As the New Year’s holiday winds down, I see firsthand how extremely important this festival is for the people of China. During the past days, fireworks blasted off throughout the night, little shops always open stood closed, and streets usually teeming with people were almost empty. Seemingly everyone tried to enjoy the biggest holiday of the year together with family and friends. Although not my culture, I can relate. I’m human. It was during this time of the year in 1938 that Nanjing, until recently the national capital, was in the early stages of its occupation by the Japanese Army. Despite the rich history of this very old place, this brief stretch of time may be what it’s most remembered for. After a siege lasting only four days the walled, heavily garrisoned city fell on December 13, 1937. Each year on this date, air raid sirens throughout Nanjing blare in order to keep everyone from forgetting it. The Japanese victory parade began at Zhongshan Gate and cut through town via East Zhongshan Rd, Zhongshan Rd, and finally North Zhongshan Rd, very near where I live. Often when I’m on this road, taking the bus, riding in a cab, or just walking somewhere, my imagination will take hold. What must it have been like for those who were here at that time? Abandoned by their government. Deserted by their army. Left behind. Was there resignation? Confusion? Hope? Or just fear. Knowing what happened to many of these people after the army marched in makes it a little unsettling to think about. A very, very rough estimate of two to three hundred thousand Chinese, primarily civilians, were slaughtered in the weeks immediately following the city’s capture. Like a death in the family, what happened has never really gone away and remains part of Nanjing’s composition and its people’s consciousness. This city may, in fact, be the epicenter of anti-Japanese sentiment here in China. If this is so, then it is the epicenter of anti-Japanese sentiment for the entire world. One night, in the foot massage parlor that I sometimes go to, a few Japanese customers came in. A foot massage is not always a pleasant experience and when a masseuse digs her knuckles into the soles of your feet, it can be downright painful. They’ll sometimes ask if it hurts (Tòng?) and the customer will usually say that it doesn’t (Bú tòng.) even if it does, just to save face. On this particular night, however, one of the Japanese men couldn’t help himself: “Ah! Ah! Tòng! Tòng!” Neither could the masseuse: “Bú tòng! Bú tòng!” She kept digging. He kept suffering. And everyone who wasn’t Japanese thought it was hilarious. For a nation famous for minding its manners, Japan has been remarkably unrepentant about Nanjing. Shortly after I arrived in town, I was talking with another Westerner who’d been here for a while. We passed a building, a hotel that he told me was owned in part by a Japanese business group. “What do you think it looks like?” It didn’t look that unusual, maybe twenty stories high, but its footprint was oval, not rectangular or square. “I don’t know.” I waited for him to answer his own question. “The hilt of a samurai sword.” Driven straight into the earth at the center of town? How could it have been allowed? Was it true? I’ve never checked. I don’t really want to. Sometimes when I’m walking down the street, I pay attention to the people that I see. Shopkeepers, soldiers, students, families, beggars, they’re all just living their lives. And although the particulars of their lives, and ours, may change, the essence of them remains the same, whether it’s 1937 or 2007. We are human. All of us. Most of us aren’t out to bother anyone or cause problems. We’re all more or less just trying to get by. Without going any further, this fact, by itself, is what makes what happened in Nanjing that winter so disturbing.