Reuters’ ‘Epic Fail’ and the Human Cost of Copyright Theft
Miroslaw Wawak’s aerial footage of Taipei was meant to awe and inspire, but it surfaced in a Chinese military propaganda video — and was globally syndicated by one of the world’s most trusted news agencies, Reuters.
Miroslaw Tadeusz Wawak didn’t set out to wage war against the world’s media giants. He set out to capture beauty and tell stories — armed with a drone, a lens, and a passport now bearing stamps from more than 220 countries. But recently, the world-traveling filmmaker — known to many as One Man Wolf Pack — found himself at the center of one of the most disturbing copyright battles in recent years.
A fragment of his drone footage over Taipei — originally captured as a peaceful tribute to Taiwan’s landscape — was reused without his permission in a Chinese military propaganda video published by a PLA-affiliated outlet, and syndicated globally by Reuters under the false pretense of being a legitimate editorial source.
This isn’t just a copyright dispute. It’s the largest verified case of unauthorized military propaganda syndication using creator-owned footage, facilitated by Reuters and echoed by dozens of international media outlets. It’s a cautionary tale of what happens when one filmmaker stands up: The Wolf vs. the World.
When art becomes ammunition
In April 2022, Miroslaw Wawak registered his sweeping aerial footage of Taipei with the U.S. Copyright Office. The video had been publicly available on his YouTube channel since 2018 and was part of a decade-long global archive built across 222 countries — a personal quest to capture beauty from above.
But three years later, in April 2025, a fragment of this footage appeared in a chilling context: a Chinese state-produced propaganda film titled Subdue Demons and Vanquish Evils (降妖除魔). The video simulated a missile attack on Taiwan and prominently featured the landmark Taipei 101 tower — lifted directly from Wawak’s original drone recording and inserted into a military scenario, without his knowledge or permission.
The film — produced by the PLA Eastern Theater Command, or a studio closely affiliated — was distributed by CCTV+, part of China’s national broadcasting system. From there, Reuters picked up the content and syndicated it globally via its Reuters Connect platform.
What started as an isolated infringement quickly turned into an international flashpoint. The propaganda video — featuring Wawak’s unlicensed footage — was broadcast by major outlets including FRANCE 24 English, Al Jazeera English, Der Spiegel, CNN‑News18, The Sun, BBC News, WION, Canal 26, and Brazil’s major network Record TV. Relying on Reuters’ distribution, many of these news organizations failed to verify the footage’s source or legitimacy.
“A simple YouTube reverse search would have revealed my authorship,” Wawak said in an interview. “But no one took even the most basic step to confirm the content was licensed.” That’s how art turned into ammunition — and how this story became a warning about the cost of looking the other way.
Despite such tools being readily available, no proper verification appears to have been conducted, most notably by Reuters. The agency now stands at the center of a growing copyright infringement controversy, facing scrutiny over its failure to properly vet visual content before global distribution, especially given the political narrative they ended up distributing, effectively acting as a mouthpiece of the Chinese Propaganda Ministry.
The takedown of CCTV International
After discovering that his U.S.-registered drone footage of Taipei had been embedded without permission in a Chinese military propaganda video, Miroslaw Wawak — through his copyright enforcement initiative — launched a targeted campaign against CCTV International, the global YouTube arm of China’s state-run broadcaster.
“Dealing with CCTV was like trying to unmask a ghost,” Wawak recalls. “They admitted no fault, but quietly reacted once the pressure mounted.”
At first, CCTV International pushed back by filing counter-notifications, despite having no legitimate rights to the footage and failing to provide any evidence of license or authorization. But Wawak responded decisively, presenting timestamped raw source files, a U.S. copyright registration, and a documented trail of unauthorized syndication by major international media outlets. His filings were transparent, well-documented, and legally airtight.
On May 5, 2025, after weeks of sustained legal pressure and procedural escalation, YouTube permanently terminated the CCTV International channel — a rare move against a state-backed media outlet, and a major win for copyright enforcement on the platform, in accordance with YouTube’s own policies.
