Nanjing and the Numbers: The Legacy of Accuracy and Legitimacy in Death Tolls

When it comes to politically charged events like the Nanjing Massacre (hereafter referred to as the case of Nanjing for the purposes of this essay), estimates of the number of victims often vary drastically — and these debates rarely find resolution, even decades later.

This essay does not seek to determine the exact number. Instead, it asks: Why do these debates never end?

To answer that, we must first ask a deeper question: What does a death toll actually represent?

We’ll explore how the concept of a “death count” intersects with ideas like social disappearance, institutional authority, deadlocks, and political performance. While focused on the case of Nanjing, these ideas extend to a broader context — international conflicts, civil wars, and even COVID-19 mortality figures.

Are Death Tolls a Count of the Dead — or of the Missing?

When counting animal deaths, we typically rely on the number of bodies. For smaller creatures like insects or fish, we often use statistical inference — estimating numbers based on prior population and habitat data.

But counting human deaths is fundamentally different.

Humans are not counted merely as biological organisms. They are counted as social beings.

That is, the number of human deaths is calculated not only from physical evidence but also through social and administrative absence: records like family registries, ID systems, testimonies, and memory.

“X died” or “Y never returned after that day” — these are not statements about abstract numbers, but about who is no longer part of the social fabric.

In this sense, the term “death toll” refers not just to how many died, but who has vanished from the social record.

As far as I know, human death tolls are never calculated based on the sheer number of bodies. Even in wartime, the official death count is usually issued by a responsible authority — most often the state itself — not by enemy governments or neutral third parties.

It may seem natural to think that the biological number of deaths should matter most. But socially, what matters more is which people died — and who has the right to certify that loss.

This dual nature of death — as biological end and social disappearance — lies at the heart of why debates over death tolls often remain unresolved.

Who Gets to Count? The Monopoly of the Responsible Authority

If death is a biological fact, then it seems logical that we could count deaths based on objective evidence. In that context, death tolls would be a matter of accuracy.

But when deaths are recorded as social losses, another factor enters the picture: legitimacy.

Legitimacy here refers to the exclusive right of a governing body or institution to certify who is considered dead within its jurisdiction. This authority is typically held by the state — or, in its absence, by other recognized institutions.

This distinction becomes particularly important when applied to the case of Nanjing.

Conflicting Interests and Structural Distrust

Since the end of World War II, estimates of the death toll in the case of Nanjing have varied widely. The Chinese government has made official declarations, and numerous alternative hypotheses have been proposed by independent researchers.

One key idea in this essay is that we do not generally recognize unofficial estimates as socially legitimate, no matter how carefully researched.

Because death tolls are more than physical counts, no outside source — no matter how accurate — can carry greater legitimacy than the statement made by the responsible authority, in this case, the Chinese government.

This isn’t a legal rule; it’s a social mechanism.

Even when international experts produce statistically rigorous estimates based on prior population data and battlefield analysis, their findings are always placed next to the official figure — and almost always accompanied by the disclaimer: “The true number is unknown.”

This is the ceiling of accuracy in such debates.

Again, this isn’t a matter of ethics or mathematics. It’s a matter of social authority and its boundaries.

Anyone outside the responsible institution can only do two things: accept the official number, or reject it. No one else can issue a number that becomes the recognized truth — regardless of how much evidence they compile.

When people claim the official number is unreliable, they often approach death as a biological phenomenon, assuming that it can be objectively investigated and resolved. But even if these investigations yield accuracy, they hold no legitimacy in the social sense.

The concept of “death” as it functions socially is monopolized by institutional authority. And paradoxically, that legitimacy does not require accuracy.

We often feel this instinctively: we cannot ignore official numbers. But we also misunderstand how legitimacy works, which leads us to believe that accuracy can override it.

So, what can we do when we feel the official count is untrustworthy?

The only structural option available is to demand justification — to ask for sources, records, or statistical backing. But we cannot replace the number ourselves. Only the responsible authority can do that.

Do We Really Want the Truth — Or Just to Protect Our Position?

It’s not unusual for official death tolls to be questioned. Governments may underreport deaths caused by their own forces in civil conflicts (as in Darfur). Conversely, they may overreport deaths caused by foreign forces to gain political leverage (as in reports of NATO airstrike casualties during the Kosovo conflict).

But when legitimacy is seen to lack accuracy, we often enter a state of deadlock.

Governments have reasons for presenting death tolls in a certain way. It is usually in their interest to report higher losses when victimized and lower numbers when responsible.

If a government releases a false number, it’s unlikely to correct it unless a stronger political incentive emerges. Often, it is less costly to maintain a questionable figure than to admit fault or revise history.

(That does not mean the Chinese government has fabricated its figures — it means that even if a number lacks accuracy, political costs prevent it from being easily overturned.)

This creates a stable but unresolved tension — a deadlock — where legitimacy and accuracy clash but neither side can move the debate forward.

From the outside, this may appear insincere or dishonest. But it is also a predictable function of political systems.

And it’s not limited to governments. We, too, often prioritize positional advantage over truth.

People care about death tolls like those from the case of Nanjing not only out of historical curiosity — but because the numbers support their political or social stance.

If the number had no relevance to one’s position, why care so much?

Many civil wars in Africa or South America involve uncertain death tolls, yet receive far less scrutiny.

We often mistake our interest in numbers as pure curiosity. But more often, it’s rooted in political and social incentives. And where there are incentives, there is also reason for disinformation, exaggeration, and denial.

In this sense, whenever someone wants accuracy, someone else has reason to lie.

This mutual tension breeds further suspicion — and that suspicion itself becomes a source of political power.

The clash between accuracy and legitimacy is ultimately a clash of interests The numbers themselves are less the problem than the stakes attached to them.

Ironically, when an issue fades from the spotlight and no longer affects social or political interests, it becomes easier to discuss objectively. But by then, the motivation to investigate often disappears too.

In the next installment, we’ll explore how the concepts of accuracy and legitimacy relate — and how, if ever, these debates find resolution.