Writing Historical Fiction: How I Researched the Nanking Safety Zone

The journey from historical tragedy to fictional narrative requires walking carefully through the past.

When I first decided to write a novel set during the Nanking Massacre, I knew I was taking on an enormous responsibility. This wasn't just any historical period—this was sacred ground, where real people performed extraordinary acts of courage amid unimaginable horror. Getting it right meant more than just accuracy; it meant honoring the memory of those who lived, died, and saved lives during those terrible weeks in 1937-38.

The Personal Connection That Started Everything

My journey began not in a library, but in my own family. My mother-in-law rarely spoke of her escape from the Japanese army during World War II. When she did, fragmentary memories emerged—a teenage girl fleeing through China's heartland, hiding in Buddhist temples, her father's desperate gamble to save her life. These haunting glimpses compelled me to understand the larger tragedy from which they emerged.

Later, Iris Chang's groundbreaking "The Rape of Nanking" opened my eyes to a dimension I hadn't known: a small group of Westerners who chose to remain in Nanking when evacuation was possible. Chang's meticulous documentation revealed not just the horror, but also the extraordinary courage of ordinary people who refused to look away.

The Yale Divinity Library: Finding the Voices of Witnesses

Chang's book taught me my first lesson about writing historical fiction: one source, no matter how comprehensive, is never enough. Her work gave me the framework, but I needed to hear the voices of those who were there.

Three months later, I found myself in the reading room at Yale Divinity School Library—coincidentally my father-in-law's alma mater—surrounded by boxes of archived materials. Yale's collection of missionary papers from China is extraordinary, and within it lies a treasure trove of first-hand accounts from the Safety Zone Committee members.

Here were their letters home, written on thin airmail paper. Here were their diaries, recording daily life before, during, and after the massacre. Here were their photographs, their official reports, their desperate telegrams pleading for international intervention.

But it was when the archivist brought out boxes labeled with familiar names—Fitch, Magee, Vautrin, Bates—that everything changed.

George Fitch: The Account That Became My Foundation

George Ashmore Fitch wasn't a typical missionary. Born in Soochow to missionary parents, he had spent nearly thirty years in China by 1937. As head of the Nanking YMCA, he was part administrator, part educator, part community leader—a man who understood both the Western and Chinese worlds and moved fluidly between them.

What made Fitch's account extraordinary was his combination of action and reflection. While other accounts were often formal reports or private spiritual reflections, Fitch wrote like a man who knew history was watching. His letters and diary entries revealed not just what happened, but the moral struggles of someone trying to save lives while documenting atrocities.

Fitch's December 1937 entry became foundational for my novel: "I drove through the city today with Rabe. The sight of bodies in the streets has become so common we barely slow down to navigate around them. What kind of men have we become? Yet if we stop to grieve for each one, we cannot save the living."

This wasn't just documentation—this was a man wrestling with impossible moral choices in real time. His combination of heroism and honest self-doubt gave me the emotional architecture for my entire novel.

Other Voices: Building the Complete Picture

Once I had Fitch as my narrative anchor, I read the other missionary accounts through a new lens:

Minnie Vautrin's diary revealed the specific challenges of protecting women and children at Ginling College. Her December entries—written in increasingly shaky handwriting as the horror escalated—showed the psychological toll of bearing witness.

John Magee's film documentation provided visual evidence that complemented written accounts. His footage, smuggled out of China, became crucial evidence at the Tokyo War Crimes Trials. The courage required to film atrocities while maintaining the neutrality necessary for the Safety Zone's survival added another layer to my understanding.

Lewis Smythe's sociological surveys documented the methodical nature of destruction. His precise statistics—how many buildings destroyed, how many families displaced—provided the factual backbone against which personal stories played out.

Fictionalizing Real Heroes

The most difficult decision was how to portray real people as fictional characters. I chose to use the actual names of Safety Zone Committee members—Fitch, Rabe, Vautrin, Magee, and others—because their heroism deserved recognition, not fictional disguise.

However, I created composite characters like Ming and Mei Lan to represent the experiences of countless unnamed Chinese civilians and soldiers. Their stories, while fictional, are based on documented testimonies and survivor accounts found in the archives.

