Most evil nation in history

[gofaster]

Originally posted by Tyrus
How can everyone forget Japan??

I remember reading about how the crew of a shot-down B-29 were taken to a hospital in Tokyo.  Thinking that they were going to receive medical treatment, the airmen allowed the Japanese doctors and nurses to strap them to gurneys and insert needles.  Instead, the POWs were used for medical experiments involving uncurable diseases and unnecessary surgeries without sedation (after all, the victims were strapped to the table, so why bother knocking them out?).  

One of the doctors present at the time eventually published a book about the event and his involvement, but I can't remember his name nor the title of the book.  I do remember that the whole affair took place at a university hospital in Tokyo near the end of the war.

[aztec]

Nuke, you still troll like a little girl.

[SunKing]

After the book I just read , I agree with Tyrus.

[Ripsnort]

I have to keep that book on a very high shelf in my den due to its graphic nature in photography, but I *will* do something the Japanese Gov't has never done with their children, I will teach my children history and let them learn from others mistakes(once they're old enough to understand)

[Boroda]

Originally posted by SLO
Russia (estimated 85 million dead during Stalin's regime)

Estimated by whom?

Damn. This place has to be empty and unpopulated.

Originally posted by SLO

Germany (6 million Jews).......

20 millions of Soviet civilians don't count?...

Together with your "estimated" 85 million plus Soviet Army losses - there must be noone left here.

I love to see "estimated" numbers on this board increasing every year. As i predicted it reached 85 million in mid 2003 from mere 40 million in 1999. At such a rate by 2005 we'll suddenly find out that noone was left in the whole USSR by 1941 and Stalin probably killed himself too.

[gofaster]

.. but decided with Independence Day that it might be a good idea to show people why America goes to war.  Believe it or not, I've edited this example to remove some of the gruesomeness.  I've also removed nationalities to avoid opening old wounds, but it should be apparent if you really want to know.

What struck me about some of the passages I found was that it was all done as if there was a purpose to it; as if it was necessary to practice these things because it could save a life some day.  In this example, a young military doctor is observing his first vivisection.  "She" is a nurse assigned to assist the operation(s).  There are two victims; one older and weaker, the other thirty-something and strong.

One was a sturdy, broadchecked man, about thirty, calm and apparently fearless, standing immobile. I thought immediately, that man's a xxxxx-ist. Next to him was a farmer about forty years old. He was dressed as if he had just been dragged in from his field. His eyes raced desperately about the room. Three medics were there, holding rifles. Nurses were adjusting the surgical instruments by the autopsy tables. There were some fifteen or sixteen doctors present.

The director said, "Let's begin." A medic pushed the steadfast man forward. He lay down calmly. I thouht he'd resigned himself to it. That was completely wrong. As a rule, xxxx-ese don't glare at you. He had come prepared to die, confident in xxxx's ultimate victory and revenge over a cruel, unjust xxxxxx. He didn't say that aloud, but going to his death as he did spoke for itself. I didn't see that back then.

I was in the group assigned to the other fellow. A medic ordered him forward. He shouted, "No! No!" and tried to flee. The medic, who was holding a rifle, couldn't move as fast as the farmer, and I was a new officer, just arrived in the command. I was very conscious of my dignity as a military man. The hospital director was watching. I never really thought, if this man dies, what will happen to his family? All I thought was, it will be terribly embarrassing if I end up in a brawl, this man in farmer's rags and me dressed so correctly. I wanted to show off. I pushed that farmer and said, "Go forward!" He seemed to lose heart, maybe because I'd spoken up. I was very proud of myself. Yet when he sat on the table, he refused to lie down. He shouted "Ai-ya-a! Ai-ya-a!" as if he knew that if he lay down he was going to be murdered. But a nurse then said, in xxxxxx, "Sleep, sleep." She went on, "Sleep, sleep. Drug give" -xxxxx-style xxxxx. The xxxxx of the oppressor always bears that tone, as if to say, "There's no possibility you will fail to understand what I'm saying."

