The bottom line is whether you're violating the global code of ethics or not.
These are the questions documentary filmmaker Zhao Liang asks himself every day.
Though soft-spoken and unassuming, Zhao is one of the most persistent chroniclers of
marginalized populations in China.
Zhao's films win awards at international festivals but are rarely seen in China.
Until his latest project, the subjects of his films were considered politically sensitive.
So for the most part, he's worked outside of the Chinese media system using a range
of unconventional techniques.
By gaining his subjects trust, Zhao has been able to document rarely seen aspects of everyday
life in a changing China.
Recently, Zhao sat down with The New York Times to discuss how he makes his films.
When you have a task, you must have a method as well.
A successful documentary filmmaker is one that has a method to obtain the necessary footage.
In Zhao's 2007 film Crime and Punishment, he lied to get access to film in a paramilitary
police station on the North Korean border.
If I told them the truth, there's no way they would have let me film.
So I lied.
I told them I wanted to experience everyday life with them because I was writing a screenplay.
When I first started filming, they didn't really notice their care either because to
them it was normal life.
But what's more important to me is to document this everyday violence that ordinary citizens
live with.
I'm not only focusing on the violence of these police officers.
After all, once they take off their uniforms, they become ordinary private citizens again.
My question is, how does this cycle of everyday violence persist?
When you wear the uniform, you are the oppressor.
Once you take it off, you become the oppressed.
It is a terrible cycle to be caught in.
In his most famous film Petition, Zhao spent 12 years documenting the plight of downtrodden
people petitioning the central government for justice.
Zhao used hidden pinhole cameras to secretly film inside government offices in Beijing.
The hardest thing for me was to watch them go back day after day, only to be kicked out
again every day at the petition office in this endless cycle.
To me, how they sustain this daily existence was the most affecting part of filming.
With these hidden cameras, you have to stay there until it's finished.
And you can't really move around too much either.
For my buttonhole camera, the lens was a little angled, so I had to stand in this funny way
as well to make sure that the focus was straight.
I was afraid to move because any movement would change the position of the camera.
If it was too crooked, then you'd have to go back and reshoot the whole thing.
You have to go back there a lot, and if you want to hang out in the petition office, you
have to dress the part.
Same if you wanted to film the officials, you have to look the part.
Before I went out, I'd have to dress up.
I didn't go inside the petition office too many times, because I had to mentally and
physically prepare myself and muster up the courage to walk in each time.
It's extremely nerve-racking.
Most mainland Chinese have not seen Zhao's films.
While Zhao is legally allowed to make independent films in China, the state controls all means
of distribution, making the films largely invisible to China's 1.4 billion residents.
Beyond this, Zhao has been amenable to government projects, including a recent public service
film for the Ministry of Health, entitled Together, which documents Chinese people living
with HIV and AIDS.
While most of his films still can't be seen in his own country, Zhao believes he must record
these stories.
In the very beginning, I wanted to document and preserve these images.
Back then, there weren't as many documentarians, and I felt like I had the responsibility to
collect and preserve these types of images for future generations.