“This wasn’t a glitch in the algorithm,” Wawak says. “It was a precedent. A signal that even propaganda outlets are not above the law when creators fight back.”
But the win also underscored a broader, troubling reality: how inconsistently platforms like YouTube enforce their own copyright policies — and how long creators must fight to see justice done.
A broken system: YouTube’s uneven enforcement
The permanent removal of CCTV International marked a rare and symbolic victory for an independent creator, but also laid bare the systemic flaws in YouTube’s copyright enforcement system. According to Wawak, the Chinese state-run channel had received at least seven valid copyright strikes in April 2025 alone — more than double the three-strike threshold outlined in YouTube’s own policies. Yet, the channel remained online for weeks, shielded by fraudulent DMCA counter-notifications that YouTube accepted without meaningful verification.
“Under U.S. law, those notices are filed under penalty of perjury, with the sender expected to appear in court if challenged,” Wawak explains. “But does anyone seriously believe a Chinese military officer will fly to San Francisco to defend their own fake copyright claim?”
This wasn’t an isolated failure, and it wasn’t the worst. Alongside fellow filmmaker Filip Kulisev, known for the Amazing Planet project, Wawak has compiled extensive evidence of YouTube enabling state broadcasters and corporate networks to sidestep copyright enforcement, while holding smaller creators to stricter standards.
One case that stands out in both scale and audacity is Brazil’s Record TV. Even for Wawak — who had submitted over 5,000 legitimate DMCA takedown requests to YouTube by that point — the volume of Record’s violations was unprecedented. “It’s possibly the largest single cluster of copyright infringements by any broadcaster in YouTube history,” he says.
Despite YouTube confirming more than 2,500 takedowns of infringing Record News content, the channel remains live, fully monetized, and actively publishing. Record TV, one of Brazil’s most powerful media networks and often linked to the political base of former president Jair Bolsonaro, continues to enjoy protections rarely afforded to independent creators. For Wawak, it’s not just a platform oversight — it’s a structural failure.
“To YouTube, enforcement is a business decision. Individual creators are easy targets. But when big broadcasters break the rules, enforcement becomes ‘optional,’” he adds.
Thanks to Brazil’s strong legal protections for creators and consumers, Wawak’s legal team is now preparing formal action against both Record TV and YouTube, citing discriminatory enforcement, platform negligence, and systemic abuse of the DMCA process. In one of his recent blog posts, Wawak didn’t mince words:
“If you’re a global creator, your rights mean nothing. If you’re a state broadcaster, you can break every rule.”
As lawsuits begin to surface on five continents, some infringing media outlets have started quietly deleting the stolen footage. A handful have apologized. But most — including YouTube — have remained silent. And now, the consequences are coming due.
Reuters’ response: $1,000 — and a deafening silence
When Reuters first contacted independent creator Miroslaw Wawak about the unauthorized use of his U.S.-registered drone footage, he expected transparency, accountability, and dialogue. After all, “truth,” “justice,” and “transparency” are the very principles Reuters claims to uphold.
What he received instead were vague invitations to phone calls off the record — thinly veiled attempts to avoid written accountability. In a surreal twist, another Reuters manager reached out — not to propose a resolution, but to relate. He opened with a story about how his own drone footage had once been used without permission — not as a legal admission or act of solidarity, but as a rhetorical softener. Then came the real ask: another phone call. Off the record. No accountability, no terms — just another attempt to steer the conversation away from consequences and into silence.
For Wawak, it was a defining moment. The news agency that brands itself as a global beacon of truth was doing everything except acting transparently. “They didn’t want justice,” he says. “They wanted the problem to disappear quietly.”
After weeks of silence and delay — during which the Reuters Director of Rights Management, the very person previously assigned to handle the situation, went on annual leave — the company finally issued a formal response. The timing was extraordinary: while some of Reuters’ largest clients were urgently trying to respond to takedown notices and avoid potential channel terminations, the individual designated to manage the crisis was officially out of office, on vacation.