... He lay down. She was even prouder than me. She giggled. The demon's face is not a fearful face. It's a face wreathed in smiles.

I asked the doctor who was about to administer lumbar anesthesia if he wasn't going to disinfect the point of injection. "What are you talking about? We're going to kill him," he replied. After a while, a nurse struck the man's legs and asked him if it hurt. He said it didn't, but when they tried to get him to inhale chloroform, he began to struggle. We all had to hold him down.

First, was practice in removing an appendix. That was carried out by two doctors. When a man has appendicitis, his appendix swells and grows very hard. But there was nothing wrong with this man, so it was hard to locate. They made an incision, but had to cut in another place and search until they finally found it. I remember that.

Next a doctor removed one of his arms. You must know how to do this when a man has shrapnel imbedded in his arm. You have to apply a tourniquet, to stanch the flow of blood. Then two doctors practiced sewing the intestines. If the intestine or stomach is pierced by bullets, that kind of surgery is a necessity. Next was the opening of the pharynx. When soldiers are wounded in the throat, blood gathers there and blocks the trachea, so you need to open it up. There is a special hook-shaped instrument for field use for cutting into the trachea. You drive it in, hook it open, then remove it, leaving only a tube behind. The blood drains out. It all took almost two hours. You remember the first time.

Eventually, all the doctors from the divisions left. Then the nurses departed. Only the director, the medics, and those of us from the hospital remained. The one I did, small-framed and old, was already dead. But from the sturdy man's mouth came, "Heh. Heh. Heh." One's last gasps are still strong. It gave us pause to think of throwing him, still breathing, into the hole out back, so the director injected air into his heart with a syringe. Another doctor- he's alive today -and I then had to try to strangle him with string. Still he wouldn't die. Finally, an old noncom said, "Doctor, he'll die if you give him a shot of anesthesia." Afterwards we threw him into the hole. This was the first time.

[GtoRA2]

You beat me to it, and made a much better post then I would have.

 The Nazi's are villified and rightly so, but NO ONE wants to remeber what the Japanese did, just that we are evil for nuking them.


Why is that? Is it because, Nazi's where Nazi's not regular Germans? The Japanese do not have a nice little group to blame it on, so its just ignored?

[gofaster]

Same source, different man, edited for political correctness.

The major means of getting intelligence, though, was to extract information by interrogating prisoners. They don't say anything if you don't ask. Even threatened, they often didn't speak. If you torture them, some will talk. Other's won't. Torture was an unavoidable necessity. Murdering and burying them follows naturally. You do it so you won't be found out.

I worked near and for regimental, battalion, and company commanders, and when battles took a turn for the worse, they grew tense and irritable. They had to decide whether to attack or not, and they needed intelligence. How to get the information for them became my problem. You had to show results. We compared the information we had extracted to that we received from higher headquarters. If ours seemed superior, we would act based on our own information.

Getting good intelligence information for our punitive expeditions and offensive operations was a very, very difficult problem for us. We hardly slept at all. Adjutants drafted plans and proposed them to the regimental commander. You have to have reasons for mobilizing your soldiers, and we contributed. We had to contribute to the decision-making process. We tried to secure the needed information by using torture. I gathered capable soldiers and noncoms who understood (the foreign language) and trained them. I was sure this was my purpose for living. I believed and acted in this way because I was convinced of what I was doing. We carried out our duty as instructed by our masters. We did it for the sake of our country. From our filial obligation to our ancestors. On the battlefield, we never really considered (the enemy) humans. When you're winning, the losers look really miserable. We concluded that (our) race was superior.

...

I interrogated many people, but two I remember particularly well. (He) was a boy soldier. He was taken prisoner of war in a major operation at the end of 1943. Big as he was, he was only sixteen or seventeen. He looked so innocent and naive that they brought him back without killing him. He soon learned our songs, and some officers put him to work in the regimental armory repairing weapons. Everyone trusted him.

