You Must Take Part in Revolution, Graphic Novel

In the near-future, will Hong Kong even have a future? Only a grim, dystopian one, at least as it is envisioned by dissident Chinese artist Badiucao (now based in Australia) and Hong Kong-born American journalist Melissa Chan. In fact, the outlook for freedom and democracy in general is rather pessimistic in Chan’s graphic novel, You Must Take Part in Revolution, illustrated by Badiucao (a pseudonym for his own protection), which goes on-sale today wherever books and comics are sold.

Chan and Badiucao, closely collaborating on the book’s editorial direction, slightly alter the history of the 2019 Umbrella Movement, to heighten the Orwellian implications of the resulting chain of events. The student activists scrupulously avoided any form of violence, fully understanding the Chinese Communist Party would seize on such actions to justify a brutal crackdown. Unfortunately, that is exactly what they did anyway.

Andy, an American expat, whose parents immigrated to American after participating in the Tiananmen Square protests, joins the Umbrella Movement, feeling an apostolic connection to their idealistic but ill-fated activism (Tiananmen looms large throughout the graphic novel). He quickly befriends Olvia and Maggie, but their lives divert in very different directions after the clampdown. Olivia presumably disappears into Taiwan, but Maggie is arrested for planting an explosive device on a police car, which unintentionally kills a father and his young child.

Andy cannot forgive her for betraying their ideals and giving the Party an excuse. Neither can she, but the years Maggie spends laboring in slave-like condition while confined to a political prison will give her time to seek some kind of atonement. Fortunately, the Tibetan in the neighboring cell helps her navigate her journey within. Andy also evolves, undergoing American military commando training, in hopes of liberating the now divided island of Taiwan.

If you want to read something depressing, You Must Take Part in Revolution (ironically taking its title from a Mao quotation) will surely do the trick. Basically, it imagines a world in which China grows increasingly aggressive and oppressive, because America so thoroughly compromised its own democratic principles to effectively oppose it on the world stage.

It would be nice to argue they overstate the fascist potential of Pres. Schroeder, who is repeatedly identified as Trump’s spiritual heir (but she is a woman, so, yay, glass ceiling broken). Unfortunately, that is a much tougher case to make in the wake of the Ukrainian horror show in the Oval Office. Nevertheless, Chan unambiguously indicts the CCP oppression of Hong Kong, Tibet, and Xinjiang, while also depicting ominously ever-present Chinese surveillance.

First Look ’22: The Night (short)

As a Taiwan based filmmaker, it makes sense Tsai Ming-liang would have an affinity for Hong Kong. What the CCP has unleashed on the no-longer-Special Administrative District, it would dearly love to inflict on the independent Taiwanese nation as well. The sadness of solidarity is definitely reflected in Tsai’s short documentary, The Night, which screens Wednesday (opening night) of MOMI’s First Look 2022.

The truth is you could maybe, possibly still screen The Night in Hong Kong. Although shot on the streets during the 2019 Extradition Bill protests, it is not explicitly political. Instead, Tsai films the tired, nocturnal comings-and-goings of those who work and commute during the late-night hours. Only if you look and squint can you see the remnants of protests posters ripped from tunnels and underpasses.

In short, The Night very definitely has a Tsai Ming-liang kind of vibe. It is quiet and sometimes almost meditative, in its long-held longshots. Yet, the mournful, bittersweet tone takes on greater meaning, in light of the repression to come.

Denise Ho: Becoming the Song—Free Denise Ho!

Wednesday morning, Hong Kong Cantopop star, democracy activist, and LGBTQ advocate Denise Ho was arrested, along with five independent journalists with Stand News, where she was once a board member. Her standing as one of Hong Kong’s most prominent out-and-proud celebrities was not an unfortunate drawback for the CCP’s quislings. It was a bonus. All human rights, press advocacy, and LGBTQ organizations must speak out against her unjust arrest and that of the five Stand News journalists. It is also worth noting the CCP did this just over a month before hosting the 2022 Winter Olympics. The timing shows total, contemptuous disrespect for the IOC, but the CCP obviously considers them bought and paid for—and no doubt they are right about that. In light of Ho’s arrest, here is a repost of her documentary profile from last year:

It is hard to hold back the tears watching Cantopop idol Denise Ho and her fellow democracy activists in this film. Not just because they are inspiring—although that is certainly true—but because the sense of hope it documents was dealt such a harsh setback yesterday. As of today, 7.4 million Hong Kongers are no longer free and we let it happen, because we were more preoccupied with Trump’s tweets and our own grievances. Democracy died not in darkness, but the plain daylight of our disinterest. Viewers get a sense of the Hong Kong that was potentially lost in Sue Williams’ Denise Ho: Becoming the Song.