What followed stunned Wawak. Reuters claimed its use of the footage was protected under Fair Use — a justification he saw as not just unfounded, but deliberately misleading. “That’s not just a stretch,” he says. “It’s a lie they can’t possibly believe themselves.”
Even more striking was the legal logic: Reuters cited two U.S. court cases involving Instagram photos — rulings that dealt with passive social media embeds, not the global syndication of edited, monetized video material within a Chinese military propaganda production. Legal observers and creators alike described the comparison as absurd.
Then came the insult: Reuters offered $1,000 to settle the matter — a sum they proposed would absolve not only their own unauthorized use but also the downstream infringement by dozens of their clients. “They failed journalistically, ethically, and legally,” Wawak says. “And then they tried to make it disappear with the lowest four-digit figure imaginable.”
“It wasn’t just a lowball,” he adds. “It was a message: ‘You’re not a creator. You’re a problem to contain.’”
When I reached out to Reuters for comment, a spokesperson responded with the following statement:
“On April 1, China staged military drills off Taiwan’s north, south, and east coasts. The Chinese military — specifically the Eastern Theater Command — released a series of videos in quick succession after the drill announcement. Reuters reported on this news: https://www.reuters.com/world/asia-pacific/chinese-military-says-it-is-conducting-exercises-around-taiwan-2025-03-31/. As part of its reporting, Reuters obtained permission from the Chinese military to use and distribute some of these videos to other news organisations that are Reuters customers. Reuters took the videos on the basis that the Chinese military had the full rights to license them to us.
We have since learned that the video content of one of the videos included approximately two seconds of copyrighted drone content belonging to Mr. Wawak. As soon as Reuters was alerted to this copyright issue, Reuters acted promptly — immediately removing the video from our systems and instructing our customers to do likewise.”
But the damage was already done. Wawak’s footage had aired across dozens of television networks and spread across digital platforms, recontextualized into a narrative of geopolitical aggression.
After my initial inquiry, I submitted a series of follow‑up questions to Reuters — including whether the agency accepts responsibility for any reputational or emotional harm caused, whether it is considering fair compensation, and whether it plans to implement new due diligence measures to prevent future licensing failures. As of this writing, Reuters has not responded.
Since issuing what Wawak describes as an “insulting” $1,000 all-in offer — meant to settle not just Reuters’ own wrongdoing but the entire chain of unauthorized reproductions — the company has refused Wawak’s counter-offer. They simply replied, “We respectfully decline,” and have gone silent ever since. “They seem to be betting on silence,” Wawak remarks, “hoping the creator will just give up.”
The controversy deepened when multiple Reuters clients — including major broadcasters and digital media platforms — filed DMCA counter-notifications in response to video takedown requests, many explicitly citing Reuters as their licensing source. According to documents reviewed for this article, Reuters may have actively encouraged at least one of its clients to file a DMCA counter-notification — a legal declaration made under penalty of perjury. If proven, this could carry serious legal consequences. Wawak calls it “borderline DMCA fraud,” arguing that any such encouragement from a distributor who lacked the rights to begin with could amount to aiding false testimony in a federal process.
“This isn’t just copyright theft,” Wawak says. “It’s a cascade of institutional negligence and systemic hypocrisy. It’s about complicity, credibility, and how powerful institutions respond when they’re caught exploiting independent creators. The damage isn’t just legal or reputational — it’s personal. It’s deeply human.”
The situation is especially troubling given that Reuters attempted to justify its actions by comparing the unauthorized global distribution of Wawak’s copyrighted drone footage to legal rulings about embedding Instagram photos — a defense widely dismissed as irrelevant. There’s a world of difference between passively displaying social media content and actively syndicating a Chinese military propaganda video under false licensing assumptions, for commercial gain. For a company that claims to stand for truth, transparency, and justice, it’s a contradiction that’s hard to ignore.
Grounded plans and deferred dreams
For Miroslaw Wawak, the consequences of standing up to a politicized media machine and exposing systemic licensing failures didn’t arrive as a stamped passport denial or a courtroom verdict. They came quietly, through missed milestones, canceled plans, and cherished destinations slowly fading from reach.
