The Forgotten Nanking Massacre

My worst childhood nightmare was not filled with monsters and devils—or perhaps, it was. I saw a river of blood, and the city of Nanjing built upon mountains of corpses. The laughter of Japanese soldiers echoed as they competed to see who could shoot the most prisoners the fastest, lining the edges of mass graves. Girls around my age—just about seven—screamed and cried helplessly as they were brutally forced beneath the bodies of several Japanese soldiers.

I awoke in a horror that refused to fade. This recurring nightmare began right after watching the Chinese documentary “探索发现-南京大屠杀 (Discover the Nanking Massacre)” and continued to haunt me for years. The blood, the laughter, and the screams are deeply etched in my memory. Every year, on December 13th—National Memorial Day for Nanking Massacre Victims—Chinese social media turns black and white, entertainment news is suspended, and air raid sirens echo across the city of Nanjing as citizens observe a moment of silence. Under the continued emphasis of the government, the tragedy of the Nanking Massacre is deeply engraved in the collective memory of nearly every Chinese citizen. For us, to remember the massacre is to remember the suffering endured by our people, to acknowledge the extreme cruelty of human nature, and to ensure that the three hundred thousand innocent lives lost will forever live on in our hearts.

However, as I grew older and opened my eyes to international perspectives, I began to realize that the Nanking Massacre has received little recognition on the global stage. While gruesome images of Auschwtiz’s gas chambers and Anne Frank’s The Diary of a Young Girl are deeply embedded in school curriculums across the U.S. (HEAL Act) and much of the Western world—very few, whether children or adults—have ever heard the full details of the Nanking Massacre.

But, how did such a massive and brutal massacre fade into the background of World War II history? This very lack of recognition drove Iris Chang, an American journalist, historian, and political activist, to write The Rape of Nanking: The Forgotten Holocaust of World War II in 1997. In this book, Chang not only reconstructed the horrors of Nanjing using photographs, excerpts from war criminals’ diaries, and firsthand accounts from survivors, but also explored the factors that led to its erasure from global memory, analyzing why it became a forgotten Holocaust.

Throughout the book, Chang presents evidence of the brutality and inhumanity of the massacre. From vivid imagery of the city—“Blood was splattered everywhere, as if the heavens had been raining blood” (84)—to truly shocking quotes from Japanese soldiers— “Perhaps when we were raping her, we looked at her as a woman. But when we killed her, we just thought of her as something like a pig.” (50)—Chang not only created an immersive experience for the reader, but also inspired deep reflection on human nature. Under what circumstances can human beings come to view others as mere beasts to satisfy their desires? Is it even conceivable that in the name of efficiency, endless killing contests and live burials could occur? Even as someone long familiar with the history of the Nanking Massacre, I found myself needing frequent breaks while reading this book. Beyond simply recounting the historical events, Chang’s work offers profound insights into the darkest aspects of humanity. Moreover, since Chang writes primarily for western audiences, she provides a clear and accessible explanation of the historical context. Whether for those seeking to learn more about the Nanking Massacre or those interested in exploring the depths of human cruelty, this book serves as a perfect starting point. 

But, why should people like me—who already knew the history of the massacre—still read the book? The title of the book answers this question—how can such a large-scale massacre ever be characterized as “The Forgotten Holocaust”? How and why did it become forgotten? The book answered my confusion by bringing new perspectives of the massacre in sight—the perspectives of the Japanese and the Western world.

While China solemnly remembers the victims of the Nanking Massacre with grand ceremonies, the Japanese government has made concerted efforts to obscure the massacre’s existence. In 1994, General Shigeto publicly dismissed the massacre as “a fabrication” and went so far as to call comfort women “licensed prostitutes” (203). The government also sought to divert attention by drastically altering historical narratives. The Ministry of Education reduced extensive World War II coverage in standard history textbooks from hundreds of pages to just six in 1979, focusing primarily on “pictures of the American firebombing of Tokyo, a picture of the ruins of Hiroshima, and a tally of Japan’s war dead” (206). The censorship even reached cinemas—Japanese authorities forced the removal of the Nanking Massacre scene from The Last Emperor by Bernardo Bertolucci before allowing its release in Japan, completely ignoring the artist’s will and artistic intent (210). 