Denise Ho is everything the media usually celebrates. She is an immigrant, who moved to Canada with her family in the late 1980s, only to return to Hong Kong, to pursue a career in music. She was the protégé of Anita Mui, who was widely dubbed the HK Madonna for her sexually empowering stage persona. Ho also became the second notable Cantopop celebrity to come out of the closet, following the example of her close friend, Anthony Wong Yiu-ming. So, what was it about the Lesbian artist that was so incompatible with the values of Western corporations like Lancome that they dropped their sponsorship deals? She joined the 2014 Umbrella protests for greater democratic governance in Hong Kong.

Filming in the wake of the 2019 Extradition protests, Williams follows Ho as she takes a more DIY approach to touring. The star who used to perform in stadiums across Mainland China now books smaller, more intimate clubs in Hong Kong and around the world, for the HK diaspora. Of course, for Ho the money is not important. If anything, she has forged a closer connection with her fans.

Revolution in Our Times: Hong Kong History as it Happened (Tragically)

7.4 million Hongkongers have lost their freedom and the younger generations that protested were beaten, battered, and arrested without just cause by the Hong Kong police. Yet, it has all been remarkably well documented, for those who have not chosen to turn a blind-eye. Recent documentaries like Days Before Dawn and We Have Boots have done excellent work recording the street protests and the violent tactics used to suppress them, but the shocking brutality exposed in this film surpasses them all. Your heart will ache and your jaw will drop after watching Kiwi Chow’s Revolution in Our Times, which opens Friday in New York and Los Angeles.

Chow previously helmed “Self-Immolator,” an astonishingly bold contribution to the narrative anthology film Ten Years. That was a biting critique of what was then the creeping specter of Mainland oppression. In Revolution, he took to the streets and the safe houses, shooting protesters guerilla-style, as they manned barricades and fled from raging police detachments. He provides plenty of context, but essentially picks up with the later “Extradition Bill” demonstrations rather than going back to the original 2014 Umbrella protests.

Most of the subjects he follows are young “Valliants,” the more confrontational protesters, rather than the self-described “Non-Violents” led by Benny Tai. Although their voices are distorted and their faces are pixelated, for their own protection, viewers will come to care about them very much, especially as they increasingly come under literal fire. Some of this footage is especially raw and shocking, but one of the biggest takeaways from Chow’s doc is the respect Tai expresses for the Valliants, acknowledging just how much they risked for freedom.

There are indeed some remarkable scenes, such as aerial footage of the “Be Water” styled protesters, seen from above as they retreat and disperse over a dozen or so city blocks, to keep ahead of advancing police shock troops. However, viewers should brace themselves for video of the vicious 721 Yuen Long train station attack, conducted by white-shirted (suspected Triad) gangs with the obvious collusion of the HK cops. Independent journalist Gwyneth Ho was there and reported on the carnage as it happened, getting severely beaten for her troubles. Fortunately, she survived to address on-camera the attack and the events that led up to it.

DOC NYC ’21: Freedom Swimmer (short)

Hong Kong used to literally be a safe harbor. From 1950 to 1980, two million refugees swam to the freedom of Hong Kong from the Mainland. That was then. Now the waters surrounding Hong Kong represent something veery different, as the case of the 12 Hong Kong Youths, abducted on the high seas and held incommunicado in the PRC so grimly illustrates. Their crime was seeking freedom in the democratic nation of Taiwan. The grandfather of this short film’s narrator fully understands the circumstances then and now, so he encourages his unidentified granddaughter to follow his example in Olivia Martin-McGuire’s partially animated short Freedom Swimmer, which screens as part of this year’s DOC NYC.

One afternoon over tea, the woman’s grandfather tells her the harrowing story of his flight from the Cultural Revolution. He rigged a crude raft and braved roiling surf with her mother, who was then a very little girl. Of course, it was dangerous, but staying would be more perilous. He tells her matter-of-factly, when there is no hope, there is no fear. Ever since then, he has led a modest but free life in Hong Kong, but the point of his story is to convince his granddaughter to now leave Hong Kong, so she too can live in freedom.

