Masuo Kamiyama visits a museum commemorating the Sino-Japanese War on the 70th anniversary of the start of the conflict

The name Private Second Class Kikujiro Shimura probably doesn’t ring any bells. Unlike Steven Spielberg’s fictitious Private Ryan, this unsung Japanese soldier has not been immortalized in a Hollywood blockbuster. Nor, apparently, had he needed to be rescued.

On the night of July 7, 1937, Shimura’s temporary disappearance at the Marco Polo Bridge (Lugouqiao in Chinese) – he was first reported missing but apparently became disoriented after a nocturnal visit to the loo – precipitated full-scale hostilities between Nationalist China and Japan. Historians and ideologues argue to this day as to what actually happened, and whether or not the conflict was deliberately instigated. In any case, by the time Nazi Germany invaded Poland on Sept. 1, 1939, the Battle of Shanghai and Nanjing Massacre were already history.

Last July, I found myself in Beijing to attend a friend’s wedding and suddenly recalled that the auspicious 7-7-07 wedding date coincided with the 70th anniversary of the Sino-Japanese War’s outbreak.

The reception ended a little after 2 p.m., leaving me with plenty of time for an excursion. A Chinese friend negotiated a round-trip arrangement with the driver of an air-conditioned taxi (it was oppressively hot and muggy), and for the equivalent of about ¥5,000, we took the ring road to the bridge, which is located in the Fengtai district on Beijing’s southwest.

In the summer of 1937, the Lugou Bridge was the choke point of the Pinghan Railway connecting Beijing and Wuhan, and guarded the only passage linking Beijing to Kuomintang (Nationalist Chinese)-controlled areas to the south. The Kuomintang forces on the east of the bridge, commanded by Gen. Song Zheyuan, were under orders to prevent the Japanese from occupying Beijing. Poorly trained and equipped, their efforts proved futile, and in the engagements that followed, the Chinese suffered some 16,700 casualties, compared with relatively light Japanese losses.

Seventy years later turned out to be a good time for a visit, although I just missed the official anniversary ceremonies held earlier that morning. At the event, elderly Kuomintang soldiers who had fought at the bridge were accorded special honors, which the Chinese government may have intended as a subtle gesture at rapprochement with Taiwan.

Since my previous visit in 1980, the bridge and vicinity had undergone a considerable facelift. It is now also home to the Memorial Museum of Chinese People’s Anti-Japanese War, which opened on July 7, 1987.

To commemorate the 70th anniversary, the museum’s entrance charges (25 yuan, or ¥376) had been waived that day, and a large, but a well-behaved crowd had turned out despite the sweltering weather.

According to English-language information from the Internet, “The museum houses 3,800 photos and materials, and 5,000 cultural relics. The comprehensive halls display the whole process of Anti-Japanese War. The specialized exhibition on Japanese army’s atrocities includes the recovered scenes of notorious 731 bacteria army [sic] and Nanjing Massacre.”

The displays appear to be arrayed in a loose chronological order. The themes and explanations are clearly set up for domestic consumption, with few explanatory details in foreign languages, but anyone with a basic knowledge of modern Chinese history will recognize what they’re seeing. Visitors are free to linger as long as they like, and flash photography is permitted.

While praising the victories of the 8th Route Army commanded by Communist Gen. Lin Biao, the museum fully recognizes the contributions of Chiang Kai-shek’s Nationalists and China’s wartime allies. In addition to America’s Stars and Stripes (with 48 stars), which hangs from the ceiling beside the flag of Nationalist China, the display includes a U.S. Army Air Corps pilot’s jacket bearing written instructions in Chinese requesting assistance in case his plane were downed in a hostile area.

Also on view is an impressive collection of swords and other captured Japanese military hardware. A large mural near the exit depicts the surrender ceremony of Japanese forces in China, which took place at the Central Military Academy in Nanjing on Sept. 9, 1945. Japanese Lt. Gen. Yasutsugu Okamura is shown bowing as he hands the signed surrender document to Chinese Gen. Ho Ying-chin, as representatives of the Allied powers look on. Immediately beneath the mural are the tables and chairs used in the original ceremony.

While one sign over an entranceway reads, “More than 300,000 of Our Compatriots Perished at the Great Nanjing Massacre,” this museum’s approach differs drastically from Israel’s Yad Vashem, where a great effort has gone into distilling the larger tragedy of the Holocaust down to the level of its millions of individual victims. Here, the displays do not overtly pander to the emotions. The message, rather, focuses mainly on major events during the war and Japan-China relations up to the present day.

A carved stone memorial outside the museum’s main entrance reads, “Qian shi bu wang, hou shi zhi shi (Past experience, if not forgotten, is a guide for the future).” A visit to the Marco Polo Bridge offers a sober learning experience indeed, and one very much worth seeing. ❶