If Japan’s relentless efforts to erase the Nanking Massacre within the country stem from a desire to preserve national pride and bury its past sins, why does the rest of the world also know so little about it? While Japan’s influence over international media and its persistent refusal to even acknowledge the massacre play a role, history tells a more troubling story. At the time, “The Rape of Nanking was front-page news across the world,” yet despite the horrifying reports, most of the international community stood by and did nothing as an entire city was butchered (221). While repeatedly raising the question of why the world has forgotten the Nanking Massacre, Chang does not provide a clear answer—a gap that I believe is the book’s greatest limitation. Reflecting on this myself, I see several possible explanations. Perhaps Japan’s close post-war alliance with the United States led the U.S. to turn a blind eye to properly educating its citizens about the massacre. Maybe the world’s sympathy for the devastation caused by the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagaski overshadowed Japan’s own wartime atrocities. Or perhaps, China, consumed by its own civil war, was unable to amplify its voice in time to ensure the massacre remained in the international consciousness.

However, no matter how much the Nanking Massacre has been forgotten, it must not remain so. And not just the Nanking Massacre—but all the war crimes committed by the Japanese army across Asia. From the invasion of China in 1937 to the end of World War II, the Japanese military regime was responsible for the deaths of between 3 million and over 10 million people, most probably almost 6 million Chinese, Indonesians, Koreans, Filipinos, and others. Even in Singapore, Operation Sook Ching saw more than 5,000 Chinese civilians executed under suspicion of being anti-Japanese elements. The staggering scale of these atrocities should not allow us to forget—as to forget would be to ignore the pain we, as humans, have endured, and the harm we, as a human race, have inflicted. The world must remember—not to eternally shame Japan—but for two crucial reasons: first, to honor and respect the victims, and second, to serve as a cautionary tale—“an illustration of how easily human beings can be encouraged to allow their teenagers to be molded into efficient killing machines able to suppress their better natures” (220). Today, Germany stands as a better place because the nation has ensured the country never forgets the horrors it committed—with the teaching of Holocaust mandatory in all sixteen federal states. Hiding from history is never a solution—the past can never be erased. Japan cannot truly move forward until it acknowledges and apologizes for their sins committed a century ago within its own society—until, like Germany, it finds the courage to pass on the history of its worst crimes to future generations.

If we were to find an example of how not acknowledging history can lead to serious consequences, Chang herself is the best example. If I were to add another chapter to her book, in response to Chang’s “The Forgotten Holocaust: A Second Rape”, I would title it “The Silenced Voices: A Third Rape.” On November 9, 2004, Iris Chang took her own life with a pistol. She was only 36. For years, she battled severe depression and relentless sleep deprivation, largely due to the persistent harassment and threats from Japanese right-wing extremists after the publication of The Rape of Nanking: The Forgotten Holocaust of World War Two seven years earlier. Her life ended before she ever saw an apology—before the world truly recognized the horrors she used her life to fight to expose. Even after her death, no official acknowledgement or remorse has been given.

At her grave, a single phrase is engraved in stone: “The Power of One.” And indeed, Iris Chang used her voice—and her very life—to educate the world about the Nanking Massacre. But that is not enough. The Power of One is not enough. Without more voices and greater awareness, history risks repeating itself. In that sense, the Nanking Massacre has never truly ended—because Iris Chang herself became yet another victim of its legacy. To truly end the Nanking Massacre, we must amplify every voice and ensure that three hundred thousand lives—along with Chang’s—forever live in history and in our hearts. Reading her book is an excellent starting point of breaking this cycle of forgetting.