Anthem ’21: Days Before the Dawn (short doc)

At a time when terms like “locally-grown” sound desirable to consumers and marketers alike, how could a so-called “localist” movement be considering dangerous to the powers that be? Sadly, Hong Kongers are not supposed to think local. Increasingly, they are instructed not to think at all, but just obey. Any sense of Hong Kong identity is discouraged, in favor of strict loyalty to the Mainland regime. Yet, millions of Hong Kongers have taken to the streets to express their dissent. Trevor Klein chronicles the early pre-Extradition Bill protest movement in the short documentary, Days Before the Dawn (conceived as the first chapter of longer project), which screens tomorrow as part of the 2021 Anthem Film Festival.

Frankly, it is shameful the Western media is exploding with outrage over the events rocking Hong Kong. Seven and a half million people are in the process of losing their freedom and their way of life, but it didn’t just suddenly happen. The CCP had been trying to quietly undermine HK’s special status for years. Klein and his on-camera experts explain how democrats like Benny Tai adopted non-violent techniques to protest early versions of the CCP’s “National Security” Law and to agitate for the direct election of the Chief Executive.

Dawn also reminds us Joshua Wong founded Scholarism (which would become the dominant force directing the Umbrella protests) to combat plans to introduce CCP propaganda into school curriculums (at a time when we too are debating increasingly politicized indoctrination in our schools, particularly with respects to CRT). The background and context Klein and company give the so-called “Fishball Revolution” is particularly valuable, because the Western media was so remiss in covering it at the time.

Several future activists admit on-camera they did not fully recognize the significance at the time when C.Y Lee’s puppet government cracked down on traditional street hawkers, but the vendors’ push back helped forge the Localist Movement. Rather than an isolated incident, Dawn positions the incident as an early attempt to undermine the distinctive culture and character of Hong Kong.

DOC NYC ’20: Do Not Split (short)

Are you healthy enough to live in Hong Kong? That was a painfully legitimate question to ask before the advent of the CCP-Covid virus. When 80% of the populace is exposed to military-grade tear gas, it is certainly no city for asthma sufferers. You also better be strong enough to take a beating from the cops, should you be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You can see a lot of these things happening in Anders Hammer’s short documentary, Do Not Split, which received the Special Jury Recognition for Courage Under Fire during the 2020 DOC NYC.

Do Not Split premiered at this year’s Sundance, but it has clearly been revised and updated to address the CCP-Covid outbreak (which conveniently halted protests) and the draconian national security law that effectively criminalizes any deviation from Beijing’s line. It is sort of a chronicle of the movement and the violent police response, touching on big events, like the siege of HK Polytechnic University and the Legco elections that represented an overwhelming rebuke of the CCP and its puppet government. Yet, the reason to really watch DNS is some of the most viscerally intense footage of the protests and the police brutality collected in any documentary thus far.

It is also nice to see student democracy activist Joey Siu get screen time and recognition for her dedication and courage—or at least in would be in civilized world, where she would not have to worry about reprisals. Like most of the young protest leaders, she is very composed on camera. However, another thing that distinguishes DNS is the level of profoundly felt anger that is expressed toward China and the CCP. Judging from Hammer’s reportage, Hong Kongers are clearly bitter, in a way that cannot be alleviated simply through time and material comfort. These wounds run deep.

DOC NYC ’20: Some Way Out of Here (short)

In all fairness, the American media has done a decent job of covering events in Hong Kong—when they have bothered. Unfortunately, they have been more interested in reporting on Teddy Roosevelt statue controversies than seven million people losing their freedom. It is the exact opposite for the Mainland Chinese state-controlled media’s constant, heavily biased, widely inaccurate coverage. The exception would be Boning Li, a Chinese NYU film student, who did a terrific job documenting the protests in the short film, Some Way Out of Here, which screens as part of the 2020 (online) DOC NYC’s NYU short doc block.

Li was already sufficiently cognizant of CCP propaganda, to understand how heavily subjects like the Tiananmen Square Massacre were censored in his homeland. As a result, he could “get” Sanmu Chan’s Tiananmen-themed protest art. He was struck by the power of his work, as well as the artist’s grizzled charisma, so he started recording his activities as the leader of a drum band attending the protests.

Chan’s gallery Green Wave Art, was a hub for dissident art, a safe haven for protesters fleeing abusive cops, and the headquarters of a volunteer first-aid team, but its days were numbered. For blatantly political reasons, the local puppet government suddenly informed him his gallery required an “entertainment license.” As Li captures the gallery’s final days, he concurrently records the increasing tensions on the street and the escalating violence from the HK cops and their allies, the white-shirted Triad-affiliated thugs, who perpetrated the now infamous Yuen Long train station attack, while the police stood idly by.

