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The devastation that the Japanese invasion would wreak was indeed
shocking. But as Rana Mitter shows in his illuminating and meticulously
researched new book about the Sino-Japanese war, not only did Chinese
history not end with the fall of Nanjing, but in many ways the war helped to
create modern China. It was the anvil on which the new nation was forged.
Other historians point to the arrival of British gunboats in the 1830s, when
industrialising Europe collided with ancient China, as the dawn of China’s
modern age. But Mr Mitter, a professor at Oxford University, believes that
the country’s war with Japan was more important because it reduced China
to its weakest state. “Suddenly the circumstances of war made the concept
of the nation, and personal identification with it, more urgent and
meaningful for many Chinese.”
It is also a story, pure and simple, of heroic resistance against massive odds.
China is the forgotten ally of the second world war. For more than four
years, until Pearl Harbour, the Chinese fought the Japanese almost alone.
France capitulated in 1940, but China did not. Its government retreated
inland, up the Yangzi river to Chongqing (Chungking)—a moment that
would later be described as China’s Dunkirk. From there it fought on—
sometimes ineptly, often bravely—until victory in 1945.
Asia has never had a strong China and a strong Japan. Their complex
relationship in modern times began when Japan welcomed the West in the
mid-19th century while China pushed it away. As Japan modernised, it
became a model for Chinese reformers and a refuge for Chinese
revolutionaries who opposed their own government’s insularity. Chinese
students who went to Japan in the early 20th century included Sun Yat-sen,
who led the 1911 revolution, and Chiang Kai-shek, the man who would lead
the Nationalist government of China against Japan in the 1930s.
But as Japan’s imperial ambitions grew, China was the obvious place to
expand. In 1931 Japan occupied Manchuria, turning from mentor to
oppressor. The full-scale invasion began in 1937. Mr Mitter does not skimp
in narrating the atrocities; the stench of war infuses his narrative. But he
paints a broader account of the Chinese struggle, explaining the history that
still shapes Chinese thinking today.
It is the voice of the Chinese, not that of the foreigners, that gives the
distinctive tone to Mr Mitter’s narrative. From the diaries of Chiang Kai-shek
to those of national journalists and middle-class Chinese fleeing the conflict,
these first-person observations are woven skilfully into his chronicle of the
battles and struggles. We all know about Iwo Jima, but who in the West has
heard of the defence of Taierzhuang, when Chinese soldiers defeated
superior Japanese troops in hand-to-hand combat? Yet its memory will
continue to help shape Asian history. We know what Dwight Eisenhower
thought at key moments of the second world war, but few have heard of
Xiong Xianyu, an army commander who kept a diary of blowing up Yellow
River levees to stop the Japanese advance. Nearly 1m Chinese died in the
resulting floods. “My heart ached,” he wrote. The water flowed “like 10,000
horses”.
The war was seminal for China, and is still crucial for understanding the
virulent anti-Japanese emotions of Chinese people today. The country was
not just the forgotten ally, says Mr Mitter, but also the one most changed
by the experience of war. Britain and America re-emerged into the boom-
times of the 1950s. The Soviet Union was pushed to the brink and did not
break. But while “battered, punch-drunk” China never surrendered, its old
system of governance was destroyed.
The old order, symbolised by Chiang Kai-shek and his corrupt Nationalist
party, had joined with Mao Zedong’s Communists to fight the Japanese.
When victory came in 1945, it was clear the system could not continue. Mao
presented a more attractive, less corrupt vision of a new Chinese state (one
that he soon betrayed). His victory in the ensuing civil war (1945-49) and
control during the cold war that followed ensured that a narrative of the
Sino-Japanese war that did not include Communist heroism was airbrushed
out.
3 - While Mr. Mitter’s account of the war does not shy away from including
the perceptions of Europeans who witnessed the struggle, one his trumps
is that Chinese views are well-represented.
4 - Mr. Mitter’s narration is so vivid the reader can sense the smell of war.
For centuries statesmen who have had to make difficult choices have been
attacked by well-meaning intellectuals who never wielded real-world
bureaucratic power and who therefore treat morality as an inflexible
absolute. Such intellectuals often confuse eloquence with substance, not
comprehending that the true measure of a diplomat is not style but
common sense, as well as the efficiency by which he or she pursues the
country's national interest. For liberal democracies operate in a world
where there is no ultimate arbiter, and thus their geopolitical advantage —
in addition to their survival — constitutes the highest morality.
In the eyes of idealists and intellectuals right up into the 21st century,
Castlereagh's original sin was his so-called betrayal of his native Ireland to
British interests. Bew, as it happens, spends the entire first part of this book
on Ireland. He shows how it was the lofty goals of Ireland's freedom fighters
— lacking in clarity, as they were — that tempered Castlereagh's
enthusiasm for Irish independence because of his fear that Ireland could
turn into a place similar to revolutionary France. Castlereagh genuinely
believed that a prosperous and stable Ireland could best be obtained by
sacrificing some aspects of its independence in return for the stabilizing
guarantee of British suzerainty. Castlereagh feared, secondarily, that an
independent Ireland could become an outright and anarchic satellite state
of revolutionary and Napoleonic France. Bew writes: "It was the prospect
of Robespierrean politics being brought to Irish soil that concerned
Castlereagh more than anything else," especially given that some of the
Irish patriots "had spent time justifying Robespierre's Terror." Because the
idealist strain in Castlereagh led him to support Catholic emancipation,
while the realist strain led him to oppose complete Irish independence, he
was someone caught in the middle — a place familiar to honorable men.
In what may be some of the finest words written about the relationship
between those in the arts and those in government, Bew, responding to
early 19th century poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge's remarks about
Castlereagh's intellectual "inferiority," has this to say:
In our own day, the moral drumbeat of the media is relentless, even as
diplomats must turn to deal making as an alternative to war. And while the
danger of appeasement always lurks, the greater danger is to always retreat
from imperfect half-measures in pursuit of some morally perfect solution.
It was Castlereagh's emotional genius — a matter more of temperament
than of intellect — to be an architect for a diplomatic arrangement that kept
the guns silent in Europe for decades.
Castlereagh: A geopolitical hero - Stratfor