When I set out to make “The Unrestricted War,” I knew the journey would be dangerous.
To dramatize what I had seen and learned about the Chinese Communist Party’s methods of control was not a career choice taken lightly. It was a moral choice, one that meant inviting consequences that reached far beyond the film set.
The threats arrived quickly: My relatives in China were harassed, pressured and even cut off from income. Actors withdrew from the project, some only days before filming, because they feared for their families.
Still, I pressed forward. Because silence in the face of intimidation is itself a surrender. My film is not simply entertainment; it’s a warning. It is a fictional story rooted in very real experiences and doctrines, a message about the cost of unchecked power and the fragility of truth when authoritarianism decides what the world may hear.
What the film reveals
“The Unrestricted War” takes its name from a military and political strategy that has guided Beijing’s thinking for decades. “Unrestricted warfare” does not rely on bombs or tanks. Instead, it uses every means outside of conventional battle: propaganda, economic coercion, cyberattacks, intellectual theft and the silencing of dissent. The strategy is subtle but devastating. It erodes trust, undermines institutions and forces individuals to act against their conscience out of fear.
In the film, I tell the story of Dr. Jim Conrad, a Canadian virologist working in China. When secret police suddenly detain him and his wife, he is presented with an ultimatum: steal a classified viral sample from Canada’s high-security laboratory in Winnipeg or face permanent disappearance with his family. This fictional tale mirrors the real ways in which coercion works. It is not just a matter of science or espionage; it is the human soul placed on trial.
The film also shows how ordinary people — actors, technicians, even relatives of filmmakers—are caught in this web. During production, ethnically Chinese actors in North America declined even minor roles, afraid that Beijing would retaliate against them or their loved ones. One lead actor backed out three days before shooting began. Their fear is precisely the point. The regime wants people to believe that speaking out, even indirectly, is not worth the risk.
The cost of telling the truth
Making this film came at a price. I watched my family in China suffer. I witnessed talented performers shrink from the opportunity to contribute to a powerful story because the invisible hand of intimidation pressed down too hard. My production team struggled with cancellations, financial strain and relentless uncertainty about whether we could even finish the project.
Yet, this ordeal only confirmed why the film was necessary. Art has always been born in tension — between expression and repression, between truth and silence. If I abandoned the project, the very tactics of fear I sought to expose would have succeeded. To create under duress is not only an artistic challenge but also an act of resistance.
The paradox is clear: authoritarian power tries to restrict art, yet art remains one of the few ways to pierce authoritarian lies. Stories have a way of traveling across borders and screens, evading censors and reaching hearts that official propaganda can never touch.
Why you should care
This is not only about China. It is about the universal danger when any regime or institution can control narratives without accountability. If the truth about COVID-19’s origins can be silenced, if scientists can be coerced into complicity, if filmmakers abroad can be threatened into submission, then no society is truly safe.
The pandemic showed the world how costly a cover-up can be. Delay in information meant millions of lives altered, economies shaken and freedoms curtailed. What we witnessed was not an accident, but the logical outcome of a system designed to suppress inconvenient realities.
Citizens everywhere must take note. If we do not question what we are told, if we do not defend those who risk careers and lives to speak truth, we allow authoritarian playbooks to succeed. Supporting films like “The Unrestricted War” is not about endorsing a director; it is about affirming a principle — that art, free thought and the human conscience cannot be owned by the state.
Empathy is also essential. Too often, we hear statistics about repression or vague references to “human rights.” What gets lost are the lives — families torn apart, careers destroyed, silenced voices that will never be heard. My film aims to make those costs visible.
What must be done
The path forward requires courage at every level. Governments must insist on transparency and create protections for whistleblowers. Media organizations must resist self-censorship, even when pressured by financial or political incentives. And audiences must seek out films and works of art that challenge, not just entertain.
For the individual viewer, the responsibility may seem small. But each decision — to watch or not watch, to share or not share, to ask questions or remain silent — adds up. Censorship thrives on apathy. It falters when people choose curiosity and conscience.
Supporting independent cinema, subscribing to outlets that resist authoritarian influence, and creating safe forums for dialogue are not abstract ideals. They are practical steps anyone can take. If we fail to do so, the next crisis will again be met with silence, and the cycle will repeat.
Creating “The Unrestricted War” was among the most challenging things I’ve done. But I believe silence would have been far more dangerous. Authoritarian regimes rely on fear to paralyze action, but fear only works when it is obeyed.
Through this film, I hope audiences will see what censorship tries to hide: that truth, though costly, is worth defending. Stories have the power to break through propaganda and awaken the human spirit. Let us not allow fear to write the ending for us.