American journalists could learn a lot from Li’s film. He does not simply ask Chan softball questions. He challenges him with the conduct of some protesters. Yet, he follows the story where it takes him: squarely in the line of fire, choking on tear gas that cops deliberately directed towards reporters.

Boycott Disney’s Mulan, Watch the Shaw Brothers’ Lady General Hua Mulan Instead

Please do not spend money to watch Disney’s Mulan. It is not me whose asking. It is the brave young Hong Kong democracy activists, whose very lives are now threatened by Beijing’s draconian “National Security” Law. First star Crystal Liu publicly sided with the abusive HK police and against the activists defending the principles of “One Country Two Systems.” Then co-star Donnie Yen celebrated the imposition of the harsh law now being widely used to crack-down on Hong Kongers who advocate the ideals of a liberal civil society. That is unacceptable and so is Disney’s deafening silence regarding their comments, so their Mulan is unacceptable. However, if you want to revisit the story of Mulan in a film you (most likely) haven’t seen, try Yueh Feng’s Shaw Brothers-produced Lady General Hua Mulan (which like many Shaw Bros. films is easily findable online, if you look).

The Shaw Brothers’ Mulan is not just another retelling of Mulan’s story. It combines the folktale with traditional Mandarin-language Huangmei opera, which was growing in HK popularity at the time, due to a mid-1960s surge of immigration from the Mainland region. It is all singing, all the time, because when the principles and secondary leads are not communicating through song, the unseen chorus handles exposition and chronicles the march of time.

Hua Mulan is indeed Hua Mulan, so she takes her ailing, aged father’s place when her family receives their draft notice. In fact, she is keen to serve, because she has trained for years with the spear. Her skills are so sharp, she wins the new recruits’ tournament, bringing her to the attention of General Li. They will serve together for years, fighting to beat back the Mongol invasion, but only her cousin Hua Ming knows her true gender and helps cover for her. Apparently, the pre-Tang Imperial Army admirably respected the personal space of enlisted grunts and junior officers. Of course, Hua could fight, so presumably allowances could be made.

Hua Mulan is a perfect subject for the Shaw Bros. studio, because her heroic story was compatible for the audiences of both their budding operatic films and their established martial arts historicals. Wisely, they cast Huangmei star Ivy Ling Po, who dubbed her own arias. She has the pipes and the action chops. Yet, she also manages to be both boyish and weirdly saucy and coquettish at times. As a result, we can suspend disbelief, even though she never remotely looks like a man, while buying into her chemistry with Chin Han’s handsome Gen. Li.

Surprisingly, the action sequences are less consistent. The tournament sparring and Hua’s proving-herself bout with her father are nicely choreographed, but the grand battle scene is a bit muddled. Nevertheless, the long marching armies and colorful, fur-trimmed costumes give the film a suitably epic vibe.

Right now, Hong Kongers are afraid to exercise the rights of free speech, free press, and free assembly that we take for granted. Beijing’s puppet government has rounded up known critics, forcing young leaders like Nathan Law to seek sanctuary abroad. After her arrest, his colleague Agnes Chow has been hailed as “Hong Kong’s real Mulan.” Even identifying with Hong Kong’s local culture (demonized “localism”) is dangerous under the current repressive climate.

Filmfest DC ’20: We Have Boots

Today is Independence Day for the United States. Wednesday was the opposite for Hong Kong. 7.5 million Hong Kongers lost their freedom and the Hong Kong Special Autonomous Region (SAR) lost its autonomy when the CCP imposed the so-called “National Security” Law, in clear violation of the “One China Two Systems” (1C2S) arrangement. This did not just happen out of nowhere. It is the culmination of a concerted program to violate and undermine the legally-binding Sino-British Joint Declaration. Evans Chan provides the full historical background in the tragically timely We Have Boots, which streams for free through Monday, courtesy of this year’s Filmfest DC.

As soon as Britain and the CCP started negotiating terms of the 1997 transfer, many Hong Kongers (justifiably) feared the worst was inevitable. HK activists were already protesting CCP human rights violations, but Chan identifies the demonstrations in support of imprisoned Chinese Nobel laureate Liu Xiaobo as a watershed moment. Student activism came to the fore in opposition of the proposed new educational curriculum that was naked CCP political propaganda. That movement was a direct precursor to the 2014 Umbrella Movement (unsuccessfully demanding true universal suffrage, rather than Potemkin elections featuring the CCP’s hand-picked candidates), which in turn spawned the 2019 mass protests against the Extradition Bill.