“Because of this infringement and everything that followed, I lost the Great Wall — not as a place, but as a dream. I had long hoped to one day run the Great Wall Marathon. I lost Macau, where I used to wander the glowing casinos and film the electric skyline. I lost Victoria Peak and the serenity I once captured there. I lost Tibet and the Himalayas. And I lost the chance to visit people close to me across a border that’s now closed.”
He hasn’t received a visa denial. There is no official travel ban. But in today’s geopolitical climate — where exposing propaganda networks and confronting powerful media players can create invisible borders — the implications are unmistakable: returning to China, or its territories, could carry serious risk.
“I didn’t just uncover that my peaceful drone footage of Taiwan was embedded into Chinese military propaganda — I exposed it. I traced how it was globally syndicated by Reuters, and I filed copyright claims that led to the irrevocable removal of an official CCTV YouTube channel with 1.5 million subscribers,” Wawak says.
“And it didn’t stop there. I uncovered multiple unauthorized uses of my footage — and of work by fellow creators — across Chinese state-linked outlets. I mapped the syndication. I named the sources. I proved how propaganda machines re-edited artistic material into weapons of narrative control. Would any rational person risk flying into Beijing after that?”
For someone whose life and career were built on global exploration — legally, artistically, and respectfully — the loss is incalculable.
“I used to see the world as open. But this fight has shown me how fragile that freedom really is.”
Integrity vs. profit — the Reuters paradox
Reuters publicly champions intellectual property as the foundation of ethical journalism. Yet the global news agency failed a basic test of responsibility: it licensed a video from a government known for censorship, manipulation, and zero transparency, without verifying its origin.
For a media organization that markets itself on trust and transparency, Wawak argues, the failure wasn’t just procedural — it was moral. “This was my work used to tell a story I never agreed to,” he says. “When you syndicate propaganda using stolen art, you’re not reporting news. You’re manufacturing it.”
While profiting from the redistribution of content that included Wawak’s copyrighted footage, Reuters positioned itself as a passive conduit, claiming it received the video directly from the Chinese military and simply assumed the licensing was legitimate. In its official response, Reuters referred to Wawak’s work as “approximately two seconds,” downplaying its role in a simulated military strike on Taiwan.
“My footage isn’t just a few seconds from the sky — every second costs something real: flights across the globe, visa hurdles, expensive equipment, and personal risk,” Wawak explains. “In 2022, I was robbed at gunpoint in Argentina and lost my drone mid-project. This isn’t random internet content — it’s the result of years of dedication, planning, danger, and sacrifice.”
Reuters also claimed to have acted “promptly” — but only after Wawak himself raised the issue by holding their clients — global media outlets — accountable through YouTube and Facebook takedowns. By that point, the footage had already been broadcast by dozens of newsrooms and digital platforms across the globe. There has been no full accounting of who used the footage, no disclosure of impact, and no commitment to structural reform.
This is the same company that hires enforcement firms to pursue even minor infringements of its own copyrighted images — but when it comes to violating someone else’s copyright, they downplay the damage and deflect the blame. Wawak’s message is clear:
“If you want to be the world’s most trusted news source, start by honoring the truth — even when it means owning your mistakes — and living up to the values you so loudly promote.”
And the syndication trail is still unfolding. On June 11, Wawak confirmed that an Indian broadcaster had licensed the same Chinese military video — containing a fragment of his copyrighted footage — not from Reuters, but from AFP, a direct competitor. While AFP has yet to disclose how it sourced the video, the revelation exposes a deeper systemic crisis: state‑produced propaganda, embedded with stolen creative work, is now circulating through multiple global distributors, largely unchecked. And when the dust settles, it’s independent creators who are left to clean up the mess.
Justice for all
The Reuters case may be the most visible chapter, but for Miroslaw Wawak, it’s just one front in a much larger war. Long before this global dispute came to light, he had already challenged major broadcasters in Brazil, Germany, and across Asia, exposing widespread copyright violations that had been ignored or normalized. Those early battles laid the foundation for something bigger: a mission to empower creators in a digital economy stacked against them.