The regiment received twenty to thirty spare pistols each year. That year they went missing. He had stolen them and passed them along to the guerrillas. This was discovered only because, during a punitive strike, dead guerrillas were found with (our country's) pistols and the serial numbers matched the newly delivered weapons from the regimental armory. I conducted the interrogation. The most excruciating torture is (censored). It works better than beating or strangling. If you use this method, ninety percent of them talk. But (he) didn't. When he realized he wouldn't be spared, his attitude changed. I reported this to the regimental commander. He told me to make my own decision about what should be done with him. As (he) passed by the door of my room on the way to his execution, he shouted at me, "I will avenge myself on you! I did it for my motherland!"

Enemy enlisted men have little information of value. Only the officers know anything of great use. (He), the second man, was a captain, himself an intelligence officer. He looked obedient, as if he'd do whatever we said, but he resisted. We had (built) a special cell built for the most stubborn ones. I named the torture we did there the "excrement technique." Usually, during your incarceration, your feces were removed from your cell, but not in that room. There, you were covered in your own (dung) and, sooner or later, vou died insane. Occasionally we'd yell in the cell window, "Still not talking?" "Never!" (he) would shout back.

Officers and noncommissioned officers all had swords officially issued to them, the so-called (ceremonial) swords, but besides those, they brought quality swords from home. They'd want to give these a "cutting test." I often got such requests through my senior noncom. One sergeant in particular was looking for a chance to lop off a head. I gave him (the enemy officer in the special cell), but told him to do it right. He was dragged from the cell - he could no longer walk -to a hill about seven hundred meters away.

I personally severed more than forty heads. Today, I no longer remember each of them well. It might sound extreme, but I can almost say that if more than two weeks went by without my taking a head, I didn't feel fight. Physically, I needed to be refreshed. I would go to the stockade and bring someone out, one who looked as if he wouldn't live long. I'd do it on the riverbank, by the regimental headquarters, or by the side of the road. I'd order the one I planned to kill to dig a hole, then cut him down and cover him over.

My everyday sword was (the ceremonial) sword, a new one with the name (censored). My other sword was called (censored). It was presented to me by my father and dated from the sixteenth century. (Sword #2) was a sword made for fighting. It cut well, even if you were unskilled. It wasn't a particularly magnificent sword, but it was the kind the (warriors) in that time of constant warfare appreciated. It was the best sword for murder. With (Sword #1), vou couldn't really take a head with a single stroke. The neck was cut through, but it didn't fall. Heads fell easily to (sword #2). A good sword could cause a head to drop with just an easy motion.

But even I sometimes botched the job. They were physically weakened by torture. They were semiconscious. Their bodies tended to move. They swayed. Sometimes I'd hit the shoulder. Once a lung popped out, almost like a balloon. I was shocked. All I could do was hit the base of the neck with my full strength. Blood spurted out. Arteries were cut, you see. The man fell immediately, but it wasn't a water faucet, so it soon stopped. Looking at that, I felt ecstasy...

You might ask how it could happen that we'd kill people like this. It was easy. Once, for instance, I got a call from divisional headquarters: "You've made grandiose claims, (narrator), but the area you're responsible for isn't secure. How are you going to explain this?" I could only answer that I had no excuse. I then resolved to clean up things. I dispatched our reserve squad, took the village mayor and others captive, and tortured them. They claimed they didn't know anything. I was furious. I'll show them, I thought. I lined them up, nine of them, and cut their heads off. I knew that only two of them would have bent my (ceremonial) sword all out of shape, so I used my father's sword. As might have been expected, that good old sword did the job with no ill effects. Guerrillas at that time caused enormous losses for our forces. Even killing them didn't even the score! Among the "guerrillas" I killed were military men and a village chief.

The day I did those nine people, you know, I was quite calm. That night I went out drinking at a restaurant. I brought other captives to bury those bodies. We did that in the open field next to the prisoner encampment. We told them not to look, but in a sense, it was better for us if they did. They would realize that if they got out of line, they too might be in danger.

