Mark Gagnon (3:44)
There is a war between China and Japan that had already torn through huge parts of the country. And Nanjing, then the capital, was just next in the war path. And for people living there, it didn't feel like the start of a historic atrocity. It felt like just daily life slowly becoming unfamiliar. So by the winter of that year, everything was worse. Shops were closing early. Parents were keeping their kids inside at the sound of distant explosions in nearby villages. And refugees came from all over the city. Into the this city of Nanjing was stories that made people very uncomfortable, even if they tried not to talk about it. The streets were emptying a little bit more and more every single day. And some families tried to leave with whatever they could carry, just preparing for this imminent threat that they couldn't exactly put their finger on how it would look. Others just stayed because they had nowhere else to go. Even longtime residents, people who lived through the hard years of different wars and different conflicts that had happened in the region, started to sense that something far worse was on its way. Nanjing, the capital at the time known as the southern capital, you can imagine Beijing, that same suffix, you know, jing being, you know, the city, the capital. This was a peaceful place full of schools and markets and regular people living regular lives by the mid 20th century. But as December moved on, the city was just on pause and everyone was just waiting for this imminent threat. No one in the city could see the full shape of what was coming, but the signs were there. So Japan's invasion of China kicked off by July 1937. And it was fast and it was ruthless. The Japanese army believed that they could take over China before the rest of the world even had time to respond. The Japanese command followed a simple but brutal idea. Hit hard, break any resistance and push China towards surrender through fear. Terror itself was one of their main weapons. Meanwhile, China was fighting from the edge of collapse. Basically, the country was split between the Nationalists, known as the kmt, the Kuomintang, China's ruling government, and the Communists, their longtime rivals. And its armies were under trained and really just outmatched by Japan's modern war machine. Chiang Kai Shek, the leader of the Chinese Nationalist forces, knew that he couldn't win head on. So he chose to trade land for time basically and just pull back inland and try to stretch Japan as thin as possible and just drag the war on as long as he could, basically grinding to, you know, just a halt that Japan couldn't sustain. But that choice came with a brutal cost. Entire cities and millions of civilians were just left behind. So Shanghai fell in November after three brutal months of fighting. And the battle had turned the city into a graveyard. I mean, Chinese troops held out for a lot longer than anyone expected. But this courage and this bravery wasn't enough to stand up to Japan's artillery and specifically their air power. When the lines finally collapsed and survivors went west towards Nanjing, just exhausted and carrying nothing but their weapons and basically just the memories of what they had been through. Refugees followed behind them in waves. Some walked, others would try to get onto trains. Others clung to trucks and families were completely split apart, holding whatever they could manage to grab before fleeing. They brought stories of these burning cities and just bodies in the streets and places just completely wiped off the map. And some made it to Nanjing, but most never even got that far. The Chinese government knew what was coming. Chiang ordered Nanjing to be defended, but he had already begun moving the capital west to Chongqing taking key officials and basically all the government that he could take with him. What he left behind was just confusion. Generals with no clear direction and soldiers without any clear coordination, and civilians with basically no protection. Then General Tang Shang Zi was put in charge with around 100,000 troops. Most of them were exhausted and hungry and just poorly armed. After this slaughter in Shanghai, meanwhile, the Japanese army advanced with speed and fury and just closed in on the city and as fast as they could. And by early December, everyone inside Nanjing basically understood the same thing, that the end was basically here. The walls of the city, built by the Hongwu Emperor, founder of the Ming dynasty, that had protected Nanjing for centuries, had now become a prison, basically. And by December, Japanese forces surrounded the entire city on three sides, leaving just the Yangtze River, China's longest river, basically forming the city's northern edge, as the last possible escape route. So Chinese General Tang Shang Zi had promised to fight to the end. But inside the city, the army was already falling apart. Communication was broken down, supply lines were gone, and entire units were just cut off, basically fighting alone with no orders, no food, and no hope. And by December 