What Do We Memorialize?

In my last entry, I wrote about Megumi’s story of apology. I’ve recently been in Nanjing, the sight of the massacre I mentioned in that post. There are a number of memorials around this area, the most prominent of which is the Nanjing Massacre Memorial.

I just returned from the Nanjing Massacre Memorial a few minutes ago. It left an imprint and I wanted to get it out while it was on my mind.

When the Japanese invaded China in the mid-30’s (in what would later become WWII) they laid siege to Korea and NE China before sacking Shanghai in 1937. Following that victory, they proceeded to march on Nanjing, the capital of the Republic of China.

What happened in Nanjing is almost unimaginable in its mass destruction. I’m not sure how to describe this kind of nightmare, but its as terrifying a situation as I can imagine. Mass executions and sporadic murders amounting to 300,000 non-combatants killed over a six-week period (one person every twelve seconds over that time). 80,000 documented cases of rape. Widespread pillaging and looting of personal and public property. Complete physical and psychological assault and annihilation.

After reading endless stories, I can only paraphrase the following from one: For 6 weeks the Japanese soldiers turned into incredible beasts. Their eyes were those of the insane and their souls deprived of humanity. It was one of the darkest hours in human history.

I didn’t know about the severity of the Rape of Nanjing until I arrived in this city. As I wrote earlier, I had heard from my friend Megumi about the invasion of the Japanese. But I hadn’t encountered a vivid image. The image I uncovered knocked so deeply inside that it shook the foundation of my understandings of humanity.

At points I felt physically weak as I walked through the extensive exhibit. The scope of the human suffering seemed incalculable. Just overwhelming. From indiscriminate bombing to burying people alive – chilling and shocking.

But I recently read a book that challenges the mindset that condemns the past so easily armed with the information and conditioning of the present. It’s easy to condemn
(and rightly so) the actions of those who perpetrated these crimes. But as I cast my judgment, a question came into my mind that still bothers me: Given a similar upbringing, a similar conditioning and a similar circumstance, would I have behaved in a similar way?

I couldn’t shake this question out of my mind. I still can’t. I can’t give an unequivocal “no”. As much as I can think of myself now and firmly believe I’d never do these things. What if I was there in their boots? A 19 year old pulled off the family farm, forced into the military service, reared under a brutal command, lead to invade a foreign country, homesick and cold in the heart of winter and pressed to assault and strike incredible fear into innocents. I can be sure of nothing.

What I can grip more closely is today. One hopeful feeling I had when I left the museum was that I firmly believe that we actually have reached a stage in human history where we can reasonably envision a world, not without conflict, but without the kind of horrific violence of the 20th century. We aren’t there today, not by a long way. The violence in Darfur or the jungles of the Congo, the tribal belt of Pakistan and even on the streets of Washington, DC is with us. It’s all around us. And sure, even without physical violence, there is the widespread corruption and greed that insures the continuance of disease, famine, environmental degradation and widespread economic oppression.

But there is also hope. Yes, the challenges are huge, but can we think at a much wider level? Someone recently told me that China has existed in relative peace for the past 20 years. A period it cannot claim in the previous 100. Is it progress? Japan has successfully re-integrated into a community of nations and no longer demonstrates an interest in physical domination of the region. Is it progress? Certainly we are part of systems that work in cycles and perhaps change for the worse will again occur in these countries, but I can reasonably choose to see the glimmering edge of sustainability here.

*As you can imagine the visit had a significant impact on my team. I wanted to share a couple of thoughts that emerged from the conversation.

First: What do we memorialize? And why do we memorialize it? We all questioned whether this memorial ought really to be in Tokyo, where the Japanese can see it and make their own commitment to “never again”. I recently read a story in which a town conspired, as a community, to commit a severe atrocity. Following their act, they are cursed – the price of which is that they must tell all visitors to the town about the gross misdeed of the past, for generations on end. The beauty of the story it is a just punishment. It is the perpetrator who should be in the business of leading the commitment to never seeing the nightmare happen again. Not the victim.

Second: The memorial dripped with an unmistakable sense of nationalism and victimhood. Instead of carefully promoting an understanding of the past with a look to the future, much of the memorial felt vindictive. The common visitor would likely leave the museum with a feeling of developing hatred toward the Japanese or with a confirmed belief that the Japanese were and are the worst of the “foreign devils”. The length of the museum did more than make one feel appropriately uncomfortable. Instead, it felt almost like basking in the anguish of history without making room to move ahead. In following conversations with some Chinese, they had a similar feeling and some expressed a want for the museum to take on a different approach; One more postured towards reconciling the past and forging a real vision for the future.