Wawak co-founded a peer-driven copyright enforcement initiative that supports creators worldwide, helping them navigate legal claims, build strong cases, and hold platforms accountable. Through legal templates, strategy toolkits, and a growing support network, the initiative has helped dozens reclaim stolen work and challenge exploitative licensing tactics.
“We’re building infrastructure where none existed,” Wawak explains. “A support system for creators who were never meant to afford lawyers or understand copyright codes. Now they can reclaim their rights — step by step — without depending on expensive lawyers, gatekeeping agencies, or broken reporting systems that were never built to protect them.”
For Wawak, justice is about more than compensation. It’s about public acknowledgment, a sincere apology, verifiable policy changes, and an end to back-room settlements. At its core, his fight is about dignity — the dignity of authorship, of consent, and of protecting one’s vision from being twisted into someone else’s narrative.
“Each case we pursue reveals more than a violation of rights,” he adds. “It shows just how easily institutions can betray the very values they claim to stand for.” What comes next is clear: more lawsuits, more takedowns, and more visibility. “Infringers can try to hide their mistakes or whitewash the truth. But we’re not backing down.”
Who owns the future of creators?
Miroslaw Wawak’s story is not an isolated incident — it’s a window into a system breaking under the weight of its own contradictions. Across today’s digital landscape, creators face a tidal wave of institutional neglect, platform indifference, and legal frameworks that lag far behind the scale of abuse.
In 2022, photographer Stephanie Campbell sued Gannett Media after her portrait of NFL coach Katie Sowers was distributed across more than 220 news outlets — without consent. Alexander Stross challenged Google after YouTube ignored multiple DMCA notices about stolen imagery. Judy Juracek took on Capcom for lifting her photographs into commercial video games. And muralist Akos Juhasz forced Australia’s ABC into a public apology after stripping authorship from his work.
These aren’t outliers. They’re warning shots. Signals from the fault lines of a content economy built to extract, not protect.
Photo by One Man Wolf Pack
Wawak’s case cuts deeper, not only for its geopolitical fallout but for what it exposes about the digital rights landscape: fractured, opaque, and designed to scale, not to be fair. Platforms claim neutrality, but in practice, speed beats scrutiny, monetization trumps accountability, and liability is passed downstream to the very creators whose work powers the system.
For Wawak, the consequences weren’t abstract. The global misuse of his footage — and the silence that followed — effectively closed the doors to four countries: China, Tibet, Macau, and Hong Kong. What was once a world of open skies became a map of invisible borders, drawn not by law, but by risk.
Without meaningful safeguards, we drift toward a world where authorship is optional, where creativity becomes a consumable resource stripped of credit or consent. Images, voices, identities — reduced to raw data in a machine that prizes reach over rights, convenience over conscience.
Wawak’s response has not been to retreat, but to resist. He is building what institutions failed to create: a working blueprint for creative defense, legal clarity, and mutual aid. A community infrastructure — not nostalgia for a simpler time, but the foundation for a fairer one..
“It’s not about two seconds of drone footage. It’s about what happens when authorship is stripped away, and replaced by power.”
The lesson is unmistakable: the future of creators’ rights doesn’t belong to platforms — unless we let it. It belongs to those who demand consent, defend truth, and refuse to be erased. In the battle between speed and integrity, this is the new front line. And it belongs to those who still believe the truth has an author.
While Reuters aggressively protects its own copyrights, it now faces the consequences of distributing stolen creative work, not only legal claims from Wawak, but the growing risk of lawsuits from betrayed clients who unknowingly syndicated Chinese military propaganda laced with unlicensed content. These media outlets trusted Reuters as their licensing shield, only to find themselves exposed to copyright strikes, takedowns, and in some cases, the real threat of losing their YouTube channels.
“I never sought this war,” Wawak says. “But I won’t stand by while my work is stolen and weaponized.”
The story of The Wolf vs. the World has begun – and it won’t end until justice bites back.