A horse squadron was attached to our regiment. At that time, newminted recruits, with just one star, arrived straight from the Homeland. The man responsible for their training asked if he could put on a display, as part of their education. We showed them executions. They hid their eyes in their hands, they couldn't look. Right from (the homeland), without any training. "Pah-pah!" I did it, without getting even a drop of blood on my uniform. There's a way to cut them, you see. A sword is not a knife. If you have a fine sword, you merely have to pull it from its scabbard and draw it across the shoulders. It cuts right through. You don't have to expend any real effort. Don't have to swang it from way up high. You just stop after you've cut through.

Most officers did this. If they didn't, their authority was weakened. The men would say, "He's nothing but appearances." Nobody wanted to be called "spineless." It wasn't so bad doing it in the midst of battle, but there's a lot of pressure on you when you 'cut off a head with evervone watching. We usually had about eighty captives under our control, though sometimes we had has many as a hundred and fifty. Most were captured at the front. According to regulations, captives were supposed to be sent back to headquarters. Company prisoners were to be sent back to battalion, and battalion captives to regiment. Whenever we had about eighty useful prisoners, we'd phone division and send them along if they wanted them. The ones I killed were those there was no point sending on.

[gofaster]

Same man, further on in his account.

American were da**ed bas***** to me then. I burned with hatred for them. Even when the navy began to get beaten-we learned of this by radio-we didn't think it would happen to the army even if we were less well equipped than the enemy. I never dreamed (our nation's leader) would throw in the towel. I believed he would share our fate. But he just threw up his hands and quit. Radio reception was poor, so that all we caught were snatches from the (government's) announcement of surrender. We learned its contents only from a stenographic copy of it.... I still believed that in the battle (we) would be strong. We would hit back then!

Everyone, including the division commander, assembled on the parade ground. Two regimental flags were there. I was ordered to be the flag officer in charge of burning them. The bugle sounded and I did it with tears streaming down my face. The ... seals at the tips of the flag standards were made of brass and would not burn, so we blew them to pieces with explosives. I tied my two swords together, and blew them up along with those imperial symbols. It was August 19, 1945. I thought the victors would deal with the losers in a gentlemanly manner. But the (certain allied nation's) forces came and we were hauled off to (the certain allied nation). According to international agreements, at the end of hostilities prisoners of war held by each side should be released and allowed to return home, whether victor or loser. For five vears, though, we were enslaved. When I was turned over to (a different allied nation) I thought they had nothing on me. But they had people to testify to everything. I admitted to what I had done, or anyway to most of it. I couldn't admit I'd killed nine that one day. I only confessed to six. Our trial lasted about a week. Afterwards I went to a prison cell. Every day I thought tomorrow would be the day I would be sentenced to death. I couldn't sleep at all. I heard my mother's voice. But the (allied nation) only gave me thirteen years. After my sentencing, the surviving families of the (victims) charged the judge, crying out in fury. In the end, I served eight years.

If our meeting today had happened back then, when I first saw your face, I'd have noticed your neck without fail. When I walked into the regimental commander's room, I'd announce, "Second Lieutenant (censored) arriving!" The regimental commander might be looking at a map, sitting on a chair. I'd see his neck and forget instantly that I was a second lieutenant, he, a colonel. What a great neck, I'd think. Then suddenly I'd come back to my senses. it was almost like being addicted to murder. When I met people, I often looked at their necks and made a judgment. Is this an easy neck, or hard to cut? I'm not really reminiscing about those days, but that's how you become, murdering people. That kind of reflex impulse is still somewhere in me. Prime Minister (censored's) neck is an easy neck to cut. The best necks aren't really skinny or too fat either. Foreign Minister (censored)'s isn't easy; you'd get caught up in his chin. I'm only joking, but that's how it really is.

[Scootter]

Stupid question,

A Nation is made up of people, most of which have no say in what the goverment doing and most don't even know.

So the question is "what world leaders are the most evil by there actions"


The Average German really did not know what was going on in the dark corners of his country.

Nations are not evil or nice or anything else.

Men are evil and they lead nations.

[Skuzzy]

No point to this thread, other than to create anger and beg attention.  Trollers are not welcome here.