12th, panic took over. Tang finally ordered an official retreat. But the command came way too late, and it just spread too slowly. Some troops never even heard it or got mixed messages and confusion quickly turned into chaos. Soldiers just abandoned their positions and rushed toward the river, desperate to escape before the Japanese forces closed in. And at the city gates, the retreat turned into a massacre. Thousands of soldiers and civilians jammed into the narrow exits while artillery just pounded from behind. People pushed and they screamed, and men were trampled as they were trying to get out. Families were crushed. It was just absolutely chaos. And those who made it through reached the riverbank only to find that it was already overflowing with tens of thousands of people waiting for boats that were never going to come. So some soldiers tore off their uniforms and just tried to blend in. Others jumped into the freezing river and drowned, and a few managed to force their way onto boats, basically leaving everyone else behind. What should have been some organized withdrawal or some type of diplomatic surrender just collapsed into a night of confusion and panic. And when the sun rose on December 13, 1937, the Japanese army just walked into Nanjing. The city had no defenders left, really. All their forces were either confused or deserted. No leadership, just walls and civilians trapped inside. So while the Chinese command escaped the city, a small group of foreigners chose to stay. They knew exactly what was coming, but they stayed anyway. At the center of that group was a man named John Robb, a German businessman who lived in Nanjing for years. He was part of Siemens and was basically controlling the entire operations for the company while in Nanjing and had lived there for decades. And he was also a member of the Nazi party. And what's interesting about him is people call him one of the greatest humanitarians of the 20th century, and they call him the good Nazi of Nanjing. And according to him and his sources, he joined the Nazi party for practical reasons, like getting the funds for this Sino German school, and partially because he believed that Germany and Japan's alliance could actually protect civilians. Alongside him were American missionaries and doctors and professors. Minnie Vautrin, who ran the Ginling College for Women and basically refused to abandon her students. Dr. Robert Wilson, a surgeon born in Nanjing to missionary parents who returned after medical training at Harvard and spoke fluent Mandarin. Together, they carved out the International Safety Zone. This was a. A designated area meant to shelter civilians from violence. About one and a half square miles on the west side of the city. It included Ginling College, the university hospital, and the American Embassy compound. They marked the borders with flags and banners that anyone could see from the air. And they sent letters to Japanese commanders just begging them to treat the zone as neutral ground. They opened the doors to anyone who showed up. Families, wounded soldiers, kids wandering the streets alone. And they knew the crowds would be endless and that their protection was fragile, but they did it anyway. They had already heard warnings and stories from Shanghai, from earlier bombings, from the people pouring into the city, and they knew exactly what kind of army was on the way. And still they stayed. Not soldiers or politicians, just ordinary people that refused to abandon their students, their employees, or just the citizens that they lived with in their town. Just basically trying to hold on to one small patch of humanity in the middle of what was about to become hell on earth. What's up, guys? We're going to take a break really quick because I got to tell you something. The holidays wrecked me. Yeah. Travel. I mean, it was eating whatever I wanted. I wasn't working out, and I just hit January and I felt like I was 100 years old. What I didn't realize that I now know is that your body. My body starts losing collagen way earlier than you think, like mid-20s. And that's why recovery sucks. I mean, your joints will feel stiff and your hair will get thin and your skin will look tired. All that. And that's why I started taking Bubs. Natural Collagen Peptides. Yes. Everyone's tossing around that P word. And I'm telling you Bubs is the best one. I toss it in my coffee in the morning and you don't even taste it. It dissolves instantly. It doesn't like clump up or anything like that. And honestly, I feel better. I recover faster, my joints feel better, and I just feel less like I got hit by a car. It's like the first New Year's resolution that I actually kept up with. And what I also like is that Bubs and is a legit brand. There's no sugar, there's no fillers. It's third party tested. It is Whole 30 approved. It's NSF certified for sports, all the good stuff. And on top of that, they donate 10% of the profits to charity honoring Glenn Bub Dy who is a Navy SEAL who was killed in Benghazi. So it's not just wellness and going to make you feel better. It's also built on something real that'll make the world better. They also do electrolytes, mct, oil creamer, all the clean stuff. So great news for you. And is that right now you're going to get 20% off your entire order? Yes, that's what you get for being a camp listener. 