Kevin Lau says Hong Kong can transform sites of past suffering into foundations for a more just and humane future

Hong Kong’s suffering under Japanese occupation during World War II is more than a tragic chapter in local history; it is a moral benchmark and a policy compass for the city’s future. The fall of Hong Kong on Dec 25, 1941, after 18 days of intense fighting, plunged the city into three years and eight months of Japanese military rule. During this period, Japanese forces carried out systematic atrocities against prisoners of war, medical personnel and New Territories villagers, leaving scars that still shape how Hong Kong understands justice, governance and human dignity.

In an era when Hong Kong is repositioning itself within the Guangdong‑Hong Kong‑Macao Greater Bay Area and the wider Asia‑Pacific region, revisiting this period of history is not an exercise in dwelling on grievance, but a necessary step in constructing a more resilient, humane and cooperative future.

The post‑WWII war crimes trials held in Hong Kong demonstrate how the rule of law can respond, however imperfectly, to extreme injustice. Following the Allied decision to prosecute major war criminals in Tokyo and to delegate trials of Class B and Class C war criminals to local military courts, the British military authorities established four war crimes courts in Hong Kong. Between March 1946 and December 1948, these tribunals heard 46 cases, 30 of them involving crimes committed in Hong Kong. Of 122 defendants, 21 were sentenced to death, two to life imprisonment, and 85 to fixed terms ranging from six months to 20 years, while only 14 were acquitted. These proceedings did not erase suffering, but they affirmed a crucial principle: Even in the aftermath of total war, accountability is possible and necessary. For today’s policymakers, this legacy underlines the importance of transparent institutions and legal remedies in managing deep social trauma and maintaining public trust.

Equally instructive, albeit in a negative sense, is the structure and conduct of the Japanese military police in Hong Kong. Shortly after the city’s fall, a gendarmerie of around 150 men was created by the Japanese occupying forces, later expanded with auxiliary gendarmes. The force’s headquarters in the former Supreme Court building oversaw district units covering Hong Kong Island, Kowloon, the New Territories and surrounding waters, and its remit extended beyond discipline to political surveillance, “counter‑insurgency” and terror operations. This concentration of power in an unaccountable security apparatus helped enable mass arrests, torture and summary executions, particularly in rural areas suspected of aiding guerrillas. For a modern international city that prizes both safety and openness, the lesson is clear: Effective governance cannot be built on unchecked coercive power. Robust legal safeguards, oversight mechanisms and community participation are essential if security policies are to protect rather than intimidate.

The atrocities committed against medical personnel and the wounded at St. Stephen’s College, used as a field hospital, bring the humanitarian dimension of this period of history into sharp focus. Despite clearly displayed Red Cross markings, Japanese troops entered the hospital on Dec 25, 1941, bayoneted bedridden wounded soldiers, killed senior medical officers who tried to protest, and subjected nurses to sexual violence. The mutilation of captured soldiers and the desecration of bodies shocked contemporaries and remain among the most painful memories in Hong Kong’s wartime narrative. For a city now known for its advanced healthcare system and growing role in regional health cooperation, this episode points toward a constructive agenda; investing in humanitarian training, disaster medicine and cross‑border emergency response networks can turn a legacy of violated medical neutrality into a positive commitment to protect life in crises.

The experience of New Territories villagers under occupation further illustrates how ordinary communities can display extraordinary resilience. In 1944 and 1945, as Japanese forces sought to eliminate guerrilla units such as the Hong Kong–Kowloon Independent Battalion, villages in Sai Kung, Tai Po and Yuen Long were subjected to large‑scale sweeps. Villagers were arrested, beaten, subjected to water torture, suspension and burning, and in many cases killed, including village heads who refused to betray resistance fighters. Yet testimonies indicate that many detainees chose silence over collaboration, even at the cost of their lives. Today, as rural Hong Kong is integrated into ambitious plans for innovation, infrastructure and ecotourism within the Guangdong-Hong Kong-Macao Greater Bay Area, this history can inform a policy approach that honors local identity and cohesion. Supporting village‑level heritage projects, oral history initiatives and youth leadership programs would not only preserve memories but also strengthen social capital in regions undergoing rapid change.

If Hong Kong is to turn this difficult past into a forward‑looking asset, several policy directions merit serious consideration. First, the digitized war crimes trial records and related archives can be more systematically integrated into education, from secondary curricula to university research and public exhibitions. Doing so would help younger generations understand that peace and prosperity were not given, but painfully won. Second, Hong Kong is well-placed to become a regional hub for dialog on wartime justice and reconciliation, leveraging its legal expertise and international connections. Collaborative projects with institutions in other former theaters of war in Asia could situate local experience within a broader conversation about international humanitarian law and post‑conflict reconstruction. Third, the city could gradually develop a dedicated peace and war memory center, bringing together scholarship, survivor testimony and public engagement in a space designed not to reopen wounds, but to foster empathy and critical reflection.

Ultimately, Hong Kong’s wartime history is not a mere museum piece; it is a reminder of how fragile civilization can be when hatred and unchecked power prevail. Remembering the atrocities committed by Japanese occupying forces is essential, but it is only the first step. The deeper task is to translate remembrance into policy — to build institutions that resist arbitrariness, to cultivate a civic culture that values human life, and to anchor regional cooperation in shared commitments to peace. In doing so, Hong Kong can transform sites of past suffering into foundations for a more just and humane future — for itself and for the wider region it increasingly helps to shape.

The author is founding convenor of the Hong Kong Global Youth Professional Advocacy Action, a specialist in radiology, and an adviser to the Our Hong Kong Foundation.

The views do not necessarily reflect those of China Daily.