HONG KONG – With its multi-billion dollar price and renowned artists, M +, the rising museum at Victoria Harbor, intended to embody Hong Kong’s ambitions to become a global cultural center. It was to be the city’s first world-class art museum, proof that Hong Kong could make classical culture as well as finance.
Instead, it can become the symbol of how the Chinese Communist Party is gagging the Hong Kong art world.
In recent days, the museum, scheduled to open later this year, has been fiercely attacked by pro-Beijing politicians in the city. State newspapers denounced the museum’s collection, which houses important works of contemporary Chinese art, including some by dissident artist Ai Weiwei. The Hong Kong chief executive promised to be on “full alert” after a lawmaker called some works “an insult to the country”.
The arts sector in general has suffered a storm of attacks. A government funding body said last week that it has the power to end concessions to artists who have “toppled” the authorities. A front-page editorial in a pro-Beijing newspaper accused six art groups of “anti-government” activities.
The artistic spirit of Hong Kong is threatened, whose free and irreverent attitudes distinguish it from the metropolises of mainland China. These creative forces instilled cultural vibrancy in a city long defined by capitalism.
They also angered Beijing, which is rapidly redefining the freedoms that have made Hong Kong unique. Since the enactment of a security law last June to crack down on protests against the government, officials have arrested opposition politicians and acted to reform the elections. They also removed books from library shelves and redesigned school curricula.
“Now they are looking at the artistic community,” said May Fung, filmmaker and founder of Arts and Culture Outreach, a nonprofit organization. “It’s natural.”
Fears of censorship have clouded the Hong Kong art world since the former British colony returned to Chinese control in 1997. A flurry of works of art struggled to see whether Hong Kong’s identity would survive communist rule.
An artist designed a Chinese flag on the floor for spectators to step on. Another used Tibetan script to express fears that Hong Kong would become similarly controlled.
The concern for independence has been pursuing M + since its inception more than a decade ago. The museum acquired several prominent works, including an image of Mr. Ai raising his middle finger in Beijing’s Tiananmen Square and photos by Liu Heung Shing of the 1989 pro-democracy demonstrations there. The authorities immediately alerted the museum to avoid the policy.
But optimism has also roamed the Hong Kong art world for the past decade. The government increased financial support. Art Basel, the international arts fair, hosts an annual show in Hong Kong.
Away from auction houses and sophisticated museums, roots and avant-garde art have also flourished. Independent galleries and workshops proliferated. The protest art prospered. In 2014, protesters screened the tents used to occupy the central business district. In 2019, they carried a 4-meter statue of a woman with a gas mask for marches.
Mr. Ai said he supported the museum’s 2012 acquisition of his works by Uli Sigg, a renowned collector, noting Hong Kong’s ambition to become a world-class art city and the reputation of the M + team.
“I was very optimistic at the time,” said Ai, who left China in 2015. “I thought that if my work could be shown where there were many Chinese, I would be very happy.”
“I thought that all these aspects could guarantee the normal exhibition of the works”, he added. “I never thought things were going to happen so suddenly.”
That sudden change was the security law. Protest signs disappeared overnight. Booksellers, filmmakers and curators waited with fearful expectations.
Then, the pro-Beijing camp attacked this month with a total dam. On March 15, the Hong Kong Film Critics Society canceled the sold-out documentary of the 2019 protests, after a pro-Beijing newspaper called for a ban. Two days later, another newspaper accused six artistic organizations of violating the security law and asked the government to revoke the funding.
On the same day, an official legislator accused parts of the M + collection of spreading “hatred” against China. Later, she highlighted Mr. Ai’s photo at Tiananmen Square.
“Why will art be exhibited that is suspected of violating national security law and is an insult to the country?” the legislator, Eunice Yung, said during a question and answer session with Carrie Lam, the chief executive.
Criticism extended beyond politics to a kind of moral policing. Some denounced M +’s exploits that depict nudity or homosexuality.
“The government must now form a committee to examine all these pieces of art,” said Yung in an interview, to ensure that they adhere to the museum’s “ethical standards”.
In a statement, M + said it would comply with the law while “maintaining the highest level of professional integrity”. He added that the museum could not exhibit all of its collections during its inauguration and “has no plans” to show the photograph of Tiananmen de Ai then.
For artists, their persistent fears have become a more tangible threat.
Even before the security law, filmmaker Evans Chan knew that some found his work too provocative. A Hong Kong local in 2016 canceled the showing of a documentary he made about 2014 protests, citing the desire to remain “non-partisan”. Last year, he ended a sequence, just to create a scene for the Hong Kong audience to present China’s national anthem; a new law forbade disrespecting music.
Still, Chan said, the security law was a “watershed moment”. He planned to make a third film about Hong Kong’s struggle for democracy. But he is not sure whether he would be able to find people to attend or places to exhibit it – not just in Hong Kong, but abroad, in places with ties to China.
“We are getting to the point of asking: what kind of space is left by global capitalism?” he said. “Where does China fit in? Where does the artistic expression of and about Hong Kong fit in? “
Others ask artists to experiment with the space that remains. Clara Cheung, who runs an art education space, said she promoted projects like community murals or a map of Hong Kong’s historic buildings. Although not explicitly political, they can encourage open-mindedness and civic engagement.
Still, she acknowledged that any project requires money.
“It is possible that artists, especially those who are really critical of society and the political system, may not be able to obtain sufficient resources,” said Cheung. “They will have to go underground.”
Hong Kong already has an independent and vibrant art scene. As Beijing’s influence grew, some artists stopped seeking government funding or official recognition.
Sampson Wong has focused on small-scale, privately funded projects in recent years, after officials suspended their display of temporary lights on Hong Kong’s tallest building in 2016. It was counting down to 2047, the year when the pledge to China’s Hong Kong semi-autonomy expires.
“I am confident that we have already explored the ways” to continue operating independently, said Wong.
Still, he said he hoped the world would not become entirely isolated from the sphere of popular, more institutional art.
In that space, the authorities may be more difficult to get around.
Mr. Ai said that the M + team recently called on him to affirm his commitment to their principles, and he was touched by their integrity.
But “with this kind of thing, resistance from the bottom up is useless,” he added. “If it is decided from the top that such works cannot be displayed, then there is nothing they can do.”
Joy Dong contributed research.