In short, things have been getting steadily worse and markedly less free in Hong Kong for over ten years. Chan provides context that is often missing from the U.S. media’s superficial coverage. At various times, he establishes the schism between the scrupulously non-violent moderates and the more radical extremes, as well as the split between the 1C2S majority and the genuine pro-independence minority (which is small, but growing, perversely thanks to the thuggish behavior of the HK cops and Beijing’s enforcers).

We Have Boots is not the most elegantly constructed documentary you will see, but Chan marshals a great deal of information to give viewers a comprehensive grounding in the events leading up to where Hong Kong is today. He also clearly establishes the dangers activists face, including the infamous state-sponsored kidnapping of the Causeway booksellers and the rash of mysterious suicides among democracy activists. There are moments that are simply Orwellian, as when activists are charged with “inciting to incite rioting.”

Denise Ho: Becoming the Song—and the Voice of Hong Kongers

It is hard to hold back the tears watching Cantopop idol Denise Ho and her fellow democracy activists in this film. Not just because they are inspiring—although that is certainly true—but because the sense of hope it documents was dealt such a harsh setback yesterday. As of today, 7.5 million Hong Kongers are no longer free and we let it happen, because we are more preoccupied with Trump’s tweets and our own grievances. Democracy died not in darkness, but the plain daylight of our disinterest. Viewers get a sense of the Hong Kong that was potentially lost in Sue Williams’ Denise Ho: Becoming the Song, which opens virtually today.

Denise Ho is everything the media usually celebrates. She is an immigrant, who moved to Canada with her family in the late 1980s, only to return to Hong Kong, to pursue a career in music. She was the protégé of Anita Mui, who was widely dubbed the HK Madonna for her sexually empowering stage persona. Ho also became the second notable Cantopop celebrity to come out of the closet, following the example of her close friend, Anthony Wong Yiu-ming. So, what was it about the Lesbian artist that was so incompatible with the values of Western corporations like Lancome that they dropped their sponsorship deals? She joined the 2014 Umbrella protests for greater democratic governance in Hong Kong.

Filming in the wake of the 2019 Extradition protests, Williams follows Ho as she takes a more DIY approach to touring. The star who used to perform in stadiums across Mainland China now books smaller, more intimate clubs in Hong Kong and around the world, for the HK diaspora. Of course, for Ho the money is not important. If anything, she has forged a closer connection with her fans.

To Hong Kong with Love: Ten Years

In Hong Kong, the future may already be here, five years ahead of schedule. Tragically, it is a future of eroding freedoms and intrusive police state tactics envisioned by the filmmakers speculating on what HK life might be like in a decade’s time. Their 2015 anthology film won best film at the Hong Kong Film Awards, despite the condemnation of the Mainland state media. The eerie prescience of Ten Years is undeniable when it screens as part of the Metrograph’s film series, To Hong Kong with Love.

Kwok Zune’s “Extras” is certainly stylish and maybe not as paranoid as it might have seemed five years ago, but the ironic kicker remains obvious right from the start. Two low level triads have been recruited to stage a phony assassination attempt to drum up public support for a draconian “public security” proposal. From the vantage point of 2020, the parallels with the extradition bill are almost spooky. Mike Mak’s stark black-and-white cinematography well serves the darkly cynical morality tale, but it does not land with the same emotional force as some of the later stories.

By far, the weakest constituent film is Wong Fei-pang’s “Season of the End,” in which a duo of cultural anthropologists collect specimens from razed working class neighborhoods in a rather absurdist, Beckett-ish fashion. It is far too reserved and mannered to make any appreciable impact with general audiences.

Fortunately, Jevons Au’s “Ðialect” represents a dramatic improvement. Screenwriters Chung Chui-yi, Ho Fung-lun, and Lulu Yang tell the deceptively simple but heartfelt story of a Cantonese-speaking cab-driver facing the potential loss of his livelihood, because of legal mandates requiring Mandarin fluency. Leung Kin-ping’s terrific performance as the driver is subtle and dignified, but still quite poignant. It is a quiet human story, but it also has direct relevancy for Hong Kong’s Localist movement.