20% off the entire order. When you go to Bubs. Naturals, that's B U B S Naturals. N a T u r a l s dot com and use the code camp at checkout. And after you buy, they're going to ask you how you heard about them. Tell them that Camp Gagnon sent you. Yeah, the diesel peptided up, bro. Over at Camp Gagnon. All right, let them know. And it actually helps the show grow and it helps keep the fire burning here and at the campsite. All right, now let's get back to it. So December 13, 1937. At dawn, Japanese troops pushed through the city gates and stepped into positions from retreating Chinese soldiers that they had left behind. Their uniforms were dirty, their faces were worn from months of just non stop fighting. And their commanders didn't bother to hold them back at all. What entered Nanjing that morning wasn't a disciplined army doing some type of technical operation. It was anger just let loose with full permission. And the violence started immediately. Small groups of soldiers moved house to house. Doors were kicked in, people were dragged outside. Gunfire and screams just filled the alleyways that had been quiet for generations. Fires were breaking out everywhere. Shops were looted, homes were just set ablaze with families still inside. And by nightfall, the sky was continuing to glow orange and a thick smoke hung over the city. Basically just being destroyed in real Time and families were just running towards the safety zone, clutching their children, carrying their elderly parents or grandparents on their back, just leaving everything behind. And some made it through the gates. Others were caught on the roads and shot or beaten to death wherever they fell. And the Japanese army didn't enter Nanjing as conquerors. They entered as men who no longer saw the people in front of them as human beings. The discipline was gone. The mercy of was no longer. The same day, John Robb drove through the city, trying to make sense of this devastation. In his diary he wrote, Every 100 or 200 meters, we came across corpses. The Japanese march through the city in groups of 10 to 20 men, looting shops. Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would have not believed it. Rob had lived in China for 30 years. He'd seen famine and riots and wars. I mean, he was a member of the Nazi party, but he had never seen anything like this. Nanjing wasn't being conquered. It was just being erased. And this was only the beginning. The killings didn't stop for weeks. Japanese troops rounded up Chinese men by the thousands. It didn't matter who they were. Soldiers who had surrendered, civilians who had never touched a weapon. Teenage boys who barely even understood what was happening. Old men who could barely even stand. If you look like you might have been a soldier, you were taken. They were marched to open fields, riverbanks, empty lots along the Yangtze river, any space big enough to hold hundreds at a time. And then the executions began. Sometimes machine guns tore through entire lines of prisoners at once, just bodies dropping into mass graves or tumbling into the river to just drift downstream. Sometimes men were tied to posts and used for bayonet practice, stabbing again and again to teach these new recruits how to kill. Others were doused in gasoline or just burned alive. The killing was so relentless. The bodies were. Were so many that no one could even agree on the true number of casualties. Most modern historians estimate the death toll to be over 100,000, though China officially commemorates the number as 300,000. At the riverbank near the Straw String Gorge, men stood with their hands tied, watching the ones ahead of them collapse under gunfire, just knowing that they were next. And they begged, they cried out for their families. They prayed. And behind their voices just came the crack of rifles and the thuds of bayonets and the splash of bodies falling into the river. The Japanese officers stood nearby, just smoking cigarettes as they watched. There was no mercy. Wounded soldiers were dragged from hospital beds and killed on the floor. Others who surrendered under white flags, doing everything the laws of War demanded were marched to open ground and shot anyway. All the rules meant to protect these prisoners and, and these surrendered soldiers and civilians just didn't exist. Even General Matsui Iwane, the Japanese commander, admitted days later, my men have done something very wrong and extremely regrettable. But by then, the violence had taken on a life of its own. No apology whispered or shouted or officially decreed was enough to stop what had already begun. And no part of the massacre was more brutal or targeted than the violence against the women. Japanese soldiers hunted them through homes and streets, just dragging them out regardless of their