I happened yesterday to kind of randomly watch a documentary about the rape of Nanking. I had not previously been very familiar with those events, back in 1937, just before the outset of World War II. And it struck me how very important it is for us to be vigilantly aware of history, because we cannot rightly weigh and understand later events without an awareness of what went before.
One will hear often enough nowadays young Americans faulting the country for using the atomic bomb at the end of the war--as if this incident happened in a vacuum. They will say that America did not need to use the atomic bomb, brutally killing thousands. They just wanted to see what it would do. (Nor are they likely to be aware that conventional bombing had already killed more than both atom bombs put together).
But take a step back for a minute. Take a look at 1937. The Japanese, in a quest for empire, and for the resources of other countries, had invaded China without cause. After the fall of Shanghai, and moving upon Nanking, the capital city at that time, the Japanese troops were told that they did not need to observe any rules of war whatsoever. In fact, they were encouraged not to. As the Japanese moved on Nanking, they killed and raped as they pleased. Following the fall of Nanking, a six week period of uninterrupted riot ensued at the hands of the soldiers. Thousands of civilians were killed. Thousands of women were raped and gang raped, and then killed if they were still alive. Babies were skewered on bayonets, or cut from pregnant mothers' wombs. Men were used in bayonet practice or beheaded. At home in Japan, newspapers printed pictures of the severed heads for the amusement of their readers.
One comes away not very inclined to shed many tears for the ultimate fate of the Japanese. A nuclear blast seems rather quick and clean in comparison.
It is heartbreaking, really, to look at the photos and films of the people of Nanking before the invasion. You see children holding hands, going to school; young women posing, smiling in their new dresses; old grandfathers laughing with their grandchildren--none of them knowing that someone else's violent dream of empire would soon subject them to terror and torment and rape and death, that the light of innocent men, women, and children would be brutally, pitilessly snuffed out as if they were no more precious than bugs.
It cries out for payment, for justice, does it not? It sets into motion a fearsome pendulum. And who can stop it?
Well, I watched a second documentary, and it turns out that we can. Or at least we can try. This one told another story of Nanking. In a certain part of the city was a Christian college and medical center. The administrators of this community declared a safe zone and received on the grounds some 200,000 civilians. The Japanese refused to honor the zone, invading the area again and again to carry off men for execution and women for rape; and again and again they were confronted by the missionaries, who placed themselves between the soldiers and their prey. They were not able to save all. But they saved many thousands by laying down their own lives in favor of the defenseless. These were the poor, the homeless, the helpless, the friendless but for the stubborn, courageous compassion of their protectors.
The pendulum is set in motion by our hands. It also stopped by our
hands.
Greater love hath no one than this, than to lay down one's life for his friends.
One will hear often enough nowadays young Americans faulting the country for using the atomic bomb at the end of the war--as if this incident happened in a vacuum. They will say that America did not need to use the atomic bomb, brutally killing thousands. They just wanted to see what it would do. (Nor are they likely to be aware that conventional bombing had already killed more than both atom bombs put together).
But take a step back for a minute. Take a look at 1937. The Japanese, in a quest for empire, and for the resources of other countries, had invaded China without cause. After the fall of Shanghai, and moving upon Nanking, the capital city at that time, the Japanese troops were told that they did not need to observe any rules of war whatsoever. In fact, they were encouraged not to. As the Japanese moved on Nanking, they killed and raped as they pleased. Following the fall of Nanking, a six week period of uninterrupted riot ensued at the hands of the soldiers. Thousands of civilians were killed. Thousands of women were raped and gang raped, and then killed if they were still alive. Babies were skewered on bayonets, or cut from pregnant mothers' wombs. Men were used in bayonet practice or beheaded. At home in Japan, newspapers printed pictures of the severed heads for the amusement of their readers.
One comes away not very inclined to shed many tears for the ultimate fate of the Japanese. A nuclear blast seems rather quick and clean in comparison.
It is heartbreaking, really, to look at the photos and films of the people of Nanking before the invasion. You see children holding hands, going to school; young women posing, smiling in their new dresses; old grandfathers laughing with their grandchildren--none of them knowing that someone else's violent dream of empire would soon subject them to terror and torment and rape and death, that the light of innocent men, women, and children would be brutally, pitilessly snuffed out as if they were no more precious than bugs.
It cries out for payment, for justice, does it not? It sets into motion a fearsome pendulum. And who can stop it?
Well, I watched a second documentary, and it turns out that we can. Or at least we can try. This one told another story of Nanking. In a certain part of the city was a Christian college and medical center. The administrators of this community declared a safe zone and received on the grounds some 200,000 civilians. The Japanese refused to honor the zone, invading the area again and again to carry off men for execution and women for rape; and again and again they were confronted by the missionaries, who placed themselves between the soldiers and their prey. They were not able to save all. But they saved many thousands by laying down their own lives in favor of the defenseless. These were the poor, the homeless, the helpless, the friendless but for the stubborn, courageous compassion of their protectors.
The pendulum is set in motion by our hands. It also stopped by our
hands.
Greater love hath no one than this, than to lay down one's life for his friends.
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