The Death of Truth: A Thematic Inquiry

I think back to 2021 when the news of the unmarked gravesites at the former site of Kamloops Indian Residential School first broke. Residential schools were something I was familiar with before, but this particular moment felt like a rallying point where many people who were previously unaware became cognizant of residential schools. For many Canadians, they had to grapple with the reality of their country’s past before them for the first time. The living reality of the past set ablaze the minds of the people and sparked intense discussion on all sides of the spectrum.

Through the breaking of news regarding that excavation, many survivors of residential schools came forward and told their own personal stories. Stories of horror, tragedy, suffering, and agony were all relayed across the country. Each survivor of these residential schools had their own individual story to tell, their own tale that came from the mass factory of cruelty. Of course, resulting from that discovery of the gravesite, there were people who came forward casting doubt on the situation, that the gravesites were not necessarily what they appeared to be. There were also those that dismissed this as merely events of the past that did not directly impact many of the Canadians living on Canada’s soil today. Refugees from other countries coming into Canada had their own histories they had to deal with, some of those being more immediately present than the residential schools of decades past. Regardless, the waters of the past broke the dam holding them back and rushed to quench the thirst of the once-empty reservoir of the present. Tensions rose and vitriol was ever-present. The truth became colored by the emotions of people from every perspective. What was defined as truth became increasingly murky as the sludge became exceedingly difficult to trudge through.

And that is the main point of contention Ken Liu’s The Man Who Ended History: A Documentary confronts. In his story, Ken Liu uses Unit 731, the Japanese wartime research and development camp in Pingfang, as his focal point. The camp itself was the site of many atrocities that numerous Chinese civilians were subjected to. The Bohm-Kirino particle, an invention created by Ken Liu for the purpose of this narrative, allows a person to directly see into the events of the past; however, in doing so, the particle from that moment in time is destroyed and that point in history can never be returned to. In essence, Ken Liu is giving effect to the fickle nature of the oral testimony already present in today’s world. When events in history are necessarily experienced only by a select group, how can others verify and extract the full truth from the impermanence of human memory and biases wrought in human experience? Without empirical evidence, such as photo or video evidence, how can we be assured that something truly happened as it was described? If delving into history means losing that piece forever and only a select few will know the truth, from the vantage point of those who never received that firsthand experience, how can that produce a record that shows an accurate portrayal of history? That is one of the questions Ken Liu poses with his story. 

In essence, Ken Liu argues, quantifying the perfect truth may be a futile exercise, and one not necessarily conducive to bridging the gap between the past and the present, and thus history’s true purpose. No one event will be experienced by everyone the same way, even if it is a global event that touches many people. Each victim, and each perpetrator, will have their own perspective, each uniquely different from any other viewpoint. Through Unit 731, the only true evidence we have remaining are the testimonials of the perpetrators of these atrocities, as well as scattered photographs and audio recordings. What Ken Liu does with the Bohm-Kirino particle is give the victims a voice, of which in our world none were left alive, through the people who volunteered to experience the time travel firsthand and live the horrors of the victim through their eyes. Nevertheless, the impermanence of the Bohm-Kirino particle and its inability to be shared and proliferated worldwide casts doubt on its method and its accuracy, just as oral evidence is looked at today. The process removes the scientific method from the study of history, instead forcing historians to either place their trust in these accounts or reject them outright, not unlike many historians today who have to parse through various sources when analyzing historical texts, statements and testimonials, which are often second-hand sources, and thus can not necessarily be truly relied upon. 

Hence, the work rests on the scientists and historians of the time to puzzle out a method in which truth can be extracted, lest they risk being ostracized from the very community they so desperately want to advance in the first place. But should the burden rest on these same historians to parse through and uncover the entire truth before divulging their findings? Yes, historians should be committed to truth first and foremost, but, as Ken Liu argues through his story, waiting for the full truth to be disclosed will only lead to the death of history. In cases such as Unit 731, or even residential schools, a full and complete picture of the truth can never be grasped; any project attempting to uncover such is simply not feasible. What Ken Liu demonstrates through his story is the resistance a pioneer of history faces when their ideas and conclusions are questioned and rebuked to its utmost limit. 

Evan Wei’s passion in bringing light to the horrors of Unit 731 mirrors Iris Chang’s work in showcasing The Rape of Nanjing, among other stories of tragedy during World War II. Ken Liu dedicated this story in her memory, and it is clear the influences her own personal journey has in shaping Evan Wei’s story of bringing to light the victims of Unit 731. When does one cross the line from being a historian into an advocate? And can history be divorced from advocacy in the first place? In the annals of history, there are unspeakable injustices that have occurred throughout. The work of these various historians uncovering these events is in effect acting as advocates for the once-silent voices of the past. In doing so, it strips the objectively from a purely empirical study, blending facts with zealous advocacy. What Ken Liu is showing is that it is difficult for historians to escape the emotional connection associated with these narratives in telling the histories of others. What Evan Wei accomplishes with his time travel device is giving a voice to those who never had the opportunity to speak and removing the chains that once silenced these voiceless victims, albeit imperfectly. However, for both Evan Wei and Iris Chang, the responsibility of facing these horrors head on, advocating for the voiceless victims, and dealing with various people who pushed back on their ideas had clearly taken its toll. 

Both Evan and Iris’s death represent the isolating loneliness that being a champion for the voiceless will cause. There will always be detractors and skeptics to any given history, those wanting to poke holes in the information or censor what is given out to the wider world. By giving hope and bringing more eyes to the sufferings of the past, it ironically only brought about more suffering for those living in the present. That fervent passion to bring to light what was once hidden will be seen as an attempt to stoke the flames of justice and retribution, instead of being seen for what it was intended: A bridge to help the people of the present build empathy and compassion with those unheard voices of the past. 

