The Bureaucrats’ Catch-22: How to Run a Bookstore Without Knowing What is Illegal
Humanity has spent centuries inventing elaborate systems of legal censorship, mostly because those in power are perpetually terrified that a piece of paper might somehow overthrow an entire government. Yet, every once in a while, a government official manages to articulate a level of bureaucratic absurdity that transcends mere censorship and enters pure comedy.
Consider the recent gems of wisdom dropped by Hong Kong’s Deputy Commissioner of Police for National Security, Kwok Yam-shu. When asked how bookstore owners are supposed to navigate the shifting minefield of national security laws, his brilliant solution was wonderfully straightforward: if booksellers have any concerns about a book’s content, the simplest thing to do is simply not sell it, or read and review it themselves before putting it on the shelf.
When pressed further on which government department bookshops could turn to for a risk assessment, the police department conveniently declined to name one, insisting that police simply enforce the law and that compiling an official "list of banned books" is too difficult.
Let that sink in for a moment. The state expects private citizens to act as state-certified censors, yet refuses to tell them what is actually forbidden. It is the ultimate logical trap: you are legally liable if you sell the wrong book, but the government refuses to provide a blacklist, telling you to just guess, or better yet, censor yourself entirely to be safe.
This is the classic, cowardly mechanics of authoritarian control. By keeping the boundaries deliberately vague, the state achieves something far more efficient than a formal list of banned books: preemptive, universal self-censorship. Why pay censors when you can terrify every bookseller into becoming their own jailer? When the law becomes an invisible ghost, citizens don't break rules; they simply stop breathing.
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