age. Begging didn't matter. Resisting made it worse. Many were assaulted or killed on the spot, while others were taken into barracks or these comfort stations where the abuse just continued. Women were attacked everywhere, sometimes by dozens of soldiers, and many more were murdered or mutilated in ways that are honestly just too horrific to describe. This is often why it is called the of Nanjing. I mean, for the sake of YouTube and not just getting completely blasted off the platform, we will continue to call it the Nanjing Massacre, but that's why that term exists. A woman by the name of Li Jiuying, who was seven months pregnant at the time, tried to fight off the soldiers who stormed her home and they stabbed her 37 times and left her to die. Miraculously, she lived, but lost her child in the process and carried the scars, both physical and emotional, for the rest of her life. And she actually became one of the few women willing to speak publicly about what had happened. Jia Xu Qin was only eight when soldiers entered her home. They murdered her parents, her four siblings in front of her. They stabbed her and her younger sister and just left them in a pile of bodies. Jia survived, but her one year old sister was less fortunate. She crawled out from under her family's corpses and continued to carry that memory for the next 80 years. Inside the safety zone, many Vautrin fought desperately to hold back this nightmare. Ginling College was built for a few hundred people at most, and it ended up sheltering 10,000 women and children. Vautrin stood at the gates day after day, blocking soldiers who came looking for women to take. She knew exactly what would happen if they forced their way inside. She was threatening and she would slap and shove doing everything she could and ended up saving thousands of and the ones she couldn't save haunted her for the rest of her life. One entry from her diary captured a moment that never left her. She writes, I'll never forget the scene of people kneeling by the roadside, the whining wind and the miserable Cries of women who were being taken away. For the women who survived, the suffering didn't end when the soldiers left. They carried that trauma they couldn't speak about. In a society where shame fell on the victim and on the family, not on the attackers. Some took their own lives. Others buried the memories so deeply that even their children never really heard the full story. For decades, silence became its own kind of wound that was just fully hidden but never healed. Now, inside the safety zones, it also was never truly safe. At best, it was a fragile, foreign, guarded island of relative refuge. I mean, it covered about 4 square kilometers and offered a better chance of survival than, than the streets beyond its boundaries. But protection there was always precarious. At the height of the massacre, more than 200,000 people were crammed into a zone that was like about the size of Central park, maybe a little bit bigger. And families just slept like shoulder to shoulder in classrooms, on balconies, stairwells, anywhere that a body could fit. Hallways were bedrooms, courtyards were just public shelters, and people just laid on the sidewalks, just wrapped in blankets, trying to make it through each freezing cold night. Food was running low, water barely held out, and disease was spreading quickly through these packed crowds. Children were constantly crying from hunger or nightmares, and the elderly were just collapsing from exhaustion. And just outside the flimsy borders of the zone, gunfire and screams reminded everyone exactly what was just waiting for them beyond the flags. The Japanese army was supposed to respect the safety zone, but of course they didn't. Soldiers slipped in at night to seize women. They barged in during the day looking for Chinese soldiers hiding among civilians. They entered whenever they wanted, really. And the foreigners could only stand in their way, holding up documents and just pleading with them diplomatically, saying, it's illegal for you to do this. Sometimes they managed to turn a few soldiers back. Other times they just watched helplessly as victims were dragged out of the neutral zone. SCREAMING Rob wrote letter after letter to Japanese officers, just listing attacks in painstaking detail, pleading for protection. And he received polite replies and empty promises. And that was basically it. Dr. Robert Wilson worked almost non stop in makeshift operating rooms, improvised with, you know, what little supplies they had and staff, and at times operating without even adequate anesthetics. And he recorded in detail the deaths that followed when basic tools or the drugs were lacking. The missionaries handed out food and they made bathrooms and tried to keep the zone from collapsing basically under the weight of how many people were there. They did everything that they could, but it was never enough. The prayers weren't answered. The suffering didn't stop. And day after day, week after week, even the foreigners, the strongest, most determined, began to break under