However, the broader purpose of these stories can be missed, as they often are. People will fail to see the forest for the trees. When evidence or testimonials are cast into doubt, it is often done so because minute details do not match up. Within the testimonials of those who visited Unit 731 in the past, trivial details such as the uniforms of the doctors are treated with greater attention and importance than the memories of the atrocities themselves and the harrowing emotions associated with them. It is as if poking holes into peripheral details in an Ace Attorney-esque fashion will erase the truth completely from within those testimonies. However, Ken Liu, through this story, argues that this method is counter-productive to the advancement of understanding and reconciliation. A perfect understanding can rarely be achieved under ordinary circumstances, so instead of focusing on every little detail to ensure the most accurate picture possible, what should instead be strived for is the best understanding we can have and what steps can be taken once that understanding has been achieved. The bigger picture must be considered in its entirety and taken in its full context, warts and all. The study of history is not an all-or-nothing dichotomy. Nuance can, and should, exist in how people interpret and process the past that is shown to them. What people often mistake for inconsistencies and inaccuracies are simply the differing values and biases within the mind of the speaker. Bias can taint the truth, but it can not destroy it entirely. A stark difference can be drawn between biases and lies, and each one does not have an equal effect on a given narrative or history. There is more to the atrocities that ravage humanity than digging into every angle to ensure its complete accuracy. 

For the victims and the various descendants of those victims, the only way we can achieve some sort of reconciliation is by keeping in our memories what has happened. These stories and tragedies should never fade into obscurity. What is important is not finding inconsistencies between accounts, as some deniers believe, not finding out the agenda of the person bringing these stories to light, as some skeptics believe, or even enacting a retributive justice, as some impassioned followers believe. No, what is most important is fostering a shared understanding among all members of a given community, and finding a path forward together. Every story and every perspective should be given a voice to speak. Only then will the ghosts of the past find some sort of reprieve from their agonized suffering. What some people within Ken Liu’s story fail to realize is that their actions, no matter how good-intentioned they are, will only harm the reconciliation process. Only true understanding and compassion will beget true healing. 

Akemi Kirino’s grandfather story represents that other side of the coin, that other perspective some people are so ready to sweep under the rug. For every victim, there is a perpetrator. It is easy to simply reduce those people who commit these heinous crimes as mere monsters. But through Akemi’s grandfather and his letter, we have to begin to reconcile the fact that the same people who commit and oversee these atrocities have the same capacity for love and compassion as anyone else. That is not to say these people should be forgiven, but the context for their actions are all deeply rooted in intrinsic human motivation. In the same vein, should their perspectives be silenced because does a monster really deserve a voice? Again, Ken Liu grapples with this question through Akemi’s internal realization of this fact upon Evan’s death. By labelling the perpetrators as mere monsters, it reduces the suffering done to the victims as something out of this world, as if it could never be carried out by a human. It is only through our capacity for compassion and empathy that we recognize that capacity for evil that was present for those perpetrators. Only by realizing that we are all human, can that spark of empathy for the suffering truly be revealed. 

In Akemi and Evan’s darkest moments, the truth appears to be dead, with the governments of the world locking away the device that allowed them to bring to light the horrors of the past in the first place. Would their work all be for nothing then? However, history lives on. It finds a way to embed itself in the minds of people, unrelenting in its hold on the minds it seizes. Simply because one avenue has been exhausted or disposed of does not mean all avenues to convey that history have been closed off permanently. This revelation slowly dawns on Akemi after she has the chance to reflect on her life work following Evan’s suicide. Akemi realizes she can channel her listlessness into a different sort of passion so that she can continue to honor the dead and allow them to be heard in the present. And while that passion can easily be mistaken for an irrational belief with no logical basis, it is only by reconciling the events of the past can progress be made into the future, something that Akemi concludes by the end of the story. 

The importance of history is knowing the truth and understanding what it can bring to society. Regarding the study of history, there is an often-repeated phrase to the point where it can be said it is a cliche, but even so, its relevance remains a beacon to guide people into the future: Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. Just because a piece representing something from history does not constitute the full truth, does not mean it should remain hidden and cast aside. What an incomplete picture of the truth can bring is a place for victims and survivors to grieve and carry forward; through that, it becomes a place for people to learn. What is essential to be cognizant of is that an incomplete picture of the truth is not equivalent to a lie. Baby steps from people driven to understanding the truth can be taken, with each stride being used to aid in approaching ever so closer to having a complete picture of the truth. Sometimes, that truth will never materialize in its completeness, but that does not mean we should simply give up and not try; abandoning hope and losing heart will only cause the stories of the past to be drowned in the seas of time. Without that pursuit, that knowledge will remain lost forever. It is only by pursuing truth that we can rescue these stories from being stranded forever. 

The historian Adrian Goldsworthy in his introduction to his biography about Caesar Augustus puts it best: The truth may be elusive and difficult to grasp; however, the fact that it is so grueling to strive towards does not mean we should shy away from reaching out to the best possible version of the truth. As historians, advocates, and members of the general populace, we should strive for nothing but the full and honest truth, but that does not mean anything less than that is meaningless. As elusive, difficult, or tragic it may be to understand and grasp the truth, a single person can not, and should not, make up the whole truth. Truth, and history, is a community-driven effort, whose purpose is to bring people together. However, even the words of a single person can, and should, carry weight. And we should honor their words and pass them down to future generations, so they too learn and never forget. Because what else is history but sharing the stories of those long past?

By being historians, we act as a bridge to connect the voices of the past and the ears of the present, unearthing the words the forgotten could never speak for themselves. Time may march forward, but we as humans will never forget.