Research Challenges and Ethical Considerations

Writing about real people brought unique responsibilities:

The Hero Problem: Focusing on Western characters risked creating a "white savior" narrative. The historical reality is that the Safety Zone's success depended entirely on Chinese cooperation, courage, and sacrifice—yet many accounts of this period center Western voices simply because more of their documents survived.

To address this, I created composite characters like Ming and Mei Lan who represent the documented heroism of countless unnamed Chinese individuals whose stories deserve recognition.

Ming embodies Chinese military sacrifice: Historical accounts describe soldiers who disguised themselves as civilians but secretly helped organize refugee evacuation, others who provided intelligence about Japanese movements, and many who sacrificed their lives protecting civilians even after formal military resistance ended. Ming's ultimate sacrifice in the novel reflects the documented reality that Chinese soldiers continued to resist occupation through acts of individual courage, often paying with their lives.

Mei Lan represents civilian resilience and agency: Her character combines elements from multiple survivor testimonies—young Chinese women who served as translators for the Safety Zone Committee, who helped organize refugee housing, who risked their lives to gather food and medical supplies. The archives contain accounts of Chinese college students who became crucial intermediaries between Western committee members and Chinese refugees, using their education and language skills to save lives. Mei Lan's courage in helping establish the Safety Zone reflects the documented truth that Chinese civilians were active participants in their own salvation, not passive victims waiting for Western rescue.

Chinese cooperation made everything possible: The missionary accounts consistently emphasize that their work only succeeded because of Chinese partners. Fitch's diary mentions "our Chinese colleagues" who handled logistics, translation, and community organization. Vautrin's letters describe how Chinese women faculty at Ginling College coordinated refugee housing and food distribution. Without this partnership, the Western committee members would have been helpless.

Historical records show that Chinese citizens risked their lives daily to make the Safety Zone function—smuggling food through Japanese checkpoints, providing information about civilian hiding places, organizing work details, mediating disputes among refugees, and serving as the crucial link between the international committee and the hundreds of thousands seeking protection.

By creating Ming and Mei Lan as central characters whose actions directly impact the Safety Zone's survival, I aimed to show that this was never just a story of Western heroism, but of international cooperation where Chinese courage was essential. Their fictional journey represents the very real truth that the Safety Zone succeeded because Chinese and Western participants worked together, each contributing irreplaceable elements to an effort that neither group could have accomplished alone.

The Accuracy Balance: Historical fiction requires balancing documented fact with narrative necessity. Every creative choice was measured against the question: Does this honor the truth these people—both Western and Chinese—risked their lives to document?

What the Archives Taught Me About Writing This Story

Through months of living with these historical voices, I learned crucial lessons:

Specificity over statistics: Rather than writing "thousands died," I found power in individual stories. Fitch's account of finding a specific family gave more impact than any number could.

Action reveals character: The missionaries' choices under pressure—who to save first, when to risk confronting Japanese officers, when to document versus intervene—revealed character more powerfully than any physical description.

The cost of witnessing: Every account showed how documenting atrocity wounded the witnesses themselves. My novel needed to explore not just the heroism but its price.

The Responsibility These Stories Imposed

As I moved from research to writing, these voices stayed with me. Fitch wrote in one letter: "If I survive this, I must tell their story. The world must know."

That responsibility transferred to me. Every creative decision was measured against the truth these people risked their lives to document. Would this honor their courage? Would this capture the moral complexity they wrestled with?

The Story That Demanded to Be Told

In creating Nanking Safety Zone, I followed the example set by the missionaries themselves—they documented truth not for its own sake, but because they believed the world needed to understand what happens when ordinary people face extraordinary evil, and some choose to stand against it.

Their accounts didn't just inform my novel—they demanded it. Their voices, echoing across decades, insisted that this story of courage in humanity's darkest hour must continue to be told, retold, and never forgotten.

The characters in my novel—both real and fictional—represent all those who faced impossible choices and chose compassion over safety, courage over comfort, and hope over despair. Their legacy reminds us that even in our darkest hours, individual choices matter.

[Author's Note: The Safety Zone Committee papers, along with other missionary accounts from Nanking, are available to researchers at Yale Divinity School Library's Special Collections. Many documents have been digitized and are available through Yale's online archives for those unable to visit in person.]