the weight of what they saw. By early January, Nanjing barely looked like a city anymore. It looked like something pulled out of a nightmare. Bodies just laid there where people had fallen weeks earlier, just frozen in the winter cold, untouched, because there was no one even left to bury them and no place to put them, even if there had been. Stray dogs were moving in packs, literally feeding on the dead. Buildings were just empty shells, blackened by fire, the insides completely looted and stripped bare. The people who survived walk through this landscape like shadows. Some searched to reconnect with their families, who would never be found. Others went back to what used to be their homes and stood in front of the ruins, trying to understand how everything could just vanish so quickly. They scavenged for food in burned out shops. They curled up in corners of destroyed buildings just to try to stay out of the wind. They weren't really living, they were just almost zombies, pushing through each day because there was nothing left to do. The Yangtze river carried bodies for miles, just drifting, washing onto riverbanks far beyond the city. And the the smell of decay just hung in the air, mixed with smoke and fires that seemed like they never fully died out. And inside this nightmare, a few foreigners still in Nanjing kept documenting everything. Photographs, diary entries, shaky early film footage trying to record what was happening, even when it felt hopeless. Their notes would later become evidence. At the time, it just felt like they were shouting into the void. In the safety zone, life was barely hanging on. The children stopped playing, the adults spoke only when they had to. And people were just so drained that even basic emotions were too heavy. Everyone was just numb and disassociated, emotionally shut down after weeks of violence and grief without break. The massacre didn't end because anyone showed mercy. It ended because the violence finally just burned itself out. By late January and into February, Japanese commanders began pulling their troops back under control. The execution slowed down, but the violence still continued. The killings persisted into early February and the atrocities didn't fully cease until late March, when a government was finally established. Looting faded only because there was basically nothing left to take. And the assaults didn't stop. But they became less constant than before. Pressure from outside China actually started to matter at this point. Reporters from foreigners inside Nanjing would send letters and telegrams and diary entries just describing everything that they had witnessed. And finally, Western newspapers started printing the story, shocking readers around the world. Governments were taking notice. Japan at the time denied everything, but the evidence continued to Pile up. And even some Japanese officers realized the massacre was turning into a global scandal. Orders were finally issued to rein in the troops. For the survivors, the end of the killing didn't mean the end of the suffering. I mean, the city's entire economy had collapsed. Food was scarce, if available at all. Disease was spreading quickly. In the cold and in the rubble and in the shelters, families searched lists of the dead, hoping for a miracle and often finding none. They tried to rebuild their lives from almost nothing while carrying this trauma that they didn't even have words for. Inside the safety zone, the foreigners shifted from emergency survival to long term relief. They helped refugees return to whatever remained of their homes. And they set up kitchens and clinics and makeshift schools. And they continued to document everything. Eyewitness accounts, diaries, photos. Because they knew that the world needed to see the evidence. They understood one thing very clearly. What happened in Nanjing couldn't be allowed to disappear into the silence. The reckoning didn't come until after Japan's eventual defeat in 1946. The International Military Tribunal for the Far east finally laid out the full scope of what had happened at Nanjing. The evidence was overwhelming. The photographs and the survivor testimony and even confessions from Japanese soldiers who could no longer live with the guilt of what they had done. Some veterans, once allowed to speak honestly, just admitted everything. One former Japanese military organization, after trying to disprove the accusations, ended up facing so much evidence from its own members that it issued this statement. Whatever the severity of war or special circumstances of war psychology, we just lose words. Faced with this mass illegal killing, we simply apologize deeply to the people of China. Well, it came decades too late and it didn't speak for everyone. Many soldiers stayed silent and some denied the massacre even until their final days. But enough told the truth to build an accurate record that couldn't be erased. Chinese survivors took the stand and shared what they had lived through. The they described family members killed in front of them, terror inside the