Nanjing: Where History Whispers and Resilience Shines – A Memorial to Tragedy That Must Never Fade
Nanjing, literally meaning Southern Capital, has served as a heart of China’s history for centuries. Once the capital of dynasties, a political center, and a cultural hub, its name alone carries weight and legacy. When I visited the city this August, in the middle of the sweltering summer heat, I experienced first-hand the blend of ancient history and modern vibrancy that defines Nanjing today.
Yet behind the beauty, warmth, and modernity lies one of the darkest chapters of human history, the Nanjing Massacre. In late 1937, as Japan launched a full-scale invasion of China, its soldiers committed atrocities on an unimaginable scale. To this day, Japan has been reluctant to fully accept responsibility, and some factions even deny the massacre occurred. My visit to the Nanjing Massacre Memorial this year coincided with the 80th anniversary of the end of World War II and Japan’s unconditional surrender, a stark reminder that memory and justice are still unresolved.
The global narrative of World War II remains overwhelmingly Eurocentric. Much attention is paid to Hitler’s rise, the Blitzkrieg, and the Holocaust, while less is known about the war in Asia. Yet the conflict did not begin in 1939 with Germany’s invasion of Poland. For China, it began in 1931 with Japan’s invasion of Manchuria, escalating into a full-scale war in 1937. The war against Japan lasted 14 years for China, costing an estimated 35 million lives, most of them civilians. Japan’s war crimes were extensive, from systemic massacres to horrific human experimentation in Unit 731. The Nanjing Massacre is but one of the most infamous episodes of Japan’s brutal campaign.
While some in the West may have vaguely heard of Nanjing, the details are often little known. Films like Dead to Rights, a recent war drama depicting the massacre and now screening globally, including in Australian cinemas, may help raise awareness. Watching the film before visiting the memorial made the experience feel surreal and deeply personal.
Admission to the memorial is free, but due to overwhelming demand, we could not secure a reservation, so we joined a guided tour. This turned out to be the best choice, as our guide provided a rich and harrowing explanation of the massacre. I learned that at least 300,000 residents of Nanjing were brutally murdered and raped in just six weeks, though the true figure may well exceed half a million. Japanese soldiers carried out mass executions by the riverside, often burning bodies to erase evidence. The massacre was not confined to the city, atrocities began as Japanese forces advanced from Shanghai, slaughtering villages along the way. The scale of suffering is ultimately incalculable.
Even amid this horror, there were remarkable acts of courage and humanity. During the massacre, some foreign witnesses could not stand idly by. John Rabe, a German businessman and Nazi Party member, risked his life by using the Siemens compound and his Nazi Party armband to shelter tens of thousands of Nanjing citizens, creating what became known as the Nanjing Safety Zone. Minnie Vautrin, an American missionary and educator at Ginling Women’s College, transformed the campus into a refuge for women and children, saving countless lives through her tireless efforts. The Danish pastor Bernhard Sindberg, together with his colleague Karl Gunther, sheltered more than 20,000 civilians in the Nanjing Cement Factory, providing food and protection when chaos engulfed the city. Sindberg’s compassion left such a lasting impression that the refugees later honored him with the nickname the Shining Buddha.
Local Chinese citizens also showed extraordinary courage. Ordinary people, teachers, students, neighborhood leaders, and families risked their lives to shelter neighbors, hide children, carry the wounded to safety, and provide food in the midst of chaos. Schools and colleges, including Ginling and Jinling, became sanctuaries for thousands of women and children. These acts of bravery ensured that, even as terror engulfed the city, countless lives were saved. The courage of these local heroes, alongside foreign witnesses, stands as a testament to the enduring resilience and moral strength of humanity.
These individuals, foreign and local alike, worked as part of the International Safety Zone Committee, which protected an estimated 250,000 civilians across the city. Their work was reinforced by outsiders who recorded the truth for the world. American missionaries and photographers such as John Magee, who secretly filmed the aftermath on 16mm film, captured shocking scenes of wounded civilians and mass suffering. His footage was later smuggled out by George Fitch, director of the YMCA in Nanjing, and shown in the United States as some of the first hard evidence of the massacre. Likewise, Dr. Robert Wilson, the only foreign surgeon left in the city, treated thousands of victims while writing detailed letters and testimonies that gave a human voice to the tragedy.
Their diaries, films, photographs, and reports, alongside survivor testimonies, provided undeniable evidence of the crimes, ensuring that history could not be erased. The Nanjing Massacre Memorial Hall itself contains a dedicated section honoring these heroes. Walking through that part of the memorial during my visit, I was struck by a mix of emotions, gratitude for their courage, awe at their selflessness, and hope that even amid unimaginable horror, humanity can shine through. Seeing photographs of Rabe, Vautrin, Sindberg, and the countless local heroes alongside stories of the tens of thousands they saved made me reflect deeply on the power of individual action, leaving a lasting sense of admiration and inspiration.
Beyond the stories of bravery, the memorial does not shy away from confronting the raw brutality inflicted on Nanjing’s citizens. Besides the photographs depicting beheadings, rapes, stabbings, shootings, and burning, what struck me most was a censored photo of a three-year-old Chinese boy. Japanese soldiers had cut open his stomach with a bayonet and torn out his intestines and organs for amusement, leaving him to die. Later, in the section called the Ten Thousand Pit, an uncovered mass grave from the massacre, among thousands of skeletal remains, the boy’s tiny skeleton could be discerned. Visitors are not allowed to film or photograph the skeletal remains in this section out of respect for the victims. His small, fragile bones, unnaturally twisted, were a haunting testament to his brutal death. Seeing it in person brought me close to tears; the enormity of the cruelty inflicted on the innocent is impossible to forget.
Having visited the memorial, I came away with a deeper understanding of World War II and a firm belief that this history must never be forgotten. It is also clearer why relations between China, Korea, and Japan remain fraught. The issue is not a refusal to forgive, it is Japan’s persistent failure to genuinely acknowledge its crimes. Unlike Germany, which confronted its Nazi past and memorialized its victims, Japan has often denied, minimized, or even glorified its wartime aggression. Japanese textbooks portray the nation as a liberator of Asia rather than an aggressor. Convicted war criminals are enshrined at the Yasukuni Shrine, where Japanese leaders continue to pay homage. Imagine if Germany canonized Joseph Goebbels in a national cathedral and its chancellor prayed there every year, could the West truly claim trust or forgiveness?
Meanwhile, the narrative of Japan as a victim of the atomic bomb diverts attention from the causes of the bombing, the decades of imperialist conquest and mass murder across Asia. "Never again” is often invoked in Japan in reference to nuclear war, and I think we can all agree that nuclear bombs should not be used again. But what about the tens of millions of lives lost to Japanese militarism? Is that something Japan must never repeat as well? If Japan truly seeks reconciliation, it must acknowledge its crimes, revise its education, and cease honoring war criminals. Only then can trust and forgiveness become possible.
My time in Nanjing was a journey of contrasts, of incredible human kindness set against a backdrop of profound human cruelty. The city has risen from the ashes with grace and strength, but the memory of those who were lost demands to be carried forward. We must remember Nanjing not to harbour hate, but to honour the victims and to ensure that such darkness is never again allowed to descend upon our world. It is a history that should not, and must not, be forgotten.