“Dialect” alone would be enough to justify recommending Ten Years, but the courageousness of director-screenwriter Chow Kwuh-wai’s “Self-Immolator” demands to be seen to be believed (and marveled at). Unfolding in pseudo-documentary-style, the POV camera crew tries to undercover the identity of a protestor who indeed self-immolated, apparently in response to the death in prison of hunger-striking independence activist Au-yeung Kin-fung.

Chow explicitly refers to the notorious Falun Gong self-immolations as most likely propaganda operations faked by the CCP and its secret police, while consciously echoing Jan Palach’s self-immolation in Communist Czechoslovakia. It is an amazingly bold work of cinema, but it is also an enormously gripping and suspenseful short film.

To Hong Kong with Love: Umbrella Diaries—The First Umbrella

The people of Hong Kong have spoken, over and over and over. They voted overwhelmingly for universal suffrage in the city-wide privately-sponsored 2014 referendum. Then they came out in record numbers for the Umbrella protests of 2014 and the Five-Demands-Not-One-Less demonstrations of 2019, finally codifying their commitment to democracy with the historic landslide election of reformer candidates in the December district council elections. Of course, Beijing and its puppet executive Carrie Lam did not want to hear them. Yet, there was a time in 2014 when activists genuinely hoped the Communist government would abide by the principles of “One China, Two Systems.” James Leong documents those hopefully early days of the movement in Umbrella Diaries: The First Umbrella, which screens as part of the Metrograph’s ongoing film series, To Hong Kong with Love.

Occupy Central with Love and Peace, the democracy advocacy organization founded by academics Benny Tai and Dr. Chan Kin-man only wanted to “occupy” Central as a last resort. They conceived of the 2014 referendum as a means of expressing Hong Kong’s democratic ideals and aspirations. Unfortunately, Beijing arrogantly insisted on pre-selecting the candidates, which they described their brand of democracy, in aptly Orwellian terms. The leadership of Occupy Central was profoundly disappointed, but the students of Hong Kong just weren’t having it. They jumped out ahead of Occupy, launching massive demonstrations, forcing Chan and Tai to scramble to catch up.

The violence unleashed by the Hong Kong Police Force in 2019 was so brutal, it makes the tear-gassing and thuggery recorded in First Umbrella look comparatively mild. Nonetheless, it is clear from the anguished responses of parents and students looking on from behind police cordons, Hong Kong’s innocence died during 2014. The HKPF murdered it.

Leong mainly sticks to a strictly observational approach, but he captures key players at pivotal moments. Tai, Chan, Joshua Wong, Oscar Lai, and Agnes Chow all appear at length. The film also turns out to be admirably fair and balanced, given the equal time it allows pro-Beijing activist Robert Chow, who subsequently became notorious for his “snitch line” to inform on student activists and their schools. He is slick, but his smooth talk is undermined by his followers’ crude attempts to harass and intimidate young pro-democracy students. Indeed, this might be the most important part of the film, because it foreshadows the rampages committed by pro-Beijing “white shirts” in 2019.

Frontline: The Battle for Hong Kong

Hong Kong democracy protestors often shout their name and ID numbers when they are arrested by the HK police, because they are afraid they could very well disappear permanently. The cops have not been forthcoming about who they are holding, and footage of mysterious transports headed across the Chinese border have fueled grim speculation. That is the sort of helpful context that is completely missing from Frontline’s highly problematic report on the Hong Kong demonstrations, The Battle for Hong Kong, which premieres tomorrow on PBS stations.

Essentially, the hour-long report directed by Evan Williams endorses and promotes the general contention of Chinese Communist Party propaganda that there has been violence committed by “both sides.” To support this specious contention, they boiled down the last six months of social unrest to the attack on an off-duty HK police officer and another attack on a Mainland tourist, both of which were allegedly committed by overzealous democracy protestors.

Of course, the exposure of undercover cops trying to act as agent provocateurs is scrupulously ignored during Battle. Likewise, the report spikes any mention of the troubling incidents of police brutality that have surfaced. Carrie Lam and her enforcers do not want you to know about the allegation a 16-year-old teenager was gang-raped by Hong Kong police on September 27^th—and Williams and the Frontline editorial staff dutifully oblige.

There are serious estimates 80% of Hong Kong residents have been exposed to tear gas. That’s only coming from the cops. At one point, the narrator suggests large segments of the population were turning against the protestors, yet the overwhelming victory of democracy activist in the late November 2019 local elections, in which pro-democracy candidates captured 389 seats out of 452 (despite widespread documented cheating by the pro-Beijing government) strongly suggests otherwise.