safety zones, and crimes that they witnessed in the streets. Their voices were calm, but the grief was palpable. Western witnesses supported their accounts. Their diaries once again were evidence. The photograph showed what the Japanese army assumed would never be seen. Their testimonies made denial completely impossible. The same foreigners who tried to save lives in 1937 now help the world understand the full truth. And in the end, seven Japanese leaders were executed for their role in these war crimes. General Matsui Iwani and Foreign Minister Koki Hirota were specifically persecuted for their Nanjing massacre. Many believed responsibility should have gone higher. But the tribunal could only do so much. And it was technically justice, but it was never going to mend the damage that was left behind. And today in Nanjing, there's a memorial hall built for the victims of this massacre, a huge, quiet complex visited by millions every year. Chinese students come to learn. Tourists walk through in silence. Families of survivors stand before the exhibits and remember. Inside are photographs that are honestly hard to look at, testimonies that are really difficult to hear, and artifacts pulled from these mass graves, from bones to clothing to personal items. Researchers have spent decades trying to identify the victims, carving their names into stone so that they would never be forgotten. It's part museum, part cemetery, and really, it's just a place to make sure that the world can't forget this atrocity. The survivors who lived into modern times became witnesses. They spoke in schools and gave interviews and recorded their stories on camera. Their children and grandchildren continued that work, fighting to keep Nanjing, 1937, in the world's memory. They know how easily denial creeps in and how quickly people forget what they didn't see. The foreigners who stayed, specifically Rob Vautrin and Wilson and many others, are honored in China as heroes. Their names are engraved on monuments. Their diaries are taught in classrooms. And they're remembered for one simple reason. They didn't walk away. They stayed when staying meant everything and easily could have cost them their lives. But for many, their lives were not easy. After Nanjing, many. Vautrin returned to the US in May of 1940, just emotionally shattered. And exactly one year later, on May 14, 1941, she took her own life. John Robb went back to Germany and tried to tell the world. But his Nazi party membership made him suspect to the Allies, and his testimony about Japanese war crimes made him very suspect at home. He died in poverty in 1950, almost forgotten, until his granddaughter released his diaries decades later. Dr. Robert Wilson carried the weight of what he witnessed. He testified at the Tokyo tribunal, and. And his diary entries offered the world this grim record of the atrocities. He eventually died in 1967. What's up, people? We're going to take a break really quick because I got to tell you a little story. All right? 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The massacre stands as proof of what happens when discipline collapses, when racism becomes policy, when individuals surrender their conscience to the crowd and to the mob. And it shows just really how thin the line is between ordinary life and massacre and how quickly everyday people can commit these unimaginable acts of violence. But it also shows another side of human nature. Even in that darkness, some refused to look away. Some refused to join in. Some risk their own lives to protect strangers. Their courage doesn't erase the horror, but in a way, it matters, right? Especially to the thousands who survived because of them. And I think the lesson of Nanjing isn't about Japan or about China. It's about what humans do when the restraints fall away and what some choose to do. Even then, the cruelty and the compassion happen side by side in the same city during the same winter. And both of these stories are real and should be remembered. The dead of Nanjing can't speak anymore. The survivors are almost gone, but the memory remains in museums and films and books, and ultimately in the minds of people who refuse to forget this atrocity. Remembering is obviously painful, and it's difficult to research and talk about, but I think it's important not to assign guilt about how these people are evil and these people are victims, but to understand the stakes of forgetting. Winter came to Nanjing in December 1937, and it brought six weeks of maybe the worst atrocity experienced, one of the worst atrocities certainly experienced in the century. That winter ended and the city rebuilt and life returned. But the shadow never fully goes away, and it sits in our history as a warning and a reminder. The city survives, the memory endures. And in that memory is hope. Not that it will never happen again, but when history begins to rhyme, people will remember Nanjing and hopefully choose differently. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the story of the Nanjing massacre. I mean, it's a heavy one, right?
