Finding humanity on a sinking ship

If a ship is going down and people are in the water, do you pull them out, or push them under?

In 1942, off the coast of China’s Dongji Island, a real-life shipwreck turned into a brutal experiment in human nature, laying bare the extremes of cruelty and compassion. The incident exposed the war crimes of the Japanese military and the unflinching kindness of Chinese fishermen – two choices so starkly opposed that you can still feel the shock eight decades later.

China’s newly released film “Dongji Rescue” revisits this chapter of history, dramatizing the infamous Lisbon Maruincident. It’s not the first time the story has hit the screen. Last year’s documentary “The Sinking of the Lisbon Maru” and this year’s feature film take different artistic approaches, but both circle back to the same core theme: humanity itself.

And that is precisely why this history keeps resurfacing. The real power of the story isn’t in showcasing the horrors of war, but in reminding us that the light of human decency can shine even in the darkest places, and that this light may be the most valuable thing history leaves us.

A shipwreck as a test of humanity

In October 1942, the Japanese cargo ship Lisbon Maru was illegally used to transport over 1,800 British prisoners of war, who were crammed into the hold from Hong Kong and bound for forced labor in Japan. Armed with deck guns but flying no ensigns to indicate it carried POWs, the ship was spotted near Dongji Island in Zhejiang Province by the United States submarine Grouper. Mistaking it for an enemy warship, the Americans fired torpedoes. The Lisbon Maru sank.

What happened next was nothing short of a moral Rorschach inkblot test. The Japanese locked the prisoners in the hold to drown and machine-gunned those who tried to escape. To the Japanese troops, all lives were disposable, friend or foe alike. So much for the Geneva Conventions. During World War II, the Japanese army committed atrocities against people of all nationalities, including the British.

The Chinese fishermen of Dongji Island knew nothing of the Geneva Conventions, alliances, or political positions. Most could not even read. But with a simple, instinctive clarity, they knew one thing: a person in the water must be saved.

So they rowed their small wooden boats toward the sinking ship, straight into the line of Japanese gunfire, again and again. They saved and hid 384 British survivors in mountain caves, shared their own meager rations with them, and protected strangers whose words they could neither speak nor understand.

Two responses, one situation. The contrast is almost cinematic in its clarity.

A still from the Chinese film “Dongji Rescue” portrays Chinese fishermen attempting to rescue British prisoners of war from the sea. /Photo provided to CGTN

A still from the Chinese film “Dongji Rescue” portrays Chinese fishermen attempting to rescue British prisoners of war from the sea. /Photo provided to CGTN

Real heroes at war

People are often attracted to superhero movies because they crave the fantasy of overcoming impossible odds with incredible strength. However, the two Lisbon Maru films offer something more honest and moving–proof that human decency doesn’t require superpowers.

Chinese fishermen had no shields, no plan, no armor. They were absolutely afraid of Japanese guns. They felt a pang of hunger as they handed over food they could barely spare. They may not have been able to explain the moral philosophy of rescue. But when the moment came, they made the decision: “I’m going to save them.”

This kind of “do it anyway” courage hits harder than any CGI heroics. When you watch the fishermen row into the storm, you don’t think, “There goes a hero.” You think, “If it were me–what would I do?” That’s the moment history stops being cold statistics and becomes a living test of conscience.

That’s why these wartime stories still matter: they remind us that the courage of ordinary people can stare extraordinary evil in the face–and refuse to look away.

A monument commemorating the Dongji fishermen’s rescue of 384 British POWs is unveiled on Dongji Island in Zhoushan, Zhejiang Province, May 20, 2025. The ceremony was witnessed by 18 descendants of the British prisoners from the Lisbon Maru shipwreck who traveled all the way from the UK to China. /VCG

A monument commemorating the Dongji fishermen’s rescue of 384 British POWs is unveiled on Dongji Island in Zhoushan, Zhejiang Province, May 20, 2025. The ceremony was witnessed by 18 descendants of the British prisoners from the Lisbon Maru shipwreck who traveled all the way from the UK to China. /VCG

Why these films matter now more than ever

The release of “Dongji Rescue” comes amid a broader wave of World War II films commemorating the 80th anniversary of the victory over fascism, both in China and abroad. The goal isn’t to fuel hatred, but rather to recalibrate our moral compass. History is a teacher, and its lesson remains unchanged: choose justice, embrace humanity, and build a brighter future for those who follow.

Both Lisbon Maru themed films are, at their core, tributes to the greatness of the ordinary. They insist on nurturing the seeds of courage dormant within us all. In the end, that may be the most precious gift any historical drama can offer.

But not everyone is telling this history in good faith. Released almost simultaneously with “Dongji Rescue” is the Japanese film “Yukikaze.” On the surface, it depicts a WWII destroyer and its crew’s bravery in “maritime rescues.” But in reality, the Yukikaze was the luckiest ship in the Imperial Japanese Navy, making it through the war with barely a scratch to show for it because it avoided the most direct combat. Yes, it rescued Japanese sailors, but let’s be clear: these were soldiers of an invading army–the crew of open-firing warships.

Here’s where things become problematic. The trailer for “Yukikaze” reveals a common thread in postwar Japanese cinema, what I’d call “selective anti-war.” It centers on the suffering of Japanese soldiers, squeezing tears and sympathy from viewers, while conveniently sidestepping the far greater suffering Japan inflicted on other nations. The war becomes an abstract calamity, like a tsunami or earthquake, where no one bears real blame.

Within this narrative frame, the issue isn’t that Japan launched an aggressive war. The issue is that Japanese commanders made poor tactical decisions, wasted soldiers’ lives, and failed to protect “their own” sufficiently. It’s like a bank robber griping that his partner took the wrong escape route, without ever questioning whether robbing the bank was wrong in the first place.

“Yukikaze” is set to hit Japanese theaters on August 15, the day of Japan’s surrender in WWII, right as “Dongji Rescue” heads to overseas markets. The timing is no accident. In fact, one of the promotional posters borrows the iconic image of a Dongji fisherman pulling a British prisoner of war out of the water by hand, which is immortalized in a memorial on Dongji Island. It sparked outrage among Chinese internet users who see it as an attempt to muddy the waters of historical memory.

As one online comment put it, “If we don’t take the high ground in telling our history, the enemy will stand on our blood and whitewash their crimes.”

The Lisbon Maru rescue story, collected and compiled from eyewitness accounts, was published on May 20, 2025, in Zhejiang Province. /VCG

The Lisbon Maru rescue story, collected and compiled from eyewitness accounts, was published on May 20, 2025, in Zhejiang Province. /VCG

The question we must be vigilant about

The danger of films like “Yukikaze” lies not just in what they say, but in what they deliberately leave out. They urge viewers to sympathize with individual suffering, while conveniently ignoring the most critical questions:

Who initiated the aggression that dragged these people into war? And why did they choose to invade other nations and plunge the world into conflict?

That’s the question we must keep asking whenever we watch these so-called “anti-war” films. War isn’t a natural disaster. It’s not inevitable. Someone chooses to start it. Someone profits from it. Someone pushes others into the grinder and watches them suffer.

In 1942, the Lisbon Maru sinking incident laid bare humanity’s two faces: one that saw prisoners of war as disposable, and another that risked everything to save strangers. Eighty years later, it’s your turn to decide. Will you stand with justice and humanity, or look away? What will you choose?