Unfinished War | bpb.de

In May 2025, I traveled to Berlin to participate in the international conference histoCON 2025 - 80 Years On: Young Perspectives on the Global Impacts of World War II. During the course of the event, we visited several symbolically significant World War II memory sites, including the Holocaust Memorial in Berlin and the Anne Frank Center, which focuses on the life story and diary of Anne Frank.

These memory-laden locations, dispersed throughout the urban fabric of Berlin, serve not only as physical commemorations but also as ritualized spaces through which the traumatic legacy of the war is preserved and transmitted. As the French historian Pierre Nora suggests, such lieux de mémoire emerge when the continuity of organic, lived memory is disrupted, prompting societies to institutionalize remembrance through tangible sites and symbolic acts. In postwar Europe, these memorial spaces have played a pivotal role in integrating the historical lessons of World War II into the public sphere, enabling intergenerational and cross-cultural modes of memory transmission that extend far beyond the temporal confines of the war itself. By contrast, China appears to lack a dedicated “Monument of victory” — a public space where the entire nation can collectively reflect upon and ceremonially commemorate the victory in the War of Resistance against Japanese Aggression.

In my view, the underlying cause lies in China’s distinctive historical experience of, and mode of remembrance regarding, the Second World War. Within the discursive arena of collective memory, China has yet to secure a victor’s status commensurate with its wartime contributions. At the histoCON 2025 conference, I participated in a workshop titled “The Winner Tells the Story? Memory, Power and WWII Narratives.” During the session, the host Steffen Kamenicek, posed a question: “When did World War II begin and end for your country?” This question prompts my reflection. China’s war, stretching from the “Mukden incident” in 1931 to final victory in 1945, lasted a full fourteen years. Unlike the monumental battles of Normandy or the Pacific theater, the China theater was characterized by a war of attrition and long-term resistance. Despite joining the Allies as a victorious power, China's great victory is often obscured by a national narrative of “blood and tears,” with no physical “site of victory” to which the public might turn for shared remembrance.

This absence is more than spatial—it reflects a deeper psychological void. Chinese society has not developed a “victor’s mentality.” Instead, the dominant national memory revolves around suffering and humiliation. What lingers most vividly in collective consciousness are the 300,000 victims of the Nanjing Massacre and the Japanese army’s implementation of the “Three Alls” policy —not scenes of triumphant liberation. Several factors shaped this sentiment. Historically, the victory was quickly eclipsed by civil war and the upheavals of state reconstruction. Politically, postwar geopolitics excluded China from the principal decision-making tables of the victorious powers. Unlike Britain, the United States, or France, China did not secure a dignified seat at the global order’s redesign; in fact, it was soon sidelined during the Cold War. In short, China won the war, but not the dignity or sense of security that should have come with it. As a result, the Chinese people are more often positioned as victims rather than victors in our own historical narrative.

This unresolved identity is reflected in the persistent absence of full historical reconciliation between China and Japan. The oft-cited comparison with Europe is instructive: France and Germany—once bitter enemies—initiated a reconciliation process within a decade of World War II’s end, achieving substantial cooperation by the 1970s and eventually co-piloting the European Union. In contrast, despite over fifty years of normalized diplomatic relations, Sino-Japanese ties remain fragile. Each time historical issues—such as visits to the Yasukuni Shrine, history textbook revisions, or statements minimizing Japanese war crimes—resurface, they provoke intense public backlash in China.

What is even more paradoxical is that, despite being a defeated nation in World War II, Japan erected a monument bearing the name of “victory”—the so-called Hakkō Ichiu Tower（八纮一宇塔）. Moreover, Japanese history textbooks have, at times, replaced the term “Nanjing Massacre” with the more euphemistic “Nanjing Incident,” thereby not only downplaying the nature of the atrocities but also casting doubt on the death toll. Such distortions of historical fact lie at the heart of the two nations’ divergent collective memories. The Nanjing Massacre is not only an indelible national trauma for China but also a key battleground in the memory politics between the two countries.

In an era of globalization, historical memory no longer belongs to a single nation. Europe’s monuments bear the weight of fascist reckoning, and within Japan itself, debates about wartime responsibility continue. China may one day erect a “monument of victory,” but perhaps more critical is the internal monument—an enduring remembrance that neither time nor political transformation can erase.

The political utility of historical memory cannot be underestimated. Yet ultimately, we must hope that memory serves the cause of peace and reconciliation. It is imperative that nations move beyond narrowly framed nationalist narratives and instead seek resonances of shared human experience through collective remembrance. As Pierre Nora observed, lieux de mémoire are bridges between the past and the future.

This publication does not represent an expression of opinion by the Federal Agency for Civic Education. The author is responsible for the content.