were shuttered, and libraries purged politically sensitive works, which included the writings of notable authors like Ma Jian and Liu Xiaobo. The once-thriving literary scene was now silenced under a new regime of censorship. The erasure of dissenting voices marked a chilling decline in literary freedom, leaving a palpable void in Hong Kong’s cultural landscape. In many respects, the written word became a battleground, a site where ideas were fought over, restricted, and regulated.

The repercussions of this law were felt deeply in 2021 when the Hong Kong International Literary Festival was canceled for the first time in its history. The festival, once a vibrant celebration of literature and thought, was now a casualty of the narrowing space for free expression. Citing “uncertain circumstances,” the cancellation served as a haunting testament to the broader suppression pervasive in the cultural sector. Artists, writers, and thinkers found themselves navigating a minefield where ideas could no longer be exchanged freely. The thriving pumps of creativity that fueled the city for so long now faced sudden restriction, stifled by fear and uncertainty.

Across the waters, the narrative in Taiwan began to bloom. In 2022, as Hong Kong struggled under the weight of censorship, Taiwanese literature grew ever more vibrant. Taiwan’s publishing industry saw a surge in books addressing the complexities of cross-strait relations. Titles like “The Taiwan Strait: A Bridge or a Barrier?” garnered immense interest, selling out within weeks. These works, rich with themes of identity and connection, illustrated a community grappling with its own relationship to the evolving political landscape. They became a vessel for exploring what it meant to be Taiwanese in a world increasingly defined by division.

The annual Taipei International Book Exhibition in 2023 further exemplified this thirst for connection and understanding. A special pavilion dedicated to banned books from Hong Kong drew large crowds. It sparked dialogues about censorship, cultural solidarity, and the often perilous journey of creators. The pavilion represented not only a tribute to the silenced voices of Hong Kong but a celebration of the resilience of literature against oppression. In every book that was read, a voice persisted, echoing in the hearts of those who sought truth and freedom.

However, the shadow of censorship loomed not just over Hong Kong, but over the entire region. In 2024, the Chinese government launched an extensive campaign aimed at “purifying” online literature. This drastic initiative led to the removal of more than ten thousand works deemed politically incorrect or morally inappropriate. The literary world braced itself for a tempest of repression, one that sought not merely to limit expression, but to reshape the very fabric of culture itself. Writers and creators found their works scrutinized, their narratives molded in the likeness of state-approved ideologies.

Ironically, as the tides of censorship advanced, the art of storytelling evolved in bold and unexpected ways. The Shanghai International Literary Festival in 2025 introduced a new category for “safe” political fiction. Here, literature was no longer a wild expression of human thought, but rather a carefully curated reflection of state ideology. Authors were guided to avoid themes of corruption or dissent, results of a shifting literary norm that seemed to stifle creativity in its very essence. What once held the power to challenge and inspire now adhered strictly to the parameters defined by authorities.

The cinematic landscape mirrored this evolving dynamic within literature. In the same year, Taiwanese filmmaker Tsai Ming-liang released “Days,” a film steeped in poignant commentary on the erosion of personal freedoms in Hong Kong. With long takes and minimal dialogue, the film evoked a profound sense of loss and longing. It successfully captured a moment in time when the very lines between art and political expression began to blur, leaving audiences in a reflective silence. As viewers sat in the dark, they faced not just a film, but a reflection of their collective anxieties and dreams.

Yet, the controversies didn’t end there. In 2021, the Hong Kong Film Awards witnessed an international backlash as several nominees withdrew in protest against the city’s new security laws. It was a dramatic act of defiance, resonating far beyond the confines of the film industry. Major studios boycotted the event, leading to a notable drop in viewership — yet another sign of the fractured landscape where creativity once flourished. The artistic community was in disarray, caught between the pressure to conform and the desire to break free.

The intertwining narratives of Hong Kong and Taiwan continued to develop as the years progressed. The 2022 Taiwan Literature Award acknowledged this complexity with the introduction of a category called “cross-strait stories.” Writers were encouraged to delve into themes of identity and migration, to explore stories of reconciliation and shared histories. A prize of NT$1 million awaited the winning entry, marking a celebration of literary exploration in a region fraught with tension. In these narratives, writers not only sought to connect with their audiences but to bridge divides, using words as instruments of understanding and empathy.

Meanwhile, the specter of artificial intelligence began creeping into the literary domain amid ongoing censorship. In 2023, the Chinese government’s “Digital Great Leap Forward” initiative included investments in AI-generated literature. Algorithms began producing novels and poems meticulously aligned with state guidelines. This advancement sparked meaningful debates about the future of creativity. If creativity could be simulated, what would happen to the human experience embedded in storytelling? Would art lose its soul in the quest for uniformity and compliance?

The dynamic interplay between art and power is a recurring theme of history. As the stories of Hong Kong and Taiwan evolved, they illustrated the struggles of resilience against erasure and censorship. In 2024, a notable section of the Shanghai Book Fair featured “safe” political fiction, which perpetuated the constraints imposed on literary expression. It signaled an unsettling reality where even art suffered under the weight of state-imposed norms.

By 2025, the facade wearing thin, the narrative of Chinese literature took yet another turn. The Chinese Academy of Social Sciences published a report, boasting a 300% increase in the translations of Chinese novels into English since 2010. Yet, this apparent success came with a caveat. The dominance of state-approved authors raises difficult questions about authenticity and independence. As stories began to travel across borders, who, if anyone, was left behind?

The era of creativity characterized by passion, dissent, and political awakening became increasingly entwined with the forces of conformity. The stories crafted in the bustling streets of Hong Kong and the serene spaces of Taiwan embodied not just the struggles of their times but also the eternal human quest for identity, meaning, and truth. In every note clinging to a Lennon Wall, in every story emerging from a Taiwanese pen, there remained a resilience to resist the shadows cast by censorship.

As we stand at the crossroads of this historical narrative, it compel us to question — what are we willing to lose in the name of artistic freedom? What echoes remain when the voices of dissent are silenced? The battle for narrative, for culture, is not merely an echo of the past but a vibrant call to action. The future may still hold the possibility for the revival of creativity, resilience, and unity — a vivid tapestry woven anew, where every thread, whether bold or subtle, tells a story waiting to be heard.